The Gauntlet Is Thrown

[Lyanna Drast]

When the feed starts, it is to the imposing sight of the Imperial Throne of Coruscant and the red-clad guardsmen who stand ready to defend it.

There is no sound - there is just the image of the throne, standing empty.

And then the sound comes.

Slow, measured, confident, steps.

Lyanna Drast had something of a flair for the dramatic so when she appears on the screen she is wearing an elegant black dress. It was clear that she was still every inch the lady, every inch the politician and every inch a sorceress.

Every inch - the Empress.

Her walk was as it sounded and it looked as though she simply glided along the floor towards the steps to the throne. As she ascended, she spoke and her voice was strong, loud and clear to every viewer with a working connection to the holonet.

"My ancestor, Andraste, forged an Empire that has endured for over half a millennium."

As she ascended, she continued to speak.

"But now her legacy is torn apart - by two squabbling children."

She reached the throne but she did not sit. Instead she began to circle the throne, one hand always touching the cold stone.

"I have removed Elix from the equation. One of the desecraters has been thrown down and punished by my will and now only one remains."

This time she stopped, standing in front of the throne staring down the projector that was capturing her speech.

Her declaration of intent.

"Ozias Zameer-Drast. The man who would style himself Darth Vrael. The man who would style himself as Emperor."

Her smile is sharp, cutting.

"The coward."

She held out her right hand and the guardsman closest to her stepped closer, taking his gauntlet off of his armour before presenting it to her. Lyanna spared the man a small smile before holding the gauntlet in her hand.

"I name you, Ozias Zameer-Drast, a coward. Traitor to the very name of the Sith. And I, the rightful Empress of this Empire, declare that I will tolerate your existence no longer."

Lyanna threw down the gauntlet, the piece of armour landing perfectly at the foot of the steps to the throne.

"I will not hide behind my armies, nor my fleets and neither shall you. There will be no chance for you to cower in your citadel, old man. I am not my predecessor and I do not enjoy wasting lives of strong Sith in a contest of will and skill between two individuals. Instead? Meet me on Medriaas and we shall settle this ourselves."

Finally, Lyanna sat down in the throne of the Sith Empire and stared down the steps, past the gauntlet, through the projector and right into the eyes of her enemy.

"I challenge you to Kaggath."

@Narsi

OOC: Open to reactions only. This is a public challenge broadcast across the holonet across all known space.

 

[Jacob Tagger]

Jacob watched the broadcast with a grim smile. He knew both the young Empress and the Emperor; it would be a test of wills to be sure. War was about to ignite the galaxy once again. The Mandalorians in the middle framed by both huge Empires. Fire would consume the galaxy once again but would it be the fires of rebellion against the ancient order or the same flames rekindled that had brought the galaxy into submission so long ago. As he watched, he found it almost comical that one so young would be saying such things.

He just couldn't help but wonder if Lyanna was ready to do battle with the cold calculation and resolve of her older counterpart.

 

[Sythe]

Sythe sat and watched the broadcast. A wry smile formed on his lips as he thought about how the now Empress was trying to solidify and secure her place as rightful ruler of the Sith. It was a bold move to say the least, and the outcome of the challenge was going to affect the galaxy in ways not yet thought of.
The Sith needed a strong leader, they were falling apart without one... someone as strong and as cunning as the great Empress Andraste. Is this the time the Sith would finally get what they needed, or was it going to end in another funeral for a "could've-been"?
The galaxy would soon know the answer.

 

[Alysanne Drast]

"I challenge you to Kaggath."

Alys said the words out loud, making her voice way more pompous than the voice on the broadcast had been. She had been enjoying a weird but delicious meal that one of the gungan cooks had made for the rebels when the broadcast had cut into her feed and brought her face to face with her cousin.

She was glad that the idiot of a spacetagram model Elix was no longer sitting on the throne, almost anyone could do a better job than him. But why oh why did it have to be her? Of all her cousin, all the close and distant relatives, why Lyanna?

Out of all her cousins it was Lyanna that she liked the least, but also envied and respected the most. She had been everything Alys knew she could never be. Gracefully making her way through everything while Alys was struggling to find her place. Free to do whatever she wanted while Alys lived under the iron grip of her parents. Even now, she sat so regal and graceful on the throne while Alys sat in the middle of a muddy settlement with something slimy halfway inside her mouth.

