Calm Before the Storm

[grammaticus]

Toran watched as the Star Destroyer drifted across the sky, its arrowhead shape piercing through the storm overhead, with squadrons of TIE fighters flying in tight formation. The cape he wore was thrown about wildly as a small formation of TIE-ZN's banked by the Palace, followed shortly by three more formations before the craft pulled away, angling up for high orbit. The ships present were only a small portion of the Imperial Navy that was mustering at Osseriton. Word had been sent across the Empire's domain, calling for all ships to return to Osseriton. Now, dozens of ships of varying sizes held in high orbit, grouped together in massive fleets. On the surface, hundreds of transports and other craft departed to these fleets, carrying with them war machines and soldiers. For the first time since its founding, the Fel Empire would begin an Expansion Campaign, to spread their ideals across the stars.

Turning away from the sight, Toran made his way back into the Imperial Palace, a massive structure built into a hollowed out mountain range. Few things could be seen of the actual structure from the outside, the only indication that there was something of note were the hundreds of weapon emplacements placed throughout the mountains. Toran preferred a more tactically dependable palace than a extravagant show of wealth. As he entered the well lit corridor, the ten Imperial Knights currently assigned as his escort quickly fell into place, their crimson armor standing out against the grey and blue stormtroopers standing at attention at regular intervals along the corridors.

Before he could get back to the throne room, a stromtrooper captain approached the Emperor, saluting briefly before speaking. "My Lord, the CIS delegation has just entered high orbit over the planet. They are requesting permission to land their delegation." Toran nodded his head quickly at the captains words, waving him off as he turned and made his way down a side corridor quickly.

The CIS had arrived far more quickly then he had expected. He had hoped to have most of the fleets underway by the time they arrived, though he supposed the sight of the Imperial Navy would give them some things to think about. Entering a large turbolift, Toran and his escort descended through the mountain, towards the largest hangar, where they would meet with the CIS delegation. Before he forgot, Toran made sure to send a message to Grand Moff Jaster. It would be good for him to be him.

[member="Jaster of Clan Awaud"] [member="Darth Metus"] [member="Srina Talon"] [member="Adron Malvern"]

 

[Malok]

In the beginning, Darth Metus was wary of the new Empire.

Over the course of his Confederacy's lifespan, his actions had been a stark contrast to traditional Imperialism. The nation he championed placed the values of Liberty and Independence at the center of every decision. They did not live or die based on alignments of the Force - but rather did whatever was necessary to bring true freedom to their worlds. Naturally, the Confederacy found an enemy in the nation to their immediate East due to these beliefs. To this day, in fact, hostilities persisted between them and the Galactic Empire.

Therefore, when Darth Metus learned of the existence of a new, Imperial power, his first reaction was to observe. Would this far-flung nation be yet another tyrant among the stars? Would they tramble freedom underfoot in the name of control? Would they be yet another natural adversary in the terrifying Galaxy? With time, the Sith found his answer. A surprising no. The Fel Empire was different. Imperial, yet...better. A warmachine, yes, but one that showed restraint. Tolerance. A desire to spill blood as a last resort.

They were such a divine contradiction to the standard, spirit of Imperialism that Darth Metus found himself impressed. Soon thereafter, an olive branch was extended - a desire for a meet between the two nations upon the planet Osseriton. Here, the Vicelord could see for himself if the whispers were indeed true. Here, he would determine if they were an ally worth pursuing.

Thus, the Fortressa soon erupted into realspace. Her journey between the stars came to an abrupt end above the Imperial capital. And she was not alone. One by one, a capital escort reverted behind and alongside the Super Star Destroyer. Recuscant II-class Star Destroyers, Providence II-clasd Carrier/Destroyers, and a plethora of smaller craft formed the elite guard of the Vicelord. Yet, despite the astronomical sum of firepower, they had not come with battle nor bloodshed in mind. In fact, moments after their arrival, a jovial greeting was sent to the Palace below, requesting permission for the Vicelord's Entourage to land.

Once clearance was given, a single Quill-class Shuttle launched from the depths of the Fortressa. And, before it could so much as reach the upper atmosphere, a full squadron of Vulture II Droid Starfighters flew in a tight formation about it. Together, they braved the heavens of Osseriton, only to be joined by a squadron of TIE craft along the way. Approach vectors were given and the Imperial craft accompanied the Confederate formation down in flawless sync. There was zero deviation from the flight path. Zero incident as the Shuttle touched down within the Palace's waiting hangar.

