Faction [FIRST ORDER] Eternal Eclipse: First Order Day

[Braith]

ETERNAL ECLIPSE // FIRST ORDER DAY
ZAKUUL

Zakuul had changed.

What settled over the planet was no longer unrest, but something steadier - something earned. The Zakuulan Resistance was gone, and in its absence, the world breathed a little easier. There was a sense of release in the air, carried in quiet smiles, in the gathering of people who no longer had to look over their shoulders.

The day began with a military parade.

It moved with precision, but there was no mistaking what it represented - victory, relief. A moment where the strength of the First Order was not only seen, but felt. Not as oppression, but as certainty. As something that had brought an end to chaos and left something better in its wake.

First Order Day.

An official marking of the moment order became visible to all.

And as it unfolded, there were those who watched with a different kind of attention - new arrivals among them. Commanders and soldiers from wayward fleets who had answered the call of Supreme Leader Rovac Vane, now standing at the edge of something greater than what they had left behind.

But that warmth did not follow everywhere.

It fell away once stepping through the doors of the Palace. Sound almost completely disappeared. The air sharpened. What remained was something far more exacting - an atmosphere that did not welcome, but weighed.

Within the Council Chambers, stripped of all excess, the same victory carried no comfort.

Only expectation.

And at its center, Supreme Leader Rovac Vane presided - silent, watchful, and absolute.

OBJECTIVE I - UNITY IN ORDER

The day begins with a celebratory military parade through the avenues of Zakuul - Stormtroopers marching in perfect formation, Armoured Divisions advancing in silent strength, Star Destroyers looming overhead, and TIE fighters screaching above the city skyline. While it marks victory over the Resistance, it also serves as a clear display of the First Order's clinical might. As the procession passes, the atmosphere softens into moments of social interaction, where soldiers and officers connect beyond formation and newly arrived Imperials - those who have answered the Supreme Leader's call - begin to find their place among their future brothers- and sisters-in-arms. The people of Zakuul join in the moment, marking the official birth of First Order Day.

Join in on the festivities - celebrate the restoration of order on Zakuul and have a drink with your fellow comrades-in-arms.

OBJECTIVE II - THE COUNCIL OF JUDGEMENT

Within the Palace's Council Chambers, senior First Order leadership convenes with commanders of wayward fleets and armies who have sought amnesty. In stark contrast to the atmosphere beyond its walls, this meeting is clinical and unyielding. The military system is outlined with precision, chains of command enforced without negotiation, and each newcomer is assessed for their value to the Order. Should they prove capable, they may help form something greater - potentially even the foundation of a new Moff Council to extend the Supreme Leader's will across the stars. Those who fall short will not be carried forward.

If you are a military leader that has answered Vane's call from the outside, now is the time to bring your benefit to the table of order and prove your worth to the upper echelons of the First Order.

​

​

 

[Braith]

THE COUNCIL OF JUDGEMENT
Switchblade - Chapter 1

TAG: Maris Veyra | Vladic Drakov | Open

SUCCESSION
​

COUNCIL CHAMBER, ZAKUUL

The heavy blast-doors of the Council Chambers slid shut with a pneumatic hiss, severing the distant, jubilant echoes of the parade. Outside, Zakuul celebrated a reprieve from chaos. Inside, the air was recycled, cold, and smelled faintly of ozone and old stone.

At the far end of the obsidian table, Supreme Leader Rovac Vane sat, occupying his seat with a cold stillness. His gaze was not on any one person, but seemed to encompass the entire room, weighing the collective worth of those gathered. He was the silent center of the Stratocracy; absolute, unmoving, and utterly devoid of the warmth currently being projected in the streets below.

To his right, Grand Admiral Vladic Drakov , his mind likely already calculating the military and industrial output of the wayward hulls docking in Zakuul. Beside him, Grand Marshal Maris Veyra , her presence a silent reminder of the tactical standard these newcomers were expected to meet.

The FOSB Director stepped forward, his boots clicking rhythmically against the polished floor. He stopped just short of the guests, his eyes scanning the faces of the commanders who had answered the Call.

"The parade outside is for the people," the Chiss began, his voice cutting through the silence. "It is a necessary theater for a world that has forgotten what certainty feels like. But you did not come here for theater."

He turned slightly, acknowledging the Supreme Leader's silent vigil before looking back at the wayward officers.

