HoloNet News Between Two Points

Darth Stolas

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Sith Order
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Imperial Council

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Mr. Teatime
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THEME
OOC: Open to reactions only
Not long after the Sith invasion of Denon a transmission was broadcast across the Holonet. The source could not be traced, but the crimson symbol that flickered to life over screens and message boards left little doubt as to its origin.

"I am Darth Stolas, a Lord of the Sith."

It was dark aside from a section of simple metal table well lit by overhead lights. A shadowed figure sat just behind it barely in view, silent for a moment after he appeared and so still one might wonder if that indistinct shape was even a person at all. Then it moved, leaning slightly forward as its arms raised up to the table. The light expanded to the left side of the table, washing over a cobalt section of durasteel plating etched with carbon scoring. With a loud thunk a warped and burnt helmet, once beautiful and ornate, was placed in front of it.

A helmet that once belonged to Captain Roland Rook.


"Citizens of the galaxy," a deep, growling base came from the figure's mask as it leaned further forward to allow its red and black helmet to be seen. Each word was evenly and carefully articulated. "The governments of the Free Worlds and the New Republic would have you believe that we are your enemy. While billions of their citizens languish beneath their negligent watch they have seen fit to send Rangers to strike out at us." Darth Stolas paused a moment, his visor turning to regard the helmet on the table.

"Captain Rook refused to stand down, and so paid the price. His government fears a return of the empire of centuries past that brought peace, order, and prosperity to its varied peoples. The Republic and Free Worlds will accept no challenge to their feeble rule."

The Sith's visor slowly turned to the opposite end of the table where light once again spread over the table to reveal a bronze-coated lightsaber with hilts of green. Just behind it sat another shape, a face clearly visible with one blue eye and another clearly cybernetic, removed from its body and preserved in an entropy field. It was a head with an expression frozen in the macabre mask of death.

A head that once belonged to Councilor Maxims Tionson.


"Jedi and a FWA Senator forced the government and citizen militia of Denon to fight instead of considering surrender. Even given an alternative their stubborn bias drives their decisions." A gloved hand waved over the head and lightsaber, the Sith's helmet tilting slightly toward the camera.

"Maxims Tionson refused to stand down, and so paid the price." Light flickered into existence behind the figure to show vast piles of DDF helmets stacked together and littering the ground. "As did those who followed him. A futile and fruitless waste of life." The voice was distorted but nonetheless managed to transmit emotion through the message, both sorrow and the rough undertones of burning anger. Stolas' hands rested atop the table, fingers intertwined and gripped tightly together.

"I have had enough."
Beneath his hands the table shook, an unnatural echo in his voice vibrating even the camera that recorded him and causing the image to flicker for a moment. The visor refocused on the camera, the eyes behind it staring directly into the lens, quiet for several seconds.

"When I come you will have a choice." Stolas leaned slowly back in his chair, posture imperious and strictly straight-backed. His tone was iron and absolute.


"Stand down and join us,
or
Stand against us, and so pay the price."

Lights faded and dimmed, the mountains of DDF helmets disappearing beneath the sweeping wave of shadow. Captain Rook's helm and the preserved head and weapon of Councilor Tionson followed. The table was swallowed almost entirely as the light was concentrated to fall only on the singular subject of Darth Stolas himself. Two words were said in the final moments before the edges met in the middle like the crashing shut of great black gates. Two words were spoken with such force that the very air seemed to quake and shiver, rumbling audibly while the image flickered.

"Choose wisely."
With that pronouncement the broadcast abruptly ended, leaving the listeners to ponder over what he'd said. Stolas had run out of patience after the near-lethal maiming of the man he loved on Denon. Fire and fury were his way and the way of his family. Mercy had been genuinely offered to those that surrendered. All the rest would burn.

Morgan Drast would bury his grudges in the ashes of the dead.

 

Lorcan

Character
Empire
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Lieutenant

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Nefieslab
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Holonet broadcasts like this were played on a loop when it came to the barracks of Sith soldiers and officers - both to keep up morale and to reinforce one outrageously simple thing. Well, he thought it was simple but some of the people hired by both sides were hired purely to soak up blaster bolts. Some of them were so karking dumb that they needed it spelled out for them in the biggest, grandest, way possible. And the simple thing that so many people didn't understand?

