|Race||Diathim (formerly Kuati)|
|Father||Josef Taylor Jackson|
|Spouse||Alita Antigra (Deceased), Isis Demala (divorced)|
|Children||Lucas, Leilani, Lainey|
|Born||Year -25 Day 37|
|Eye Color||Dull orange|
|Positions|| Senior Adjutant of Corporate Sector|
Lord Steward of the Sith Order
|Prior Affiliation|| Avance Coalition|
Order of Krath
New Imperial Order
His career in public service began in the Imperial Navy, where he was conscripted into the Starfighter Corps of the Third Sector Fleet underneath Commander James Stratus. His career in the Empire, while meteoric, was cut short during the Second Imperial Civil War when Emperor Charon was dethroned. His subsequent travels throughout the galaxy have led to many questioning his true allegiances, as he has been seen on battlefields supporting nearly every side of the Galactic Civil War. In Y10, Eric would return to the Galactic Empire after the merger with the New Imperial Order, where he serves to this day, both as a high ranking government official, and as a member of the Sith Council.
In Y11, Eric Jackson became a victim of the Metamorphosis Plague. His subsequent transformation into a Class-C species halted his career advancement within the Empire, though he remains an advisor to Emperor Guinar Ndengin on Sith matters.
Eric has three children from his second wife, Isis Demala, who once lived under the government of the Avance Coalition, though their exact citizenship has become murkier since the Coalition's dissolution. Since his divorce, Eric has been linked romantically to several public figures, though it is unclear just how serious these relationships are.
- 1 Early History
- 2 A New Path in the New Order
- 3 The Vagabond and the Force
- 4 Renewal
- 5 Miasma
- 6 Homecoming
- 7 Iconoclasm
- 8 Public Image
- 9 Assets
- 10 Service Record
Eric Jackson was born on Y -25, D37 in a small hospital on the outskirts of Kuat City, the firstborn son of a Naval pilot named Josef Taylor Jackson and an Eriaduan woman, Katherine Marie-Jackson. His childhood was relatively normal until Y -18 D37, when the Jackson family home was destroyed by fire, killing Josef and Katherine. Miraculously, the young Kuati was found alive in the neighbor's yard, shivering and sobbing. Visits to a child psychologist proved to be fruitless, and Eric was sent to live with an uncle, Ronald Jackson. Eric has refused to elaborate on this portion of his life, so not much is known. However, what is known is that on Y -9 D213, Ronald was found dead in his home and the young Kuati was missing. Records would not turn up on his whereabouts for several years, and Eric was assumed to be a missing person.
Twelve Sentries of Kuat
Editor's Note: Eric has never publicly commented on his whereabouts between Y -9 and Y -1 when he was incarcerated in Kuat City Penitentiary pending charges of murder and theft. The following transcript appears to take place shortly before his joining the Imperial Navy in Y3. Normally, interrogation logs like this are unavailable to the public; however, it is believed that this log was leaked by individuals loyal to former Emperor Bonias in order to discredit him as a political figure among the Avance Coalition.
Eric Jackson: (inaudible)
Officer: Speak up, Mr. Jackson. I can't hear you if you whisper.
EJ: I said no.
O: Right. Well, you've been here three years. You haven't been much trouble for us, but it's a different story on the outside. There's a reason why you've been kept here in solitary, and that same reason's taken a toll on your old gang.
EJ: You have word of them?
O: Sort of. A lot of the gangs you caused trouble for banded together to hunt down the rest of your old crew. And they've succeeded. Well, sort of. There's still a few of your fellow vigilantes that are unaccounted for. But nobody's seen them for weeks now.
EJ: I...Good. They will retreat. Hopefully they will disband. They are not safe without my gui--...Good.
O: Look, kid, they're probably dead. It's much more likely they're rotting in some cellar or a dumpster, and we just haven't found them yet.
O: There's nothing for you to return to. But there's a way out for you, a new life that could be yours. People higher up than me heard about your vigilantism. A lot of people supported you and your gang. Or did, anyway, until they all started dying and went from front-page news to a blurb buried in the back.
EJ: i don't want a way out. I want to return and save my people. I am responsible for them.
O: How are you planning on saving the dead?
EJ: Why should I think they're dead? You don't know for sure. You've admitted it yourself
The officer threw some pictures onto the table, before spreading them out with a palm.
O: These bodies were found. Based on our intel, they were all your lieutenants. Your top people.
EJ: Raina... She...she can't be. ...That's her ink. The one she got for me. She came when Robert did...she was never meant to be mixed into this...but we got...oh Sithspawn...
O: I'm sorry, kid. Look, your trials are about to wrap up. It's probably going to be the spice mines for you, considering how many people you've murdered. But we're offering you a way out, if you're willing to be more forthcoming about your past.
EJ: I...I want the death penalty. I got these people killed. I want justice for them. The spice mines are a death sentence anyway. Might as well make it quick.
O: Well, to be fair, the option we're offering is more or less a death sentence, too. We're offering you the chance to become a TIE fighter pilot. The powers that be have been impressed by your vigilantism and decided they could use your skills in a cockpit.
EJ: Hah. They want me in the Imperial Navy based off of my experience getting people killed. This has got to be the least funny joke you could've told me. Unless Raina came out from under that guard's hood there and yelled that this was an elaborate prank. That would be worse.
O: Well, to be sure, a lot of those people were people the Empire wanted dead. Just didn't have the time or personnel to deal with them. You could make a name for yourself in the Navy. A fresh start. Your experience of getting people killed is exactly why we want you with your hands at the controls. You recall why you're getting sent to the spice mines, don't you?
EJ: Because I killed people.
O: And why did you kill them?
EJ: To stop them from killing other people.
O: And that's what you'd do as a TIE pilot. Only you'd be legitimate, rather than doing so against the law.
EJ: And in a few months, I'll be killed flying one of those tin cans, and this will all be moot.
EJ: I keep the photos of my people. Do me this favor, and I will answer your questions and get killed in the Navy.
O: That's fair. Now? we need to know what you've been doing since the day your uncle died.
EJ: Fine. What would you like to know?
O: What did you do? How'd you survive?
EJ: After...after my uncle...died...I wandered the streets for a while. I saw a woman being attacked. Went in to stop it. Killed her attackers. She was Sasha Santrix. She became my second. We ...we went into a burning building once. Rescued two more from it before the whole structure collapsed. Raina and Robert Knight. These were low class housing. The slums. The places you guys forget about. We banded together. Stuck together. We made it off of what I was able to shoplift and steal, but soon we got caught in between the Vipers and the Scorpions. That was a bloody war, and they did not care that people were being hurt in the crossfire. The four of us agreed. We had to do something. There were plenty of people who knew us at that point, and I ended up recruiting eight more people. Keep the group small, so you can split into fire teams and use guerrilla tactics against them. That's how our war started.
O: How'd you pick your targets?
EJ: At first we did it re-actively. We'd see a guy attacking someone, we'd take him out. Over time, we started being able to identify problem elements in the upper levels. After Santiago replaced Vini, we realized that this wasn't always the best idea. Santiago was effective. Vini was a madman but somewhat predictable. We should've left him in power. I got a lot of people killed when we picked off Vini and let Santiago take over. Hard lesson. But you probably knew that already.
O: Yes, we kept tabs on your little war. But we needed to know your reasons. All right. You'll be checking out of here at 0300. None of your personal effects will be returned to you, but you will be issued a uniform for the Academy. We'll give you something for you to keep those photos in. I wish you the best of luck, Mr. Jackson.
EJ: You were doing a job, Officer. Don't condescend me by pretending to care. I eagerly await my uniform.
End of Transcript
A New Path in the New Order
Eric was conscripted into the Imperial Navy and assigned to the Naval Guard of his home sector. His first assignment was typical – he was assigned to a TIE/ln squadron, Dark Spears, and assigned to the 3rd Sector Fleet's Beta Line under the command of Lieutenant (JG) Quisitor and Ensign Jerec Darklighter. He severed his ties, more or less, to the criminal underworld where he had been for the past 12 years. It was in the cockpit of the TIE fighter, forced to confront the risk of death at any moment, that Eric realized his true love. His concerns were on the ground. The abuse he'd suffered, the horror he'd seen--it didn't matter when he was among the stars.
It was at this exact moment that Eric Jackson, the well-intentioned criminal from the Kuati underworld, became Crewman Eric Taylor Jackson, a proud member of the Imperial Navy, following the tradition set by his grandfather and his father before him. He continued to serve with distinction, flying sorties and scouting missions for the 3rd Sector Fleet. He rose quickly through the ranks, earning his commission ahead of many of his compatriots after showing incredible valor and competence in the field of battle. Eric's life, for the first time since he was seven years old, felt like it was going okay.
Elsewhere in the galaxy, there existed a faction: The Imperial Core. It was a splinter group that broke off after the ascension of Emperor Mccarthur that deviated from the ideals of the New Order, favoring power over order, destruction over the rule of law. It embraced the rule of the Sith Lords of old. It was a dark place.
Eric was vaguely aware of it, but he had spent a lifetime underground trying to survive. His knowledge of galactic politics was extremely limited at best, he was struggling with basic literacy, and he did not fully understand all the intricacies of the Dark Empire's, as it would later be called, relationship with the greater Galactic Empire. All he was aware of was the reprehensible news articles detailing atrocities against human and non human civilians alike. Eric was disgusted.
Unceremoniously, one day his Moff broke the news of the Dark Empire and the Galactic Empire's merger. The Kuati was aghast, declaring in private to the Moff that he would not serve in an Empire that allowed those warmongers and chaos-bringers to serve openly and above the fear of retribution.
