One of the things that hit me the absolute hardest in all of SWTOR is that the game makes you go to Ziost after its destruction. In order to finish the quest, you have to go there, even though there's no canonical reason for you to do so. It's already over. The planet has already been destroyed. There's nothing left to do there. But the game forces you go there anyway, just to make you see the devastation up close. Something about standing in the aftermath of the destruction you just witnessed from a safe distance makes it hit like a gut punch.
And from a roleplaying perspective, there's so much room for imagining why your character chooses to do this, and how it affects them.
"I am going to hunt that man to the end of this galaxy and beyond."
It's such a small, simple choice, and yet it's devastating every single time.
Israel has systematically embedded its military command centres, bases and nuclear sites within densely populated areas. This strategy deliberately puts Israeli civilians at risk - especially now, as missile attacks continue to escalate between Israel and Iran.
I love the idea that the Sith Emperor hadn't really thought anything of her, like she's just an annoying mosquito not even worthy to squash, but she's been really screwing with his plans and being obnoxious about it so now he's giving his Full Attention.
KOFTE must be a riot with the smuggler (not that I'm going to do it any time soon. I'm exhausted from the Agent's turn)
This is a segment of a future chapter for my long form fic on Ao3. Read the beginning of it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73954831/chapters/192915106
3 days before Operation Silence - Ziost - New Adasta
The handy thing about Imperials was that you could always trust them to be bigoted. Well… some of them at least. Theron scratched at his collar as he pulled out a lit smokestick from between his lips and blew smoke out the corner of his mouth. He took a long look at the cards in front of him and sighed deeply. He threw them face up onto the table, “I fold.”
The Imperial officer at the other end of their dinky, little table laughed. It was a deep throated ugly sound, like a goat getting murdered.
“I knew you’d fold. You had that look in your eyes.”
Theron only shrugged as he took another drag of his smokestick.
The officer eyed him, his flabby round cheeks red from his excessive good humour, in stark contrast to his pale, blue eyes that held nothing but contempt for everything and everyone. He was a hateful little man that only took joy in smoking, drinking and gambling away all his credits and who filled whatever was left of his sad, little life with a burning hatred for the Republic and its tolerance of so-called ‘lesser beings’. In other words he was the very thing Theron despised most. Luckily they didn’t need to be friends for this to work.
The officer, a Lieutenant Brauker as he was called, started shuffling Theron’s credit stacks towards his half of the table. He mumbled his words out through the edge of his mouth that wasn’t filled with cigarettes, “Why do you even want this gig anyways?”
Theron rolled his shoulders back lazily and pretended to think about it, “I’m bored I guess. Heard Nox was testing something out. I wanted to see it for myself.”
“Heh. I wouldn’t get my hopes up. That’s just a rumour. Couldn’t care less about that sort of junk anyway, not when she’s got all those aliens infecting the ship.”
Theron didn’t bother replying to that.
“Well, if you want my post I ain’t gonna stop ya. There’s better things to do with my life than canoodle with Nox’s little freaks. Especially now that I’ve got these new shinies.”
He started rubbing his hands together and counting up his stacks. Theron watched him carefully, waiting to see if there was any hesitation or doubt in the middle aged, blonde man. Brauker only grinned as he pocketed the credits. Smoke from their cigarettes was starting to blanket them in a heavy smog, as dulled music from the cantina beyond the back room started to play. It was a bass heavy song that made the table rattle to its rhythm. Brauker pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and slid it over the desk.
“Here. The official form stating that you, Lieutenant Pyke, will be taking over my post. It’s a little messy but it’s the real deal. Got my signature and everything.”
Theron was careful not to get any stray ash on the form as he picked it up and assessed it. It had caf stains at the bottom left corners and it smelt strongly of grease and smoke, but it seemed legitimate. It also had a plastoid seal at the top corner, an Imperial artifact that was much harder to forge than it looked. There was no way someone like Brauker would bother going through all that effort; it had to be real. He nodded and slipped the sheet into his breast pocket. He needed to get this to an Imperial personnel and resources office as soon as possible if he wanted to board the Doombringer before it took off for Dantooine. Luckily, here on Ziost, there were quite a few of these offices around.
He took one final drag of the cigarette, a bitter thing he’d only accepted from Brauker so as not to raise any suspicions, before crushing it into the ashtray at the centre of the table. “A pleasure doing business with you.” He dashed out the back of the bar into Ziost’s frigid night air before he could hear Brauker’s reply.
ooo i dont know if you reblogged this ask or if you take ones for the ones you havent reblogged, but what about:
48. "i need to hear you say that again."
for anyone?
I mean. I was thinking about it so thank you, you truly have just seen the future... (also i'm always taking asks in any shape i love being thought about.) Anyway uhhhh Ziost angst about a character I've barely discussed? This is what you wanted, right? It's what my heart wanted. Here we are.