Every Sith Lord was Terrifying.

Lorcan said this, knew this, as a man who had long since stopped giving a rat's ass about his own life and had lovingly embraced being paid to relieve others of theirs. Didn't matter because Sith, Lords especially, didn't let you just karking die - no no. If they had their chance? They would force you to die in agony that was basically unending until, well, they got bored and ended it on their terms or they went just a little too far and did it by accident. But yeah.

Every Sith Lord was Terrifying.

"Who knew that Stolas had it in him?"


"I know right? He always seemed too prim and proper to me..."


Rolling his eyes, Lorcan eyed the two soldiers just sitting around watching the broadcast on repeat. Deciding it was probably a teachable moment, he sighed audibly and paused in the cleaning of his blaster pistol.

"You know, it's people like you that remind me there's a reason why people laugh about stormtoopers and sith troopers and the rest."
he declared aloud, not bothering to look at them, "You're dumber than a bag of ewok heads and thicker than a gungan's dick if you think that Stolas is ever... EVER... anything less than terrifying."

He deigned to look at the soldiers, who were looking rather awkward as they recognized him as belonging to one of Stolas' units. Good, let them remember who the kark they were talking shite around.

"I've seen the man crush someone's throat with the Force without batting an eye. You know how they say rage and shite is where a Sith's power comes from?"
he snorted, nodding to the looping broadcast, "That man right there would flay the skin from your bones with a wave of his pinky and he wouldn't even comment save for your blood ruining the flooring."

He grinned as he leaned forward.

"That man there? Could glass a city and his only karking thought would be about how it was a shame to turn the architecture to shite along with the people. Now... that?"
he nodded to the message again, "Is him angry. That's him PISSED OFF for the first time since I've met him. You wanna think about what he's capable of doing when that karked off when pissants like you want to run your mouths?"

The two other soldiers fled the barracks, leaving Lorcan alone with the holonet broadcast for the time being. Going back to cleaning his blaster pistol, he eyed the broadcast and muttered to himself.

"Woe be to the karkwit who pissed in his fibreflakes... sounds like something that ain't my problem though so feck it."
he smirked before turning the broadcast off, "Every Sith Lord is Terrifying - but mine is a karking maniac..."
 

Aadya Rasheer

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Empire
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Imperial Knight

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Logan
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It would probably come as no surprise at all to the people who knew her but Aadya spent a lot of time on the holonet. Tonight she was flipping through the synopsis to the latest episode of Desperate Housewives of Corellia because she'd missed it, much to her own dismay. Trash TV was a welcome respite to the otherwise grave dealings of a Sith, after all.

Just as she was nearing the big twist in the episode, her reading was disrupted by something that wasn't desperate at all. The young acolyte recognized the symbol that flashed on the screen immediately, and the voice that shortly followed sent ice through her core in the best way possible.

Before long, Aadya found herself sitting bolt upright in her bed, eyes glued to the screen and her attention hanging on every word that Darth Stolas uttered. It was when the camera panned to the disembodied head of Maxims Tionson that her eyes widened suddenly and she breathlessly said Holy kriffing shit.

And then the table under Stolas began to shake, as if it too trembled from the gravity of his words, his eerily calm and collected fury. Aadya couldn't help but bite her bottom lip just slightly, like she was beckoning a handsome boy from across the bar. She had never seen Stolas like this before. It was absolutely terrifying.. but not in the "truly fear for my life" way. More like the way you felt just as you crested the zenith of a roller coaster, in that moment where you were looking straight down but the wind hadn't started to rush past your ears.

And just like that it was over, the build up in her chest finding the ending.. unfulfilling. There was more than one remedy for that, though. Tossing her datapad onto a side table, Aadya turned out the light before pulling the covers over her head.

It was good for her neighbors that the walls of her apartment were unusually thick.
 

Emryc Thorne

Faction Leader
Consortium
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ISC President

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Sreeya
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He was far away from the galaxy. He was from Holonet. He was far from comlinks. He was far from the Sith. He was far from Jedi. He was far from ISC. He was far from Raze. He was away from an apprentice that agonized over the bond they shared. He was away from two Queens, one of which now carried his child. He was far from Emryc Thorne. He was far from everything.