It would not be the last time the headstrong Kuati was talked down from his vows. He begrudgingly agreed to continue his service, but to never acknowledge the Warlord Bonias' claim to his status. And then his vow was to never kneel and take orders from the Warlord.
And then Moff Mak Davar assigned him to the Order of the Dark Hand fleet.
It was a temporary assignment under then-Admiral Machkhit to Denevar, where Jedi Master Felix Darque had been spotted. The Sith Forces, with the Kuati's Lancer-class Frigate Celerity assigned to provide fighter support, were dispatched to chase him down. It turned out to be a fruitless gesture, forcing the Kuati to walk in the Sith's company for several months without orders, floating through the system without aim. It was on the last day that a thought struck him.
You serve your enemy. They are the demons you fought in the underworld. You serve them now.
It was not a thought organic to his mind. It was a thought that, as was later revealed to him, came from the Jedi Master. He had sensed the trouble within the Imperial Lieutenant, and had spread doubt in his mind. Eric immediately contacted his Fleet Command and Sector Command, and told them flat out what he had seen, and what he had not been doing. He was immediately recalled to the rest of the Third Sector Fleet
Eric returned to his fleet at Alderaan, under the command of the Fleet Commanding Officer, Commander Quisitor. Commissioned a Lieutenant, Eric was given oversight of the fleet's command operations in connection with the greater combined forces of the Second Assault Fleet and the Kuati Naval Guard. It was a tumultuous command, with the operation as a whole suffering under the weight of the greater struggle for power between the Sith and the Imperials loyal to Emperor Charon.
The operation wasn't a complete wash, though only if one allows other events that took place to factor in. Eric at this point met Captain Syn, who would go on to be one of his closest friends over the next ten years. He would integrate himself socially with the rest of the Second Assault Fleet, becoming the unofficial mascot. It was a pleasant period in an otherwise bleak time, and Eric's habit of denying the greater reality came back to bite him.
Little did he know, his assignment with the Dark Hand fleet had raised suspicions of his connections with Vodo Bonias' shadow intelligence organization, Majestic 12. Further compounding the suspicion was Eric's clinging to the insignia of his old gang, the Twelve Sentries of Kuat, with the ship prefix XIIS. This unknown prefix, combined with his unwitting service to Darth Gwar, left him in a compromised position politically. He suddenly made a lot of very curious friends from the Imperial Security Bureau, and strangely lost a few others in a sea of awkward conversation and narrowed eyes. A mark had been placed on his head. Eric, ignorant of this, went about his business and the suspicion would eventually subside, or at least become less overt.
Would that could be said for the rest of the Empire. The mistrust and internal war had finally come to a head. Vice Admiral Dreighton assumed control of Task Force Alderaan one day, over the objections of the other command staff. ISB Agents loyal to Charon moved to detain the Admiral. All hell had broken loose.
On Y4 D133, Eric woke to his comlink buzzing frantically. He saw the most recent emails first. Resignations. His eyes scanned over the entries in stunned disbelief. His subordinates. His superiors. His Moff. His entire Chain of Command had resigned before he'd ever known what happened.
The coup d'etat led by the Warlord Bonias had been successful in toppling Emperor Charon. In the aftermath, Imperial soldiers were deserting in droves, leaving their posts and stealing whatever was not nailed down. To Eric's horror, he found the life he had spent the past two years rebuilding crumbling in front of him. He was struck with a paralyzing fear. He had no idea what to do. Would he be in violation of his parole at this point if he left? Would he even leave? This was way above his pay-grade, and certainly beyond his limited education. Eric in truth had no comprehension of the higher political machinations, much to his great dismay. But he understood one thing.
He would not serve this betrayer, this regicidal maniac, this... treasoneer.
As he realized the full enormity of what was happening, he was stuck looking for answers. Kuat was his home. He had never gone much further than the outer reaches of the Kuat sector. His instinct was to run, but the Imperial worlds would not be safe under the Sith. And would he even want to leave? Thought upon thought would go through his mind. Could he really abandon his home to the Sith?
A new email interrupted his thoughts. Kolace Jorgensen, a man who briefly served as his CO, gave him his orders. The Imperial Forces loyal to Charon had been offered safe haven from the Sith. By the Jedi.
Now whose was the treason? The Imperial Loyalists would be retreating to Rebel-controlled Republica? Eric felt bile in his throat. Though he hated the Sith, he hated the terrorists that had claimed many young TIE pilots on distant worlds just as much. But there was no Empire for him anymore. Kuat was not safe. The Core Worlds were not safe.
Eric had to leave.
///***Begin MJ12 Video Archive Footage, Y4D134***. Camera 271A***\\\
Jason Marqs felt his boot stomp through the puddle as he walked home, his eyes staring at nothing in particular as he walked. The bitter wind, unseasonably cold for the time, sent a chill through the bones of the aging constabulary as he walked the long path home. He could have taken any number of speeders, and was not short of people to offer him a ride. But it was nights like this that he preferred to walk. He needed to think. His Emperor had been deposed, the military was in chaos, and nothing was as it should be. His eyes turned to the skies, and for a moment he could see the distant moons reflecting Kuat’s sun. He inhaled, and felt the rain beginning to fall.
In a movement that would have impressed his colleagues, Jason turned and trained his blaster on the voice. “Hands where I can see you.”
“Now now…” the unknown figure said, his face becoming reflected in the street lights. “You remember me, Officer Marqs.”
“…No?” The blaster was holstered, but Jason did not move to close the distance between the two. “Should I?”
“There was a kid about three years ago that you were interrogating, Officer,” he said, staring directly through the darkness into the policeman’s eyes. “He was the leader of the Twelve Sentries. You sent him to the Navy in return for an overlooking of his many, many crimes.” It was then that Jason saw the rank plaques on Eric’s chest. His face registered shock as he studied him. The hair was cut. The face bore scars from blaster fire. But it was undeniably the vigilante that had shook the Kuati underworld to its very core. “Eric Jackson! You’re alive?!”
“Surprised me too. I guess I’m just lucky. By some definitions.” Eric would step forward. “Look. I don’t have a lot of time. ISB has been taken over by—“
“Whatever you are about to tell me…don’t. I don’t want to know.” Jason turned around, but did not move. “Whole damn Empire’s gone to hell, and nobody knows what’s happening anymore.”
“Most people know exactly what is happening, Marqs.” Eric responded. “The Sith plague has infested us beyond what is bearable. Our Emperor is dead, usurped by this blind bastard in a black bathrobe.”
“This talk is treason.”
“So is assassination!” Eric exclaimed, and he would walk to face the Officer. “This, this planet, this Empire has gone corrupt! And now it’s gotten worse. It will be worse under Vodo Bonias, and mark my words, he will be Emperor. Uebles is a puppet. I don’t—“
“Stop!” Jason exclaimed, staring Eric in the face. “Just stop. You think I don’t know any of this? Hell, I watched the Sith infest every level. I know what’s going on. I’m not a fool.”
“Then do something!” Eric yelled.
“It’s not that simple, Eric! And if you weren’t still this brash kid who sees murder as some people see a hydrospanner, you’d understand that.”
There was a long silence as the two of them stared at each other, holding in a deep breath. Eric was the first one to break the silence. “You never cared about us. I had to do what I had to do to survive, but you never—“
“You never cared about us. But you saved me from the spice mines. So I owe you a debt. I don’t know how I will repay it, but I will.”
“You are…or were…legitimate. I don’t need thanks. You became an officer and did well for yourself, apparently.”
Eric would stare at him, before he shook his head. Carefully, his hand moved to his rank plaques, which he would strip off of his uniform. He placed the bars into Jason’s hand. “You’ll need it. We disagree on how to fix this. But I hope that there are more cops out there like you.” Jason took the bars wordlessly, and watched as Eric turned to depart. For a moment, he was going to let him. But then he called out, “Eric.”
Eric didn’t know what possessed him to turn to look back at him. But he did. “Yeah?”
“Sasha Santrix. Your second in command?”
Eric bristled. “What about her.”
“Santrix was a pseudonym.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because her birth name was Marqs. My daughter did not have a happy life. But you gave her purpose. And she died for something she believed in. She died for something. Not of something. And that’s because of you. The Empire needs people like you right now. But the galaxy may need you more. Take care of yourself.”
For a long time, Eric stood dumbstruck as he watched Jason Marqs walk away. He knew there was no turning back, and that if there were surveillance cameras on him, that the Sith forces would converge on him shortly. He didn’t know what would become of his …his savior. But he knew that if it were in his power, he would one day return his favor.
///***End MJ12 Video Archive Footage***\\\
The Vagabond and the Force
Eric was dismayed when he traveled to Republica. The Jedi, against the wishes of the Rebel Alliance, had given the Imperial defectors sanctuary in the Outer Rim. At first, Eric was skeptical of the Jedi Order. Had it not been for the long nights of debate and discussion with the Jedi Masters – to say nothing of his having nowhere to go -- Eric would have left immediately. Over time, he took over the logistical support for the Jedi Praxium, and began managing the resources of the Jedi Praxium's military wing.
Eric buried himself in work, watching the reshaping of the Empire from afar. The treacherous reign of the puppet Emperor Greyson Uebles had resulted in a catastrophic sundering of nearly every branch of the Empire, save the Sith Order itself, who were the only group who remained untouched. The Kuati felt himself grow embittered by the betrayal, and watched his homeworld turn from the bittersweet land of his birth, to the darkest hole that the Empire had to offer. He knew that even if he did return home – which he, on occasion, did – it would never be the same. Over time, he came to accept Republica as a home, and developed new contacts amongst the Jedi and the Rebel Alliance. And yet, he still thought of home.
