In the galaxy's far north,
the sky quakes with the sound of Imperial Guns.
The ground shakes to the beat of Imperial Boots.

Shrieking, the Concussion Missiles are streaking
to innocent's demise, imminent.

Ragnos is on the loose.
The inhabitants of Salient...
now face a noose.

.

Imperial Broadcasting Corporation: The occupation of the Salient system

First Moff Vincent Janossi, in a move completely unforeseen, has ordered units of the Imperial Navy and Army to move into, and begin an occupation of, the Salient Star System, citing the system's long history of serving as a stronghold and safe haven for various criminal elements which commonly operate at the peripheral regions of civilized space - the most notable of which are the smugglers which deal in diverse illicit substances and unlicensed weaponry - as the reason for his occupation of the system.

The Salient system is located at the edge of what is known as the Corporate Sector - a special economic zone founded nearly five centuries ago in a region of space on the Outer Rim, that was governed primarily by private entities on behalf of the Galactic Republic.
As a result of the Salient system's location directly on the border of the Corporate Sector and the Aparo Sector, the legal status of the system has often been a source of contention between the Corporate Sector and the Galactic Republic.

It is because of this history of territorial disputes, that some astropolitical experts have begun to suspect that the First Moff's move to occupy the system is, in truth, a demonstration of Imperial power in the outer rim and part of a power play to bring the Corporate Sector Authority under Imperial supervision.

Others, however, suspect that the First Moff's occupation of the system is instead to be taken more at face value, and interpret the maneuver as a challenge to not only local pirates, but also regional Confederate Holdouts, to engage the Imperial Military in battle, and dislodge the Galactic Empire from the system.

It is most likely, however, that the truth behind the First Moff's decision lays somewhere in between...

3.632.003.1

The upcoming operation is expected to face resistance from fast-moving raiders using hit-and-run/guerilla tactics. As such, the following non-standard equipment is to be requisitioned:

■■■ Gravity Mines
108x Aurek Mk.II
48x Flak-Equipped V-Wing
■■■■ Fighter Concussion Missiles
■■■ Fighter Proton Torpedos

These items are to be delivered to the Ziost Rally Point.

Long Live the Empire.

L-2 Internment Camp, Onderon Jungle

Under the eyes of the Ancients, the Inmates of L-2 Internment Facility toil, turning the temples and tombs of the long dead into shrines of the New Order

the Hiss of insects stung through the rumbles and groans of the jungle in the night. Still, the work did not stop, for Khoja's shift was only halfway done. The sounds of the jungle echoed to her faintly as she toiled away in an old crypt, prying back centuries-old tree roots with a simple machete in the dark, only a small lamp for visibility.

Weakened, malnourished, and badly injured, Khoja continued to hack away at the roots, under the watchful eye of two Stormtroopers at the Tomb's entrance.

As their gazes drifted around, occasionally beaming to her, Khoja began to wonder if this truly was the end. She was so exhausted. Everything was lost. Tirahnn, House Vaas, her comrades, everything. It seemed the flame within her was finally withering to smoke.*

FWOOSH

a flash of heat blasted in through the tomb entrance as smoke began pouring in. Khoja started coughing as her eyes started to burn.

The echoing sounds of blaster fire began rapidly ringing out in all directions. Through the haze, Khoja saw her guards begin to take fire, shooting their blasters back through the tomb entrance.

As Khoja tried to remain conscious through the smoke, she crouched behind an overgrown coffin to avoid detection.

FWOOSH

A plume of fire jetted across the outside of the Tomb, lighting up the entire area for a moment with a ravenous flame. Two figures approached in ramshackle armor, unloading their blasters at close range into the troopers as they stepped through the flames.

The figures began to look around, their weapons at the ready, while Khoja attempted to stay silent, holding her breath.

One of the figures began stepping towards her, their boots clanking on the tiles.

Khoja's chest was on fire. She tried not to cough, but the air was too thick. As the low, unconscious coughs began to slip out, she began to feel herself fading away yet again.

But before her head hit the coffin, an arm grabbed her.

Khoja woke up to the flash of daybreak through a tent flap, the sharp hiss of insects all around still permeated the jungle, yet beyond that chaos, the tranquil flow of a river could be heard nearby.

As her dazed vision slowly began to clear, she began coughing and breathing slowly. She didnt know where she was, but she could breath again. She struggled to get up, and fell back onto the chair in which she had been placed. Her mind began to race. Who put her there? Imperials? Criminals? She wasn't restrained, so who could have brought her here and seemingly patched up her injuries?

A young man wearing Insurgent fatigues walked into the tent, setting his helmet and blaster on a nearby chest. He walked over to the sleeping bag to the left of Khoja, stopping and noticing her with a double-take.

"Oh, you're-you're awake! I-I thought we had lost you. Don't Worry, I'm not with the Imperials. I actually have heard a lot about you, Princess. I'm Darrin. Darrin Resko."

Khoja struggled to lift her head, so she tilted it towards him, speaking in a strained voice

"What d-do you *cough* w-want with me? Who are you with?"

Darrin's face saddened with empathy for her condition.

"I'm a Partisan, Ma'am. My squad and I hit the Internment Camp you were being held at. Saw said he wanted everyone out and alive."

Khoja's eyes seemed to glow slightly at the mention of Saw. Like a flame had been rekindled just a little inside her.

"S-Saw Gerrera?" She struggled to ask

"Yeah, Saw Gerrera. Once you're able to get moving, I'll take you through the jungle to his base."

The flame within Khoja began to burn once more. Hope was not yet lost. She was not yet lost.

-== HOLONET BREAKING NEWS ==-

Moff Marion Aurghast addresses the press following an assassination attempt on his family.

The camera pans from a battle damaged hallway in the casino known as 'The Wheel,' to a well kept Moff Marion Aurghast, in a finely tailored officer's uniform. The Moff is flanked by dozens of Imperial Analysts.

"At approximately 03:17, two days ago, a strike-team of traitorous clones led an assassination attempt on the life of my parents."

A hologram recording of the clones moving throughout the station is shown.

"Thanks to the wonderful protection offered by The Wheel Administration, and The Imperial Army, my family not only survived, but suffered zero injuries. While all attackers were quickly dispatched, our brave troopers suffered only 3 casualties, with the remaining injured being swiftly taken to bacta tank capable medical facilities provided by the INMJTF. The Terrorists also struck down several members of The Wheel staff and patrons, and those who survived have been given free care by the IMA for their service to the Empire."

A tally of casualties on both sides is shown, showing 100% casualty rate on the hostile side.

"I have given commendations to all brave defenders, and we have begun swift investigations across the district to find the culprit who organized this team. While we have several leads and a suspect's identity secured, we cannot publish any information on them until they are in custody. If you believe you have any information on this attack, or any other terrorist activity please feel free to inform your local Imperial authorities."

"The Kuati Noble House has been kind and eager to provide blessings and warm wishes during our investigative process and a-thousand thanks are in order. I'd also like to thank my fellow Moffs for their kindness and support during this hour of strife for my family."