Rising from his seat, Darth Metus paused only to adjust the furs which occupied his neck. Though an odd choice of dress, the ensemble he had selected was a distinct representation of a founding Confederate world. An armor of sorts - fashioned by nimble, Twi'lek hands - told the tale of Ryloth's artistic ability. At the same time, the dress was a simple nod to the Vicelord's warrior heritage - and his willingness to do battle should the need arise. Before taking a step towards the ramp, he felt an inquisitive tug on the part of his Apprentice: the alabaster [member="Srina Talon"].

The Bond between them was as vast as the ocean, and through it the Sith could feel the waves of her thoughts. A small part of her...had reservations about bringing the whole of the Confederacy's political face to the capital of a potential companion. Should anything go arwy, the nation would be bereft of - not only the Vicelord - but an Exarch and a Minister as well. But, as with all things, Darth Metus bled confidence. He offered the young woman a genuine smile, whilst trailing the rear of his knuckles down her arm. He always did this, to reassure. To let her know everything would be alright in the language only she understood.

"Let's not keep our hosts waiting too long." he began, before nodding towards the former Imperial accompanying them. [member="Adron Malvern"] was once the High Moff of the Galactic Empire, but now...he sought to be something better. To stand for something. To work towards saving a lost home. It was because of these values that the Vicelord's apprentice saw fit to offer him clemency within their borders. And now, that decade of service to Darth Metus' enemy would prove infinitely useful. For this particular foray, the Vicelord would lean on the Minister of War's experience navigating Imperial politics. Where Darth Metus was a stranger to the world of TIE Fighters and Stormtroopers, Adron was a native.

A hiss filled the hangar as the shuttle's ramp extended. The thud of metallic footsteps heralded the arrival of the Vicelord onto Imperial soil. Before and behind him marched a number of BX-series Commando Droids, all of whom were armed and ready to defend their liege. Srina Talon, as always, walked to the right of her Master. The Minister of War to his left. They came to a halt before a procession of Imperial forces that had come to meet them - crimson clad Knights and ivory Stormtroopers. Among them as a young face, that of [member="Toran Fel"].

Darth Metus smiled.

"Thank you for the warm welcome, your majesty." he began, filling the hangar with his thunderous baritone. "I am Darth Metus, Vicelord of the Confederacy. This," he motioned to Srina first, and then Adron. "is Srina Talon, Exarch. And Adron Malvern, Minister of War. It is our distinct pleasure to meet you face to face."

[member="Toran Fel"], [member="Jaster"] Awaud, [member="Srina Talon"], [member="Adron Malvern"]

 

[Adron Malvern]

Location: Osseriton
Time: Early Evening
Objective: Diplomacy
Tags: [member="Srina Talon"] [member="Toran Fel"] [member="Darth Metus"]

There was a noticeable shift as The Fortressa pulled itself from the reaches of Hyperspace. From the cockpit Adron had been witness to the intricate workings of the warship's droid deck crew. They were an impressive lot, the soulless automatons who made up the back of The Confederate war machine. Many of them held shallow personality matrixes that gave them some sense of individuality. This was certainly something to help Adron's transition from flesh and blood soldiers to their metallic rivals, battledroids. Yet, as Srina had pointed out, the loss of a battledroid was nothing compared to the loss of true life. Even as an Imperial warlord every lost life had meant something to Adron, perhaps not much, but something. Peering out the viewport, Adron felt an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. This government was not the same as the Galactic Empire he devoted a decade to, yet it was it's shadow and as such it brought on the fresh memories of years past.

"We have made contact with the Imperial capitol, Minister." A metallic voice called out to Adron, causing him a moments pause from his memories. "And we have been cleared to send the delegation planet side." The communications droid announced.

"Prepare the Vicelord's escort and order all ships to maintain their current holding patterns." The Minister ordered, turning away from the bridge. He had been told he would be in attendance to this meeting, something that came as a surprise to him. Darth Metus had spared Adron's life only because Srina willed it. The former Imperial's experience and station had caused Metus to name him his Minister of War, yet Adron was not disillusioned, he knew Metus did not trust him. He found himself thrown into power and station, with his former allies now turned enemy. It was not like he had not been in this situation before. By nature, Adron would do anything to ascend the ladder of the galaxy. To be named a traitor was small potatoes in the grand scheme of things.

