Eric Jackson

Eric Taylor Jackson
Biographical Information
Race	Diathim (formerly Kuati)
Homeworld	Kuat
Mother	Katherine Marie-Jackson
Father	Josef Taylor Jackson
Spouse	Alita Antigra (Deceased), Isis Demala (divorced)
Siblings	None
Children	Lucas, Leilani, Lainey
Born	Y -25, D37
Imperial Service
Branch	Order of the Sith
Positions	Lord Protector of the Sith Worlds
Prior Service	Imperial Navy (O-3), Avance Coalition (Highlord, 2IC), Imperial Corporate Sector Moff
Awards	Plenty

Eric Jackson, also known as Darth Sigyn, is the Lord Protector of Korriban and Senior Adjutant of the Corporate Sector.

Early History

Birth

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. Eric was diagnosed at birth with nearsightedness that would be surgically corrected later in life. 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 publically 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.

Silence

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.

Silence

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 reactively. 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.

O: Good.

End of Transcript

A New Path in the New Order

First Assignment

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.

He should've known better.

The Return of the Sith

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.

And then he received the news.

Unceremoniously, one day his Moff broke it down to the fleet. The Kuati was aghast, declaring in private to the Moff that he would not serve in an Empire that allowed those warmongers and chaosbringers 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.

The next day, he received his orders. He would be returning to his fleet, and joining them to fight the Rebel presence at Alderaan

He breathed a sigh of relief. His bout with the Sith was finally over. And yet? It was never over.

The Dark Moon Rises

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 an entire wash, though only if one allows other parenthetical events that took place as a happenstance. 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.

The Fall of the New Order

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.

And then he saw it.

The coup d'etat led by the Warlord Bonias had been successful in toppling Emperor Charon. In the aftermath, Imperial soldiers were deserting en masse, 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 paygrade. 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.

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.

But before he did? He had one last piece of business.

The Wandering

Walking Amongst The Jedi

Eric had been disconcerted 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 withdrawl 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?

And that's where he was contacted by an old friend. And that's when he met the Dark Jedi, Thraken Solo.

The Order of Krath

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.

The Underground

Eric 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 sithspawn. It was only then that his world collapsed around him.

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.

It was 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.

The Vagabond and the Force

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 the home they had on Bastion, 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, only knowing that this life he'd built in the Coalition, though a good life to anyone else, would not be enough for him.

A Jedi...?

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 Grand Master 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 dependant 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 members of the Jedi Council.

The Rogue Knight

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.

He briefly joined the Eidola Pirates, not as an active member, but to study their way of life. The pirates lived in the closest thing to an Anarcho-Commune that the Kuati had ever seen. He made friends, he gained influence, and in one day he sacrificed that influence to save the life of a prominent CEO who had been kidnapped by the pirates. This cost him considerably, and in short time, Eric felt his time among the pirates had to come to an end.

It was then that he was contacted by his old friends. And he realized the path that he needed to take. He had studied amongst the governments. He had walked with the Jedi, he had walked with the Sith, he had walked with Pirates and Ewoks, the Rich and the Poor, the Pious and the Faithless. He had learned the way forward from observing all of them. Eidola had taught him that anarchy was not sustainable. The Rebels had taught him that open rebellion without an end goal was foolish, and that democracy was inherently flawed. And the Coalition had taught him that benevolence and authoritarianism were not mutually exclusive.

It was then that he returned to the public eye.

It was then that he returned to Bastion.

Homecoming

Return to Imperial Service

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 change that would change his life forever.

The Rise of Darth Sigyn

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

Beep...beep...beep...

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.

Beep...beep...beep

"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.

Beep...beep...beep...

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.

"Master!"

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 coulf 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...?

I'm...still aware...

I'm...still alive...?

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 oif 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.

Iconoclasm

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 would study 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 it’s 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.

Rising Tides

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 it’s 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.

Inertia

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.

Public Image

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. His colleagues in the Council of Moffs regard him as an able administrator, adept at creating autonomous teams that function without his need for micromanagement. 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 Moff's firm denial, that the Diathim keeps his vigilantism skills sharp on Dromund Kaas.

Moff of Corporate Sector
Preceded By: Slicer	Eric Jackson Year 13 Day 199 - Year 15 Day 123	Succeeded By: Everard de Montfort

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