"I appreciate the public concern on the matter, however I have important investigative work to return to. Please forward any media questions to my assistants and I will attempt to respond as quickly as possible."

Marion then gracefully steps off the portable podium before closing the hallway door between the press and imperial investigative teams.

Warning to District Four Command Personnel

Several missing shipments of imperial cargo have gone off the record, transported cargo, and returned denying everything.

Vessels include : Cargo Barges, Imperial Cruiser, and REA Freighters

Be on look out for suspicious activity within your sectors.

[Mandated Imperial Network - Ragnos] "This just in, we're getting reports of from the world of Celanon, where Imperial Forces Obliterated Separatist holdouts on the planet's main continent of Cekbar. These terrorist forces, which have been plaguing the surrounding sectors, were brought to a swift end, as an Imperial Destroyer group arrived in system to head off against the dwindling separatist navy. The Imperial Prowess was demonstrated, solidifying these new ISD's as a new class of ship entirely, making quick work of the few cruisers still loyal to the old regime."

"You can see here shots taken live during the firefight."

"But, the brave imperial battlegroup didn't stop there, as once the forces in orbit were taken care of, dropships descended into Celanon city, amidst scattered anti air cannon fire, taking the city from the rebels, and securing it under imperial command."

"As Separatist leader Snarx X'tobone was being escorted away by imperial forces, a snarl of defeat could be seen on his dirtied snout."

"This marks a new age for Celanon and it's surrounding sectors, as our Galactic Empire continues to show its dedication towards the oppressed, and it's determination, to ensure galactic stability and security!"

"Tune in next, for our special segment... How to Comply with the New Order!"

PROTESTS SPREAD ACROSS PANTORAN SUBSECTOR AS ANGER OVER IMPERIAL ACTIONS GROWS
Labor organizations warn strikes may follow as demonstrations draw thousands on Pantora and neighboring worlds
ORJAI CITY, PANTORA — Demonstrations against expanding Imperial military operations in the Outer Rim continued across the Pantoran subsector yesterday, with crowds gathering outside government offices, commercial ports, university districts, and Imperial administrative facilities.
What began several weeks ago as scattered student demonstrations has developed into the largest organized protest movement Pantora has seen since the closing years of the Clone Wars.
In Orjai City, several thousand demonstrators marched through the government quarter carrying Pantoran flags and placards condemning what organizers described as the “militarization of the Outer Rim.”
Imperial authorities have repeatedly maintained that recent deployments are necessary to restore order, suppress piracy, and eliminate remaining Separatist insurgent groups.
Many Pantorans remain unconvinced.
“We were told the war was over,” said one demonstrator outside the Ministry of Commerce. “If the war is over, why are there more soldiers every month?”
Similar protests were reported in smaller cities throughout Pantora, while sympathy demonstrations have emerged among Pantoran communities on several neighboring worlds and trade stations throughout the subsector.
Particular anger has centered upon reports of Imperial searches, detentions, trade restrictions, and military operations against systems suspected of aiding Separatist holdouts or harboring radical Jedi extremists.
The Imperial Sector Administration under Moff Tyran has disputed several of these accounts and accused agitators of circulating exaggerated or deliberately misleading information.
“The Empire has no quarrel with the people of Pantora,” an Imperial spokesperson said in a written statement. “Security operations presently underway throughout the Outer Rim are directed against criminal organizations, terrorists, illegal militias, and other groups threatening civilian stability.”
That statement appears to have done little to quiet the demonstrations.
More concerning for both Imperial officials and Pantoran political leaders is the growing involvement of organized labor.
Representatives from several dockworkers’ associations, transport guilds, mining unions, and industrial cooperatives have begun openly discussing coordinated work stoppages if Imperial operations continue.
No general strike has yet been declared.
But posters bearing the phrase “NO BLASTERS WITHOUT OUR HANDS” appeared yesterday throughout Pantora’s major commercial ports.
Dockworkers at the Orjai orbital freight terminal reportedly staged a brief slowdown during the morning shift, though union representatives characterized the incident as an “informal act of solidarity” rather than an official strike.
The possibility of organized labor action has alarmed commercial interests across the subsector.
Pantoran shipping firms carry food, machinery, medical supplies, and industrial materials throughout the region. Even a limited disruption could quickly affect Imperial garrisons and civilian settlements alike.
Several prominent merchants have urged demonstrators to exercise restraint.
“We understand their anger,” said one shipping executive. “But shutting down the ports does not punish Coruscant. It punishes every family waiting for medicine or food on the other end of those routes.”
Others argue that economic pressure may be the only language Imperial officials will understand.
For now, Pantora’s government has attempted to occupy an increasingly uncomfortable middle ground.
Baron Papanoida has defended the public’s right to peaceful assembly while repeatedly warning against violence, sabotage, or interference with military facilities.
Imperial patrols around government buildings and transportation hubs have nevertheless increased.
At several demonstrations yesterday, Pantoran Security personnel could be seen standing between protesters and Imperial troops.
The arrangement has become an increasingly familiar sight.
So far, both sides have largely avoided confrontation.
How long that restraint will hold remains uncertain.
As darkness fell over Orjai City last night, thousands of protesters remained in the government quarter.
They carried candles beneath the blue-and-white banners of Pantora.
Then, shortly before midnight, the crowd began chanting a phrase first heard during demonstrations earlier this week.
**“THE OUTER RIM IS NOT A BATTLEFIELD.” And “WHERE IS SENATOR CHUCHI!” **
Within minutes, the words were echoing through the surrounding streets.
Sources within the parliamentary government confirmed late last night that Baron Papanoida and the ruling council have summoned Moff Tyran to appear before the Parliamentary Palace ruling council to answer questions regarding Imperial operations throughout the subsector.

"Hey guys! It's me Sher'Bher back with another juicy rumormill, so you know the totally hawt Moff Sheyne Chuchi-Tarkin, Mister Blues? Or as I call him for short, SCT. Yeah, you guys know I love him, even if he is blue! But like, so I was listening to stuff, and you know, consulting the stars, and I just realized, Berkury is in retrograde, so like, looking at that, I had a look at the reports about SCT going to the Hos, and it reminded me of like, so here's the thing, you know that SCT is a Ewyki right, cuz where he was born, the time of year and all that, but he's a Left facing Ewyki, which is why you know, he's blue. So like.... Anyways. So, like, I was looking at the report and like, it occurred to me, we don't know why he was sent to the hospital, we don't know what happened at all!"

Sips her drink through a crazy straw loudly

"So like, no statement, oh he's got a stomach cramp, oh he's got like, a broken leg, now why would they do that? And no signs of life since then? No media attention? So it like, and as I said it's Berkury in Retrograde, which means, I think he was either killed, or is like, in a..... What are they? A comma! He's in a comma or dead! So like that's why they're not telling anyone, because they don't want the news to get out! But why? Ah that's the big question, why why why!"