Eric served in the Praxium for a period of a year and a half, before departing the Outer Rim, having grown disillusioned with the withdrawal of the Jedi from the Praxium as well as the inept command staff of the military itself. There had been no action against the Sith usurpers. There had been no retribution, no avenging of the fallen. There had just been complacency and contentment. It was not going to suffice.
Shortly after he left the Jedi Praxium, Eric's worst fears were confirmed when the Treasoneer, Vodo Bonias, ascended the throne after the disappearance of Emperor Greyson Uebles. Disgusted and looking for a way to depose the false Emperor, Eric began looking for ways to find vulnerabilities. To do this, he would need to study his ways. He would need to study the Dark Side of the Force. But how?
It was around this time that he was introduced to the Order of Krath. His wishes to study the Dark Side of the Force would not go unheard. He now had an audience with a defector from the Sith Order itself -- Thraken Solo
The Kuati spent months in the makeshift temples that the former Sith Lord had created. It was there that he would begin to learn the history of the Sith Order, the history of the Dark Side of the Force. He was an able and curious pupil, and despite his relative lack of a formal education, he found himself gaining a greater understanding of the Sith, and the ways he could take down the Emperor. It was the first time in his life that Eric actually considered what he was wanting to do. To assassinate an Emperor? He would never be able to pull it off on his own. He would need the help of everyone in the Order of Krath. And he would need the help of Thraken himself.
Unfortunately, Eric's dreams were not realized. Thraken Solo would depart the Krath abruptly, taking Eric's source of knowledge from him. A few months later, he was dead. Unceremoniously murdered aboard a forgotten Corellian vessel by someone the Kuati had never heard of. And Eric began to wander.
He began to frequent bars. Although he rarely drank himself, he was more than happy to take part in the company, which often included his former compatriots. It was not ideal, and Eric would often find himself leaving the place with a healthy amount of self-loathing for his failures. But it had become home. Of one sort or another.
It was in this Underground that he was gravely injured in an explosion meant for the White Angel, Tara Tylger. His injuries were severe, requiring the removal of his eyes and scarring that would take years to fade over most of his body. His knee was destroyed in a later barfight with her Enforcer, Banquo Knox, an on-again-off-again enemy/friend. He was never able to fully ascertain what his relationship was with most of the people in the Underground. Except for one.
It was a cold night in the Underground when he laid eyes on her. The woman who would pull him out of his funk had been lost and looking for shelter from the rain. Eric had bought her a drink, and they had gone home together that night. And for many nights after that. For the next six months, Eric and Alita shared a life that Eric could only describe as pleasing. For the first time, he began to think that maybe not everything in his life was worthless meandering from disaster to disaster. The moment he allowed himself to rest, however, tragedy struck.
Alita had been found dead in a speeder wreck on the way back from the doctor's office. Eric later found out that she had been declared pregnant by him. Eric was left an emotional wreck, crawling into a bottle for months at a time in an effort to forget her. During this time that he met Isis Demala. Introduced by a mutual friend during one of Eric's few moments of sobriety, Eric began to let her pry him open again. And eventually, he married her. He would never find himself as happy with her as he had been with Alita, but maybe, just maybe, he would be okay in time.
Kyle Rainer, a Falleen businessman associated with The Wraiths, contacted Isis and him. He was starting a new enterprise, and wanted the capable to join him. Bidding farewell to their respective employers, Eric and Isis made the trip to Endor, where Eric would take up the post of Consul of Infrastructure, in charge of managing the infrastructure and mining operations. Isis would become Consul of Culture. In a few years time, Eric and Isis had several children, Lucas, Lainey, and Leilani. He had not been consulted on the names, merely told what they were. The Kuati had shrugged it off–-this was what happened, right?--and let it and a great deal of other things slide. He buried himself in work, trying desperately to balance the responsibilities of being an adequate husband and father, with the reality that he was deeply unsatisfied with his positions, his marriage, and the greater political reality of his homeworld having fallen under the dominion of the Sith plague.
On a routine vacation to Republica, where Eric made diplomatic contact with his old friends in the Jedi Order. He shared drinks with Thragg Craghorn, the Gand Jedi Master with whom Eric had been friends for the past few years. It was during this conversation that Thragg revealed to him news that would alter his life forever. This presence, this power, this Force... Eric was able to touch it as he was. Eric had not believed it at first, but after having been unlocked to his potential, Eric found himself quickly developing his powers on his own merit.
Eric discovered that, due to his discovery at a relatively old age, being in his late 30s at the time, his gifts were somewhat limited. Eric found that he was a gifted telepath, and inept at everything else that the legends told of. This would be fine, Eric reasoned, for he could even early on manipulate the minds of those around him to achieve his ends.
The Jedi Order, however, were unprepared for him. The Kuati had found the Jedi Order in a shambles. There was less an order and more a vague association of people who could touch the Force who did not communicate and did not trust anyone within their ranks. Eric had finally had enough, and brought his own brand of Imperial order to the Jedi Order.
He began wrangling the old Masters out of hiding, and connecting them with apprentices. In secret, he began training under the fallen Dark Jedi Kal Fisto, who was instrumental in developing the Kuati's abilities. For months, he served as the de facto Grandmaster of the Jedi Order, a title he politely turned down given his relative inexperience.
When Jedi Master Reajiad Nero returned from the Unknown Regions, he was given the mantle of Grand Master, and declared Eric to be his right hand, citing his work revitalizing the Jedi and reactivating the training cycles that the Order was dependent on. With nothing but the Force strength of a neophyte and the organizational training of an Imperial, Eric had become one of the most prominent -- and controversial -- members of the Jedi Council.
The Rebel Alliance eventually learned of the revitalized Jedi Order, and sought to grip at the Order again. Eric found himself being told that if he wished to continue to be considered a Jedi Master, he would have to be aligned with the Rebels themselves. In a stunning display in the Jedi Round Hall, Eric denounced the Rebel Alliance and the old, ineffective Jedi Masters who refused to relinquish their death grip of influence that had kept Eric's efforts from being fully actualized. He departed the Round Hall for the last time, taking the YT-510 XIIS Pride back to Endor, to return to the seat of the Avance Coalition.
Eric took on apprentices from across the galaxy. Both public and private, strong and weak, Jedi and unaligned, Eric trained whoever sought his knowledge. This came at the cost of his marriage. Isis had never been supportive of Eric's developing his abilities, and one evening, he found himself unwelcome in his own home, deprived of most of his property in the subsequent divorce, and once again left out to wander.
Eric left the Avance Coalition and, following in the footsteps of several of his friends, traveled to Sevarcos. The Eidola Pirates had established an empire in the Outer Rim, and while they frequently troubled most of the galaxy, they and Avance, save for one incident, had enjoyed somewhat stable relations. When Eric stepped onto the planet’s surface, he found himself being greeted as a friend. The Pirate Queen, the Falleen Ice Queen, the Warlord and many other friends, old and new, had welcomed Eric to the pirate lands. He never took part in any of the Eidolon operations. He was instead left to his own devices, quietly training people who approached him and working on his ships for reasons he could never quite comprehend. It was a life of solitude after a life of constant input, and Eric found himself strangely comforted in spite of the company. Until he met...her.
The Assassin’s Blade
Eric wiped the sweat from his brow as he studied the innards of the YT-2000. It was bound the market, and while he did not really need the credits, it would have been excellent to just…not have to deal with the freighter anymore. He had gotten it for a friend, the friend had screwed him, so now it was his. He had to clean up the interior of the ship, as well as having to deal with a thousand other hustles, but at least his investment was back.
“Come on, you piece of…” Eric said, bashing the hydrospanner against a particularly stubborn engine. He was not entirely certain what had hoped to accomplish – it was rare in his experience that a delicate piece of equipment would suddenly begin to work after percussive maintenance – it did a good job relieving tension. So he hit it again. And a third time.
Her eyes narrowed over the ship’s hull. Slowly, she lifted her hands to the top of the hull. Gripping it tightly with her hands, she brought her elbow onto the hull, and then her far leg. Using both for momentum to crawl onto the ship, she climbed onto her feet and softly walked across the hall, her lithe body keeping her from being audible.
It was not like she had to try hard. The Kuati Jedi Knight had been making such a racket with his hydrospanner that she would have been able to remodel the interior without being noticed. Slowly she inched her way on the top of the ship’s hull, until the hatch came into view. She could hear her prey. She could hear him cursing. She could hear his breathing. She could...feel..his..pulse...
Her mind screamed at her as her hand clinched her vibroblade. Don’t lose control now. He can take us to him. Don’t lose control, Jessica.. DON’T LOSE---
“Come on you piece of—“
His curse was cut short as he felt a sharp bite in his shoulder. A vibroblade had caught him by surprise, driving deeply into his left shoulder. Reflexively, Eric retreated into the engine block, but the only escape was above him, where his attacker was.
“Stop hiding. Face me!” A woman’s voice. Eric tilted his head off to the side. Someone was trying to kill him, and they almost had. Eric had no way out. His lightsaber was inside his ship. He was backed into a corner. The moment he lifted his head above the hatch, it would be cut off. There was nowhere to go.
Stupid, Eric. Think! You are not just your hands anymore.
Eric had practiced this maneuver before. It had never useful in real combat. His powers were a joke in combat – or were they? There was nowhere left to turn. his blaster and lightsaber were in the ship, rendering him weaponless. The muscles in his shoulder had been cut, rendering him ineffective in hand-to-hand combat. There was only one way to get out of this, if it worked at all. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about the blood trickling from the severed tendons in his shoulder.
The Assassin glared down at the hatch, her vibroblade pointed at the entrance. She had her quarry cornered. This was going to be easier than she thought. “You have to the count of three.” She yelled, drawing down her sidearm into the hatch. “One...Two...”