And Alys knew exactly what she was doing, calling Vrael out like that. It was a smart move, and it irritated Alys that she had to concede, once more, that Lyanna seemed to know what she was doing. "Throwing down the gauntlet my ass."

Pushing back the stool she was sitting on as she jumped to her feet, she turned to walk away when she found herself face to face with a gungan looking at her with a horrified expression on her face.

"Yousa wanten a gauntlet on yous ass? Yousa humans have weird maten rituals."

Letting out an exasperated grunt, she ignored the gungan and walked off in search of something to do. Anything to take her mind off the broadcast. Even from across Lyanna was driving her insane. By the Force she was infuriating.

@Nefieslab

 

[Varyn Rask]

Varyn had never been one for watching the holonet much apart from playing the news in the background of his training. It was the best and most time efficient way to keep up on what was going on in the galaxy. When he saw the breaking news coverage that came across the projector, he came to a full pause, halting the sparring droids he was fighting with, and watching the drama unfold.

The Empress was challenging the Dark Lord.

It was about kriffing time that someone did. Varyn remembered a similar plot that had been hatched once upon a time, but this was coming to fruition much more quickly.

Finally.

The fact that the former Emperor had never done this was telling. The Old Empire was founded on the survival of the fittest, which meant if Vrael declined it would be utter shame, displaying his own weakness right out of the gate. An unfit Dark Lord. The fact that Elix had never done this was indicative of his own weakness. This new Empress had already done more than her predecessor. Perhaps it bode well for the future.

He wondered what Eddard would have thought of it. One thing Varyn knew: he'd be watching the outcome of the fight closely. No doubt the outcome would have wide repercussions to the Venatori and their goals. They would be watching closely.

 

[Shadzai Nuhkoir]

Shadzai was sitting on a very huge stool in a bar somewhere in Nar-Shaddaa, while Shadzai was usually happy and cheery, he was not in the mood right now, the loss of his left hand hurt, but it hurt more the fact that he lost so easily to a couple of mandos, but there were always some ways to piss the Massassi warrior even more, like, for example, not letting him watch the Huttball match that was going in the holotelevision, forcing him to listen to a brat that thought herself an empress.

To be honest, the Massassi really wasn't impressed by what she was saying at first, she took care of Elix, so what? He was the imbecile that brought this on himself, seeing how he was unable to defend anything, so it was not a surprise he wasn't able to defend himself. Of course, Shadzai didn't expect the little Drast to challenge Vrael to Kaggath. Many sith of the old empire would find this amusing, others would like this, after all, such duel would show who is the strongest of the two of them and might makes right in the old empire, but for Shadzai...it was another reason to be pissed off, the Massassi was so mad at the moment he accidentally broke the glass he was drinking from because he clenched his robotic hand too hard.

This self proclaimed empress didn't challenge Darth Vrael to Kaggath because she believed in it, she just wanted to find a way to make the old Empire obey her, if she won, would she respect their traditions, would she treat everyone fairly, would she give proper importance to the force, of course not, she was from the Republica after all, might would only be important now that she can exploit it, after that, it would be all about the bloodline again. But even if Darth Vrael died in his duel, this would not end here, the spark of war was already ignited and someone else would rise and take his place.

The result of the challenge was uncertain, but Shadzai's goal was still the same, he would do his part.

 

[Mig Cabra]

Mig sat in the Hoth cafe watching the news alone when the news of the Sith challenge was broadcasted. He watched it and did not really understand it. The Gotal continued to eat his vegetable mush as it played, not giving in to much of the drama. All he gathered was that the Sith were still mad at each other. Either way they both had to go so Mig did not really care what they did. It seemed like big news though by the tone.

"Wow." Mig said with his mouth full before turning his focus somewhere else entirely.

 

[Diocletian Solus]

Diocletian sat stripped to the waist, he was still sweating profusely from the early morning workout he had just finished. It was one of the things he really enjoyed about going home to Mandalor. He was able to work out with his wife in the mornings. She was definitely the better in close fighter which made sense as she worked as the senior hand to hand instructor for the planetary defense forces.

After chugging a bottle of water he walked from the training room towards the bathroom to hit the fresher. As he started past the kitchen he saw his data pad blinking red. That meant one of his news service watch programs had found something based on his tags and keywords. Briefly he considered leaving it for later but something told him it would be worth his time. Picking up the data pad, he slid the tab and activated the screen.