"You are here because the years of Imperial Remnant era has always been a waste of time. It is an excuse used by warlords to justify their own selfish ambition. The Supreme Leader has offered you Amnesty, but do not mistake his mercy for a lack of scrutiny. The First Order is not a sanctuary for retirement, but a machine that will bring Order to the Core." Braith paced the length of the table, his shadow stretching long under the sharp recessed lighting.

"We are currently mapping the expansion of our borders. To hold those stars, we require more than just soldiers; we require admirals, generals, administrators, and industrial tycoons. Some of you in this room may find yourselves governing sectors, some others governing functions. Others may find yourselves stripped of command and reintegrated as sub-alterns. Your lineage, your former titles, and your pride are irrelevant. The only currency accepted in this chamber is Merit."

He stopped, his gaze settling on the most decorated arrivals.

"You have brought your army, your fleets and your lives to Zakuul. Tell us: what benefit do you bring to the First Order that justifies your continued command?"

Braith stepped back into the periphery, leaving the floor open. He didn't look at Vane, but the weight of the Supreme Leader's silence seemed to intensify, demanding an answer that was as sharp and cold as the room itself.
​

 

[Jago Lohr]

FIRST ORDER

Council Chamber | Zakuul
TAG: Braith | Vladic Drakov | Maris Veyra

Echoes of jubilation from the parade barely registered deep inside the Palace. Only the loudest sounds reached his ears and only then until the pneumatic hiss sealed the blast doors.

He existed in the peripheral, blending with the background to the extent that it would appear as though he always existed there.

Only the crimson armor of the Sovereign Protector set him apart from the interior walls of the chamber. He clutched a Vibrostaff in his right hand, its butt affixed to the floor as it extended upwards through his grasp and higher. Other items were visible on his person if someone were to look carefully.

Jago was not here as a participant, he was the silent observer who did not speak unless spoken too his gaze stretching out across those who would address the Supreme Leader and the rest of the Stratocracy.

From where he stood he saw the Grand Admiral Vladic Drakov and the Grand Marshall Maris Veyra but there importance was diminished in the presence of Braith , the FOSB Director his primary charge.

More to the point he observed everyone who came into the Council Chamber, reading their body language and their intent before they ever spoke regardless of whether they tried to hide themselves in armor or not.

It was the subtle nuances, the ones they didn't even know they made that were the most telling.

​

​

​

 

[Sabine Korvan]

Objective II: Council of Judgement
Location: Zakuul
Tags: Braith | Vladic Drakov | Maris Veyra

---

OVERTURE​

"The parade outside is for the people," the Chiss began, his voice cutting through the silence. "It is a necessary theater for a world that has forgotten what certainty feels like. But you did not come here for theater."

He turned slightly, acknowledging the Supreme Leader's silent vigil before looking back at the wayward officers.

"You are here because the years of Imperial Remnant era has always been a waste of time. It is an excuse used by warlords to justify their own selfish ambition. The Supreme Leader has offered you Amnesty, but do not mistake his mercy for a lack of scrutiny. The First Order is not a sanctuary for retirement, but a machine that will bring Order to the Core." Braith paced the length of the table, his shadow stretching long under the sharp recessed lighting.

"We are currently mapping the expansion of our borders. To hold those stars, we require more than just soldiers; we require admirals, generals, administrators, and industrial tycoons. Some of you in this room may find yourselves governing sectors, some others governing functions. Others may find yourselves stripped of command and reintegrated as sub-alterns. Your lineage, your former titles, and your pride are irrelevant. The only currency accepted in this chamber is Merit."

He stopped, his gaze settling on the most decorated arrivals.

"You have brought your army, your fleets and your lives to Zakuul. Tell us: what benefit do you bring to the First Order that justifies your continued command?"

Fate had not been kind to Sabine over the past decade, as evidenced by the faint strands of grey prematurely forming in her hair. Fortunately for her, they blended in well with her platinum blonde hair, and her face had thus far remained nearly as young and fresh as it was.

On Cinnegar.

Before everything changed.

She was operational, for the Dark Empire that had arisen from the ashes of the Empire-that-was. She could still remember the voice of one of her companions over the comm frequency.

“Your father is dead. You need to go to ground.”

She never saw him again; her father, or her companion.