She spun and fired the weapon at the voice behind her, though in an instant it vanished. She shifted her eyes around to look for her attacker, only to find another voice directly behind her.
Again, she turned around and fired, but there was nothing there. “Show yourself!” she yelled.
“Okay. I’m right here.” A voice to her left. She turned to face the voice, and found her prey. She drew down upon him. She was about to fire, when she heard “Or am I here?”
Eric had not moved a muscle, but the voice had changed. She turned to look and found …Eric? A look of confusion came over her as she heard another voice. “Come on now. You weren’t briefed on me?”
To her left. Another doppelganger. “I am not some victim you can stab and watch bleed, Jessica.”
Eric had discovered her name…but how?
“You are beginning to realize what you are dealing with.”
“I am no ordinary hit.”
“I am no chewing nerf, waiting to be slaughtered.”
Voices. Voices from everywhere. She found herself surrounded by a veritable army of identical clones of a six foot tall man, heavily muscled, with lightsaber hilts in hand. She could no longer count the clones of the Jedi Master. But for all the fear she felt, she knew that she’d been here before, with him. He had trained her well. And she would not be so easily threatened. She found herself expressing more confidence than she felt, her words crisp and unwavering.
“I have enough ammunition for all of you.”
From the crowd of Eric Jacksons came one, standing taller and seemingly less translucent than the others. He bowed his head to her. “I am Eric Jackson. You are Jessica Hyde. You have come to kill me. Now you know that I can kill you any time I wish. But that is not my will. Tell me this and I will let you go free.”
She was dumbstruck. For a moment in time, she found herself at a true loss for words. The Jedi Knight had her dead to rights. She had failed, and now she was supposed to die at his hand. That was how the law of the jungle worked. Her eyes darted from the lightsaber hilt and back to Eric again, though for the moment she found herself too dumbstruck to talk.
“Jessica, it is okay. My name is Eric Jackson. I am not going to hurt you if you stop trying to hurt me. I will help you if you let me. I will protect you from your employer. I just need to know…who sent you to kill me?”
She stared at him, eyes wild in contemplation. Her wits, however, were beginning to return Distract the target, wait to get the upper hand. He’ll make a mistake. She just had to wait him out. “I am not some lost lamb, Jedi. I won’t lead you back to my master.”
Eric studied her mind, and suddenly Jessica could feel her mind being read, like the pages from a book. Whatever Eric had found...seemed to trouble him. “Will not...? Or cannot, Jessica?” The man shook his head slightly. “I will not force you to accept my help, Jessica. You have tried to kill me and failed. The Jedi Code preaches forgiveness and mercy. You have had a hard road. I will grant you mercy on one condition.”
“You will find yourself lost again, Jessica. Please find me when you do.”
Jessica glanced over her shoulder as the sea of Erics parted, creating a path to the ramp leading to the ground. Her eyes trained back to the vocal doppelganger as she wondered if this was a trap. And yet, clearly remaining there was not an option, as it would almost certainly lead to her never having the upper hand again. So, blaster trained on the Kuati, she would back away from him, feeling the unnerving gaze of her target’s clone army studying her form as the Jedi himself studied her mind. She did not take her eyes off of them until she was within the treeline of the nearby forest, at which point she would turn and bolt, confused, and for the first time in a long time, frightened. One by one, the Eric Jacksons faded as the ship left, and as she passed from sight all that remained was the opaque Eric Jackson, watching her leave. And then it too, faded to the air.
His attacker having departed, Eric finally allowed himself to feel, suddenly becoming aware of the sorry state that his actual, physical form was in. his shoulder was badly damaged, bleeding heavily onto his clothes and -- worse -- into the engines. It would take forever to clean, but he was alive. That was better than most would be able to say. And he had even gotten a greater sense of just how powerful he could be. Illusion, it seemed, had saved his life. It was not honorable. But it was effective
But there was something that troubled him about his attacker. A ping had hit his mind when he turned the pages of her mind. Like her mind was accustomed to that sort of treatment. It was almost as if…
...she is attuned to the Force too?
It took all of three days for Eric Jackson to receive a coded transmission. She traveled back to Sevarcos, and joined Eric in orbit on the XIIS Symphony of Destruction. It was there that he learned her story. She was kidnapped at a very young age by her master, who put her through hell to turn her into a perfect assassin. There was no form of pain or horror spared her, and there were times that Eric, soft hearted and compassionate, would find himself filled with a deep mix of physical illness and smoldering loathing for her master, who she – sensing Eric’s growing anger, refused to reveal.
She stayed with Eric for three days, sleeping aboard his ship as a guest, learning about him and his world, and finding out what made him tick. It was only when he felt confident in her intentions that he would share with her a secret that would change her world. She fought him over it, refused to believe him, but it was only when Eric forcibly opened her mind to the world around her that she began to realize just what power laid dormant within.
Jessica – who rechristened herself Angelus – began training under Eric immediately. The Kuati’s calming, peaceful influence was a major clash with the training she had been used to. He guided her, he prodded her, and he was above all, gentle. When she was upset, he would speak to her with mercy and compassion. When she would cry, he would hold her. When she found herself awakening in the night, terrified and alone, she would always find her Master, who had come to love her, in the back of her mind, exerting a soft influence of comfort, drawing out her sense of security and easing the invisible demons that plagued her.
The changes within Angelus came quickly. Her mood lifted considerably, her eyes were no longer guarded and hiding. Life was returning to them, albeit slowly. She still woke up in cold sweats, and there were times where she acted in rebellion to Eric. Eric, to his credit, always responded with patience that seemed to be maddeningly infinite. Soon, Angelus became known to Eric’s oldest child, Lucas, and while Angelus was not a natural parent, she enjoyed the company of his son. Her powers grew, and she found herself kneeling before her master, his hands on her shoulders, pronouncing her Angelus Hyde, a Jedi Knight.
Eric grew fond of his apprentice, but he knew that his time with her was coming to an end. He had felt considerably awful about his growing fondness in the face of her dependence on his teaching. It was an unequal relationship, part of which Eric wondered if it would truly ever be equal enough to consider something more. Deciding, once and for all, that he would rather take his chances than always wonder, he would seek out his apprentice in her quarters upon her return. They’d had a few difficult missions, and he had let her take a sabbatical. She would be back within the week. He would tell her then. Maybe then.
But she never came back.
Avatar of Vengeance
The smell of death immediately filled Eric’s nostrils, as did the smell of burnt flesh. He called for his apprentice, but he could not see her. He could not feel her. Her room was a mess, bedding torn from the bed and tossed haphazardly on the floor. The Perdition, Angelus’ Pursuer, had a tracking device on it that was secured to Eric’s comm station. He had not told her it had been installed, but he was grateful that he had planted it there in the first place.
24 hours earlier, Eric had felt her turmoil and reached out for her through the Force. But her terror, her discord, her absolute misery had not abated. He was a gifted telepath, but she was systems away. He was not strong enough to project himself across that far a distance. But he held onto the feeling he had, the distinct thread of Angelus Hyde. He continued to project himself to this thread, worried that he wasn’t getting through. It was as Eric started to look for her on the galaxy map that he felt hit. Her sudden psychic scream. And then all was silent. And now, 24 hours later, Eric had the Perdition aboard his ship again. A medical team was standing by. But Eric knew that it would not be necessary.
When he found her, she laid bare upon the floor, her lightsaber – still ignited – laying flush against the carpet, burning it into a neat even layer for three feet onward. Eric slowly reached down to silence the blade forever, and looked to her body. The lightsaber had pierced her heart, but before that there was evidence of self inflicted wounds. Her wrists were bloodied, her hair – streaked white – had been torn out and lay in clumps around the room. The smell of vomit reached his nose, and if not for the grief, he might have retched. As it was, seeing the charred remains of her severed left arm – Eric surmised, having been burned as the lightsaber fell when she no longer was holding it – was almost more than the grief stricken Kuati could bear.
He didn’t know why, but his eyes looked to the desk. There, he found a hastily scrawled, bloodstained note.
I’m sorry, Eric. Daddy made me do it.
It was there that he saw the orange light on her holoterminal. And in the press of a button, his life changed.
The only light came from the streaks of lightning across the sky. What sounds there were in this backwater were drowned out by the deafening thunderclaps that rattled glass and drew the sleeping back to reality.
You look good, baby girl.
Eric stared at the door to the hovel. Behind it was his target.
You always did like sating Daddy’s appetites…
Grief had eluded him for the past two weeks. Sleep was a distant memory. Eric wanted to feel serene, but he didn’t. All he could see was the images.
Why don’t we have a little family reunion? A daddy and daughter day…for old time’s sake…
Just like old times..
His hand knocked. He felt his pulse in his neck. He felt every shake of his hands. There was no compassion in his eyes as the door opened. He had known the man for years. They had drank together. They had shot the breeze together. They had fought on the same side. And Eric had counted the man amongst his friends, strange as the man had been. But there was an evil that lurked there, one that Eric had not fully recognized. And two weeks ago, he had seen it. And seen what it did to the woman that he loved.
The figure in the doorway, shadowed by the light behind him, squinted at the face of Eric Jackson. Clad in a dirty, sleeveless tank top that barely covered his bulbous frame and lower garments that may have hardly been there at all, he stood apart from Eric Jackson, clad in the silver and grey military outfit of the Avance Security Force.
There was a very long, very tense moment of silence. The man stared at Eric, before slowly moving to close the door, only to find it blocked by the careful placement of Eric’s boot. Eric stood apart from the man, his eyes staring holes into his mind. There was another long, pregnant pause.
What possessed the gargantuan man to break the ice was known only to him.
“I’m guessing my little girl isn’t waiting outside.”
Daddy like…daddy like…daddy like…daddy like…
“Chaos take you, DruG.”