Sips her drink through a crazy straw loudly again

"So like, I think, it was, MURDER! That's right, He's been murdered by someone who hates him, or traitorous rebels! But why not go public? I don't know, I'm waiting for Jamis to enter Prograde for my aura chokras to open so I can do some deep smoke and figure that one out, but I'm telling you, this is suspicious! Now my dear viewers, please please please be careful who you share this with, we don't want the trolls to smell it, oh and make sure you upvote and subscribe, and share to your friends, but only your cool friends!"

Sips her drink through a crazy straw loudly yet again.

(Rumors of the fate of Sheyne Chuchi-Tarkin are starting to be whispered in D5)

Notable Kuat of Kuat individuals, especially those related to the highest noble houses, declined invitations to describe the matter as a dispute between houses, noting that the Aurghast declaration itself effectively brought such a relationship to an end. It is further reported that  Kuati registries are expected to record the matter as the Aurghast Renouncement, rather than the term "Aurghast Schism" which has circulated through some offworld HoloNet channels. When queried this, the Orator Kuat of Kuat remarked that a schism would imply the formation of a competing branch of Kuati government or nobility.

"No such body exists," the Orator Kuat of Kuat said. "A family has withdrawn. The remaining houses carry on and continue their guardianship."

House Aurghast, while recognised among the families of Kuat, had never stood among the oldest or most influential of the great houses, and its departure is not expected to materially affect the administration of Kuat, the operation of the shipyards, or the functioning of the Familial Council.

The Orator Kuat of Kuat offered that the Kuat of Kuat himself appeared pained when asked whether he considered the family's withdrawal a loss. 

"No single family, least of all one whose place among us was comparatively recent, carries the weight of Kuat upon its shoulders. Our strength was not made by one name, nor does it disappear with one name. But I would be dishonest if I said there was nothing in this that saddened me.

The families of Kuat were never meant to be a catalogue of titles. They were meant to be a brotherhood of obligation. Family bound to family, generation to generation, each expected to contribute something worthy of those who came before them.

Kuat was not made strong by inheritance alone. It was made strong because inheritance carried expectation with it. Skilled hands shaping hulls. Bright minds filling our academies and engineering rooms. Fathers taught sons, mothers taught daughters, masters taught apprentices, and every generation was expected to take what it had inherited and leave something greater behind.

That is what the Inheritance Exemption ultimately protects and finds its origins back to. Not for property and certainly not for mere name. It is for Continuity. 

It is therefore disappointing to see a man treat those things as though they were shackles which might simply be cast aside when they become inconvenient. I do not see a pathway for myself to cast aside the inherited name Kuat of Kuat for when I lost my name, I gave it for the purpose of protecting all the families of Kuat."

The Orator, Kuat of Kuat has confirmed that the declaration issued by Marion Aurghast, concerning the withdrawal of his family from the traditional familial order of Kuat, has been received and formally recognised.

The announcement follows statements issued by Aurghast in which the hereditary institutions of Kuat were criticised as detrimental to both Kuat and the wider Empire.

No objection has been raised by the Palace Kuat of Kuat to the family's decision. In a short statement issued via the Orator Kuat of Kuat, the Kuat of Kuat said,

"The noble families of Kuat have endured because they are entered into freely, upheld through obligation, and sustained by those willing to bear the responsibilities that accompany their privileges.

Lord Aurghast has made clear that he no longer considers his family able to participate in that arrangement. I see no cause to prevent him from acting according to his convictions.

His family's request shall therefore be honoured."

The Palace Kuat of Kuat confirmed that the Aurghast family will consequently be removed from the rolls of the recognised Kuati houses. The decision does not affect Marion Aurghast's Imperial titles, appointments or responsibilities, which derive from Imperial authority rather than from the institutions of Kuat.

The Orator Kuat of Kuat further stressed that no restrictions have been placed upon the private commercial activities of the Aurghast family or Aurghast Power. What will cease are those rights, privileges and forms of precedence which existed solely by virtue of the family's former standing within the Kuati familial system. The Orator Kuat of Kuat further provided from the Kuat of Kuat, 

"It would be an unusual thing to compel a man to retain privileges belonging to an institution he believes should not exist; Lord Aurghast has asked to stand apart from the families of Kuat. He may do so with my blessing.  

He remains a subject of the Empire, a servant of His Imperial Majesty, and an Imperial citizen entitled to every protection afforded to him by law. Nothing more is required."

In a separate development, the Civics Welfare Registry has confirmed receipt of the two million credit contribution offered by Aurghast Power for the assistance of chronically ill and financially vulnerable citizens of Kuat.

The contribution has been accepted with the thanks ordinarily extended to private companies and citizens who choose to support Kuati charitable institutions.

Officials within the Registr suggested caution, however, against descriptions of the contribution circulating on offworld networks which have characterised it as a “significant” addition to Kuati welfare expenditure.

The Orator Kuat of Kuat had the following to answer when the topic was raised. 

“For hundreds of generations, the families have maintained hospitals, academies, apprenticeships, pensions, relief funds and charitable trusts as part of their obligation to Kuat. Much of that work is so old that few Kuati would think to describe it as charity. It is simply part of the responsibility expected of a family fortunate enough to possess wealth and standing. They do not ordinarily issue a proclamation each time they meet an obligation which they have always understood to be theirs. Charity is not diminished because it is small. Nor is it made greater because it is loudly given.

Kuat is home to some 3.6 billion citizens. The two million is received with thanks, but to put it into perspective, that equates to 0.00056 credits per Kuati citizen. Even were assistance required by only one citizen in every thousand, the Aurghast contribution would provide considerably less than a single credit to each.

I am reluctant to use such a thing as scale, especially when the target of donation is quite the opposite, but given the Imperial Star Destroyer that protects every region of the Empire is iconic of Kuat’s contribution to the empire, perhaps I can be forgiven. An Imperial Star Destroyer costs some 150 million credits to build. 2 million equates to 2.3% of one ship. 

And at the risk of sounding as if the donation is not accepted with gratitude, a 2-1B surgical droid costs some 4,300 credits, while a more basic MD-series medical droid costs around 2,000. So 2 million credits purchases roughly 465 2-1Bs or 1,000 MD units. I will remind you with all respect that Kuat is a world of 3.6 billion, and that shall be left as that.”

The two million credits provided by Aurghast Power is destined to be absorbed into existing programmes rather than forming a separate Aurghast fund.

When pressed for comment again, the Orator Kuat of Kuat simply noted that many such institutions are supported continuously rather than through individual public contributions, with familial endowments providing funding from one generation to the next.

With the release of numerous statements from the Orator of the Kuat of Kuat, the nature of the release of the Aurghasts from their obligations is now one of the sources of rumors and conspiracies.