She remembered crying; weeping bitterly as she clutched herself within her own arms, alone in the safe house. Her father was never known as a kind or affectionate man in general, but he was that way with her - perhaps only with her. She loved him as only a daughter could love a man widely considered to be a monster. Even after she learned who - or rather what her ‘brother Tiberius was, along with her father’s plan to elevate him as his heir apparent - she loved her father.

She deserved to be the heir to her father’s legacy, but because she did not have a ‘third arm’, such a future was denied to her. Denied forever more, as history panned out...

But she still loved her father, even still. So when she learned of his death, and of those responsible for it; she promised to secure her vengeance. Those would-be Imperials who were nothing more than sycophants hiding under the shadow of better men would pay with their lives.

Her brother Tiberius - or rather, her father’s clone stood beside her as she was lost in thought, staring in silence at the figured seated before them all. Former Imperials gathered from throughout the fringes of space stood before 4 figures, 3 of which seated at a long obsidian table.The fourth, a Chiss it would seem, stood before them all and began speaking. Sabine’s expression hardened as she was pulled from her internal reflections and back to the present. A question hung in the air, and she glanced at her brother who stared back at the Chiss before him. “I bring a desire for Order that has eluded me for years. While my ships, men and I have made our mistakes, we seek to prove our worth to the Supreme Leader.”

It was clear that Tiberius was not accustomed to kneeling, given the stiff nature through which his legs buckled and his form prostrated itself.

Sabine, for her part, paused. Her eyes met those of the Chiss, frosty blue irises meeting his deep red. “Our father’s legacy was tainted by lesser men. I seek to forge a new legacy. One of my own.” But rather than pausing, her expression hardened and she added: “I bring the willpower my father lacked. And the skills to do what others cannot.” She hesitated, keeping Braith’s gaze for several moments further before kneeling alongside her brother.

The two scions of Korvan knelt before the council, under the weight of their clinical judgement. Sabine still wore the stark-white tunic of her former life as a member of ISB, which contrasted with the sea of grey and black of the other former Imperials, and even moreso by the pressed and spartan uniforms of the First Order surrounding them.

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Objective 1
Nixie Voidskipper

The sky above Zakuul moved with a precision that felt almost unnatural, and Lyra noticed that before she noticed anything else. It wasn't the press of the crowd, the roar of the celebration, or even the looming weight of the Star Destroyers hanging in the upper atmosphere that held her attention. It was the geometry of the flight paths.

TIE formations cut across the blue expanse in perfect, rhythmic intervals. Their vectors were clean, their spacing exact, and their turns were executed with a crystalline discipline that left absolutely no room for hesitation. Even from the ground, she could read the invisible threads connecting them, the timing, the absolute control, and the way each pilot trusted the others to be exactly where they were supposed to be. It was undeniably impressive, but to a pilot who lived for the erratic freedom of the cockpit, it felt a little suffocating.

Lyra stood at the very edge of the avenue rather than within the thick of the throng. Her posture was relaxed, but her attention was sharp and restless. Her hands rested loosely at her sides, though faint traces of engine grease still marked her fingers, a quiet, tactile reminder of where she actually felt at home. It wasn't here, standing on solid boots in the middle of a ceremony. It was up there.

Her eyes tracked a passing squadron as they screamed overhead, the twin-ion howl cutting through the humid air before echoing off the towering, gilded structures of the city. She followed the lead craft instinctively, her mind automatically gauging speed, altitude, and those subtle micro-adjustments that most observers wouldn't even notice.

"Tight spacing," she murmured to herself, the words slipping out before she realized she was speaking. "There's absolutely no room for error in a line like that."

It wasn't a criticism of their skill. It was simply the way she processed the world.

Around her, the atmosphere was beginning to shift into something warmer and more fluid. The rigid steel of the main procession had passed, and the silence was being replaced by the rising hum of conversation. Laughter broke through in small, uncertain bursts as soldiers loosened their stances. It wasn't disorder, but it was something newer and less practiced than the march itself.

Lyra's gaze drifted from the structured sky to the people. She saw Stormtroopers speaking with their helmets tucked under their arms and officers exchanging quiet, personal words instead of barking commands. There were newly arrived Imperials standing just a little apart, much like she was, watching the display and trying to calculate exactly where they fit within a machine this massive and structured.

She understood that feeling of being an outsider looking in.