The warm sun shined on his face, his skin rougher without the expensive brand name products. An appreciable beard and mustache filled out his face, his skin a sun kissed bronze. However, the eyes were more piercing than ever in contrast to the tan, cutting silvers that could once look into souls. They saw nothing but darkness now. The mind behind the eyes had learned to operate without them. The mind had begun to find serenity away from the despair of losing everything.

He was sitting below a tree near a lake, his fluted ears picking up every little chittering trill of a bird or insect. He smelled the earth and the fish that had been brought in from the catch earlier. Before him was a canvas as he began to focus his fine motor skills.

A giggle broke out near him and he paused what he was doing. He said nothing, but he would have his answer.

“That doesn’t look like a tree,” The child burst into a fit of giggles next to him, Emryc’s, or Rick as he was known here, expression quite blank in response.

“What does it look like?”

“It looks like a pole with some snakes on it,” The little girl could barely contain her laugh as she described the drawing, toppling over laughing.

Emryc sighed and crumpled up the page, tossing it into an ever growing pile near him.

“You are terrible at this,” The girl was wheezing from laughing, but she helpfully set up another empty page for him to sketch on nonetheless. Emryc stared blankly towards the empty page for a long moment before his left hand reached over to grasp the sketching pencil again. He leaned forward with renewed focus, focusing internally on his thoughts and mind.

The girl giggled at first, commenting on the strange shapes and lines. With time, however, the giggles died away. She stared with wonder at what was being sketched. She saw the perfectly angled face, the perfectly placed nose, the way the eyebrows were slanted just so, the way the hair fell just right over the face. The eyes were drawn with great care and time to capture the intensity, but the entire sketch came effortlessly as if he had been doing it for years. As if he had his eyes. It was the only thing his mind recalled vividly enough to draw perfectly.

Theme

“Whoaaaaaaa!” The girl gasped, standing up to take a better look, “This looks amazing! How did you do this! You can’t see!” She ran off to get her friends. Emryc didn’t move, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

There was a chorus of ooh’s and aah’s as they all gathered around the drawing. Some of the adults even walked over to stare - it was clear that Emryc’s poor art skills had become a source of entertainment for the villagers.

“Who is that?”

Emryc looked towards the portrait though his eyes couldn’t see.

And he simply smiled. A genuine smile that carried behind it nothing but agony.

@Mr. Teatime
 

Nykoria Tallis

Character
Jedi Order
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Jedi Master

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Catbert
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Kori had been kept on ice and coma-inducing meds for too long. The last piece of news she had heard was still about Sullust: the Jedi using some kid for publicity, or something along those lines. Even those memories were vague; they faded somewhere inbetween getting stunned and electrocuted. And now she was stuck on Bakura—the outskirts of the galaxy—for the foreseeable future.

On the bright side, the estate of Governor Ti'Varnus was a much better residence that a damp and dark stony cell on some Force-forsaken world. The Jedi Master was relatively free in where she could go and exercise; the extent of her freedom outlined by the Governor's security detail who patrolled the borders of the estate every hour. Although she tried to get back into her training regimen, Nykoria's lifestyle was still more akin to that of a civil servant. Contact with the outside world was limited as well: mostly because she couldn't risk the ire of the Sith, but for other reasons as well.

She had some time to think; and one of the Sith who had taunted her back at the prison cell did have a point: Kori last mission and capture were just the icing on the cake of past mistakes. She had failed to stop a Sith at Coruscant; almost died at Ryloth; followed Talak's call to Sullust, brought along anyone she could, and in doing so, contributed to the deaths of the two Councillors, and endangered the Jedi Order.

With my track record of failures, wouldn't the Order be better off without me?
They have Oren, Talak, Max, and Hannibal to balance each other out.

With such a passive lifestyle, HoloNet remained the only occasional window into the big world. While switching through different channels aimlessly, Nykoria stumbled upon something familiar. A metallic helmet with a characteristic Mandalorian visor. The helmet that she had seen before. The name that she had heard before. Sector Ranger, Rook, Captain. Wasn't he just a ranger when we last met? When was it... Ah, Fondor, the Vasser kidnapping.