As the video started he watched the sideshow with interest and undisguised amusement. Apparently Elix was dead and this slip of a girl was claiming the throne of the Republica. Diocletian was fairly certain Leandros could lift her above his head and break her in half like a branch in stiff wind. He had to give it to her though, she had a flair for the dramatic.

Drast. Dio wondered how long that name would haunt the galaxy. It seemed they just kept fighting each other to the death to prove dominance. He briefly wondered if they might kill each other out if just left to their own devices. Unfortunately that situation would most likely leave the entire galaxy in flames. As she called out her rival, naming him and branding him coward, Dio smiled. Kettle. Black.

As the video ended, he allowed himself a small chuckle before forwarding the message to the rest of Clan Solus. They would get a kick out of this. He was sure Wyatt would want blood for their choice of venue and who could blame him. Apparently the Sith now thought of his world as a playpen for their own petty squabbles. Yes, Wyatt will want them both to burn for this affront.

The sultry voice of his wife carried through the house from the Fresher, "Dio, are you coming dear? I would hate to waste all this wonderful hot water." Dio smiled and put down the data pad and called back as he started to disrobe, "But honey, the Drast are having a cat fight!" He continued to laugh as he went to join his wife, her laughter mingling with his.

 

[Greybok]

Greybok was knelt down beneath and making routine repairs to the Starbird at Star Base on Hoth. His hydrospanner was stuck and he howled indignantly as he fought to free it. Next to him was a portable HoloNet transceiver, and he had switched to a different channel only moments prior because Twobee had been playing garbage on it all afternoon, which was only adding to his Wookiee frustration. The refurbished protocol droid came running down the ramp of the light freighter (if droids could truly run) angrily waving her hands.

"I was listening to that, you ugly bipedal kath hound!" the droid shrieked as she rounded the corner on him. Greybok argued with her with several loud barks in Shyriiwook. "Well, I don't exactly enjoy making repairs to this piece of junk either! I'm a protocol droid — not a mechanic! The least you could do is keep the HoloNet on something sensible!" Greybok's reply was full of expletives and insults. The hydrospanner was still stuck; he was still annoyed by Twobee's earlier selection of HoloNet channels; and now the droid herself was here to further ruin his afternoon. Oh, and it was cold. Miserably cold. He really needed to invest in a better heating system for Star Base's hangar bay.

Twobee was about to continue arguing when BE-ET, the latest mechanical addition to Greybok's crew, rolled in whistling loudly about something or another. Grey, having worked around astromechs most of his life, understood Binary well enough to know what the droid was saying, but Twobee translated anyways. "He's saying to turn the channel. Something interesting must be happening on the Imperial HoloNet."

Greybok grunted. More interruptions. But he liked BE-ET—liked him more than Twobee, anyways—and, besides, the hydrospanner was beginning to genuinely infuriate him. He gave up on trying to free it from its jam for the moment and complied with the B-series astromech droid's request to change the channel. Sure enough, the Imperial HoloNet was broadcasting the image of a young girl, the new Empress of the Imperial Republica. The Wookiee scowled and honked a few times, prompting whistles and beeps that very much mimicked laughter from BE-ET. Twobee, on the other hand, was flabbergasted.

"Such language!" she admonished him. "Empress or not, you shouldn't call a lady such things, Greybok! It's unbecoming!" Then, with a mechanical sigh, she added, "Oh, who am I kidding? Here I am lecturing a Wookiee who once used a fish bone, off of a fish he was just eating, to scratch his ass—in front of Mistress Leah, of all people—about etiquette. You have all the decorum of a Gamorrean, Greybok."

As the challenge was issued, another holographic image flashed across the screen—that of Darth Vrael, the Dark Lord of the Sith who was self-proclaimed Emperor over the rebelling Sith faction. Greybok once again barked something sarcastic, prompting BE-ET to whistle his agreement. Surprisingly, despite her earlier protests, Twobee stood upright, cocked her head so that her photoreceptors could properly get a look at him, and then said, "Well, I'll agree with you there. He is quite ugly. We should make bets with Commander Ion on a winner. At least then, this might be interesting."