A group of pilots passed nearby, their conversation easy and familiar in a way that suggested years of shared cockpits and close calls. Lyra watched them for a heartbeat longer than she intended before she caught herself and looked away, shifting her weight as if to remind her body that she wasn't meant to stand still for this long.

"First Order Day," she said quietly, testing the weight of the name under her breath.

It sounded official. Defined. It was something she wasn't entirely sure she belonged to yet, or if she ever truly would.

Her gaze lifted again as another wave of interceptors cut across the skyline, lower this time, and much faster. Her eyes narrowed instinctively, tracking them as her mind mapped out their trajectories. She found herself imagining how she would fly that exact line, where she might push the engine further, and exactly where she would break from the formation if given the chance to feel the wind.

That part of her hadn't changed. She suspected it never would.

A nearby table had been set with drinks, and soldiers were beginning to gather around it in small, relaxed clusters as the sharp edges of the parade softened into something human. Lyra hesitated for only a second before stepping toward it, drawn less by the prospect of a conversation and more by the simple need for movement. She picked up a glass, turning the cool condensation against her palm as she glanced back toward the sky one last time.

"I wonder just how strict they actually are about their flight rules," she said to the air, a faint hint of genuine curiosity slipping through her quiet, reserved tone.

Her attention lingered upward. Because even here, surrounded by the heat of the people and the noise of a celebration that looked like belonging, her true place was still up there, lost in the clouds.

 

[Nixie Voidskipper]

OBJECTIVE I

Nix had pledged her life to the Empire, and so it was a hollow feeling that she now flew for the First Order. Inside, she hoped that the rise of the Order would once again usher in an Imperial rule over the Galaxy, but hope was an empty thing, and flying was the thing that brought her true joy. She flew with the Second TIE Fighter Wing Formation, keeping a tight distance from her fellows, showing discipline in order that the Empire had once burned into her. Her old Cadet Flight Group had been disbanded, reassigned to different Capital Ships, but she remained solid.

She would be tested again and again under new eyes, stricter standards. More brutal dictators, with more violent goals.

After an hour of flight with her Wing, circling and completing fly-over maneuvers, Nix pulled her TIE/fo with it's red and black First Order markings, in for a landing. Several TIE/fo and repurposed TIE/in fighters littered the runway in perfect orderly fashion. She slowed to a stop and gently landed her craft amongst the others.

Once she was grounded, Nix ripped off her flight mask and tore off her helmet, the sticky sweat from the heat of it shining in her short black hair. The helmet went next to her seat, and next she pulled free from her straps. The un-subtle click of the buckles coming free, and then a zzzip as the straps retracted into the seat.

She climbed out through the hatch on the bottom, climbing down the retractable ladder where her feet struck the ground. The sterile black of her flight suit had been marked with the garish reds and blacks of the First Order. Another thing she didn't much like, but had to adapt to.

She breathed a sigh of relief as her feet touched the ground. Not because she was safely planet-side, but because she hated formations. Typically a Flight Leader would lead the formation, but during these displays, an Officer usually did. Nix preferred being the leader.

After regaining her posture, she began walking off the tarmac, following the other pilots who had finished their fly-bys, where drinks and food were being served. Once she arrived, she immediately recognized one of them

"Lyra? Is that you? You made it!" She shouted in her Imperial accent.

In an uncharacteristic break from decorum, Nix threw herself at the girl, embracing her suddenly and without warning.

Then she broke the hug immediately.

"I wasn't sure if you'd be here!"

Pleasant surprise intoned in her voice. A few of the others gave her an askance look, but she ignored their curiousity.

Lyra Ventor

 

[Althea Varrick]

ETERNAL ECLIPSE - THE COUNCIL OF JUDGEMENT

GEAR: Standard issue officers pistol, comm links
OBJECTIVE: Objective 2
TAG: Braith Vladic Drakov Maris Veyra Sabine Korvan

Althea sat in the chamber, she was not one of the central leadership but her department, under the head of the FOSB, Braith was positioned in such away that she was important to the order, or at least, her work was. The auxiliary fleet she was assigned to focused on logistics and while not as flashy a role as some of the forward fleets, campaigns were won or lost on logistics. Althea's special remit was to ensure that the army and navy were kept fed and healthy. And she was ever proud of her ability to turn an apparently inhospitable world into a suitable location for a garrison or even turning a toxic swamp into a bread basket.