One popular forum site, KUADDIT, hosts the conversations held amongst those of all walks of life. However, the ones at the bottom are really speaking up. One Kuadditor posts:

*"The CWR really played down that donation like it serves all 3 billion Kuati citizens! The real figures are a fraction of a fraction of this and I don't know how to say it any other way than this: The CWR ain't buying k****ing Imperial Star Destroyers! It's funding nutrition programs and providing medical assistance rather than outright purchasing medical droids. The 2mil creds ain't a ton of money, but it's the biggest drop of cash by one person to support the CWR in recent memory. Familial obligations haven't been enough for the CWR to catch up! Prove me wrong! The system isn't working and the Aurghasts got out after tasting what it was like at the top!"*

Another Kuadditor posts:

*"The Kurovino's? Seriously? They had these guys lined up for decades, leading them along. Nobody's surprised!! Kissing ass and saying 'Thank you' for it is a tough business these days but the Kurovino's do it best I suppose. Whatever. It's not like they're doing anything special. Wine and lube sounds like a great night! Nepotism abounds and I bet a lot more than that! Favoritism won before the Aurghasts ever got out. This Schism will lead to more! Why?! The system works exactly how it was designed! It just doesn't!"*

The sentiments of many are similar in scope. The voices of those at the bottom feel unheard by those they decry as "out of touch." Some even celebrate the Aurghasts "getting out before getting so far ahead they couldn't turn back." The Orator of the Kuat of Kuat has spoken, but the people at the bottom are having their turn. This stirs further speculation from those outside Kuat about the nature of the 'Schism' being downplayed as a 'Renouncement.'

Is there more happening here? Is it just the start? Is the system fair - or broken from the start?

*Story by the Kuati Truth*

The Orator Kuat of Kuat has confirmed that several of Kuat's lesser houses have approached the Palace following the voluntary withdrawal of the Aurghast family from the recognised familial order.

Among those understood to have attracted particular attention is House Kurovino, an old Kuati family who have for ten thousand years been known to produce wine and also engine grade lubricants.

Speaking to representatives of the media, The Orator Kuat of Kuat noted that no automatic succession would occur and that recognition among the families remained a privilege requiring considerable scrutiny but also said,

"There appears to be considerably more concern outside Kuat about filling the position than there is within it.

There are families on Kuat who have spent generations building something in the hope that one day they might be entrusted with greater stewardship. A place has become available. Unsurprisingly, they are interested."

The Orator Kuat of Kuat took his glasses off then, taking time to wipe them before putting them back on.

"I have been reminded these past few days that there are houses whose sons and daughters have spent their lives in our shipyards, our laboratories, our academies and our workshops, asking very little except for the opportunity to leave Kuat better than they found it.

One family has chosen to set aside its inheritance. There are apparently many others prepared to spend generations earning one."

The Orator Kuat of Kuat shrugged and took no further question related to this, suggesting only that respect for the processes long held by the ancient founding world of the Core would continue to be observed. 

—= HNN BREAKING NEWS =—

The Aurghast family has recently released the following statement.

“My fellow Kuati,

I mention, in heartfelt gratitude, with the continued support of those who’ve come before me. That the Aurghast family will be exiting participation in the familial caste system of the planet of Kuat.

I believe this system is inappropriate and promotes a type of nepotistic behavior that inhibits not only our planet, but our wonderful Empire. I am in no way saying I disown my Kuati people, or that they mean less to me, I only mean to say that this caste is inhibiting the development of our planet and Empire.

The Aurghast Family, including all three generations, are leaving our home on Kuat in respect to the Kuat of Kuat. We wish no disrespect to those who came before us. May Kuat be forever strong.

- Moff Marion Aurghast Of The Third District, Ragnos”

[NO AI WAS USED IN THE CREATION OF THIS POST]
{Art made by https://dreeadraws.com/ }

—= HNN BREAKING NEWS =—

{See pictured the Aurghast Power Corporate Logo}

Immediately following the family’s separation from the Kuati Monarchy, Aurghast Power has announced a series of charitable donations. Here is their official statement:

From the company that provides you power and air medical transports, Aurghast Power is now beginning a campaign to provide generous donations to several organizations.

- ᖬ2,000,000 to the Monarch, Kuat Of Kuat in an effort to provide aid to any chronically ill, or financially vulnerable citizens on the world of Kuat.

- ᖬ1,500,000 to the IMA Board, as well as free initial repair costs to IEMS AMT-12 ambulance units.

These donations are expected to continue for the foreseeable future, along with a scholarship program for Kuati Medical Students.

The following message has been approved by Moff Aurghast of the 3rd District, Ragnos.

[NO AI WAS INVOLVED IN THE CREATION OF THIS POST]

ARK NEWS.

With Doctor Chomar Vyn Hazali

"Hello my friends, welcome back to the show where we tell you the truth and nothing but the Truth. I am Doctor Chomar Vyn Hazali. And I am positioned uniquely to tell you the truth, as the claws of the Empire, cannot reach me, unlike the other news Media who live in Fear of the Empire, I am already hunted so no matter what I say, they cannot take my life more."

He pauses as the Logo fills the screen.

"Today, we discuss a topic that has caused much discussion, the Jedi Coup. Or as I should clarify it as, the alleged Jedi Coup. Because as we have gotten further from that day, many things that once seemed clear, are no longer so clear cut. Today, I reveal an image that has never been broadcast here, or anywhere else."

"It is just a man in a cloak you may say. No. That there, is the head of the Order of Dark Jedi that, for those who have just found this broadcast, that have emerged and spotted on many locations across the galaxy, seemingly hunting down targets, what targets, we don't know.

So who is this? We don't know much. But given that these dark Jedi call themselves brother and sister, myself and the members of my team have deemed this figure, the Dark Father. We had no picture of him for a long time, but knew of him. Now what does this have to do with the Jedi Coup? Well, as you know, during the Clone War, there were several figures who fought against the Republic, Dooku, Asajj Ventress, Savage Opress, and one thing they had in common, was red lightsabers. The Jedi called them, Sith. And they match the description of Ancient Sith. Now, after the alleged Jedi coup, the Jedi are gone, and who is left? Figures with Red Light sabers, who seem to be quite keen on mimicking the ancient Sith. Coincidence? It's possible, but, let us review this alleged coup.

The Sith side, the Confederacy of Independent Systems, was losing the war, now, if the reports of the ancient Sith are correct, they are, well, loyal-less actors. They did not care about the CIS or anything of that nature, they just wanted power. So the war is coming to its end, and the Jedi Temple is bombed, allegedly only a handful of Jedi are killed, but I have heard rumors it was far higher, hundreds maybe.

The important thing is though, regardless of the number, look at the response! People didn't march in support of the Jedi, there were no large outcries of support for the Jedi, I think, what happened, was it was test, and the Sith discovered the public of the Republic didn't care about the Jedi and would care if something happened to them. So they attack Coruscant and kidnap the Chancellor, and before the heroic Jedi rescue him, they use their mind tricks to implant ideas into his head! Then they lose, Dooku allegedly was killed, but there was no body. The Jedi claimed it was him, but perhaps it was a trick, or perhaps he was not the Sith Lord at all, but a pawn. Either way, the CIS is falling faster and faster, and then, the Sith launch their own coup!

He pauses to let his words sink in.

