First Reply Fallen From Grace

[Aurelian Sigismund]

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Somewhere in the Outer Rim Territories

Cro Carn Valturs had been an Imperial Knight many years ago. Serving various Empires in his eventful life, always adhering to a code of honour and order as a true Imperial Knight would and should. Yet eventually, in the wake of fallen dynasties, crippled states and petty warlords, disillusion had settled in and the once proud defender of civilisation took a dark turn. He was not committing to heinous atrocities that cried savagery, but he started forging a new path, one of power, of manipulation. Valturs built himself a crime syndicate with himself as ultimate enforcer, trading in slaves and suppressing the local population. His base was inside an old space station, carved into an asteroid and from there he managed his micro-empire with coldblooded efficiency and terror.

Aurelian had gained access to the asteroid by landing on its surface and entering through an abandoned mine shaft, his cloaked shuttle left behind, he made his way forward to end the tenure of the oathbreaker. The Zakuulan did not judge him by moral standards for his crimes against people and his trade, there was no such sentiment in him. He would glass a world if it served the purpose - but one who broke his oaths, who adorned the plate of the Imperial Knights with contempt and drew its meaning into the dirt, that was not acceptable. Even through defeats, downfalls and misery, a Knight had to keep his vows or be condemned.

The tall figure arrived at the edge of the inhabited areas of the station, he took in the scene in front of him, assessing how to proceed. His hand rested on the hilt of Valoris, the obvious choice for what was to come.

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[Darth Sycophantia]

small victories

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Savage Queen of Hearts - by Neon Dreams
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Tag > Aurelian Sigismund

Rumors are a currency unto themselves within the criminal underworld, and I have learned since my awakening to a foreign galaxy that the most profitable lies often wear the mask of truth. It was in smoke-choked cantinas, shadowed gambling dens, and whispered conversations exchanged beneath the glow of flashy holo-signs that I first heard the tale.

Somewhere within the forgotten reaches of the Outer Rim Territories drifted an asteroid. Some claimed it was a fortress carved into black stone by pirates centuries ago. Others swore it was a wandering haven beyond the reach of Imperial remnants, syndicates, and planetary law alike; a place where assassins, smugglers, mercenaries, slicers, and crime lords gathered beneath an unspoken truce.

The stories contradicted one another so often that they became impossible to trust, yet they persisted with the stubborn immortality of a legend that refused to die. Whether myth, fabrication, or hidden truth, the tale followed me like a specter through every shadowed corridor of the underworld.

The more I listened, the more intrigued I became. If such a sanctuary existed, it would not merely be a nest of criminals; it would be fertile soil. Organizations gathered there would possess resources, influence, desperate ambitions, and all the weaknesses that accompanied them.

My grand design would never be satisfied with a single web when an entire galaxy waited to be entangled.

There came a quiet kind of decay that greeted me as my shuttle cut through the fractured gravity well of the asteroid; an ancient, grinding pull that feels less like physics and more like judgment. The docking clamps seized hold with a groan that echoed through my vessel, and for a moment I imagined the asteroid itself exhaling around me, unwilling yet unable to refuse my arrival.

When the ramp descended, I stepped out into the docking bay of the station carved into the rock, and the air that met me smelled stale, metallic, and thick with the residue of too many sins left uncleaned. The structure is worse than rumor suggested; panels flickering with dying light, conduits hanging like exposed veins, and patched plating suggests generations of neglect held together by desperation and profit alone.

Still, life moves here; figures drift through the bay in armored clusters, cloaked silhouettes trade quiet deals beneath sputtering holo-lamps, and eyes, too many eyes, track me with cautious calculation as I pass. I let them look. I let them wonder.

Then I moved forward, deeper into the station's throat, where the true architecture of this place reveals itself not in metal or stone, but in the quiet alignment of greed, fear, and opportunity waiting to be shaped.​