She sat, taking notes of those present, if there were suitable scientists present she would request they be assigned to her department, no sense in wasting good minds. Her companion sat at her feet. Some people brought personal droids, she brought him, and he was under strict instructions to remain invisible, although she could detect the pheromones he released when he was particularly curious.

"● - ● ○ ● ○ - ● ○ ● ● - ● ○ ○ ● - ○ ● - ● ○ ● ●" she made a short subvocalisation to appease the creature before turning her attention back to the speaking attendees.

She had her eyes on a couple of them in particular, their vessels has been scanned and possessed higher than usual reading associated with advanced scientific practices.

She send a character profile to the pad of Director Braith simply with the word FODOAM? on it. It was a man who headed up a military research organisation that would likely be folded into the order, but Althea wanted his brain, likely with the accompanying body, but there were options in that regards.

 

[FN-999 (restored)]

OBJ: I
OPEN TO ALL GROUND FORCES/STORMIES

FN-999 felt more fulfilled than he had in decades.
​

The urban sprawl and temperate climate of Zakuul reminded him of Dosunn, capital of the original First Order and his home for the latter half of his childhood. As the general had led columns of unwavering troopers down the grand avenues, he allowed himself to reminisce on the friendly competition between himself and the other cadets of his class, each aspiring the other to reach new heights of skill. Nearly all of his cadet class had made the ultimate sacrifice since, but their legacies would be preserved in glory as long as FN-999 lived. It was their sacrifice that made the First Order’s rebirth possible, preserving its ideals for long enough to be continued by a new generation of leaders.

Though he had been late to the initial pacification of Zakuul, FN-999 was proud to march in the triumph alongside his newly formed legion. It helped ease his conscience that he had been able to take with him a sizable fleet alongside Alge Imperial's largest shipyard, which now hung in the planet's orbit, ready to churn out innumerable Palremians, Resurgents, and more for the New Order.

In the hours since the conclusion of the main triumph, FN-999 had debriefed his men on upcoming patrols and then dismissed them for a well-deserved holiday break. The general himself had opted to go out with his men and share in their joy. The first order of business however was his new suit of armor.

It had been a bittersweet ceremony to retire the stormtrooper armor he had worn in one form or another since the days of the New Imperial Order. He did not regret in the slightest his service to the NIO, or for that matter the Imperial Protectorate transitional government and the Imperial Confederation. On the contrary, he was grateful to all three factions for upholding in one form or another the common Imperial ideology against democratic lies and the Force cults known as the Jedi and Sith.

On the other hand, his new silver armor gave him a sense of homecoming unlike anything he had felt since his final visit to Dosunn nearly forty years earlier. Tailor-made to fit his towering frame and equipped with the most advanced protection the First Order had to offer, the suit was as much a work of art as it was a machine of war. FN-999 could appreciate that it was far superior to the modified standard stormtrooper armor he had used in the New Imperial Order, even if the cape would be a nuisance requiring removal in close-quarters combat.

Decked out in his new suit of armor, the general had opened his barracks to all soldiers of the First Order, readily meeting with enlisted and officers alike to discuss old stories or seek advice from a seasoned commander. He presently sat in the barracks mess hall, packed full of soldiers enjoying the revelry or swarming to speak to the veteran of the old First Order. From his seat at the center of a bench before a large table of solid steel, he conversed with those around him, answering questions and making comments as needed.
​

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Objective: 1

Nixie Voidskipper

Lyra had just lifted her glass to her lips again when her name cut through the low, rhythmic hum of the surrounding conversation, the voice sharp and familiar enough to make her turn before she had even consciously processed who was calling out.

"Nix?"

The word was out of her mouth before she could fully register the transformation in front of her, the crisp lines of the uniform, the official markings, and the newfound, hardened way the other girl carried herself, but she had no time to analyze the change before Nix closed the distance between them in a blur of motion. The sudden impact of the hug caught Lyra entirely off guard, causing her balance to shift instinctively as her mind scrambled to reconcile the guarded orphan she had met in a Commenor junkyard with the person now throwing themselves at her.

For a split second, Lyra froze in place, but as the initial shock faded, she adjusted her stance to meet the contact, bringing one hand up to steady Nix at her side while the other came to rest lightly against her back in a silent gesture of grounding. She didn't tighten her hold or attempt to pull her closer, choosing instead to simply meet the embrace with a quiet, unforced warmth that lasted only until Nix pulled away just as abruptly as she had arrived.