The Zeltron was now glued to the screen. Captain Roland Rook, dead? The kriff happened while I was gone? For a moment, her attention shifted towards the speaker. A dark figure, a distorted voice; the déjà vu that Kori was experiencing got uncomfortably strong, even though she couldn't place it. And then...

Then the camera and the light caught out another grim trophy. Someone Nykoria knew too well. Someone whom she had remembered smiling and winking; occasionally commanding intimidation when he had to; but ultimately being a kind and wise man, even if he disagreed with you. Max Tionson.

The Zeltron gasped in disbelief; her mouth remained half-open, as she saw the atrocity that the masked Sith had committed. Seeing the Councillor's head defiled like that made her feel every blood vessel on her face and ears, along with every hair on her head and body. A part of her hoped that she was seeing another weird dream; that she would come to in her prison cell again, only to discover that this entire thing was some twisted Sith's game to break her mind.

But as much as Kori struggled, she couldn't wake up. The news she heard was real. Maxims Tionson—the Jedi who had urged against going to war—fell in battle alongside those whom he must've sought to protect. And Nykoria Tallis—the overconfident Zeltron who advocated for exactly the opposite—was somehow still alive. That produced a slimy mix of feelings: disgust at the sight; fear for her own life; regret for the things she got wrong... And a sliver of impotent rage building up inside.

At every corner, Kori was powerless to stop the Sith. Apparently, for all his training an abilities, Max lacked the strength too. That had to be true. Otherwise his head wouldn't have ended up as a trophy of some arrogant masked freak, whateverhecallshimself! Powerless to change anything, the Zeltron leaned backwards in the sofa, closed her eyes and took a deep raspy breath. Then another one followed. And another. Bitterness still remained.

For all her training not to act on her emotions and trust in the Force, Kori couldn't just shake it off. Not for a second was she buying the bantha poodoo spouted by the Sith on the holo. If anyone could talk about peace and prosperity, it was Max; not the karker who presented his head to the galaxy.

A plan was already formulating in her head. Kori couldn't fight the Sith head-on. But she damned well wouldn't let the likes of the Eternal and other barbarians have their way. She would start with Bakura, and whatever Sith who threatened to raze the planet should she escape...
 

Isen Ramm

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Jedi Order
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Jedi Knight

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Isen
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Isen was standing as he watched the Holo in one of the commons area of the Yavin temple. The area quickly became crowded as the projector came to life. There were gasps and shrieks as the helm of the Ranger were thrown to the screen followed by tears and shudders when the removed head of Maxims Tionson came into focus. The morale in the room dropped into the negatives. Many shut their eyes, others hid them, not bearing to watch. Some of them shook their head in disbelief at the savagery with hands over their mouths.

Isen, however stood tall and motionless. He neither grimaced nor shied from the images. He refused to take his eyes off the projection. He wanted these images engraved into his mind, permanently fixed into his memory. Not to use as a rallying cry, not to use as an emotional burst of valor in the throes of battle. No, he wanted to dream about these images. He wanted them to nag at him every minute he was idle...because he no longer had any desire to be idle. He wanted these images to push him to train even harder. Free time no longer existed. As opportunities presented themselves, he would be damned if he found himself at a party drinking kriffing punch and making small talk. He would be practicing forms, sparring, meditating, becoming more attuned to the Force. He would eat, drink, and sleep becoming a better Jedi, a Jedi that could give the Sith every bit of trouble they wanted. If his head every rolled across the Holo, they would by-the-Force have to earn it.

Isen didn't desire revenge. This was not about avenging the deaths of the Jedi by the Sith. But it was very clear that the Sith were not playing games. They were laser-focused on destroying the Jedi and ruling the galaxy. If the Jedi were to be successful, they would have to be just as focused, just as prepared, just as willing to not only fight but fight to win.

"Stand down and join us,
or
Stand against us, and so pay the price."


As the picture focused the frame on Darth Stolas, Isen could feel that most of the room, Jedi no less, were fearful. Most were jittery and the general sense of unease was palpable. The room seemed to shiver as Stolas uttered his final two words, "Choose wisely..."

Isen turned abruptly to leave the room just as many were finally willing to take a look at the screen. Someone, he didn't look to see who, asked him, "Isen Ramm? Where are you going?"

