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.
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.
"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.
"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.
"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.or
Stand against us, and so pay the price."
"Choose wisely."
Morgan Drast would bury his grudges in the ashes of the dead.