The trio all muttered their agreement in their various languages and then set back to work on their beloved vessel as though nothing was particularly weighing on their shoulders. No matter who won or lost, the Empire was the Empire, and they were going to bring it down...

 

[Darth Vrael]

Vrael stayed quiet for a long moment as the broadcast ended, absorbing what he had just seen. Silence reigned in the room, his personal study as still as death itself. Then he threw back his head and laughed, the sound echoing around the stone walls. The sound was ragged and uneven, he hadn't laughed in years maybe. But today, today it just felt appropriate. He hadn't expected this in the slightest. The news of the coup had reached him of course, and he had been planning potential actions. But a challenge, an actual Kaggath? It was perfect, more than perfect. Rule of the Strong, the fate of the Sith would finally be decided as such.

He was accepting, there was no question about it. All his life he had believed and followed the rules of the Sith, and the Rule of the Strong. To not take this chance, was simply unthinkable. The better question was as to the authenticity of the challenge, he was almost expecting treachery. Not that it changed anything really, none of it mattered. His beliefs and all he stood for were on the line, and that decided everything. Keying up his communicator, he sent a simple message down the ranks, to the Councilors, Darths, and Crusaders beneath him. "Prepare the ships, now, we're going to Medriaas." He didn't bother explaining why, that would be an egregious waste of time. Everyone had from one end of the galaxy to the other had likely seen the broadcast by now.

With the fleet however, he could at least be prepared for whatever came. They might be needed when he won even, the Imperial Republica hadn't exactly shown adherence to the Kaggath and what it meant. Vrael tuned his communicator to a new frequency, this one a bit farther reaching, and opened up a line. There were no images, no displays, no childish throwing of clothing. Instead there were just two little words, floated across the galaxy on the waves of the HoloNet. With the official seal of the Old Empire, and considering recent events, there was no doubt as to how far the small message would spread. Likely all the way to the upper echelons on Coruscant, just as intended.

"Challenge accepted"

@Nefieslab

 

[Pierre Lindegaard]

And there it was. After news of what was dubbed as the "Bloodless Coup", after overthrowing the aloof Emperor Elix, the new Empress Lyanna is wasting absolutely no time in trying to piece things together. Pierre Lindegaard does not envy her, because she has one heck of a mess to clean up with all the damage that terrorists have been doing to Imperial Republica.

Pierre was strolling around the streets of Courscant, until every advertisement display was interrupted with a very important round of breaking news. Pierre stopped then looked at one of the bigger displays. And there she did it, it happened: She had done what should have been done a months ago, challenging the false Emperor Darth Vrael to a Kaggath. Lyanna literally threw the gauntlet. The ownership of both Sith Empires would be on the line in that Kaggath, winner takes all, loser will more than likely end up dead (unless the victor would decide the defeated be kept alive to live in shame and left to feel the agony of defeat).

Empress Lyanna has already cemented herself as a strong woman that is willing to put her life on the line like a real Sith would. And Vrael didn't even need to reply back to know that of course he is going to accept. When his entire claim to the throne is based on this "Rule of the Strong" he'd lose any legitimacy he had by backing down.

The broadcast would then end, and Pierre would go about the rest of his day, in the back of his mind wondering who the victor would be. Could go either way. But for the good of the Empire, hopefully Lyanna so that Imperial Republica will continue to be a modern and forward-moving domain.

 

[Rowan Harlow]

The Trump Media Empire had not been expecting the announcement. As it played on the holoscreen that ran across one room of the news office, the various reporters and workers went silent for the first time that Rowan had started working there. They all watched as history was made, the whole place deathly silent even after the broadcast ended. Everyone looked around at each other, blinking almost in incomprehension. Rowan had command of his wits, though, and knew what was about to happen. He knew these assholes were just a pack of Hyenas, anyway. He started writing his proposal as the first voices rang out. "I'll go cover this, you guys can-" "No, Karen, you will NOT be hogging this chance all to yourself" There was a crash as a reporter sprang to his feet, chair falling behind him. "I'll be DAMNED if you steal this from me, Carlos!"