"To train," Isen said refusing to look back and while not breaking stride. "And I highly suggest everyone else does as well. Practice fighting or practice kneeling in subjugation to the Sith. Those are your choices."
 

Laeonas Tannaras

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Independent
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Exiled Jedi

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Tom
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Passage was surprisingly cheap in the inner rims, though with his current destination being rather far flung, Laeonas had to pay a special premium. It wasn't to difficult, but he'd only been able to buy one keg of low strength piss to keep himself quenched.

Still not the worst he'd had.

He spent most of the time in his cabin, ignoring the rest of the crew as well as the passengers. When he'd heard about what was going on with Ossus, with the construction, with the Jedi... it was one of the first destinations that came to mind when he was able to travel again.

Passing the time, he did workouts while listening to holos for what had to be hours. Pull ups, music, beer. Kicks, ancient comedy shows, beer. Planks, pushups, beer, shitty 15 minute romance shorts, than more beer.

It worked well enough until he felt to woozy to punch straight, and so Laeonas dropped onto his bed. He'd arrived on one channel... and the transmission had changed.

He could barely follow at first. Only a few words could catch his attention. Darth. Sith. Denon.

This was a proclamation of victory, words coming from the mouth of a Sith Lord. They'd taken Denon, a world Laeonas had never visited, but he'd seen it on every navcomputer map he'd glanced when talking to the pilots of the ships he was on.

The importance of the world seemed secondary to the Sith lord, however. The proclamation of the deaths of men with names of importance, of Jedi, of Sector Rangers, of defiant governors...

It was a propaganda piece. Demanding surrender and subjugation. Personal, directed at the feelings of individuals by playing off singular names.

It might have worked on some. It might have even worked on Laeonas, if he hadn't met the Sith. He'd heard these words before, about how the old empires were peace bringing and benevolent, about how the Jedi were decadent and corrupt, about how the true way to galactic peace and prosperity was surrendering and bowing to the might of the men who's very presence in the universe felt sick.

So instead of believe it, Laeonas rejected it.

Angrily.


"LOOK at this shite!"

Laeo tossed the full bottle of alcohol across the room, shattering on the holoscreen and blanketing the wall in glass shards.


"WHAT THE EVER LOVIN'ELL DO YA THINK YER DOIN' MISTER?!!" He suddenly heard. The thumping of foots were loud, and familiar.

Immediately regretting his actions, his mother stormed into the cabin, and, promptly, began wacking the 25 year old man-- or boy, more accurately-- over the head with a hydrospanner.


"Tossin' bottles around in mae apartment, eh? Breakin' me well paid fer appliances, eh?!" She reminded him, the boy flailing his arms. "Ai'm sorry ma, Ai'm sorry! The Sith are ju-"

"Sith?! Why're ya bringin' up fae tails at yer age?! You ought to be out gettin' a proper livin' instead of whatever illegal shite it is ya do to buy'nough alcohol to keep ya in a bloody stupor from one planet to the next!" She continued. Laeo held his eyes shut, keeping them closed... closed...

-----------------------------------------------------------

...he woke an hour later. The ship around him rumbled, the cabin shook. The wall mounted holo was still intact despite the blow, though his bottle was still across the floor.

Straining, Laeonas used the force to swipe anything and everything on the floor across the room, allowing him to stand up and slip into the tiny refresher in his cabin.

His mother wasn't here. She was somewhere on his homeworld, somewhere he had planned to visit since the last time he'd been there. It must have been the call of home... or maybe it was something else?

His connection to the force was... weaker than usual. But that had been one of the most vivid dreams he'd had in years.
"Nah," Laeonas thought, "'At couldn't 'ave been a dream. Ai SAW her, felt those hits..."

It had to be nothing... but what if it wasn't?

If the force was reaching out to him, what for? Further, why had it done so in the form of a dream? Couldn't it have been as simple as giving him a bit of foresight towards coming events? Why was it necessary?

Laeonas reasoned to himself, thinking of a possible explanation.

The Sith were... winning. Denon was a relevant campaign, and they'd won. From the Lord's tone, it hadn't come without cost-- that kind of anger didn't come out of raw malice alone.

Laeonas had only known one reality for most of his life-- the poverty that came with being on the lowest rungs of the social ladder on an urban core world. At the top, were lords-- nobles who reaped off taxes and trade tariffs.

