[center][color=ed1c24][h1][b]Episode 1: [/b]
[i]Embers of rebellion[/i][/h1][/color][/center]
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[i]For centuries, humans have rules over this segment of the known universe. Their iron fist firmly grasped upon our necks as the heel of their marching shoes shakes the very foundations of our planets. Their governement thinks of us as second rate citizens, and treats us as slaves. We live under curfew and martial law with soldiers beating up our men and raping our women. But brothers, how long must we suffer under the opression of humans? How long can we go as a race until we are thrown into the abyss by the humans? We have fought wars before them, but we must set aside our differences if we are to survive! Their revered Emperor has not spoken in two centuries, and their morale has surely wavered since the annoucements stopped. Their Emperor- No, GOD is dead, and it is our time to strike at the heart of villany in our galaxy. The humans must go, and so does their Empire. Unite, bretheren of the Triangulumn for we strive to for victory. The Great War should be our last, whether we win or lose.[/i] -Unknown Prophet

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[b]IMPERIAL SECTOR 16
Rarian Space[/b]

The ships of the EOM fly above Raria. Hundreds of traders come and go to unload their supplies and take away the riches of the planet. The old terraforming station looms in orbit as it casts a menacing shadow on the cloudy sky below. Indistinct radio chatter fills the air as people do their business. They are unaware of the horrors that are about to come in the ensuing months. Just another rainy day on an Agrarian planet to most, but the Empire has already set in motion a chain of actions that will irreversibly change the furute of the galaxy. Operation CASCADE has begun.

[i]On the surface[/i]

The door slams open as the gust of wind assists the entering person and blows in the rain. The man in the raincoat hurries inside and forces the door to close. After much strain the door finally snaps back to its place and the maglocks secure the flimsy structure. The room is a small, ill-equipped locker room. There are already a few coats hanging from a wooden frame. The man puts his own next to the others and puts a broken umbrella down in the corner. A voice yells at the newly arrived from beyond a shaky doorway. "What took you so long. Get over here already." The man sighs and hurries over to the voice.

The room that he enters is dimly lit by a halogen lamp. The faint light it sheds on the room reveals a poker table and 5 other men playing a card game. The smell of burning cigar is thick in the air and makes the lungs ache. The man sits down at the only empty seat, and picks up a hand of cards that has been dealt to him already. They begin to play another round. The other five are all wearing military uniforms decorated with insignias of different marine corps. The weight of the medals on his shirt reminds the man that he is one of the soldiers. The peace of mind given by the outside weather falls apart as the harsh reality of the situation begins to sink in. They fold cards, and turn their attention to the newly arrived. A man in a staunch imperialist uniform speaks up.

"Jack, I'm glad you made it." The others nod and the man continues. "During the next week, we will begin to gradually change the rules of the game. Raria wil be our first score, but we will march in glory to the Iron Throne and inspire others to follow us." He reaches into his uniform and takes out a small letter and places it onto the table. "The letter inside contains all the information you need to know about the operation. Meet us two days from now on the abandoned terraforming station in orbit." Jack nods ans tands up to take his leave. The man who spoke up smokes his cigar and exhales a large puff of smoke illuminated by the lamp. "Oh, and Jack. Don't go around telling this to anyone else. Not good for business, if you understand."

Jack leaves the building, the cheap raincoat shimmering from the heavy rain. He begins to walk down the road in the outskirts of the Capital, his back turned towards the lights of imperial governement building and the praying eyes of the glory battleship. A few drones fly overhead but don't stop. Maybe not now, but the ships in orbit are already gathering. The prophets of the Triangulum have started to speak to those who listen, spreading their lies about the follies of mankind. The may not be asked now, but a few days or weeks now and every xeno will be monitored by a drone. They may yet hold meetings, but the curfews will soon start to appear in the galaxy. Jack looks up at the clouds as they start to clear brighen up the sky. The parchement in his hand shines as the light of the moon glances off the rebellion's single-headed eagle insignia. On this fated night, the galaxy will begin to change.