The last person Vyme expected to see in the grey wasteland Ziost had become was the Emperor's Wrath. Empire's Wrath? Arcusas had not seemed interested in a distinction.
He was wearing all black, of course. His pale face blended in with the colourless ash, only his blood-red tattoos serving to mark where Arcusas ended and the Emperor's destruction began. His expression gave Vyme no clues as to why the other Sith was here. For once, though, it must not have been to pursue his neverending rivalry with Vyme - he had arrived before Vyme, and by the looks of the grey powder scattered across his robes and in his hair, he had been out here in the cold wind for some time.
"Occlus."
Vyme had honestly wondered if Arcusas would notice him. Not that Vyme was hard to notice, orange face and deep red robes setting him apart from the endless ash, but Arcusas had seemed quite caught up in whatever he was feeling. Vyme would have been happy if it stayed that way.
"Wrath," Vyme said with a perfunctory nod. Arcusas did not speak again, and Vyme entertained the idea that he'd gotten off lightly. Somehow. He never had before, but surely he was due a bit of luck? Arcusas certainly didn't interrupt as Vyme approached the most clearly defined shape left, a gnarled and blackened corpse still twisted into a desperate reach. By all accounts, the draining of Ziost's life had come too quickly for anyone to panic. Had this been someone reaching out to a possessed loved one, then? Had the Emperor really clung to his control over these poor, pathetic dead until the last second, even knowing there was no escape?
Vyme touched the corpse. Not even the Force usually left to the dead. He suppressed a shiver, knowing Arcusas was watching.
Caibos had been here. Caibos had, according to Lana Beniko, been difficult to pull away. His body could have fallen like this one, lost among billions, and Vyme would not be able to find him.
Vyme didn't care so much now that Caibos wouldn't speak to him. There were more important things to fear.
"You were right."
It took Vyme a moment to realise this was not some hallucination brought on by his awful surroundings. Arcusas Mora had really said that. With his mouth and everything.
"I'm sorry?" Vyme turned and straightened, unable to keep an amused smile off his face. "I need to hear you say that again."
Arcusas certainly didn't like Vyme any more than he had the last time they met, judging from the look on his face. Vyme smiled coldly back at him, feeling the restless ghosts swirling under his skin. Arcusas would not have an easier time killing him today than any other time he'd tried it. The other man, stubborn as he was, knew it too. He turned his face away, back out to the changed landscape.
"You and so much of the Dark Council," Arcusas spat. "Insisting the Emperor was gone, that he could not be counted on, that he should be regarded as a threat -"
Vyme pulled back, startled and a little disgusted as he realised Arcusas was shaking. This was his self-styled rival? Not that Vyme's blood didn't run cold here, either, seeing what the Emperor had been capable of - what any Sith might be capable of if he dug deep enough. The only dead with enough Force left to stir here were trapped in his head, and they were intrigued. It was more than enough to make Vyme sick, even without knowing how close his own little brother had come to being one of these crumbling figures on the ground.
But Arcusas had always sworn himself to the Emperor first. He did not get to be upset now.
"So I will say it once more, and never again," Arcusas said coldly. "You were right."
"I never thought you cared about the people of the Empire," Vyme said. He stooped, picking up a handful of ash and running it through his fingers, giving in to the curious clamour in the back of his mind. There was no point where the Force-less ash gave way to something that felt real. It was as though nothing here existed.
"He betrayed his most loyal supporters," Arcusas snapped out. "This was our home! I will not stand for it."
Our home. Vyme stood, dusting off his hand, and looked at Arcusas curiously.
"You care for no one," he said. "Except, apparently, someone on Ziost."
A tiny twitch of a sneer was all the warning Vyme had before Arcusas pulled out his lightsabre with a scream of rage. Vyme met it with his own, red against red. The only damn colour on this planet, it seemed. Vyme ducked, twitching the other end of his sabrestaff up and sideways to nick Arcusas' leg as he twisted away. Arcusas screamed. It was fury as much as pain, but then it was rare he fought people who were his match. An enforcer was only sent out in fights they were meant to win.
"I'm sorry," Vyme said. He held his lightsabre in front of himself protectively, but he did not attack. He didn't want to. Not here. Horak-Mul might have been amused, but Vyme was just tired. "Perhaps we call it a truce today, in the face of so many impossible things. We may resume hating each other tomorrow."
The air rippled around Arcusas with the force of his rage, like a beacon of heat in cold air. But he did not move.
"Never speak of this again," Arcusas said at last. "Occlus."
Vyme only turned off his sabre when Arcusas did. "Wrath. May your mourning become something useful to us all." He didn't care about the renewed flash of rage on Arcusas' face. Vyme had used up all his kindness refraining from killing the man, after all. If Arcusas was stupid enough not to let this inspire him to something more, Vyme would not coddle him.
Still, when Vyme turned his back, Arcusas made no move to stab him in it. Perhaps that was progress.