Eric Jackson lunged at Jeric Sensar, hands extended and aimed for his throat. Jeric, in his element and in his own home, would step behind the doorframe, shoving it into Eric to knock him off balance. As Eric careened into the far wall, Jeric grabbed the blaster he kept by the door and fired off a few shots at Eric, two missing wildly and one striking his left shoulder scorching the armor and scalding the skin. Eric’s mixed cry of fury and agony shook the room and caused the bulbous man to laugh as he fired off two more rounds, striking Eric in the side and the leg as he tried to cover up.
Still in his element, Jeric fired one more shot at a nearby bookshelf, toppling the supports and showering Eric in full bottles of liquor, magazines and lubricant. A glass bottle struck Eric in the back of the head, dazing him. Pinned underneath the falling bookshelf, Eric stared up at Jeric as he stood over him. His arms trapped, he was powerless to stop Jeric from striking him twice in the face with the pistol, bloodying his nose and badly damaging the orbital bone in his left eye.
The fight having been taken out of him, Eric was helpless except to stare up at Jeric, an evil glint in his eye as he reached for his pants.
“I’m going to make you call me daddy, Eric. Just like she did.”
Daddy like…daddy like…daddy like…daddy like…
There is a point in every Jedi Knight’s life where he makes a choice. Does he submit to the fate that his code has given him, and seek to come out the other side? Or do they draw upon the forbidden powers that are always beckoning, demanding they seize power, free themselves, and take their rightful place amongst the galaxy. The power to survive was in their hands.
I don’t want to survive.
You could rule the Galaxy, Eric! Take control! Your own liberation is in your hands!
I don’t want to rule.
But the dark powers are not foolish. They understand every route into a Jedi’s heart, perhaps better than they do. The Dark Side understands every man’s weakness. And Eric’s weakness, was always the people he loved.
And as Jeric Sensar prepared to humiliate the fallen Jedi Knight, his mind began to rebel. At first, a dull throbbing in the side of his head. And then the pain exploded, his mind in sudden agony that left him nearly paralyzed from the sheer brutality of it. Jeric mustered what strength he could in an effort to flee from the rogue Jedi Knight, but barely made it a few feet before the pain subsided. Stars danced before his eyes as he realized what had happened. The Jedi tricked me... he thought, and he slowly turned back to face Eric...
...who had spent the time crawling out from under the debris. The Eric Jackson he was fighting was gone. There was something new in those eyes. Something...ferocious. DruG had never seen anything like it. And in his hesitance, he had not even noticed that the Kuati had drawn his lightsaber.
Unfortunate for him, Eric was able to take advantage of this hesitance. His lightsaber swung in a wide arc, catching Jeric underneath the bicep of his blaster arm, severing it in one neat swing. As Jeric stared in horror at his strong arm flying away, Eric would use the moment of distraction to bring his saber down on the opposite shoulder, severing it. The smell of charred flesh filled the room as Eric drew back, his eyes burning red with hate.
Jeric was stunned, but defiant to the last. He stared at the fallen husk of what had been his arm, before looking back to Eric. Collecting saliva, DruG would spit at Eric's feet. "That's cheating."
Another cry filled the room as Eric charged Jeric. Jeric attempted to move, but found his legs quickly removed from his body by the force of a circular lightsaber swing. Separated from his limbs, Jeric rested atop of what used to be his lower limbs, until Eric kicked him with every ounce of force strength he could muster, straight in the chest. Ribs had cracked, but the greater damage was done when his body, propelled by the Force and Eric's kick, crashed into the plaster, leaving him mounted within the housing as if an incredibly macabre picture frame.
Jeric knew this was the end. But true to his nature, he could not resist one last line. “It’s not like I need limbs to get off. I have Jess for that.”
His rage had reached a pitch, and suddenly Eric found himself angling his lightsaber carefully against Jeric’s body. Terror started mounting on Jeric’s face, but there was nothing he could do as the lightsaber, centimeter by centimeter, drove itself between his legs.
Jeric’s screams had turned to a dull moaning. Eric Jackson regained his senses, and examined his work. The house was a devastated mess, his opponent's limbs lay haphazardly on the floor, his own wounds had begun to bleed profusely, and various liquor bottles had been scatted about. Liquor. That was an idea. Eric recognized one of the bottles--a Kuati brand, he noted--and drank deeply from it. He returned the cap to the bottle and closed his eyes. It was then that Jeric spoke up again.
”You can’t finish, Eric?” DruG asked. “Because I would finish…” And as Eric turned to look at him, he saw the eyes of his former friend burning holes in his own. “Every time. Maybe that’s why I was her daddy. Not you.”
This time, however, perhaps sobered by the liquor or the pain, Eric realized the full scale of what he had done. Jeric Sensar continued glaring at Eric, knowing full well that he was a dead man. He wanted to make this quick. And his eagerness to die betrayed him. Eric turned to look at Jeric Sensar. His eyes pierced into Jeric's own. A long moment of quiet fell over the house.
And then Eric Jackson smiled.
The smile soon turned into maniacal laughter as Eric began scooping up bottles of alcohol and whatever else he wanted. The laughter would intensify as Eric departed the house, leaving Jeric to scream in fury at the slow death that Eric had condemned him to. The laughter would persist in Eric until the very moment the XIIS Pride entered Hyperspace, at which point it turned, almost immediately, unto uncontrollable sobbing.
Angelus was avenged. And all it had cost him was his soul.
When Eric left Sevarcos with Angelus, he was at peace. His apprentice was healing, he was content.
When he returned, his eye socket had broken, his lip was split, his eyes were hollow and he was decidedly granted a wide berth by the citizens of Sevarcos. For a long time, the rogue Jedi Knight lived as a recluse, barely leaving his ship to get groceries, much less interact with the world. Occasionally, the XIIS Pride would take off and leave for weeks at a time, but it would always return to the same spot where he had met Jessica those months earlier. Those that did interact with him, including one of his more amoral subsequent apprentices, tried to keep the talk to a minimum. It was clear that Eric was a shell of his former self. Til one morning when he crawled out of the haze of a hangover after discovering that he had no more liquor to drink, he noticed a message on his terminal.
It was an Imperial soldier. A young one. Eric might not have responded to her if not for him catching the wisp of blonde hair. Flight Corporal. It wasn’t that long ago that he had worn that very rank. His hands ran through his hair, long and unkempt, as he tried to push the cobwebs out of his mind. His hands extended over the screen and he began to write his response. They corresponded in secret, through secure channels that Eric had learned how to connect over time. They became friends.
They spoke for days, and Eric found himself starting to take an interest in galactic politics again. His holoterminal saw itself being used more in the next few days than it had in the previous few months. Eric found himself consuming information again, finding the status of the galaxy again. The fog of alcohol gradually left his system, and he found himself thinking of the future again, rather than wallowing in the past.
The Eidola Pirates have a rule. Any pirate may designate anyone in the galaxy an untouchable. They would not be acted upon, and if they had become a target unwittingly, their lives would be spared. Eric had found himself simply not caring enough until that moment. So the first time he stepped off the YT-510 in a few days, he would walk straight to the pub-turned-headquarters, and write a note on the wall.
Mark of Cain: Inwe Ventidius
They kept in touch over the next few months, Eric guiding her career and suggesting her moves from afar. It was not long before the young Flight Corporal had become a director of her own production company. A truly meteoric rise that Eric was genuinely impressed by. He had been around a lot longer, and all he seemed to have to show for it was the empty liquor bottles.
It was a storming day when Eric received the news. The Pirate Queen had captured someone major in the Imperial Remnant. Usually Eric ignored such declarations, as her definition of major and his had wildly different. But that time he looked. And the next thing he did was ignited the engines on the XIIS Pride.
The Pirate Queen was eager to see Eric Jackson, a man who she had developed a great respect for over the years in spite of their ideological differences. But Eric’s hard stare and sharp words ended any sense of camaraderie to the conversation. Eric had just stormed the Pirate Queen’s flagship, the Gráinne Ní Mháille, and demanded under the Mark of Cain that Inwe Ventidius be freed. And that he would stand in her cell with her until she was freed.
It was a few days in the cell with Inwe, but Eric – for the first time in a long time driven by his convictions – did not budge from his place next to her. This was in fact the first time the two had met in person despite many, many holoterminal conversations. It was a funny way to meet. Teniel Djo was not pleased with Eric, but had forced to concede the Pirate Code was on his side. With Eric refusing to budge, Teniel would eventually ransom Inwe off, and she was freed to go.
However, Eric’s action had caused a rift between himself and Teniel that would not heal. He had let Sevarcos get to him. The planet was miasma, enforcing its own stasis and indulging its own hopelessness. He had to leave. His last few friends in Eidola, the Ice Queen and the Warlord, did not truly bid him goodbye as they were never truly out of touch. But they understood his need to return to public life. Eric’s place was not amongst the pirates.
Eric returned to Endor to find the house where his children lived vacant. He tried using his comlink address. Nobody answered. He tried contacting Kyle Rainer. Nobody there. It was only after Eric walked brazenly into the Hall of Houses that the news of his family had reached him.
When Eric fell to the dark side, it sent ripples through the Force, ripples that were felt by the people that Eric had trained, of which Avance had several. His subsequent radio silence had led them to fear the worst, that Eric Jackson had gone off the deep end. And given the acrimonial nature of his marriage’s dissolution, it was agreed upon that Eric Jackson was not to be permitted contact. The Avance Coalition, the government he built, was acting against him, fearing the depths of what he was willing to do.