The Sith talked of empire, of conquest and domination. Peace and prosperity-- but not to the benefit of men like him.

He had to push back against the wrong of the galaxy... and there really wasn't any place better to start learning how to do that than his destination.
"Ai'll make ya proud, ma..."

Ossus was waiting.

 

Hannibal Grayza

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Jedi Order
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Force Ghost

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Mr. Teatime
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It was a very strange thing. Another holonet announcement about something important and once more Hannibal was aboard his ship at the time, tinkering with some bit of tech to replace something he'd lost. An arm this time rather than a lightsaber, but even so. Dueling limbs needed some fine tuning in his opinion and based on the news of the day he was going to need that arm sooner rather than later.

It was a very strange thing, seeing the disembodied head of a close friend on the screen paraded around by a Sith calling themselves Darth Stolas next to the helmet of another friend's boyfriend. Especially after being at the funeral. And more than a little upsetting, especially considering the young Master's habitual respect for the dead. It made him angry in a way other things might not and he felt it spike up before allowing it to flow away into the stream of the Force. There were other details to pick apart in the video.

It was a very strange thing to hear a Sith speak the way this one did. It spoke of peace while advocating war, which wasn't entirely unusual, but he didn't get the sense they were being deceitful. But that part wasn't even the most notable.


Stolas was clearly angry, fed up, wrathful and ruinous. Every movement was stiff and direct, his voice a rumbling growl that at times shook the air. But still, for some strange reason, Hannibal got the impression that wasn't all there was to it.

It was a very strange thing. To Hannibal, it seemed, Stolas might as well have been crying.

The young Master took a deep breath and then a long, long sigh. He shut the screen off and returned to working on the arm. Hannibal needed to remember, especially after Sol Puara. It didn't matter why a Sith was the way they were.

Stolas had made his choice. There was work to do.
 

Darth Tiamat

Raze Loyalist
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Sith Lord

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Emryc was missing...

There were no signs on where he had gone, but the dark woman couldn't push aside the idea there could be something more sinister to his disappearance. The way he spoke the last she had visited him told her as much and yet she did not see it at the time, passing his words as just a man who had been broken and possibly still very concussed. However, now as she looked back and the promises she made to him for his requests, he knew he was certainly not going to be around for much longer. There was the hint of some hope as she had felt she would know his death in the Force, she had felt everything else, from him, and something as altering as such as loss of life would be recognizable.

Regardless it caused her heartache, one she recognized following the death of her parents when she was years younger, one that she had accepted as grief as she mourned his absence and even more, the lack of knowledge if he was ok.

However, there was something within her that felt she couldn't be complacent. Her days became rigid, deviation came with harsher discipline; the mornings begun with her kata's, then the deep stretches that moved into the fluidity of dance and blade work before she finally settled into meditation, building upon the work Emryc taught her to better fortify her mind as well as her body. For hours she sat in stillness, but the Force within her was not still, sometimes violent as the roughest sea storms before returning to calm. Though it would be following one of these meditations that she heard the distance chime of her comm; she was not entirely ready to move back into motion, letting the holonet alerts continued until she was more present.

When enough time had passed, the comm would come to her, and once within reach, she grasped it gently, inhaling a bit more sharply as she was reminded of her failing from a few days earlier. Slowly she lowered her arm, not to aggravate the healing wounds on her backside as she looked at the Holonet reports flooding in, their attention back on the Sith, and more importantly, Darth Stolas.

It spoke of an ultimatum, a choice that was not really a choice, but a forewarning of what would come regardless of what the Jedi and FWA decided to do. It was a heavy hand approach that Tiamat was not entirely fond of when it came to gaining influence, but there was something behind Stolas words that made Tiamat pause, trying to pinpoint what it was exactly she was hearing behind the words he was speaking. Was it revenge?

The redhead starred at the screen, not necessarily hearing or seeing what was being displayed as she trailed in her thoughts. It seemed to fit, and it was something she promised Emryc she would not waste her time with when he was no longer around. She inhaled slowly and let out a long sigh, switching off the device and tossing it gently off to the side of her mat. His message would not go without a response from the FWA, Denon was just the crack they needed and it would not only be felt through their enemies, but within the Sith Order too.

 
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