Lyra let her go without the slightest resistance, her hand lingering in the empty space for only a fraction of a second before falling back to her side, while her expression settled into something noticeably softer than the reserved mask she had worn all morning.

"I made it," she said, a faint breath of genuine amusement touching her voice as she took in the restless, kinetic energy Nix seemed to radiate. "Though I have to admit, I wasn't entirely sure if you would be here."

Her gaze flicked briefly but deliberately over the flight suit and the First Order insignia, noting the residual tension that still clung to Nix's posture, the telltale sign of someone who had just spent hours maintaining a tight, high-stress formation.

"It looks like they've already put you to work," she added, her tone dropping into a quieter, more observant register that carried no judgment, only the simple recognition of one pilot acknowledging another's labor.

Shifting her weight slightly, Lyra kept her glass held loosely in one hand while her eyes drifted back toward the Zakuulan sky, where the final streaks of ion exhaust were beginning to dissipate as the formations broke apart.

"How was it?" she asked, her attention returning fully to Nix with a knowing edge to her voice, as if she had already deduced the answer from watching the rigid, clinical precision of the fly-bys. "Flying like that, I mean. Being a part of a machine instead of just a pilot."

 

[FT-444]

UNITY IN ORDER
Omen - Chapter 1

TAG: FN-999 (restored) | Open

ANESTHETIZE
​

ZAKUUL

The mess hall was a wall of sound.
Boisterous laughter, the rhythmic clank of synthetic-ale mugs, the collective exhale of men who had survived something and were only now beginning to believe it. Every instinct in the room was pulling toward warmth, toward release, toward the particular joy that only soldiers who had stared down death could manufacture in its aftermath.
FT-444 moved through it like a current moving the wrong way.

The matte-black silhouette drifted along the periphery, active-camouflage powered down but somehow unnecessary. His armor drank the overhead light rather than reflecting it, carving a pocket of silence in his wake. Troopers in standard white plastoid shifted without knowing why; a subconscious recognition that something different had entered the room. None of them looked directly at him. None of them spoke to him.

He didn't expect them to.

His helmeted gaze had found the General the moment he crossed the threshold. It was difficult not to. FN-999 occupied the center of the mess hall the way a gravity well occupies space; not through effort, but through simple, undeniable mass. Soldiers orbited him. Veterans leaned in. Even the youngest troopers, too green to know exactly who he was, seemed to sense that this was someone worth listening to.

Omen understood, but cannot relate to the shape of that kind of authority. He had operated in its shadow his entire career, in the cold corridors of doctrine and directive, never in the warmth of a room like this.

He waited. He watched. He let a natural lull carve itself out of the General's conversation before he moved; not through the crowd, but around it, emerging from the edge of the light.

He stopped three paces out. The salute was sharp, mechanical, the arm of someone who had performed the motion ten thousand times and felt nothing particular about it.

<General,> Omen's voice was low, stripped of the warmth found in the rest of the room. The silver suits him, he thought to himself, a stark contrast to the shadows that liberated Zakuul.

He tilted his head slightly, the red glow of his visor reflecting off the General's polished chest plate.

<FT-444, Shadow Trooper Captain. My unit was processed through the Shadow doctrine established in the wake of the Dosunn collapse. It is... rare... nowadays, to encounter someone who remembers the capital's original skyline.>
​

 

[Nixie Voidskipper]

"Yup," she agreed and then frowned a little. "They didn't let me lead the formation though. The First Order has rules about that. They're way more strict than the Empire." She clenched her teeth briefly, her jaw muscles rippling with the tension. "I think they don't trust us Imperial defectors yet. I suppose it makes sense, but I'm ready to earn my wings. This flight pin is getting rusty." She lamented.

"Anyway, enough about that, what have they got you doing--aside from raiding the buffet?" She asked at the same time as Lyra's question. She laughed, and said "I'll go first."

"It... was... incredible." She grinned "We were on free-flight the entire time, no computer assistance, and every turn, or pin-point maneuver had to be executed with absolute accuracy. Half of it is watching your flight path, and the other is watching the clock. Miss a single instant, and you ruin the whole thing. Only the best of the best get to even be a part of it."