And so Endor was no longer a welcome home for him. Sevarcos was no longer home for him. Republica was never home to him. Kuat was hostile to him. There was only one other place to go. He had learned much in his travels. He had learned the ways of the Jedi, and the depths of depravity that sentient life was capable of. He had seen anarco-communes and benevolent dictatorships. He had studied under Sith Lords, he had trained under Jedi Masters. He had loved. He had lost. And most importantly, he had deviated from his initial goals when he broke free of the Kuat blockade, so long ago.
Bastion was the only place that would permit him to act upon his wish.
Eric Jackson was going to assassinate an Emperor.
///***MJ12 Intercepted Holonet Communication.
///*** Speculated Identities:
///*** Jackson, Eric (Screen Name: Dad19441@woomail
///*** Demala, Lucas (Screen Name: LDRox09)
[2201CGT] Dad19441@woomail: sorry that you feel this way about me. im not the monster your Mother says. yes I have renounced the edi [sic] teachings but i am not a threat. I am not going to jump off the slippery slope and start masecering [sic] people at random.
[2201CGT] LDRox09: They say the Dark Side takes over minds.
[2203CGT] Dad19441@woomail: those are just stories.
[2203CGT] LDRox09: They say the Emperor was once a regular person before he started using the Dark Side.
[2205CGT] Dad19441@woomail: The Empror [sic] was always an evil man. I am going to stop him.
[2206CGT] LDRox09: Mom says you’re going to end up just like him. And then we’ll have two people who are evil.
[2208CGT] Dad19441@woomail: thats not tru don’t say that. I love you and I will always protect you
[2209CGT] LDRox09: You will be one of them. It will happen. Mom has said it will happen.
[2209CGT] LDRox09: Don’t talk to me anymore, dad. Mom is moving us away.
[2211CGT] Dad19441@woomail: u think I wont look? U r my son!!! i love you!!! I know things arnt good with me and ur mom, but im not a bad man. I take care of u. I keep u safe.
[2212CGT] LDRox09: You want to keep us safe, Dad? Stay away from Leilani and Lainey. Stay on Bastian. Don’t come back to Endor.
[2212CGT] LDRox09: Don’t talk to me anymore.
[2212CGT] LDRox09: You used to be my hero. I was little when you got that Jedi ponytail. Now I don’t recognize you.
[2212CGT] LDRox09: Stay away.
[2213CGT] LDRox09 is now Offline
[2215CGT] Dad19441@woomail: I love u
[2215CGT] LDRox09 is Offline. Your message will be sent when they are online.
[2221CGT] Dad19441@woomail: I hope u will understand me when ur older
[2221CGT] LDRox09 is Offline. Your message will be sent when they are online.
[2235CGT] Dad19441@woomail: y don’t u say anything
[2235CGT] LDRox09 is Offline. Your message will be sent when they are online.
[2321CGT] Dad19441@woomail: plz dont hate me. i love u. plz talk to me
[2321CGT] LDRox09 is Offline. Your message will be sent when they are online.
///***End of Transcript***
After its rocky start, Eric found the New Imperial Order, one of several splinter groups from the Sith Order's reign over the Empire. He found an old friend of his, Dannar SherGarr, as Executor of the New Imperial Order. The Throne had been unseated deliberately, preferring the emptiness of the chair to the fullness of a displaced Emperor. SherGarr had changed, Eric had noted, and he had rechristened himself Thomas Cherokee, after the Grand Admiral, though the official word was that Dannar was Thomas' moniker, and not the other way around. This was one of many things that Eric would simply shrug off. His old friends were in charge. His Imperial way of life would be revitalized here. He served as the Lord Protector and leader of the Imperial Knights, a Force sect in opposition to the Empire. He worked mostly undisturbed, and served as advisor to the Throne on all Force matters.
Against Eric's better judgment, there was eventually a merger between the New Imperial Order and the Galactic Empire, and Eric returned to his government for the first time in seven years. He stayed in the shadows of the Empire, training in secret until he was abruptly uncovered one day by the Emperor. Not taking no for answer – perhaps even detecting the fallen Jedi Master's intentions to kill him, the Venerable Dark Side Master forcibly inducted him into the Sith Order.
Three days later, the Venerable Dark Side Master was only that, and not the Emperor anymore. Thomas Cherokee had ascended through the machinations of Orphaea Imperium. Though Eric was never clear on the details, he knew that the Emperor had been deposed. And Eric now had unrestricted access to the Sith tomes.
He considered leaving Korriban, and retiring for good to Kuat. Instead, he kept walking into the Temple. And began a journey that would change his life forever.
Eric began to delve into the lost history of the Sith Order. The ancient followers of Bogan spoke to the Kuati, often driving him to madness, speaking incoherently to himself and mumbling at random intervals. He was left to his own devices for the better part of three years, before being summoned by Emperor Ndengin--Cherokee's successor--to ascend to the High Command.
He was to take up the mantle of Lord Steward of the Sith Order--essentially Darth Astes' second--and Moff of the Imperial Corporate Sector, which predominantly consisted of the Sith worlds. It was a position that was not incongruous with his work, and he found that, while he was in over his head as far as the political and civil development went, he was able to secure the loyalty of his people, and cultivated an excellent staff that would aid him in all of his failings while he concentrated on the larger goals of the sector.
It was during this time that Eric discovered his name. Bogan, what the uninitiated called the Dark Side, spoke to him of his calling. The Lady Sigyn, during the First Great Schism some 25,000 years earlier, had been the pivotal moment on which the original Dark Jedi rested their history upon. She had heard of the original Jedi Order being authorized to eliminate Xendor, a rogue pupil who had expressed discontent with the teachings of the early Jedi Order. She informed her husband of the plot, and was convinced by him to depart the Ossus Temple. Though her history faded from memory at this point in time, it was her apparition that appeared before the fallen Grand Master. She was forgotten by all but him. And now, he would be her legacy.
From that day forward, Eric Taylor Jackson would be known as Darth Sigyn.
On Broken Wings
It had been days since he'd left his bed.
The Kuati glared at the ceiling above him and the droid beside him intermittently. The facilities aboard the Symphony of Destruction were not top notch, but they were adequate. He was as comfortable as he could be in this situation, though the droids were useless in diagnosing him.
The Derra system. He had been providing support and fighting alongside the soldiers of the 2nd Legion. He had taken up this duty gladly, for the glory of the Empire, It was not demanded of him to serve. But the men and women he commanded were there. He would not have found himself able to command them again should he have neglected that duty. Now he regretted that. Laying aboard his flagship, surrounded by metal walls and metal companions, he found himself retreating to his head. The Dark Side of the Force had never been his friend. An uneasy ally at best. Yet he found himself trying to draw upon the dark wellspring that he'd held at arms length.
"Bad wound. May I?" He had asked, gesturing to the stack of bacta patches. The rebels were easy to dispatch, but numerous. He would reflect eleven out of the twelve blaster bolts. The twelfth one had gotten through. Why, he was uncertain. How, he was uncertain. Such questions would puzzle him later, and he would review the nearby droid's footage for his own practice at a later occasion. A sharp pain shot through the living nerves in his arm as he applied the patch over the deep burn in his sword arm, and the Kuati grimaced. "Never liked this part," he muttered to himself, eyeing the covered wound. He lifted his arms over his head, stretching out the nerves as he felt the compound begin to knit his skin back together.
"Back to it. Or should I say...Bacta to it?"
The stern look of General L'annan had said it all. No. No he should not say.
The Kuati found himself more lost than before. The Dark Side, a power he pushed away when times were good, would not serve him now much to his great annoyance, but not to his great surprise. But the Force was not completely silent. Through it, he could sense that there was a visitor. Someone the droids would permit entrance. It was his acolyte, a Force incognizant who had served Darth Sigyn faithfully nevertheless. He was there to drop off supplies and receive the Dark Lord's commands. His hand gripped at the side of his bed as he forced himself onto one of his elbows, trying to bring himself to his feet. A shrill cry came from the medical droid, who protested sharply Eric's movement.
"Lord Sigyn, you must remain in bed!" his acolyte exclaimed in dismay.
"The...hell...I will..." Eric responded, his eyes narrowing at the console. A sudden, sharp pain shot through his heart, and he fell back to the bed, his hand gripping at his chest.
Beep beep. Beep beep. Beep beep.
Eric had barely heard his servant's voice as he felt his heart pounding in his ears. His acolyte drew close, and had the unfortunate luck of getting caught in a vice grip as another seizure racked Eric's body. His hands, though weaker from the illness, still were found capable of grasping the man's shirt and resisting efforts to relinquish it.
Beepbeepbeep. Beepbeep. Beep beep beep beep.
"What...is...happ...AGH!" The Sith Lord's screams suddenly pierced the bulkheads. He could feel his bones shifting and reshaping themselves. His screams terrified him, and he could feel the shaking of the bulkheads. The lights would shatter through the sheer force of his agony, which resonated throughout the system. The greatest agony of all came from his right leg, which had forced itself to reshape around the durasteel replacement he had installed when his original was destroyed. The bones tried to grow, and snapped in half, protruding through the skin and causing blood to spill profusely, aggravated by the spasms of pain that shot through the rest of his body.
He fought. He fought, and he screamed, and he thrashed, and he spasmed, and he screamed some more. And he screamed until the breath had left his lungs and the strength had left his remaining good limbs, and the blood rushed through his body and through the open wound that tore open his leg. He screamed until he could not scream. And then he was still. And then he was silent.
Beep. Beep. Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee...
"He's gone." The acolyte, whose normal space-bred pallor turned an even starker shade of pale, muttered to himself. He was the sole witness to the demise of the Dark Lord of the Sith and the Moff of the Corporate Sector. He could easily be put on trial for this. He felt a panic shoot through his body as he realized the predicament he was in. His ships were Imperial. His tracker was Imperial. His DNA was registered. There was nowhere for him to go.