"That's right, the Sith launched the coup, maybe the Chancellor, previously mind controlled was manipulated into letting them in, maybe they infiltrated, but either way the Jedi, they were coming to STOP the coup, and were tragically defeated! The Chancellor, now under full mind control from the Sith, and a handful of treacherous military and civilian leaders, declared the Jedi an enemy, and declared himself Emperor. I do not believe the old Chancellor is in control, he promised to return his emergence powers, he loved Democracy, what he has become, is NOT the man who was Chancellor, but a mind controlled puppet of shadowy interests, corrupt business leaders, and the Dark Jedi!

My friends, the Republic we love is still under there, the Republic, the Democracy, the Chancellor even, is still there, we just need to undo this coup and restore our Democracy!

My friends, when you see this message I will have moved locations, possibly several times given how long it will take to distribute this message. I may even be captured and killed. But I want you to know, that I am doing what I can for peace, freedom, and democracy, and that is all I ask of you who finds this message.

May the Force be with you.

The Scarlet Moon which eons ago was known as the Red Sun of Archais sits heavy over the dark palace of Alsakan. Its darkened halls carry dread whispers of the ghouls which stalk from the shadows within.

The faceless servants carry no emotion as they guide each fell guest to the Chamber of the Mosaic Throne. Those Scarlet armoured warriors who scrutinise each individual that walk past, gaze upon with utterly dark pupils, and deathly sunken eyes.

This is Alsakan.

17 times damned, thrice ruined, but still the most ancient and most powerful of worlds along the entire bloodline of the Perlemian.

And upon that cursed Throne sits the newly bonded Queen, Vamilrin of Perreis.

Post notes -

Art is not from me, its from those talented people on the interwebs~

The wind whistled along her helmet and her cape fluttered as she plummeted towards the ground.

Three young Padawans, yes it was mercy, but her hands still dripped with their blood. They were like the ones she had been trying to protect when the Order had happened. Their faces were emblazoned into her mind.

She was falling towards the ground rapidly, diving head first, it would be quick, painless.

But at the last second, with the skill of a Tooka she cushioned the fall with the force and rolled forward out of it, landing out of the roll on her feet, on the ground alive with two hundred feet of building behind her.

A Storm Trooper watched her as she landed perfectly, her cape flowing in the wind as she arose and walked

She could feel his admiration at witnessing the landing,

The Trooper couldn't feel her shame.

If she were braver, he would be looking at her corpse lying there.

But she was a coward. So she always caught herself at the last moment. She couldn't face what would come after death.

So she would damn her soul further, just to stave that day away a little longer.

Those three Padawans died with honor, and she envied them.

