HoloNet News Declaration Of A New Order

[Altair Din]

“Citizens of the Empire and the galaxy, I am Altair Din, Warmaster of the Empire,” This was the first time many of them would see him without a helmet. However, they would easily put two and two together that this was the Defender of Korriban and the Demon of Mustafar, “You have heard rumors about the war. You have felt the strain, felt the pressures, felt the disruptions in your lives.”

He wasn’t any good at speeches, but he knew he had to do this, “We are not winning this war,” It was a controversial statement, and one that the Empire hadn’t heard since it formed in the first place, “And the reason we are not winning is due to a series of gross incompetence from our leadership and guidance under the Sith. Empress Anaris, a long time Sith, has thrown us headfirst into a war we were not prepared to take on. We have no access to bacta, no access to fuel, we are cut off from our largest arms and weapons dealers. All of this has been a result of the Sith making endless poor decisions. The Empress, Councilor Trelain, and Councilor Draugr are all dead as a result of their own stupidity and shortsightedness."

Altair’s vivid amethyst gaze stared into the camera, “This has become a pattern. What purpose do you serve as an Imperial? You put Sith on thrones and what do they do for you? You butcher civilians and innocents on the orders of Sith, to what end? We call ourselves an Empire, but we are governed by the few, the belligerent, the unchecked. We outnumber them thousands to one and we gain nothing by bowing or kneeling for them."

His jaw tightened as he glared at the camera, “Henceforth, all members of the Sith Order are stripped of their military and government ranks. The authority they have enjoyed over Imperial officers and government officials, indeed over the very citizens of this Empire, is hereby revoked. This includes military facilities and assets, housing, ISB clearances and support, and any other privilege they formerly possessed as a part of the Imperial power structure. Their diplomatic status is also revoked. From this day on, they do not speak with our voice. They do not make deals or broker treaties in our name. And they do not represent us in the Galactic Senate.” He was ready to put a stop to Sith taking Imperials to do their own personal conquests. They would have to fund their own personal armies and raise money to do that. He wasn't sure how they would manage, but that was no longer his problem.

“In short, as many of you must already have guessed by that laundry list of revocations, the Sith religion is hereby banned within the borders of the Empire. Its adherents will be given a single chance — a standard week — to gather their belongings and leave the Empire. They may take ships they personally own or public transport, but any caught trying to make off with Imperial military equipment will be apprehended and subsequently executed for sedition and treason. Those Sith who are caught within our borders after the week is up will be treated like any other criminals; and any Sith who harms or kills any Imperial citizen on their way out will be considered an enemy combatant and treated as such. This is the end. You are all banished.”

He had been nurturing this for years now, and he knew he had the support of anyone that was a true Imperial at heart. Altair was well aware of the Imperials that were Sith bootlickers, and he would have Val track them down to make them quietly disappear. The Sith could obey, or they could be exterminated.

“We welcome the assistance of the ISC, the Alliance and the New Republic to enforce these new restrictions on the Sith both in Imperial Space and across the galaxy. Let it be known that we, the Imperials, are hereby denouncing the Sith and no longer aligning ourselves to or being governed by unstable, incompetent entities.”

 

[Aezzairrfhowrrhudrrl]

Aezzairrfhowrrhudrrl was tired of being notified of breaking news from the Holonet. At seemingly every hour of the day and night, there was some new, galaxy-shaping headline vying for attention, and it was all getting to be too much. First, it had been the ruthless and unstoppable efficiency of the ISC's war machine, which had swiftly humbled the mighty Sith Empire in an awesome and terrifying display of just what the Consortium was capable of. After that came "tasteful" wermal nudes. Now, the Sith Empire was merely the Empire, apparently having expunged the Sith from their leadership structure. The Empress and multiple members of the Dark Council were dead, and anyone else claiming to be Sith was being banished from the Empire.

What should've been welcome news was fraught with questions. Would the ISC, seeing most of the leadership of the Empire thrown out in a military coup, decide that their war with the Empire was over? Was the removal of the Sith merely a ploy to allow the Empire to regain their strength? Would the FWA manage to stay in the good graces of the ISC, the now-unquestioned superpower in the galaxy? Was the Empress truly dead?

Why did he have a bad feeling about this?