His heart had stopped. He could not feel the blood in his body. He had closed his eyes and sunk back into the bed, waiting for chaos to take him for good. The agony gradually faded. His head swam. He could feel a warm trickle of blood from his nose. He knew that this was the end.
His thoughts turned to those of his children. The look of distain in the eyes of his eldest, who saw his Father, the Dark Lord of the Sith, as a perversion of who he once was. The Kuati had been saddened by his son's exiling him from his family and his insistence that he not return. But it could not be said that it did not fill him with pride to see his son's courage. So wildly outclassed in everything – piloting, fighting, dueling – yet completely willing to fight to protect his family. Even against his own father.
He saw the moment that he declared his fealty to the Order of the Sith. It was not a proud moment, when he gave the treasoneer's oath to the Treasoneer himself. His last line had been crossed, from a time when he was young and refused to even serve alongside the Sith, going as far as betraying the Empire he loved to save it from the Sith plague. That day he became one of them. That day he betrayed the one oath he had left. It raised a bitter taste in the back of his throat.
A bitter taste...?
But...what of the agony?
The Kuati found he had grown numb, but his world had not faded. He could hear the bulkheads, the deep breathing of his acolyte, the hum of the engines. There was something different though. Something new. His body bled, but that was a tertiary concern. His secondary concern was that he had been holding his breath for a long time. ...Too long. He was a man of great athletic ability, but the breath he let out should have been followed by gasping. But it wasn't. He had not even felt like he should breathe. Like it was unnecessary. Such a matter would puzzle him, but...
Eric's acolyte turned from the body of his former Master. He looked to the shelves around the Kuati. He was not going to be needing his valuables anymore, and the pilot was going to need to run. The XIIS Pride was his now, he supposed. And the Dreadnaught. And his Lightsaber...he felt greed rising within him. The Kuati had great holdings. He was going to take what was his and flee to the outer systems.
"Yes, these will do nicely..." He could hear his acolyte's thoughts. Not through the Force...it was something different. Something greater. He could sense his duplicity. He could sense his greed. And he was angered by it. "You have served me well..."
He had not intended to project his voice into the mind of his servant. But he realized he had when the man jumped and paled. He turned to find Lord Jackson, face twisted in a ravenous sneer, as a wolf among sheep. The hands of the Dark Lord clutched the throat of the acolyte. He lifted him off of the ground with a strength he did not realize he had possessed. There was a scream. A long, terrified, unconditional scream. And then all that was left was the winged body of the Sith Lord, glowing faintly in the darkness of the newly-destroyed medical bay, and the withered husk that used to be his servant. Life force stolen to revitalize the Dark Lord as his final act of service.
It was not for a few hours longer that Darth Sigyn would send a message to High Command. He sought medical attention from a trusted doctor, and had his leg set. It would never function, and his wings were useless. He was stuck in this lanky, oversized, glowing body that was too thin for the muscles that had reformed onto his skeleton. His body was not even strong enough to fly. The diagnosis was clear. He had been a victim of the Metamorphosis Plague, and was now, genetically, Diathim. He had had to look up that species, and found information on them to be sketchy at best. A pilgrimage to the Ash Worlds was planned for the future. But he had work to do in the meantime.
He was fortunate, he supposed. He could have become any number of species that had much more complex forms. He was still relatively humanoid. He could hide his condition under the heavy robes and cloaks of the Sith Order. But not for long.
And then? And then all hell would break loose.
Eric’s transition to Diathim had not been an easy one. His right knee, fused together with metallic alloys to hold it together after a traumatic injury, had been the only part of his bone structure that did not alter. As a result, the metal substance, sculpted to fit a human knee, served as his worst enemy during the transition to the Diathim musculature. The Diathim, while slight, were also a very tall species. Eric’s legs grew to accommodate an extra foot and a half of height, and the rapid expansion of his thigh and shinbones against the plate caused both to splinter, resulting in damage to the expanding musculature from the combination of metal intrusion and bone fragments.
When Imperial doctors studied his leg, it was determined that the best they could do was stabilize the bones and ease the pain. Eric underwent three separate operations on his leg, starting with the knee to remove the now-dangerous metal implant that had been his saving grace, and two more in order to reconstruct and allow limited mobility in his leg. While the muscles in his leg would eventually knit back together, the bones in his leg were permanently fused together, leaving him unable to walk without assistance.
This was a lesser problem for Eric, who was capable of utilizing the Force to sustain an almost normal gait and simulate combat acrobatics. The greater problem was the first time he reported to Coruscant to stand before the Emperor.
Eric Taylor Jackson, Lord Steward of the Sith Order, Imperial High Commander, Moff of the Corporate Sector and Advisor to the Throne, was now no longer human. As, it seemed, were many others. He was not the first victim of the Metamorphosis Plague. He was not even the first Imperial to be the victim. Though many of them shifted DNA to remain human or near-human – Eric noted the abundance of those with Kiffaran heritage in the Empire now – his was one of the more malignant transformations. It was hard when he walked into his first monthly gathering, his cane supporting him as he stood in front of his peers, his superiors and his subordinates, in full view of the Empire. He expected condemnation. He expected to not leave the meeting a free man.
Instead, he found himself being lifted to his feet by the Emperor. He was not a Kuati first. He was not a Diathim first. He was Eric Tiberius Jackson (Eric had never succeeded in providing the Emperor with a copy of his birth records confirming that his middle name was not, in fact, Tiberius). It was that moment that he was presented with the Order of the Imperial Seal, an honor bestowed to a selected group for their heroic service to the New Order, and the Obsidian Crescent, for his sacrifice on the battlefields of Derra, both immediate and after the fact. His career may never advance within Imperial government, but neither would it end.
Eric would not only walk out of that meeting with his freedom and his life, but with his Rank as well. He was to return to the Outer Rim, a cosmopolitan sector with many alien species within its borders. Eric would be the symbol. The Human that was now Alien, who served as both inspiration to other victims of the plague, and aliens seeking asylum from Rebel and Pirate controlled worlds. His sector would become a beacon. A symbol of growth. It was his chance to create the Empire he had loved as a young, troubled man at the controls of his first TIE Fighter.
Eric returned to a Corporate Sector in transition. The worlds had been virtually untouched during the reign of Vodo, simply floating through space, Imperial territory due to the proximity to Korriban, but was sparsely populated, again as a consequence of its proximity to the homeworld of so much brutal history and energy. In truth, Eric was among many who could not stand Korriban. The spirits had rejected him as a successor, and he had rejected them as spiritual predecessors.
So his efforts to build the Corporate Sector revolved around a different world. There are those who would have seen Dromund Kaas for what it was. A slum world with no hope and no future, covered in criminal elements and utterly beyond redemption. But then..they had told Eric the same of the Kuat slums. Had he stopped to examine that thought, he would have realized that there was a reason for that opinion of both of these. The Twelve Sentries cleared up the underside of Kuat, and for a very short time there was a semblance of peace. But it did not last long, his group was systematically hunted down and murdered in the streets, and Eric had been imprisoned, leaving Kuat back the way he ultimately had found it.
But he didn’t. Eric’s immediate move was to gather the Regional Governmental senior officials and announce his bold revitalization strategy. He would rebuild Dromund Kaas as the economic powerhouse of the Outer Rim. He would create a crime-free utopia. He would make this a metropolitan paradise, where people of all histories and origins can come together and provide for a more perfect future. And as he outlined his objectives, he became visibly excited at the possibilities. He and his staff would truly show once and for all that the Outer Rim was not a backwater. It was Coruscant-in-Waiting. They were going to rebuild this planet and create with it a new purpose.
The very next day after the meeting, Eric woke up to find that two thirds of his senior sector staff had resigned or transferred to the Core Worlds. There was exactly one third of his staff left, and the highest ranked official was an older Prefect. Had Eric had the foresight that should be expected of a politician, he would have recognized the glint of opportunity in his eyes. Instead, Eric asked him to serve as his right hand on all sector affairs. He was promoted to the rank of Senior Prefect and with his experience, he became invaluable to Eric. All the players were in place. His ideals would be proven. He would be the benevolent ruler, and his people would support his efforts to create something great.
He had been in over his head from the start, but it was only six months in when he realized it. Eric, idealistic and eager to seek the good in people, would find himself facing the harsh reality of governing. Is this contractor screwing the sector? Do we demolish these shacks to build that low cost apartment building? Do we need more bars? Police officers? What budget gets how much money? Who gets promoted? Who did he just piss off from that promotion? Who did he just piss off by staying in and reheating leftovers instead of attending that stupid banquet? Introverted at heart, Eric would try his best to be the symbolic head of the Sector, but more and more he found it wearing on him.
His subordinate, Everard de Montfort, was an exceptional bureaucrat, but Eric had begun to realize where he and his protégé would clash. The Governor was eager to learn from Eric, and Eric treated him as he would any of his Sith Apprentices – with an open book and a guiding hand, Everard took Eric’s knowledge and abilities, and turned them into his own. Eric’s political allies became Everard’s. Eric’s military knowledge and historical longview became Everard’s. Suddenly, he would find himself walking into his own office and find nothing to do but review the banquets he would attend in his honor. Everard had taken so much over in the day-to-day affairs that he had made Everard the de facto Moff. Construction jobs were signed off, recruitment, ranks, transfers, merit assignment, all of the day-to-day management was given to Everard, and after the disastrous reconstruction of one of the Dromund slums, the people of Dromund Kaas began to lose faith in the governing ability of Eric Jackson. He was a military commander, a brilliant tactician, a powerful Force Master and an inspiration to those who saw him at a distance. But he was simply not skilled in the management of a bureaucracy.
