Private Dead Order [Domaric Mordane]

[Vireth]

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Tag: Domaric Mordane

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' Dead Order '
A story told aboard the INV ' Executrix '
905 ABY

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The Iron Sun had set after all in spite of what it had endured.

Both Vireth and Mordane had lived and served long enough to see the end of the Galactic Alliance. To enjoy the spoils of the ' Great Core Wars ' on the steps of the Imperial Palace amid the bonfires and conversations which had stoked the Imperial machine after a long campaign that had tittered upon the edges of catastrophe. Little had they known how close they had been to ruination and how it had taken just one almighty punch to send them over the top.

Vireth found herself filled with bouts of nostalgia which came daily since the Core fell to the Sith Covenant. Even though it had been three years since she had joined Shannic Wulf and Da'Razel (where they had burned the Lightsabers of the fallen New Jedi defenders who had failed to prevent their annexation of Coruscant) Vireth could vividly remember the moment well. It was thanks to these golden eyes that the Emperor had bestowed upon her before his untimely death. She had recorded the moment, and quietly, Vireth was thankful for it. It was a reminder of what could be accomplished when the Imperial war machine was on full display and re-energized under the stewardship of great leaders. She would endeavour never to share it with Mordane, however. He was not as sentimental as she was.

A thick blanket of cloud filled the transparisteel screens with white and fog while Vireth waited for her host to arrive. Dinner was the agenda and a conversation between two former colleagues would be had as well. She had always like Mordane and was glad to know that he had not subsumed to the Sith unlike the others who had failed to hold Imperial Centre. Oh, so many had died in the Coruscanti streets. Imperialism may have died on that day, Vireth was beginning to fear. Would Mordane agree with that assessment?

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[Domaric Mordane]

The doors parted and Domaric Mordane entered without ceremony.​

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The uniform he wore was different. It was unmistakably Imperial, but stripped of nearly every distinction that would have explained who he was. The rank plaques were gone. The medals were gone. The insignia of ministries and commands had disappeared as well. Only the tailoring remained immaculate, the dark fabric altered and refitted so many times that it seemed less an article of clothing than a second skin.​

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He looked older than he once had, though not weaker. If anything, the years had carved away everything nonessential. There was very little left of the ambitious officer who had risen through the Stormtrooper Corps and quite a lot of the man who had spent decades watching institutions consume themselves.​

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Mordane acknowledged Vireth with a slight inclination of his head before taking his seat across from her. The clouds beyond the transparisteel rolled silently past while he settled into the chair and examined the room with the practiced eye of someone who had spent most of his life conducting meetings.​

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Then he clapped his hands once.​

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The servants, evidently anticipating the signal, immediately began bringing in the first dishes.​

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Mordane watched them work for a moment, folded his hands on the table, and finally looked at Vireth.​

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"So," he said, in the tone of a man opening a staff briefing rather than a social engagement, "what can I do for you?"

Vireth​

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