Azula awoke when the humming stopped.
For three days the ray shield had filled the front of her cell with its steady electric thrum. The sound had followed her into sleep until its sudden absence felt louder than an alarm.
Her eyes opened.
The pale red barrier was gone.
Two scout troopers stood beyond the threshold. One carried a blaster carbine across his chest. The other already had a set of binders in his hand.
“On your feet.”
Azula pushed herself upright. Her body resisted after so long on the narrow bunk. The food Kilgore had brought had settled the worst of the trembling, but it had not restored her strength. Her wrists were bruised, her mouth dry, and every joint seemed to remember the interrogation chair.
“What’s happening?”
The trooper entered and pulled her to her feet.
Azula twisted away on instinct. The second scout caught her before she could take a full step. They turned her around, forced her hands behind her back and closed the binders around her wrists.
“Where are you taking me?”
Neither answered.
One of them produced a bundle of black cloth.
Azula saw it unfold.
“No!”
She tried to wrench herself free. The scout behind her forced her arms higher between her shoulders. Pain drove her onto the balls of her feet.
The other trooper pulled the hood over her head.
The cloth scraped across her face, carrying the smell of dust, and machine oil. It caught briefly in her hair before being dragged down around her neck.
Darkness swallowed the cell.
Not complete darkness.
The coarse weave admitted a little light. Azula could make out pale shapes directly in front of her face: the vague black mass of a helmet, the flash of an armored hand. Anything more than a few inches away dissolved into shadow.
The drawstring tightened beneath her chin.
Azula stopped struggling.
She understood.
There would be no formal charge. No court. No family summoned to claim her body. Whatever usefulness the others arrested with her had offered, she had remained silent.
She did not know what had happened to them. They might still be somewhere inside the garrison. They might have been transferred, interrogated again or killed without her knowledge. The Empire had separated them before she could learn anything.
A hand closed around her upper arm.
“Move.” The trooper ordered
They marched her from the cell.
Azula tried to count the turns.
She managed the first three.
Right outside the detention block. Left at the interrogation rooms. Down the short ramp toward the security checkpoint.
Then someone spun her around to avoid an approaching cart, and the count slipped away.
The hood reduced the garrison to sound. Boots striking durasteel. Doors opening and sealing. Machinery groaning somewhere below. Voices that stopped as she passed. The faint scrape of her bare feet against the floor.
No one asked where the troopers were taking her.
No one needed to.
The air grew colder.
A heavy blast door began to rise ahead of them. Azula felt the vibration through the floor before its machinery drowned out everything else.
Cold morning air rushed beneath the hood.
She dug in her heels but scouts just dragged her anyways.
Outside, the ground changed from smooth durasteel to rough pavement. Wind pulled at the loose prisoner clothes hanging from her body. Somewhere nearby, engines idled with a deep, uneven growl.
An aircraft.
Azula’s breath caught against the cloth.
She had heard stories about prisoners taken from Imperial custody before dawn. Bodies found in the mountains after the snow melted. Others never found at all.
The engines rose briefly, scattering grit across the landing yard.
A hand caught her shoulder and stopped her.
Another voice spoke from somewhere ahead.
“Put her hands in front.”
Kilgore.
Azula turned toward him, but the hood gave her only a tall black shape standing beyond the reach of her vision.
One scout unlocked the binders. Before she could pull away, they dragged her arms around and secured them again across her stomach.
It was a small mercy.
She distrusted it immediately.
“Where are you taking me?”
No answer.
“Kilgore.”
“Get aboard.” The commander ordered.
The scout behind her shoved her forward.
Azula’s shin struck metal. She stumbled and caught herself against the edge of the aircraft with her bound hands.
“Step up,” Kilgore said.
She found the deck with one bare foot and climbed inside.
Hands guided her backward until her knees struck a bench. Azula sat. A restraint passed across her lap and locked into place.
Kilgore settled opposite her. She heard the weight of his armor against the other bench and the metal knock of his rifle being placed between his boots.
The engines climbed to a deafening pitch.
Wind tore through the troop compartment.
The gunship lifted.
Azula leaned back against the hull as the deck dropped beneath her. The hood pulled tight against her face. Cold air passed through its weave, carrying fuel, rain and the distant smell of the city.
The aircraft banked hard.
“If this is an execution,” she said, raising her voice over the engines, “you could have just done it at the garrison.” Her bound hands caught the edge of the bench.
Kilgore did not answer.
The gunship climbed.
Through the hood, Azula could see only shifting blurs of daylight. Something bright passed along her left side before vanishing again. She could not tell whether it had been the sun, a side bay or the reflection from a tower.
Cold air continued to rush over her.
The doors were open.
The thought came before she could stop it.
She could throw herself toward the wind. Deny the Empire the satisfaction of her execution.
The restraint across her lap would have to be released first. If she could work her hands beneath it, if the buckle was mechanical, if Kilgore looked away for only a moment—
The aircraft banked again.
Azula braced herself without thinking.
Her boots were gone and her feet were cold. Her hands were bound. Her face was covered and she had no idea where the open bay began. She could crawl in the wrong direction and put herself at Kilgore’s feet.
Some part of her still intended to live.
The flight seemed to last for hours.
It could not have.
The roar of the city gradually faded beneath them. The air became cleaner and colder. Several times the gunship descended before climbing again, each change renewing the certainty that they had reached whatever empty place the Empire had chosen.
Eventually the engines changed pitch and remained there.
They were descending.
Azula straightened against the bench.
The aircraft slowed. Its repulsors sent something rattling across the ground beneath them. Leaves, perhaps. Gravel.
The gunship settled with a heavy jolt.
Its engines lowered to an idle.
For a moment, no one moved.
Azula listened for a blaster being drawn.
Instead, Kilgore stood.
The restraint across her lap released.
“Up.”
She rose carefully.
Kilgore took her by the arm and led her toward the open bay. Her foot found the edge of the deck. Cold air moved around her, gentler now.
“Step down.”
Azula obeyed.
Her bare feet touched stone.
Not pavement. Not frozen ground.
Stone worn smooth enough to be almost polished.
They crossed an open space. Wind stirred trees nearby, and she could hear running water somewhere to her right. The sound was too controlled to be a stream.
A fountain.
She smelled damp earth, woodsmoke and turned soil beneath the lingering fuel from the gunship.
None of it made sense.
A door opened.
The air became warmer. Her footsteps changed, each one returning to her from high walls and a distant ceiling. The building around them was too large and soft music was being played somewhere. They crossed another threshold, turned twice and began descending.
The steps were stone.
The air cooled again as they went belowground. Machinery hummed behind the walls. A door opened with a mechanical clunk.
Kilgore guided her through.
“Stop.”
The binders opened.
Azula pulled her hands against her chest and rubbed the raw skin around her wrists.
The hood came free.
Light stabbed into her eyes.
She turned away, blinking until the room took shape.
She stood inside another cell.
This one was larger than the cell at the garrison and cleaner. Pale stone walls had been reinforced with dark durasteel. A narrow bunk stood against one side, with a folded blanket at its foot. There was a sink, a covered refresher and a drain set into the floor.
Beyond the threshold stretched a private detention block.
Six cells faced one another across a central corridor. All of them were empty. Imperial security panels had been cut into stone that looked much older than the equipment mounted upon it. Heavy pipes ran along the ceiling before disappearing through newly repaired arches.
Kilgore stood outside her cell.
“Where am I?”
He ignored the question.
“You’ll receive food twice a day. Water is available from the sink. Medical personnel will inspect your wrists this afternoon.”
“I don’t need an inspection.”
“That wasn’t a request.”
Azula stepped toward him.
“Why am I here?”
Kilgore rested one hand beside the shield control.
“Moff Tyran will question you when he returns.”
“When will that be?”
“I don’t know.” The clone answered honestly.
“Does Bunt?”
Kilgore looked at her.
“Commander Bunt cannot visit this facility.”
Azula stopped.
“No interrogations are to be conducted without authorization,” he continued. “No one enters this block without being recorded. If someone tells you otherwise, they are lying.”
“Where am I? What happened to the others?”
Kilgore pressed the control.
The ray shield rose between them.
Pale red light filled the entrance. Its electric thrum settled into the room.
Kilgore turned away.
Azula followed him to the edge of the barrier.
“Where am I?”
The security door closed behind him.
Azula remained at the threshold.
Wherever the Empire had taken her, the humming had followed.
Kilgore brought her boots two mornings later.
They were the same pair taken from her after the arrest. The leather was creased across the toes and dried mud remained pressed into the seams.
Kilgore set them beyond the ray shield.
“Put them on.”
Azula looked from the boots to the clone.
He wore his matte-black armor, but his helmet was tucked beneath one arm. His rifle hung across his back.
“Has Moff Tyran returned?”
“No.”
“Then where am I going?”
“Outside.”
Kilgore lowered the shield.
Azula did not reach for the boots.
“No hood?”
“Not today.”
“Binders?”
“If you make them necessary.”
She studied him for any sign that this was another trick. Kilgore waited with the patience of someone who had already decided how the next several minutes would proceed.
Azula sat on the edge of the bunk and pulled on her boots.