 

[Wodan]

Wodan was incredibly torn, his emotions and mental state was a mess. In only a few days his life had turned upside down, from the betrayal of Nor’baal the Hutt, to what was now coming through his Holo feed, everything had changed. From a potential hero of the Sith Empire, to either a failure or outcast of whatever this new Government was to be called.

He had entered the shuttle distraught trying to piece together the words to apologise to Altair for his mistake. Wodan had only tried to help, thought if he could do this, get them the fuel and medical supplies they needed, Altair would have been proud of him. Respect him. But he had only gone and cost them another drastic setback, a large section of their fleet had been destroyed because he had been blind to the Hutt’s betrayal. Wodan didn’t know how he could face the man with anything less than a mountain of shame on his shoulders, it hurt him to think of the look Altair would give him when he saw his failure of a friend.

But now everything had changed, Altair had taken up the mantle Wodan had thrown at him back on Eriadu, but he had gone so much further than the Firrerrian would have expected. He knew Altair had no love for the Sith Order, its philosophy and the religious practices behind it, but this, this was beyond whatever he would have believed his friend would do. Elevate the Imperials yes, but out right remove the Sith from the Empire. Wodan rubbed the bridge of his nose, the confusion and swirling emotions had brought on a migraine. With a swipe of his hands, the lights in the room turned dim.

Another ping came through his Holo, this time from the ISB. Wodan opened the document and read it slowly, it solidified everything Altair had said and more. If you were Sith, no matter their prior standing or allegiance to the Imperial faction, you were painted with the same brush. Stripped of half your being, nearly everything you had been taught from the Academy till today, everything you had strived to gain in this galaxy, any rank, any promotion. Deleted just because you were lucky or unlucky now, to be born with the Force and brought into the fold of Sith.

Val Vartha, Director, how she had climbed so quickly, Wodan wondered how she had gone from nothing to something in such a short time. Had another Harlot got into the ear of his friend, had Val pushed him to this extreme? Was it Wodan’s fault? Had he left Altair alone to try and seek out his own glory, leaving his friend at the whim of another toxic personality which had led him down a dark path.

Damn his head hurt, there was so much going through it. Guilt, Shame, Anger, Concern. It all built up, lights flashing in his vision as he tried to filter out the pain and come to some understanding of what was going to happen next. Would all of his accomplishments up until this point be now erased because he had begun to swing a red lightsaber more than a black rifle?

The panel near the door lit up, it was the signal that they had finally arrived. Wodan pushed himself to his feet with a struggle, the lights still flashing in his vision as he opened the door. The light was almost blinding, causing him to recoil back into his room for a moment as his eyes adapted and the pain reduced.

What was going to be waiting for him once they landed friendly hug from an old friend? Or was he going to be pinned down, stripped of his belongings and thrown to their new master?

 

[Darth Tiamat]

It was a long day of meetings and Tia welcomed her evening at her coastal home with sweat pants, a t-shirt and a large bag of two-week old popcorn as she snuggled under a blanket to catch up on her episodes of The Love Station. Supposedly she needed to binge quickly before the mid-season finale when the space station loses power for a few hours. She wondered who would ultimately hook up with who and the big scandalous reveal that would air and tear apart some couples. It was mindless holo, but it gave her brain a needed break from her work, her changes to civilian life, and away from the war taking place throughout the galaxy.

Though, her evening of relaxation was quickly over.

Her comm beeped and she held it up, reading the headline and exchanged her holopad to open up the latest broadcast from the Empire. Quietly she listened to his speech, eyes widening as the entire sith council had been wiped dead and his continued declaration of what remained for those who followed Sith rule. She never doubted his ability to reach this point, her thoughts falling silent as she took a moment to process reality.

She couldn't argue her reasoning for leaving, the fact remained, she was putting several people she cared for in danger the longer she stayed in the Empire. And even if she gave them all up, then what? She had been a sith, would she had conformed to his rules, absolutely not. However, there was something else though that felt like a thread of satisfaction, the type where one enjoyed when justice was rightfully served. Lyra celebrated this victory, to see the mindless brutality to citizens stopped, a wish she longed since the death of her parents. A desire that had long prevented the dark side from fully consuming her as the Eternal threatened to do so. Even so, Tiamat had despised the Sith who followed blindly, nodding their heads, used as attack dogs whenever their ruler said to fight. So blind they did not realize they broke their own code, chaining themselves, not ever free to enjoy their victories and gain true power.