And then there were the personal problems. Eric’s reconstructive surgery on his leg had continued to hamper his day to day. He required physical therapy for his leg and for his new bladed wings, a training he began reluctantly only after learning that they were tied to his nervous system, could not be removed without spinal trauma, and atrophy of them would have unpredictable effects on the spine. So Eric began training these wings that felt like a cancer on his body, like six bladed weapons in his spine, a daily reminder of what he had lost. Many times he woke in the night at the shadows over his shoulder, only to find them to be his own wings. His bioluminescence made it difficult to lay in the dark, as he kept catching sight of his own hands when preparing to sleep. His clothes had to be retailored, his ship had to be redesigned, his fighting had to adapt to his shattered leg. And there was very little in the way of painkillers for his nervous system. Diathim were a poorly understood race, and while new drugs were being pushed through trials, they were not yet ready. So Eric spent his days tired, on edge, in pain and unhappy.
The happiest day of Eric’s reign as Moff of the Corporate Sector was for the longest time the day he discovered that alcohol still dulled his nerves and senses. But it was very soon topped.
“I can’t believe he would do that.” Eric said, staring out the viewport of the Symphony of Destruction. His hands behind his back, he could feel his friend in the room. She had been with him when he got the news. “I just, I can’t believe it. Everard, the slimy…”
The red headed woman shook her head softly as Eric continued. “I gave him everything! I saw his potential, and I gave him the room to run. You think he’d be anywhere without me? He was a provisional prefect for YEARS before I uplifted him. I gave him his career. I gave him his career. And this is how he repays me?!”
He turned to look at her, a look of bitter anger in his eyes. “I screwed up. I wasn’t a good bureaucrat. But I led the Corporate Sector, dammit. The people had faith in me. IHC had faith in my ability to inspire. They still do. But because some paper pusher does a great job tying people up in so much red tape that nothing gets done, he’s a productive…”
The protest died on Eric’s lips as he realized just how hollow his own words were ringing to him. He slumped down into his chair, staring out into the planet. “They deserved better than him. But they want him because he made that planet work. He found a way to make those competing interests work. But he’s corrupt, and so is the planet. In two years, we built a metropolis, but didn’t cure the poison. We just planted trees. Is this my legacy? I turned a cancer-ridden planet into a cancer-ridden planet with skyscrapers. Is that what the tenure of Moff Jackson will be remembered for?”
His red-headed companion had apparently heard enough, for she had placed her hand on the desk. It was not a violent move, but it was a move he had learned to appreciate. She did not strike a commanding figure. But she had trained to demand respect. The steely-eyed look in her eyes shut up the Sith Lord. And then she spoke.
"The 5th Brigade remembers you as the Moff who cared enough to provide the necessary resources to renovate their base, but that's not what this is about. You don't want to be a Moff. You never wanted to be a Moff. You loved your people but hated every politician and bit of the paperwork that came into your office. You've been training Everard to be your successor for months, and he lives to dot the is and cross the ts that you despise. Look me in the eye and tell me that you want to be remembered as Moff Jackson.”
Eric’s eyes, having left her since she began speaking, did not return to look at her. Not that she required confirmation of what she already knew to be true.
"You, who have trained Imperial Knights, Jedi Masters and Sith Lords alike, wonder about your legacy…? You spend more time on Korriban than you do on Dromund Kaas. You want to inspire people? Suck out the poison in the Corporate Sector? Then do it as the Lord Steward of the Sith Order. Serve and protect your people."
There was a quiet that hung over the air. Perhaps long enough for the flameborn woman to wonder if she had crossed a line. But they had come to trust one another in their time working in tandem. And so Eric would rise from his chair and walk towards the viewscreen. He lifted his hand to touch the transparent window. A deep breath lifted the Diathim’s shoulders, and he seemed to stand slightly taller. He remained silent, staring at the metropolis of Dromund’s capital city one more time. And then he touched his comlink.
“Sigyn to the Bridge. Set a course for Korriban.”
It has been said that Eric Jackson is a wildly different individual depending on who he speaks to. His friends know him as a well-intentioned flyboy with a somewhat jaded view on galactic affairs. His colleagues in the Sith Order know him as both a wellspring of knowledge from deep in the halls of the Sith Archive, and a sometimes incomprehensible master of the Dark Arts. And in public, Eric Jackson is the outspoken idealist, with a devotion to the New Order that borders the lines of zealotic.
All of them describe Eric as incredibly passionate, willing to do whatever is necessary to secure the lives of those he cares about. His normally calm, observant demeanor is discordant compared to his role as the Lord Steward of the Sith Order. He tells jokes that are inappropriate, keeps company that is unseemly, and speaks at times where political expedience would suggest he do otherwise. He is in many ways not far removed from his days on the streets. He just wears somewhat nicer clothes.
To the Corporate Sector citizenry, he is the perfect cultural icon: Devoted to the New Order, and yet keenly aware of the ways it can be strengthened. Moderate in social matters, Eric's public ambivalence -- some describe as bordering on antipathy -- towards the Empire's humanist policies have put him at odds with the Humanist factions in the Core Systems, while simultaneously endearing him to the more diverse population of the Sith Worlds. His subsequent transformation to a Class-C species has put a permanent halt to his career advancement, while simultaneously providing hope and comfort to Imperial citizens, former humans and otherwise, who similarly suffered from the Metamorphosis Plague.
Yet, it is his background as a vigilante that has endeared him most to the citizenry, contrary to expectations. Eric's demonstrated intolerance for criminal activity combined with documented action against them in his youth has solidified his credentials as an Imperial Governor devoted to keeping his worlds safe. Rumors persist, despite the Office of the Senior Adjutant's firm denial, that the Diathim keeps his vigilantism skills sharp on Dromund Kaas.
Over Eric's long history, he has acquired a number of personal assets. Kuati affinity towards ship customization has left him unwilling to acclimatize to standardized control systems in modern ships, eschewing Lambda luxury shuttles and Imperial Star Destroyers for his own modified craft. All of Lord Jackson's assets bear the call-sign XIIS, a homage to the fallen group of the same name.
Though the Sith Lord is somewhat protective of his hardware, the XIIS Pride — believed to be his primary transport vessel — has a long and storied history, pieces of which exist in the public domain. It is unclear how he acquired the vessel -- rumor has it he received it as part of a misplaced title from an Imperial Moff -- but it is clear that it was the vessel seen escaping the Kuat system amid a blaze of TIE lasers during the Uebles rebellions of Year 4. For the next ten years, wherever Eric Jackson went, the XIIS Pride was not far. Although he has since acquired more specialized vessels for different tasks, the modded engines and tiny form factor make the XIIS Pride the primary choice when speed is the priority.
Symphony of Destruction
When Eric departed the Outer Rim for the Core Worlds, he needed a flagship. The XIIS Pride was an exceptional ship for speed and stealth, but he was going to war. He needed a base of operations, and the glorified apartment/flying can was no longer going to work. Before he left, Eric commissioned a warship from Rendili Stardrive. Leveraging his meritorious service and generous donations, he was permitted to have a single Dreadnaught produced into his personal inventory. Christened the Symphony of Destruction, it would go on to be iconic of the Sith Lord. The Dreadnaught features an Imperial skeleton crew augmented by a slave circuit, drastically reducing the need for crew members. Many of the crew are former or reservist Imperial military looking for what is a traditionally low-risk assignment. The Symphony of Destruction serves as a mobile headquarters for the Sigyn Enclave, providing training and knowledge bases for his apprentices to study within.
It was during a lull in the Battle of Alderaan that his Sector Moff, Mak Davar, contacted him. There was a matter that required his discretion, and he was one of the very few permitted to know. A prisoner was stored aboard a CR-90. The mission was simple. Enter the ship, secure access to the cockpit, and dock the ship aboard the considerably larger ISD to further entrap the prisoner and prevent the sort of docking maneuver Eric was using to become an escape route. The prisoner, Eric later learned, was Karl von Roma, one time leader of the Imperial Office of Criminal Investigation. The CR-90, The Tally Man, was remotely assigned to the Naval Lieutenant, and he successfully completed his mission. It was only at that point that he realized that this was not an ordinary ship. He was standing aboard one of Emperor Charon’s personal assets.
Less than a week later, the Second Imperial Civil War commenced and Emperor Charon was dethroned. Von Roma was freed from the Tally Man, and in the wormhole that brought all of the Empire’s assets to Coruscant, he was able to escape into a friendly asset. Eric found himself at the mercy of the Sith Lords when he discovered the Tally Man’s access codes had not been changed. It was a short stroll through to the docking bay, and soon the fugitive – the closest he would ever be to the Sith regime – escaped to Kuat.
The CR-90 remains virtually untouched, save for the rechristening. There was very little in the way of assets left aboard the ship. Eventually, legal authorities declared Charon to be legally dead, and Eric became the full fledged owner of the capital ship after looking after it in his stead for the better part of a decade. It is an unremarkable vessel, outclassed by his Dreadnaught and out maneuvered by his YT-510. But wherever the Sith Lord is stationed, the Disasterpiece is not far behind.
Order of the Imperial Seal
Navy Medal of Progress
Vice Admiral OVERMIND
Unit Distinguished Service
Vice Admiral OVERMIND
Battle Efficiency Medal
Vice Admiral OVERMIND
Order of the Sith Medal
Letter of Commendation x3
Imperial Service Medal – 9 Years
Sith Service Medal – 3 Years
Imperial Campaign Medal
Emperor Guinar Ndengin
Imperial Academy Basic Graduate
Imperial Monthly Meeting – 12 Months
Director Mikel von Bianchi
Y14 D27 (?)
|Lord Steward of the Sith Order|
Year 12 Day 245 - Present
|Corporate Sector Moff|
Year 13 Day 199 - Year 15 Day 123
Everard de Montfort