He strode down the pristine halls of The Fortressa, passing the occasional squad of Battledroids as he did. Again, something he would have to adjust to, the number of droids he would have to deal with. For someone who disliked droids, the CIS was an interesting setting to find himself in. He found himself in the main hangar, where both their shuttle and escort were preparing to deploy. The vulture droids, with their arachnid like bodies, roamed around the hangar, preparing to deploy into Osseriton's upper atmosphere. Adron did not speak much as he joined the Vicelord and his apprentice, what was there to say? It was awkward as hell to find himself in this situation, no matter how deliberate it was. Darth Metus offered him a nod of acknowledgement, which he returned before activating his comm link, patching him into the Vulture droid escort. "All units, prepare to deploy." He ordered.

He had spent the past few days memorizing what he could of The Confederate military regulation. He had to be able to function in his full capacity, or else there wouldn't be much use for him.

As they loaded onto their shuttle, Adron's focus was directed towards the meeting that was about to occur. As their shuttle jettisoned out into the planet's upper atmosphere, Adron glanced over to Srina, still unsure of why the woman had decided to help him, however now was not the time to discuss such a thing.

The flight to the planet's surface was brief, and when they finally landed Adron took his place to the left of the Vicelord. As Darth Metus introduced Srina and Adron, the Minister inclined his head respectfully at the Emperor before him. He could not help but hold a small smile as he was amused by the thought of how many Emperor's the galaxy held.

"Your Grace." Adron greeted, his blue orbs locked on the Imperial before him. How odd it was to be on the other side of the table when dealing with Imperials.

 

[grammaticus]

Toran idly ran his fingers along the belt he wore, resting ever so often on the small knife he kept hidden within his cloak. It was somewhat of a comfort to feel it there, though Toran knew if he ever truly had to draw the blade, he would be in dire trouble. He was drawn from his thoughts as the massive hangar doors slowly began to open, small trails of rocks falling from the mountain above. To an outside observer it would look as though a part of the mountain itself was opening, the only indication something of importance being present being the two massive turbolaser batteries placed on either side of the opening.

In the distance, Toran could just see the small formation of craft breaking through the cloud cover. The familiar shape of Imperial fighters to either side of the Confederate delegation, and slightly above them. The formation was as much about ensuring the outsider craft remained on course as it was for the Imperial pilots to protect them. If there was any surprise attack while the delegation was making its transition from orbit to the hangar, the Imperial pilots had orders to protect them at all costs. It would do poorly for relations if the first face to face contact between the two factions ended in a fireball.

As the Confederate vessel touched down in the hangar, Toran waved his hand at the waiting troops behind him, staring quietly at the shuttle as the thunder of boots striking the metal floor echoed through the hangar. To either side of the shuttles lowering ramp, one hundred stormtroopers of the Palace garrison, wearing the grey and blue colors Toran had chosen himself stood at attention, their rifles resting on the floor with the barrels in their hands. It was a respectful pose, though one stormtroopers could quickly turn into a firing position as Toran himself had seen. Behind the two blocks of stormtroopers were dated but operational AT-ST walkers, with one leg crouched down to the ground to give the appearance of kneeling. The captains of each vehicle stood on the roof of their craft, saluting silently, though the gunner and pilot were not visible. Behind Toran himself was a formation of twenty Imperial Knights, their crimson armor and black capes standing out among the sea of stormtroopers. Their lightsabers hung from their hips, though now they were each armed with a power halberd for the formal occasion. They stood at regular intervals leading up the large staircase to the Imperial Palace proper within the mountain, their armored heads turned to watch as the figures began to emerge from the shuttle.

Toran let a smile cross his face as the Vicelord and his entourage exited their craft, nodding his head to each of them as they were introduced. The Minster of War in particular drew his attention, though he did not let it show. The man held himself like an Imperial Officer, despite being among the CIS here. Toran had grown up within two different Imperial governments, and had known enough military officers in both to spot one in a crowd. He would have to keep this information in mind as the talks began.