And now in a way, Altair had placed those chains on those who would remain, just like his predecessors.

Would he have expected the same for her, to try and use her, even though he long ago promised he would never, in order to fulfill the wishes of the new Emperor? She questioned this, and expected he would have treated her differently and perhaps this time, the hurt she may have caused him with her leaving the Empire when she did, spared her the pain she would have had to suffer later.

With that, Tia shut off the holopad, deciding she would end her thoughts there, justifying her decisions further. She got up to get more popcorn, her steps slowing as her thoughts took a new direction as her gaze rested on the journals of Asteria on her desk. Her chest burned with a cold chill, the mark of the mask rising to the surface of her skin as she was suddenly reminded of its far, but ever close presence.

The dark side did not need the sith, it does not need an Empire.
How much did Altair sacrifice for this? What would be left of him by the end of this war?

Her fingers curled into fists, nails pressing painfully into her palms, deciding she was no longer hungry and instead, she felt anger. It was anger at herself for being so stupidly attached, anger at herself for sharing too much, anger at herself for not having less emotions like her former master, angry that she couldn't be naive, blind and ignorant, it would have just made everything so much easier.

No, instead, she cared, she was attached, she wasn't blind, naive, or full of ignorance. And she couldn't change it, because deep down it was what fueled her forward, and she hoped for Altair, he could remember what happened to those who were forced to change, lose themselves and the lasting loss that would follow.

 

[Reyna Vernize]

Eventide on Onderon, the hurry-scurry of the day-to-day traffic yielding to the calm of evening. The Princess of Onderon sat alone in her bedchamber, upright on the percale comforter draped across her king-sized bed. A fire crackled in the open hearth, the soft scent of burning cedarwood blending with the aroma of fresh lilac, carried from the palace gardens by the breeze that wandered through the open balustrade doors that faced west.

On the other side of the room, mounted to the wall above a set of antique settee, holonet news flashed across a flat-screen monitor. Reyna listened, pointed ears twitching from time to time—the only reaction given to one breaking news story after another. Her attention was drawn elsewhere, to the vibrosword she balanced in one hand, hilt laid across the white, mulberry silk robe she wore, as the other hand ran a cotton cloth along the cortosis blade.

Only the timbre of a familiar voice—a voice she hadn't heard in months and had, with some reluctance, accepted that she would probably never hear again—called her attention to the monitor. The half-Sephi blinked. There stood Altair Din, the man that had, until a few months ago, been teaching her how to fight. Her rescuer. Her friend. Her guardian angel with four great horns where his halo ought to have been, sent from the gods above to rekindle the fire within her when she needed hope the most.

A Sith. Or, rather, an Imperial. A sharp intake of air was sucked in through gritted teeth in pain, dark fingers clutching the vibrosword so tightly that the edge of the blade drew blood. Blood pooled in the palm of her hand, the dark red liquid trickling from the slit and falling as droplets of rain onto her evening gown, staining the fabric that seconds before had been as white as snow.

The princess' thoughts scrambled to understand what she was seeing, her mind racing to put the pieces together. In spite of the evidence before her very eyes, she found it difficult to believe that this warrior of the Empire was the same Altair that had spent the last few months training with her. The same Altair that had rescued her from an indescribable fate at the hands of heartless men. How could one man simultaneously be two extremities? It just... couldn't be.

When she fixed her gaze on the vivid, amethyst eyes staring back at her through the monitor, she realized, with an unsettling ache in her chest, that it could. Those were the same eyes that flickered beneath the candlelight of the Hog's Hock, when they had danced the King's Crown, his hands around her waist and her arms locked around his neck. The same eyes, and the same man.

A cold chill swept the length of her frame, in spite of the warmth of the fire still burning nearby. Cassian's old sword—the same weapon that had been driven through his heart—was tossed to one side of the bed, her uninjured hand reaching for her dataphone. Several unanswered messages, requesting when they could next meet for another training session, stared back at her. What made her think he would answer her now? What made her want to reach out at all?

