A Call to Action

[Varyn Rask]

OOC: Holonet Access obtained by breaking in during a prior thread. Open to reactions and further report from other Holonet broadcasts.

The evening news cut to a commercial and unexpectedly, the Holonet Feed began to static and waver as a "commercial break" suddenly turned into a less-than-expected address. A masked man filled the screen. It was clear that the signal had been pirated in some way, but it would take several minutes to take it down, and a recording had already begun to play. A masked man filled the screen, and those who lived within the borders of either Empire would immediately note that the mask screamed "Sith" to anyone who saw it, but in a galaxy embroiled in a civil war between Sith factions, seeing such a mask was not all that shocking.

The voice, when it began speaking, was clearly distorted, though this was a product of the Force rather than any electronics.

Citizens of the Empire, I'm interrupting this broadcast because now is a time for action, the voice said calmly. There was little movement as he spoke, and a moment later, the image cut to pictures of world within the Empire. Kuat, Nubia, Bilbringi, Corellia, and Nar Shaddaa. Each one had been laid waste to in some measure with buildings burning, factories destroyed, and bodies in the streets. It was what the Republica had become.

The galaxy has been in turmoil for too long. The Imperial Republica has failed to protect its citizens time and again. Thousands have been killed in attacks by terrorist raiders and Mandalorians, and throughout that time, the Emperors have done nothing, he said, and none of the accusations were false. Elix had been terribly inactive, and his predecessor was killed after actions that made even more citizens question her. The Imperial Republica's time was at an end, and the sooner everyone realized that, the better chances the Sith had to survive.

Emperor Vrael has made his declaration that he will annex the Imperial Republica, and he has the resources to do it. I fought for the Republica once, until I saw the truth: the Republica has collapsed under its own weight. It's so bogged down in tradition, xenophobia, and internal politics, that it has become wholly inadequate to protect its people anymore, he said. The claim to have been a former Republica soldier would be at least partially verified by the fact that - once traced - the broadcast came from Coruscant itself. There was no planet deeper in the heart of Republica space.

So why have I risked my life to come onto the Holonet and tell you facts that you likely could have obtained on your own? Simple: because I want to urge you to act. The Republica has attempted to silence those who speak out against it before. Billions of you are kept down by xenophobia and your planets are treated as second class. Now is the time to join the Empire where your species doesn't matter, he said. There were billions of beings who were prevented from rising because they weren't human. Despite being within the borders of the Imperial Republica, the IR wouldn't be able to hold its grip on them forever. Especially not now that they were leaderless, and all the less prepared to defend themselves.

How many more have been prevented from climbing higher because your family had the wrong last name? Now is the time to join the Empire where your merit is what matters, he said. And so again, the call to better yourself and climb the ladder of society was stunted by petty politics. Family name and connections were worth far more than skill and ability.

How many of you have lost family and friends to attacks that the Republica has failed to react to? Killed in attacks by terrorists led by the Jedi: terrorists who worked with the Mandalorians to slaughter people in the streets on Corellia. There are very real threats out there, and the Republica is no longer adequate to protect you, he said. The terrors that had grown in secret within the Empire's borders couldn't be ignored any longer. Rebellion was in the air, and until the Empires acted together, the entire galaxy was in danger.

It's time for a unified Empire once again. One that rewards skill, defends its people, and suffers no foolishness. All I can do is encourage you that when the time comes you stand by the Empire where your actions decide how you rise, not the Empire that turned its back on you.

The Empress is dead. Long live the Emperor. And as abruptly as it had begun, the broadcast ended. There would no doubt be an earnest attempt to prevent it from being replicated or rebroadcast, but the message was out there.

Varyn had no delusions about his own importance. He was a Sith Crusader who no one knew his name or even his face, but the address did one thing: it showed that anyone could change their course. The flow of the galaxy was changing, and the time for revolution had come. Even for soldiers and citizens of the Imperial Republica, it wasn't too late.

 

[Valar Dohaeris]

Valar stared at the screen for a long moment.

He was sat in his apartment, alone, with a glass of whiskey in one hand and a cigara in the other. It was some rare downtime between missions and he just wanted to sit. To sit and to wallow a bit - to feel the pain seep into his bones and just meditate on it. To grow stronger, closer to the Dark Side, because of that pain and because of the hatred that the pain brought to the forefront of his mind.

Per his healer's orders, Valar was wearing very tight, kolto-infused, medical sleeves on his arms to compress the wounds beneath. His right arm was mostly fine - some superficial scarring and not much else. His left arm? He clenched the glass tighter in his fingers and the pain flared up, bright and powerful like a star in his mind. His entire left arm, beneath the medical sleeve, was a twisted web of burns and surgical scars. He categorically refused to lose the arm because he wanted the pain it brought.

He refused skin grafts to the parts of his face that had been scarred but now he almost wished he hadn't - scowling was an expression that pulled at the scars along the lower left side of his face. They were not fully formed scars however due to how his face was constantly moving and twisting with his expressions. His ugly scowl grew darker and uglier as he watched the broadcast play out and the partial healing came undone, blood begins to glide down his jawline and neck to drip onto his bare chest.

Underneath his medical sleeves he knew that his burns and scars were likely bleeding as well and there was only so much that the kolto infused within the sleeve could do to stop it. Logically he knew that he had to stop reacting physically, that he had to just let it be.

But he wouldn't.

Instead he pulled the cigara back in and took a long pull. The butt of the cigara came away sticky with the blood that had pooled into the corner of his mouth as he just stared at the screen.

He felt like he should care.