"It is my pleasure, Vicelord I assure you. I welcome you all to Osseriton, and offer my hospitality to you and your's for as long as you are here. If you would follow me, I have had my chefs working all day to prepare a meal for this momentous occasion." Toran turned his body slightly, extending his gloved hand towards the single opening at the top of the staircase. He waited until the Vicelord drew level with him before he set off as well, matching the warriors stride easily enough. As the party passed each set of Imperial Knights, the warriors hit the ends of their halberds on the stone steps, the sound echoing in the hangar before they turned a fell into step on either side of the delegation, keeping a respectful but close distance.

"I must admit Vicelord, your message asking for talks caught us here by surprise."


[member="Darth Metus"]
[member="Adron Malvern"]
[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

Location: Osseriton
Time: Early Evening
Objective: Diplomacy
Wearing: This
Tags: [member="Toran Fel"] | [member="Darth Metus"] | @Jaster of Clan Awaud

​

The Sith Apprentice had developed a taste for many things since joining the Confederacy. Where once she had favored a pair of cold-forged vibroblades she had taken up a lightsaber. Where once, the sight of a grand starship would have meant nothing, it now held her attention. She was learning. From droids, to ships, to the value of alchemy—she was learning. Silver eyes watched the imposing sight of the Fortressa as it disappeared in their rearview monitors. It was just one of many. Impressive, certainly. But at the end of the day? The CIS was comprised of many. It was a veritable legion. Where one fell, another rose, over and over, until their enemy ran out of strength.

She walked beside [member="Darth Metus"] as she had so many times before. He was her dearest friend, Master, and Vicelord. The pale beauty would follow him anywhere, no matter the danger, no matter the price. Even to the birthplace of a new Imperial power. He claimed that they were not the Empire that their people had come to know and loathe. He claimed that they were reasonable, that zealotry, cruelty, and hubris did not dictate their actions.

That remained to be seen.

The newly appointed Exarch of the Confederacy did not bother shielding her thoughts on the matter from the dark-skinned Sith Lord at her side. Unfeeling silver orbs, touched with starlight, had taken note of the Fel forces while they made their descent. Echani eyes were keen, and true to the stories, missed nothing. They were strong. Not Empire strong, not yet, but if tended properly they could easily become the force of nature that their predecessor only believed they were.

Darth Metus smiled, trying to sooth away her more than valid trepidations, and his student merely issued a terse sigh. She felt his compassion, his beliefs, and she accepted it for what it was. As always, she accepted him for who he was, unafraid, and unashamed. His confidence was matched only by her iron will. They were visually as different as night versus day, for some, considered hard on the senses. His presence was enormous, twisting, unsettling and made of the unbridled dark. Beside him, she was little more than a flicker, her abilities entirely eclipsed.

Srina liked it that way. No one expected the slender and willowy creature at his side capable of bringing death and destruction just as easily as the Vicelord. Their Force Bond was more than that of convenience. It was everything. A conduit, a sharing of knowledge, and strength. He reached for her arm and her head inclined at the warm gesture. For a moment, the winter of her gaze melted, but it returned when [member="Adron Malvern"] took his rightful place beside them. “Minister.”, Srina greeted, her voice dead, unsympathetic, and covered in a layer of frost. It was unintentional. She was actually quite fond of the former High Moff that had run her through with a poisoned sword on Tatooine.

He may not have the faith of the Vicelord, not yet, but the snow-kissed Echani had enough for the both of them. Darth Metus would acclimate. Her master intoned that they ought not to keep their hosts waiting and the light in her eyes flickered. Amused. “They will wait.”

They made their way down the ramp when appropriate and the whisper-silent Echani flowed gracefully at the side of the Vicelord. It was almost as if her feet didn’t touch the ground at all. There was nothing she did, not even to breathe, that was not steeped in elegance. Where her Master wore the more tribal clothing and armor that had been prepared for him on Ryloth the Exarch wore a gown of the softest ivory shimmersilk. It was touched with silver accents and hung delicately from her form as if she’d been poured into it. The dress was off the shoulder, much to her chagrin, but Srina was mollified by the there-and-not there flesh-toned fabric that covered her arms. Like the majority of wat she wore, save for her armor, she rarely chose it. She had been assigned attendant droids after the Viceroyalty vote and had subsequently been cornered by them to have her measurements taken over and over.