That's when the fighting started. John Donald had fostered a state of barely restrained hatred for his employees with each other, being amused at all the drama it created. The announcement had been a bridge too far, all the bottled up anger came spilling out in a full office brawl. For his part, Rowan finished his request and stood up just as an intern was thrown through his desk. He turned, whistling despite his missing eye, as he waded through the mass of writing and punching bodies. John in accounting was using a ruler to slap anyone he could reach, almost jamming it in Rowan's face before the Noble ducked as a coffee cup clocked the number cruncher right in the nose. Agnes and Florence were wrestling on the ground, puling at each other's hair and clothes and just getting out of his way as a cubicle toppled over on top of them. It was another reporter named Prudence that posed the most immediate danger. He was brandishing an ornamental blaster he'd received as reward, but was holding it by the barrel and using it to club anyone close to the head Editor's office. With a barely noticeable flick of the wrist Rowan used the Force to send the man stumbling, his incoming blow instead hitting a glass divider that would have prevented him from falling down to the office floor below. His cry of fear and shout of subsequent pain was like music to Rowan's ears.

Knocking politely on the Editor's door, Rowan slipped inside the soundproof room. The older man looked up, eye raised yet a glint in the watery orb showing he knew why the Noble had come to him. With a smile, Rowan silently set the proposal down, which the man opened and read. "I think you'll find I'm the best choice to cover this story. I should pack my things at once." Using the Force, Rowan manipulated the man's mind as he had done so many other times before to get the best assignments. "Yes, young man, you've got that level of moxy I'm looking for. Get your ass to Medriaas, or Nathema, or whatever the kriff it's called now. If I don't get the best reporting out of you possible, your ass is grass, Harlow. Now get the kriff out of here." With a bow, Rowan was gone. Now to fight his way out of the office. He hoped he didn't get much blood on his coat.

 

[Tarsus Drast]

Tarsus leant back in his chair, interlocking his fingers as he pressed his hands together. The partially mechanical man considered what he’d just seen on the Holonet broadcast. If anyone had walked into his quarters they would have seen a calm individual but in truth the news had rocked him.

The boy was dead. Well the fool Elix had been kicked off the Throne but such a colossal failure, such a drastic fall, was practically a death sentence. Even the softer Sith of the Core wouldn’t allow such a damaged creature to survive.

At first glance Lyanna wasn’t much different. Another young cousin of the Drast bloodline who appeared more than a little too ambitious for her own good. She looked the part of the pathetic Inner Core Sith. Someone more suited to attending a party than standing on the battlefield. She’d also conducted her entire speech with all the pompousness you’d expect from a historical drama and been as over the top as an actress in a stage play. A community stage play.

However her final words where what cut through all the bluster to actually draw Tarsus’ attention.

A Kaggath.

Getting up he turned the Holonet feed off which was going on about some sort of executions in Old Empire territories. Pacing he wondered what was going to come to pass. Vrael had to accept of course, if he didn’t every Sith on Korriban would be after his head. He supposed this new Empress had needed to do something drastic too to cement her place and re-establish the authority of the Throne which had been crushed by the misrule of Elix.

The real problem for Tarsus however was a personal one. He had supported Vrael because he was strong and Elix was weak however he had his concerns about the man’s views on the Drast Bloodline. No matter who won the Inquisitor planned to see the Drasts remain the dominant family of the Empire. Now that a new Drast sat upon the Throne of Andraste it called his loyalties into question. Should he stick by Vrael? Should he defect to the Imperial Republica Sith Order? Should he wait until the Kaggath was over and see what way the wind blew? If Vrael won nothing changed. If Lyanna won then another powerful Sith might ascend to rule the Old Empire and still oppose her. No matter how authoritative the young woman turned out to be it didn’t change the cultural differences between the divided Sith Order. It didn’t change that the Sith under her command where pale imitations of what they should be. Unless she also somehow turned the entire Republica Sith Order into true warriors of the Dark Side then he doubted the rift between the Empires could ever be healed.

“So what to do...” he breathed softly. Reaching out a hand his lightsaber flew from its resting place on the table into his hand. Clipping the weapon to his belt he frowned. He was a Drast and a loyal Sith under Darth Vrael’s command. Surely his presence on the Imperial ships that would be accompanying the Dark Lord to Medriaas would not be questioned. If such an Order was given. It had to. He had to accept after all.

His door slid open just as the Holonet feed, programmed to come on under certain circumstances, lit up behind him. "Challenge accepted" the familiar voice of his Lord rang out.

Tarsus allowed a small smile slip onto his face and set off to check with Imperial Naval personnel which ships would be accompanying their Master to the duel.