His family had been devoted to the Imperial Republica for the entirety of it's existence and even Valar himself had gone to the academy with high hopes of serving the Empire. Back then the Empire had been whole. After the split, his family had sided with the Imperial Republica and now? Now people were talking kriff left, right and center that the Republica was no longer a faction. That it was being absorbed into the Old Empire and that the war between the Sith was finally over.

He felt like he should care - but he didn't.

At least, not in the right way.

He didn't care that the Republica would be no more.

He didn't care that the civil war was apparently over.

He didn't care that there was some jumped up Crusader on the holonet declaring it so like his opinion mattered in the grand game that was Galactic politics.

He didn't care about any of that.

All he cared about was the Jedi, the ancient enemies of the Sith, and one, singular, unique, woman.

He wanted to kill the Jedi, to hunt them down and burn them from whatever rat holes they had inhabited for the past 500 years because that was what Sith DID. It was their destiny, their entire existence was defined by standing opposed to the Jedi. Without the Jedi, the Sith had degraded and now here was his chance to finally do what every Sith was meant to do; he was finally able to fight Jedi.

To kill them.

To defile what it meant to be a Jedi.

But above all else? He cared about that one, singular and unique, woman.

He cared about Raz Solus.

And he didn't care if he had to kiss the boots of any Sith Emperor, Crusader, Moff or the personification of the Dark Side itself. He didn't care if it cost him his position, his rank, his credits or his life. He didn't care that he was supposed to want to do harm to all Mandalorians for their attacks against his people.

He cared about killing Raz Solus with the scarred and gnarled hand that she had given him and sending her Jedi allies into the abyss to meet her.

So a Crusader told him to pledge to the Emperor? So karking what.

It didn't change a damn thing.

 

[Lilith (8th TL)]

Swaying her hips slightly to the music that penetrated every corner of the building she was in, Cait twirled around in her new cream and pink lace dress, holding up her purse against her perfectly shaped breasts to see how well it's color matched. Some of her fiery red hair was tied up in two buns on her head, which were carefully shaped to give the illusion that she had cat ears. A satisfied smile warmed her lips once she had a good enough look at her outfit in its entirety, though her lips were sadly lacking lipstick—or rather, a new layer as the first one was pretty much done.

As she pulled out some lipstick, the hoload she was half-watching from the corner of her eye suddenly cut out to display a masked man. Cait raised a fiery eyebrow at it, half-annoyed and tempted to turn it off but after a moment she decided to keep it on because of how odd it was.

The masked man went on to talk about the state of the Republica. While Cait was technically a Sith— raised and trained in a temple—this war between the two Empires never really interested her all too much. At least, not outside the idea to sell weapons to every side she could make a deal with. The more deals, the more credits. The more cha-ching-a-ling. Unless someone wanted to secure a exclusive contract with her, but she assumed she'd need to build a reputation first to achieve that.

A few things he said did strike her though; she wasn't aware the Republica was in such a dire state. And that was...that was WONDERFUL news! Cait squeed when she realized that this was probably the perfect time to try to break into the gunrunning business. She'd have to speak to some people to see if there was real profit in it though, and at least find one interested buyer.

She had so many ideas though and needed to pace herself, so she put on her lipstick and pushed the idea aside for now. First she'd need to break into the spice trade. Baby steps.

 

[Aerak Medus]

For a long, long moment, Aerak glared at holodisk in his hand.

He wasn't on Courscant right now, so he didn't have the chance to experience the reaction among the crowds. The shock and the fear. The amusement and the anger. The comments of the Force-sensitives and the Forceless. Or, to put it another way, the opinions of those who mattered and those who didn't.

This man, for someone claiming to now serve the Old Empire, understood little of them. Like a commoner given royalty. He might wear the fancy robes and dine with high society, but that did not make him royalty deep within. It was only a mask, a front. This Sith was no different. He was not raised among the Old Empire. He knew not of their traditions, their values or their code. Yet he spoke for them, as one of their loyal supporters? For instance, his talk of xenophobia. Pathetic. If these species were being bullied into submission by the Republica, they had no place within the Old Empire. The rule his father taught him rang out in his mind, almost automatically.

The weak are mere stepping stones for the strong.

Aerak grimaced a little. His scars itched.

No, this man would never convince those loyal to the Imperial Republica. Not so long as he was still one of them. Perhaps in time he would grow accustomed to his new robes. Put on a more convincing show. Even now, it was possible he could turn some in the Republica. He played the part well enough. But for someone who knew the Old Empire as well as Aerak did, who was born, bred and molded by it, this pretender would never sway him.

And that was the part that pissed Aerak off the most.

Here was someone who pulled off a spectacular show. Hacking the Holonet feed and displaying the message for countless billions to see. This was no small feat. He'd recounted every failing, every blunder of this false Republica. Spat in the face of this crippled Empire. Even had the gall to address the Empress as dead. All of that, and this faker couldn't turn him. Him. The man who had cause to hate the Imperial Republica more than anyone.

They, who'd sent his mother to die on a botched mission. They, who whispered behind Aerak's back and reprimanded him when he wielded an iron fist and not a velvet glove. They, who sent Aerak on the most pointless and meaningless of missions. Even now, Aerak had been deployed to quell to deal with, in their words "a grave uprising". Not some Mandalorians inciting rebellion, not a group of Jedi freeing slaves, but a group of farmers refusing to work due to tax increases. And if Aerak so much as scratched them, he'd be punished once again.

Aerak leaned back in his starfighter, the ship crusing on auto-pilot. His fingers reached towards the controls. Brushing against the buttons. The temptation to type in the coordinates to Korriban rising within him. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to cut down those miserable farmers and their families. To fly into the heart of Courscant and plunge his lightsaber into his privledged Empress' heart...

But he couldn't. He wouldn't. Old wounds were slow to fade, but old loyalties even slower still.