Where the Ministers seemed to have more freedom, an Exarch, did not.

There would be no visible weapons on her form as the trio stopped before the dark-haired ruler they had been set to meet. She wore two, rather plain silver rings, both of which seemed entirely innocuous. The reality was the furthest thing from the truth. But, only [member="Darth Metus"] would know that. They were all weapons with their own right. Be it a sword or the pointed end of her heel she was entirely capable of killing a man twice her size, without, ruining braids and curls that her flaxen tresses had been woven into.

Silver eyes swept through the hangar, assessing the nature of their entry, and took note of exactly how many troopers were present. Srina noted their gear, their weapons, and their technically non-aggressive stance. Plenty of soldiers. She did not speak to [member="Toran Fel"] but her swan-like neck inclined gracefully in respect, as decorum, and her position dictated. It should be well noted that the wintry Echani did not bow, not to the Vicelord, and certainly not to a foreign power.

Srina reached for the Vicelord with her left hand, ever on his right, and let him lead as the Fel Emperor led the way. Her gaze shifted momentarily to Adron as the Vicelord took her arm. Now, would be a perfect time, for him to prove his dedication to his new home. The fact that he was here at all bespoke how much the leader of the CIS trusted his Apprentice.

She could only hope, pray, that her own intuition was not misplaced.

 

[Malok]

It was ironic.

The optimism that the Sith Lord held for the Fel Imperium was the very same that his Apprentice held for their newfound Minister of War. Darth Metus looked upon the budding nation favorably, hoping and believing that they would be cut from a different cloth than the other Imperial powers of the Galaxy. And, though the aesthetic was very similar at a glance, there was distinct difference between the nation before him and the enemy they had faced on Tatooine. For one thing, there was an overwhelming…reverence displayed throughout the Hangar. From the stormtroopers flawlessly aligned before them to the walkers prostrated upon a single knee - the whole of the Fel presence regarded their Emperor with the utmost respect.

And, for another, the Emperor himself did not exude an air of undue superiority. He did not carry himself like a Hapan. He did not have his nostrils turned to the heavens. He did not demand that they kneel or show the same reverence that his subjects did. Rather, he greeted them with the utmost respect as well and offered to them the warmest of hospitalities. Darth Metus was, over the course of his many years, exposed to many Empires that were vastly different. From the united Empire of Mandalore to the so-called “Techno Empire” of his youth - all the “nobles” carried themselves with a holier than thou attitude.

They thought themselves mighty, but were always laid low in the end. Whether by their own subjects, or the results of their own hubris. To see that the Fel Emperor seemed genuine at a glance only served to improve their standing in his mind.

And [member="Srina Talon"] was not silent either. As she, the epitome of grace, took her place at his side, their Bond whispered with thoughts meant for his mind alone. Her observations were far more callous than his own; where her Master looked forward with optimism, she looked on with a skepticism that had been well earned. Empires, in her experience, were all cut from the same cloth. And therefore, it would take quite a bit more than a vibrant liege to sway her opinion. Toran Fel was to her what [member="Adron Malvern"] was to the Sith Lord. They were the literal definition of “we shall see.”

It seemed as though they would all be seeing the finest, Imperial cuisine soon. Shortly after their brief introduction, the Emperor invited them to take part in a feast - and Darth Metus was the last person to turn down a decent meal. Hell, he was the last person to turn down most meals - even those disasters wrought by his lovely Apprentice. When the offer to feast was made, Darth Metus - almost eagerly - answered for the delegation. ”We would happily indulge in what your chefs prepared. Please, lead on!”

For a moment, the Sith quietly appreciated the display of the Imperial Knights as they fell into formation behind them. There was just something about an organic guard that Droids could not replicate. Something authentic. Something powerful. And though they were not bonded, the Sith found the same appreciation in the Minister of War. From the outside looking in, the enemy-turned-ally seemed to be...at peace among the guard. More so than whenever the Vicelord spied him among Droids for that matter. As such, a dark whisper would grace his mind - an olive branch of sorts.

They are quite disciplined. We could use something like this back home, no?