They felt stiff after so many days barefoot. The pressure against the bruised soles of her feet was almost painful, but when she stood she felt less exposed than she had since her arrest.
Kilgore stepped aside.
“Let’s Walk.”
Azula entered the corridor.
The other five cells remained empty. Two scout troopers waited beside the security door, blasters at the ready, but neither moved to restrain her. One opened the door while the other recorded something on a datapad.
Kilgore led her through.
They climbed the same stone staircase she remembered from beneath the hood. At its top, they passed through a narrow service corridor where old masonry had been exposed around new Imperial wiring. Fresh mortar showed between the stones.
The corridor opened into a broad workroom.
Pantorans occupied nearly every table.
A gray-haired woman bent over a carved wooden panel beneath a hanging work lamp. Two younger men fitted pieces of pale marble around a window frame while another sorted colored tiles into shallow trays. Tools, dust sheets and half-finished pieces of furniture filled the room.
Several workers glanced toward Azula.
None spoke.
A man holding a measuring rod looked at Kilgore and nodded as if the clone passed through every morning.
Kilgore returned the gesture.
Azula followed him into another corridor.
“Who are they?”
“Carpenters. Masons. Tileworkers.”
“I can see that.”
“Then why did you ask?”
Azula looked back through the doorway.
The gray-haired woman had already returned to her work.
The corridor beyond was warmer and brighter. Tall windows stood along one side, although their lower panes had been frosted for privacy. Morning light fell across a floor of white marble veined with blue.
Azula slowed.
She knew that stone.
Kilgore continued several paces before noticing. He stopped and looked back.
“What is this place?”
“Moff Tyran’s residence.”
They passed a kitchen where Pantoran cooks worked beside two Imperial supply droids. Steam clouded the windows. Bread cooled on long metal racks while a young Pantoran argued with a quartermaster over crates stacked beside the door.
“I ordered three hundred kilos.”
“You received three hundred.”
“I received two hundred and sixty-eight.”
“The manifest says three hundred.”
“The manifest doesn’t make the crates heavier.”
Neither lowered his voice when Kilgore passed.
The kitchen opened into a receiving hall crowded with more Pantorans. Some wore heavy work coats. Others carried tools or pushed repulsor carts loaded with lumber, stone and coiled wiring. Imperial soldiers moved among them, but the workers did not step aside unless they needed room.
Azula watched a Pantoran foreman hand a scout trooper a datapad. The scout signed it and returned it without inspecting the stack of timber being delivered.
“Are they prisoners?” she asked.
Kilgore glanced at her.
“Workers.”
“Working for the Empire?”
“Working for Moff Tyran.”
“ Is that not the same thing?”
“To most people, it is.”
He opened the next door.
Cold air entered the corridor.
Beyond it ran a covered colonnade overlooking an enclosed garden.
Azula stepped outside.
Pale columns surrounded a wide courtyard divided by gravel paths and low hedges. Pantoran gardeners worked between rows of young fruit trees. Others cleared autumn leaves from drainage channels or carried baskets toward a long storage building beyond the eastern wall.
Imperial communications antennas rose above one roof. A pair of scout troopers patrolled the colonnade opposite them.
The garden itself remained unmistakably Pantoran.
No prefabricated barracks had replaced its stone walkways. No landing pad covered the flower beds. Even the new trees had been planted according to the old patterns, each row following lines laid down generations ago.
Kilgore gestured down the colonnade.
“Keep walking.”
Azula followed slowly.
At the courtyard’s center stood a black basalt fountain.
Water ran over three shallow bowls before spilling into a wide lower basin. Morning light moved across the black stone.
Azula stopped.
The old fountain had been marble.
It had been dry when she was fourteen, its basin filled with dead leaves, broken roof tiles and rainwater turned green with summer insects. She and her cousins had sat inside it with food stolen from an aunt’s kitchen and a bottle of wine none of them liked enough to finish.
Her eldest cousin had dared her to climb the grand staircase.
She had made it six steps before part of the railing tore free in her hand and crashed into the hall below. They fled laughing, convinced the entire house was coming down behind them.
Her aunt had not laughed when they returned covered in dust.
She struck Azula’s cousin across the face, ordered the others home and forbade them from ever going near the estate again.
At the time Azula thought she had been frightened they might have died.
Only later did she understand.
They had walked through the remains of something the family wanted forgotten.
The Telvorans had once owned fields stretching north of the capital. Their estates had fed half the surrounding valley. They possessed money, titles and enough influence that their name had appeared on ministries, military commissions and public monuments.
Then came the disgrace.
The government stripped them of their offices. Their contracts disappeared. Invitations stopped arriving. No ministry would employ a Telvoran, and no respectable family would be seen offering one work. Land was sold a piece at a time until nothing remained but an abandoned house no one could afford to repair.
They kept the name because no law could take it.
Everything else had gone.
Azula looked beyond the fountain.
The central manor rose above the courtyard.
For a moment she could not reconcile it with the ruin she remembered. The marble shell remained, but its wounds were gone. A dark roof covered the central hall. Glass filled the tall windows. The collapsed eastern gallery had been rebuilt, and smoke rose from chimneys that had been cold since before she was born.
Long colonnaded wings enclosed the gardens on either side. Imperial banners hung between some of the pillars, but above the main entrance remained a weathered stone crest.
Cobalt mountains beneath a rising sun. Grain gathered along either side. The old star of Pantora at its center.
The crest of House Telvoran.
Azula stared at it.
Kilgore stopped beside her.
“Is this some kind of sick joke?”
The words escaped before she could stop it.
She crossed the courtyard until the clone caught her arm.
Azula pulled against him.
“I’m not that funny.”
Kilgore released her when she stopped resisting.
Soldiers moved along the upper galleries. Ground crews worked beside armored transports parked beyond the southern garden. Communications equipment had been built into one of the outer halls, its cables running through carefully restored arches.
Pantoran workers were everywhere.
A stonemason knelt beside the western railing, replacing a cracked length of marble. Two women on a scaffold restored the painted pattern beneath the eaves. Orchard workers pruned young trees beyond the wall while a Pantoran foreman marked each row on his datapad.
The house had not merely been occupied.
It had been brought back from the dead.
“They rebuilt it,” Azula said.
Kilgore said nothing.
“How many Pantorans work here?”
“Do I look like I handle payroll.” The clone responded dryly
“So much for not being funny.” Azula responded rolling her eyes.
“More than two hundred. More during planting and harvest.”
Azula looked toward the workers.
“Why?”
“The estate needed rebuilding.”
“That is not what I meant.”
She turned toward him.
“Who gave Moff Tyran the right to take this place?”
Kilgore looked up at the weathered crest.
“The Empire has the right to whatever it wants.”
Azula waited.
Kilgore started walking again. Her legs slowly began to ache from the use.
Their path carried them beyond the courtyard and into the orchard. The young trees stood in ordered rows across dark, recently turned earth. Most were too small to bear much fruit, but several older trees had been preserved from the original estate.
Azula recognized one by the bend in its trunk.
She remembered climbing it as a child while one of her cousins kept watch along the road.
Now its dead branches had been cut away. Fresh growth showed beneath the scars.
A group of Pantoran laborers repaired an irrigation channel nearby. One of them looked up as Azula passed. His gaze lingered on her face and the gold markings around her eyes.
Azula looked away before he could speak.
The sound reached them a moment later.
A deep mechanical roar rolled across the fields.
Workers straightened among the trees. The scout troopers along the wall turned toward the southern horizon.
Kilgore looked up.
Three aircraft approached low over the golden farmland.
Azula could not identify them from the sound alone. She saw only dark shapes growing larger against the sky.
The roar became thunder.
The first aircraft swept over the orchard with its side bays open. Another followed close behind, its shadow swallowing the trees, the colonnade and the central manor in quick succession. A third passed after it, banking toward the rear of the estate.
Leaves tore free from the branches and spun across the path. Dust rose from the unfinished irrigation channels. Workers covered their faces until the aircraft had gone.
Across the estate, men were already moving.
Ground crews ran toward the landing field behind the manor. Soldiers appeared along the upper galleries. An Imperial officer crossed the courtyard at a pace just short of a run, fastening the collar of his uniform as he went.
The aircraft separated. One circled the estate wall while the others continued toward the rear landing ground and disappeared behind the roof of the manor.
Their engines descended into a heavy whine.
Azula watched the soldiers moving.
“Who is that?”
Kilgore lowered his gaze from the sky.
“You already know.”
The shuttle settled somewhere beyond the house.
For the first time since leaving the basement, Azula forgot the cold.
“Tyran.”
Kilgore gestured toward the next row of trees.
“Keep walking.”
The sound of the arriving shuttles faded into the estate’s morning noise, but Azula kept watching the sky.
The first aircraft had been a Lambda-class shuttle, its angular wings folded upward as it passed over the orchard. The two behind it were LAAT/i gunships, their troop bays open and their silhouettes unmistakable now that she could see them clearly.
Azula looked toward the manor, where the restored crest of House Telvoran hung above the entrance.
Then she followed Kilgore between the rows of young trees.