Closure? Curiosity? For once in her life, the princess did not know her own mind, and it ate away at her willpower like gangrene. Ears wilting, she folded her arms across her stomach and stared down at the dataphone. What would she even ask? The whereabouts and destiny of Darth Raze, the Sith responsible for the deaths of her father and Cassian? What was next for the Empire? If the Empire truly regretted the blood spilled on soil outside of their own jurisdiction—if they viewed the loss of sentient life not their own as more than just disruptions? Their relationship had never been embroiled in politics or galactic affairs, and for all of the doubts that settled in her stomach, neither would her message be.

I wish you would have told me. Did she? Would she have been happier, knowing? The princess rose and crossed the room, passing through the open doors that led out onto the balcony of her bedchamber in search of fresh air. The dataphone was left on her bed.

 

[Levik Karn]

Moments after the announcement was made, Lieutenant Karn and a squad of peacekeepers showed up at the Taris residence of a Sith Champion Ryo Tan. They knew he wasn't home, but his wife and kid were, so they barged in with rifles drawn anyway, "Get the kid!" Levrik commanded as his second-in-command struck the wife down and two peacekeepers hurried towards the child's bedroom.

His helmet hid it from sight, but Levrik was grinning almost from ear to ear. "By order of Lieutenant General Din we are here to help you leave Taris voluntarily. We will categorize your belongings and send them to your new location-" a location that depended wholly on whether or not Ryo Tan's child was Force-sensitive, too. Some backwater world in a farming village, was Levrik's guess. They'd be forced to farm land for a local Imperial loyalist that just happens to have bought up 100 acres of farmland yesterday. "-which the Empire had selected for you based on your family's status before your marriage to a Sith." the disdain for the Sith was clearly audible in the lieutenant's voice as he dictated the terms to the stricken wife.

This was it. He'd make sure to personally oversee the labeling of the Sith's belongings. Valuables? He looked around and saw plenty, but his report would say they barely had them. The embargo's on the Sith Empire had already established smuggling lines on Taris that paid him to look the other way. Now? Now they'd pay him even more..

 

[Amira Din]

A daughter of the soil by birth, it was Amira's practice to sit outside on the steps of her geodome situated on the outskirts of Dantoo Town and watch the sun dip down below the horizon every chance she got. It was a little tradition she'd picked up from Pa. "Nothin' ken hold a candle ta it," Pa had always said, rocking back and forth on the rusted front porch swing—the one that had creaked if anyone other than Laila, who couldn't have weighed more than a stalk of corn at the time, sat on it— after supper, whittling a stick of wood into a kitchen spoon for Ma or a toy for one of the children.

The Tiefling was inclined to agree with him, but tonight her glassy stare was fixed on the monitor in her living room. Obsidian hands gripped no woodworking project but a waxen, crinkled piece of parchment paper, with the words We're watching you scrawled across it in long, fluid letters handwritten with ichor instead of ink. The latest letter of many that had arrived since she had attended the summit on Ruusan.

What had the Sith Order done for her? It had been the Empire that had pulled her out of poverty, the Sith Order that had subjected her to years of emotional and physical abuse at the hands of Master Roth. Amber eyes fell, to the scars that ran the width of her wrists. Incisions that had been cut and reopened time and time again in the dying ceremony, a rite she had undergone countless times as a teenager.

Immortality at the cost of all-consuming agony. Amira knew she wouldn't live forever, and she didn't want to spend the rest of her life trying to cheat death. That wasn't a life worth living. She already had her raison d'être—her reason for living. More than one, actually.

The only plasma-based weapons in her possession were two lightsabers. Her own, broken and in need of repair, and Master Roth's old blade. The hilt she had taken from his lifeless corpse, that had saved her life more than once in the years since. This was the lightsaber she tossed out into the yard, sitting down on the front steps of her house with Ansella, her pet Tooka cat beside her.

A hitch in her chest. That was the only visible sign of conflict Amira would show before leveling one of Edin's blasters, squeezing one eye shut, pressing the trigger, and taking a pot shot at the lightsaber hilt. It missed, striking the ground two to three feet off target and throwing dirt up. Kriff. She really needed to have Edin show her how to use one of these things. This might take a while.