Having uttered this telepathic quip, Darth Metus returned his attention to the young lord. ”I must admit, when I heard that there was a different Empire in the Unknown Regions, I had to see for myself. What I’ve heard thus far - that your nation is vastly different than our vicious neighbor - warranted support. If you are as I have heard you are, then I see no reason why we should not move forward together.”

[member="Toran Fel"] | [member="Srina Talon"] | [member="Adron Malvern"]​

 

[Adron Malvern]

​

​

Adron maintained a hawk-like gaze as they were escorted from the landing pad. With that gaze was an almost impressed expression as his eyes befell the Imperial Guard who followed the entourage within a tight formation. Perhaps that impressed look turned to one of amusement as he eyed them for a moment. He had served as the Captain of the Galactic Empire's Imperial guard. To see these "Imperial Knights" in action was almost nostalgic in many ways. They were well maintained and kept an aura of discipline that the Minister of War could respect. His knowledge on the militant order was basically nonexistent, yet from but a visual he was impressed.

Turning from the Imperial Knights, Adron kept his eyes swaying from one side of the halls to another. The scheme and architecture was all too familiar, nearly welcoming to Adron. He spent the better part of twelve years in service to the Galactic Empire, so he could recognize it's cues even through the distortion that was the Fel doctrine.

A shallow glance was past between Srina and Darth Metus. The former had been clad in attire he had never seen her in once in his life. However to be fair the limited times he had seen her had barely been the venue for such attire. It went without saying that the woman was within a breathtaking appearance that could distract even the most reserved of men, perhaps that was the idea, he did not presume to know. The Vicelord and Fel Emperor exchanged words, nothing that the Minister felt a need to weigh in on. The alliance between the two of them could be a beneficial union, perhaps more so than Adron had been led to believe from the beginning. It was true, when he first heard of the rising Fel Empire he was unimpressed and utterly bored. What could the Fel Empire produce that would have interested the Galactic Empire, let alone worry them. However, now the Galactic Empire had fallen into civil war and the Fel's could gain power and influence through the Confederacy. Fate, it seems, was not without a sense of irony.

Once the Vicelord had said his piece, Adron decided to strike a bit of conversation to better ascertain how the Fel Emperor operated.

"Your ancestors utilized the Imperial Knights some centuries ago. I don't presume to know much about them, actually. Outside of them being some of the most renowned warriors of their time. Some said they were the superiors to their Jedi predecessors." He commented, gesturing back to the guard with a half-minded wave. "Are these men a reflection of that renown?" He asked, curious to hear of the man's guard.

[member="Darth Metus"] [member="Srina Talon"] [member="Toran Fel"]​

​

 

[grammaticus]

Toran smiled briefly as he listened to the Vicelords words. They had entered the Palace proper a few moments ago, passing from the rough architecture of the hangar to the more fluid design that graced all Imperial structures. The walls were a light grey, freshly polished and cleaned to glint in the lights hanging from brackets along the wall. Tapestries were placed at regular intervals along the corridors, some depicting great heroes of the past, while others told of stories only whispered of today. Every hundred or so feet also had a small alcove cut into the wall, within a stormtrooper stood silently, watching and waiting if he was ever needed.

"Indeed I agree, Vicelord. I admire the ideals for which the Confederacy has been founded. While different from the Fel Empire, I see the reason for how it operates. The fact you have emerged the stronger against the False Empire shows its strength. Together, our two nations would truly be something that could bring great change to this galaxy." He spoke carefully, his left hand moving slightly with his words as he led the party down numerous halls, seemingly turning at random times.

The words of their Minister of War brought him out of his brief revere. He turned his head to glance at the Minister, his eyes focusing on his for a moment before he turned to regard the Imperial Knights that still walked with them. "The Imperial Knights of the first Fel Empire were founded by members of the Jedi Order would came to question their tenants. They saw reason in supporting the Empire, which stood for Order and Prosperity. From them, the Imperial Knights grew to become some of the best trained, and most feared warriors of their time. They improved upon the teachings of the old Jedi, and made it their own. The Imperial Knights of this day have been formed under the similar ideals of their predecessors all those centuries ago. In any given fight between the force attuned warriors of the galaxy now, I would bet on the Imperial Knights every time."