ORD Report By Dolla Dolla Banks.

As of today, the Kazzad Family Mining and Resource Extraction Company (KFMaRE) has been approved as one of the companies given subsidies by the Remote Mining Subsidies Act. (RMSA) KFMaRE has shown success in launching smaller mining operations on several asteroids and moons, proving that the family owned company is capable of utilizing the subsidies without waste.

In a statement released, Prince Kazzad, the head of KFMaRE stated. "We have ordered hundreds of new vehicles, dozens of underground tunnelers, and multiple cargo haulers. In addition we have contracted Consolidated Industrial Shipping to purchase several large body Haulers and handle shipping, we are heavily invested in this and intend to make good use of it."

While KFMaRE has been a highly successful mining operation, they were recently at the center of a large insurance payout from LEEMO Insurance Solutions, after several hundred thousand credits of mining equipment were stolen in an apparent series of pirate raids on a number of mining facilities.

On the subject, Prince Kassad refused to comment, only alluding that the Imperial presence in the region was insufficient and he shouldn't face increased premiums when it wasn't his fault the region wasn't safe.

Outer Rim Daily will continue to give you the latest updates on the situation and other essential business news.

Sign up for our free newsletter and follow us on social media with the links below.

<If you liked that article, there are more below!>

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-

THE HISTORY OF THE TELVORAN DYNASTY

Long before the Papanoidas claimed the Baronship, House Telvoran stood among the oldest landed families on Pantora.
Their first power came from the soil. For generations, the Telvorans expanded their fields, orchards, irrigation works and agricultural settlements. Their harvests fed cities, their money financed public works, and their patronage carried the family name from the countryside into the highest levels of Pantoran society.
By the beginning of the Great Unification War, the Telvorans possessed enough land, wealth and retainers to rival some regional governments.

GAIUS THE GREAT UNIFIER

When the republican government began its campaign to unite Pantora, House Telvoran became the vanguard of its cause.
The family supplied soldiers, officers, food and much of its private fortune. At their head stood Gaius Telvoran, a general and statesman whose victories brought Pantora’s warring regions beneath a single government.
Gaius did not rely upon conquest alone. Defeated enemies were pardoned, rival families were brought into the new order, and provincial leaders were elevated into the Senate. Many of the politicians who rose to prominence after the war owed their positions directly to him.
For this, Gaius became known as the Great Unifier.
After the war, he returned to the Senate to present his final settlement for the newly unified provinces. He never left the chamber alive.
Gaius was surrounded on the Senate floor and stabbed to death by the very senators he had helped propel to power. His killers claimed that he intended to destroy the Republic and rule Pantora himself. Telvoran tradition maintains that he had come to surrender his wartime authority.
The truth died with him.

THE FIRST BARON

Gaius’s heir survived the violence that followed and returned to the family’s ancestral lands. There, he rallied Telvoran retainers, republican veterans, sympathetic governors and officers who had served beneath his father.
What began as a campaign against Gaius’s murderers became a bloody civil war against the republican government.
The Senate was overthrown. Many of the alleged conspirators were executed, imprisoned or driven into exile, though several influential families survived the purge.
Gaius’s heir did not declare himself king. He instead assumed the title of Baron of Pantora and established a new political order built upon three institutions: the hereditary Baronship, a representative Parliament and an executive Ruling Council.
Supporters claimed the Baronship would protect Pantora from the factionalism that had murdered Gaius. Its enemies called it a dictatorship dressed in republican clothing.
For the next three hundred years, the Telvorans ruled Pantora.

THREE CENTURIES OF RULE

Much of the Telvoran period has been lost or deliberately obscured.
Surviving accounts describe early Barons consolidating the unified planet, defeating regional revolts and expanding Pantora’s government into distant provinces. Later generations oversaw the construction of roads, irrigation systems, agricultural settlements and many of the government buildings still used today.
Telvoran historians remember these centuries as Pantora’s first great age of stability. Papanoida histories describe them as three hundred years of hereditary tyranny.
Both versions were written to serve a dynasty.
What is known is that the power of the later Barons gradually weakened. Parliament and the Ruling Council became more independent, rival noble families grew more influential, and competing branches of House Telvoran fought over their place in the succession.
The Telvorans still held the throne, but they no longer controlled everything supporting it.

THE PAPANOIDA ASCENDANCY

The exact circumstances surrounding the fall of the Telvorans remain disputed. Some accounts describe a popular uprising. Others suggest a parliamentary coup, a contested succession or a carefully planned seizure of power by the Papanoida family.
Whatever occurred, the Papanoidas took the Baronship and retained the political system created by their predecessors.
Their justification was repeated across Pantora:
“The Papanoidas have freed you from the tyranny of the Telvorans.”
Telvoran statues were destroyed or recarved. Their crests were removed from government buildings. Roads, settlements and military units were renamed. Family documents were confiscated, while possession of certain Telvoran relics became evidence of sedition.
Even Gaius was separated from his descendants.
Official histories remembered him simply as Gaius the Great Unifier, a republican hero whose legacy had supposedly been corrupted by the dynasty that followed him. Some accounts removed the Telvoran name entirely.
The Papanoidas did not merely overthrow the family. They attempted to remove it from Pantoran history.

THE FAILED RESTORATIONS

House Telvoran did not accept its fall quietly.
Over the generations, different branches attempted to reclaim the Baronship. Some raised armies or returned from exile. Others built political coalitions, encouraged provincial uprisings or conspired within the government.
The exact number of restoration attempts is unknown. Papanoida authorities often blamed the Telvorans for unrelated rebellions, while family accounts sometimes transformed minor resistance into grand campaigns.
Every confirmed failure reduced them further.
Their remaining military commands were taken. Their commercial holdings were seized. Their allies abandoned them. Telvorans were barred from Parliament, the Ruling Council and the highest offices of government. Families that married them risked losing their own position.
Eventually, even their ancestral estate passed out of their hands and fell into ruin.
The Papanoidas allowed the family to survive, but only as a warning. Dead Telvorans might become martyrs. Impoverished Telvorans could be dismissed as bitter relics obsessed with an imaginary crown.

THE LAST TELVORANS

By the final years of the Galactic Republic, the family that had once ruled Pantora for three centuries had been reduced to scattered exiles, impoverished relatives and isolated provincial branches.
Among the present generation is Azula Telvoran.
Two of her male cousins, twins who disappeared into the Pantoran mountains, claim to be rallying the old mountain clans beneath the family banner. Papanoida authorities describe their followers as smugglers, deserters, herdsmen and common bandits.
The twins call them the beginnings of a restoration army.
Modern Pantora still lives beneath a Baron, governed by a Parliament and Ruling Council whose origins can be traced to House Telvoran. Its people travel roads laid during Telvoran reigns, cultivate land watered by Telvoran irrigation works, and gather in buildings from which the family crest was carefully removed.
The Papanoidas took their throne, their land and their place in history.
They never completely erased the name.

Recently the Imperial Moff Vex Tyran has taken up residency in the old ancestral Telvoran villa and restored it to its former glory.