Finally, the party came to a large set of wooden doors. They swung open without help, revealing a large chamber. A massive table ran down the length of the chamber, with well over a hundred chairs placed evenly along its length. Several servants stood waiting along the walls, wearing light blue uniforms. Spread out along the walls were several large fireplaces, with real flames already burning hotly within. Toran preferred natural heat at certain times.

Toran took a seat at the head of the table, gesturing for the Vicelord to take one placed right next to his own. "Apologies for the lack of company. Most of my staff is currently overseeing preparations for the muster in orbit."

[member="Darth Metus"]
[member="Adron Malvern"]
[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

Location: Osseriton
Time: Early Evening
Objective: Diplomacy
Wearing: This
Tags: [member="Toran Fel"] | [member="Darth Metus"] [member="Adron Malvern"]

​

Eyes of starlight flickered over their host as she reflexively took the arm of the Vicelord. It had become an unbreakable habit when on foreign soil. He was her mentor, her leader, and despite their differences in coloring he was indeed family. If he believed that this offshoot from the Empire, this pale, gentle reflection was worth their time and support she would acquiesce to his whims. She would mind her manners, she would play the diplomat, and most importantly, she would behave.

Whereas she could feel her Masters appreciation for the obviously well trained Stormtroopers whom stood in attendance the silent Echani did not share in his nostalgic joy. Her mind simply worked differently than his. More than anything, she wondered, how many of these soldiers they could run through if it came down to it. She saw a warning in this display. It was not simply a greeting, no, it was a display of strength. Of force. It was a reminder to the Sith Lord that had dropped from the Fortressa that whilst they were a young nation—they were not weak. They could not be easily crushed.

Otherwise, there would be no need, for the lines of fully armed men in the hangar of all places. If they had landed in the barracks, or a training field, perhaps, but not here. A small contingent of support staff would have sufficed. Silver eyes flickered coldly between the young, seemingly unassuming [member="Toran Fel"], and then turned back toward the kneeling AT-ST units. When would little, impulsive men learn, that these were machinations of war. Not, a feather in their cap. Not, decoration.

Throughout their adventures Srina Talon was becoming, if possible, wintrier than she had ever been. Landing on foreign soil with certain expectations was draining. Memorizing the layout, estimating the number of possible opponents, and outcomes, was equally so. In a way, though she would never admit it, she couldn’t help herself when it came to analyzing any sort of people or military application. It held a twofold agenda. Assessing the truth about the strength of their potential ally, and, anticipating the worst if negotiation failed.

In that respect, both she, and the Minister of War were very similar.

The gentlemen present made small talk and Srina found herself listening and following along. The movement of her feet was obscured entirely by lengths of ivory fabric that gave her the appearance of striking fluidity. At the side of [member="Darth Metus"], who nearly dwarfed her in height and size, she seemed little more than a delicate accessory. It was part of the unspoken camouflage. No one, unless they recognized an Echani, which wasn’t exceedingly hard to do, assumed that she could hold her own with either of the men she’d arrived with.

Her emotionless gaze remained forward, marble features exquisite, though made of stone. All of this pretend politeness wore thin on her patience, however, that was the nature of diplomacy. The flattery, the verbal observations, the gentile and cultured smiles were a bore—but the history of Imperial Knights was not. [member="Adron Malvern"] had questioned Toran Fel about his warriors and the silvery female felt a streak of general interest. The young Emperor thought highly of his forces.

“That is a commendable sentiment, however, placing that particular wager is a slightly misguided notion. The galaxy is vast, wide, and ever-changing. The force-sensitive skill of an enemy may yet surprise you and your Imperial Knights.”

Her words were not cruel or disrespectful. They were not threatening, nor did they seem anything, but filled with what she believed to be soft-spoken fact. It was folly to an Echani to simply assume that an existing militia was enough to deal with the unknown threats of the galaxy. This was why martial arts on Eshan was ever evolving. They had entire divisions dedicated to studying new forms of movement, schools of thought, and weaponry. Everything was subject to change. Everything.

The young Emperor welcomed the trio into his hall. Once again, extremely grandiose, for a handful of would-be allies. Her eyes flickered at the placement of seating. Srina generally remained to the right of the Vicelord but simply filled in any position with the grace of a little queen. For the most part, she had been relatively unnoticed, and that suited her just fine. [member="Adron Malvern"] knew Imperials better than she ever would. With that in mind, she would listen, catalog, and continue to observe.