Then she grabbed Lyra's hand and dragged her back towards the food tables.

"Now your turn. Tell me everything." Nix grabbed a piece of bread and a spined fruit from the basket and began chewing as she listened to her friend tell her story.

"And don't leave out anything." She looked around at the pilots and soldiers milling about, "Are any of your other friends here? Did your mum come?"

Lyra Ventor

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Objective: 1

Nixie Voidskipper

Lyra let herself be pulled along without resistance, her balance adjusting easily as Nix dragged her back toward the tables. The movement felt familiar in a way that didn't need explanation, the kind of momentum she rarely allowed but didn't quite mind this time.

When they stopped, she reached out almost absently, picking up another drink and a small portion of food, something simple she could hold without thinking too much about it. The condensation from the glass cooled her fingers as she turned slightly back toward Nix, her expression settling into something thoughtful.

"So far, they've mostly had me swabbing the decks," she admitted, her tone calm, though there was the faintest hint of uncertainty beneath it. "I haven't exactly had the chance to prove my flight ability yet. I'm not entirely sure what they're waiting for."

Her gaze drifted briefly toward the sky again, where the last traces of the flyover had long since faded, before returning to Nix.

"It sounds like they're giving you more room than they are me," she added, not resentful, just… noting the difference.

At the mention of her mother, Lyra's expression softened slightly, something quieter settling in behind her eyes. "My mother tried to keep this life out of mine," she said, her voice lowering just a fraction. "So no… she isn't here."

She took a small sip from her drink, letting the pause settle before continuing. Then, almost as an afterthought, she added with a faint, understated honesty: "And I, uh…don't really have many friends." Her eyes met Nix's, steady and open. "Just you." There was no weight placed on the words, no expectation behind them. Just a simple truth offered as easily as anything else she had said.

Lyra shifted her grip slightly on the food in her hand, taking a small bite as if to ground herself back in the moment.

"But that sounds like it was worth it," she added, a faint hint of curiosity returning as she nodded toward Nix. "Free-flight in atmosphere without assistance isn't something they hand out lightly."

Her head tilted just a fraction, studying her again.

"You must've impressed someone."

 

[Braith]

THE COUNCIL OF JUDGEMENT
Switchblade - Chapter 1

TAG: Althea Varrick | Jago Lohr | Maris Veyra | Sabine Korvan | Vladic Drakov | Open

SUCCESSION
​

COUNCIL CHAMBER, ZAKUUL

The sound of Tiberius's knees meeting the floor was a dull, uncomfortable thud against the obsidian. Braith did not acknowledge it, he regarded the prostration as nothing but a performance of the old world. He began to circle the two Korvans, his red eyes moving with the unhurried precision of a man conducting an autopsy rather than an audience.

They settled first on the brother.

Tiberius. A clone. A man assembled from the blueprint of a failure and handed to the world as an heir. Braith studied him for a long moment; the stiff posture, the borrowed face, and said nothing. The silence itself was the observation. Whatever Sabine had come here to escape, she had brought it with her, wearing her father's exact dimensions in flesh and bone.

"Willpower," Braith repeated, the word sounding like a clinical diagnosis. "The galaxy is filled with men of willpower presiding over piles of ash and shattered hulls. Willpower without a system is merely a precursor to martyrdom."

He stopped in front of her, his gaze dropping briefly to the white tunic.

"The ISB hunted treason in the hearts of men. It was a theater; expensive, romanticized theater, and it killed the stage it was performed on." He didn't linger. One sentence. A door closed. "That uniform tells me you already know that. The question is whether you're still standing in the wreckage because you haven't finished grieving, or because you haven't found anything worth replacing it with."

He shifted his gaze back at Tiberius, who remained stiffly prostrated.

"Stand up," Braith commanded, his voice devoid of warmth. "We have no use for servants who find comfort on their knees. We have a galaxy to organize. If you truly possess the skills others do not, then you will find the High Command Audit... enlightening."

He stepped back into the periphery, giving the room back its silence.

It held for exactly three seconds.

The sound that ended it was almost nothing; the slight shift of weight in the obsidian chair at the head of the table, leather adjusting against stone. But every person in the room heard it, because every person in the room had been peripherally aware of the Supreme Leader's stillness since the moment they entered.

The Supreme Leader leaned forward. Just enough.

The light caught the hard angles of his face. He had been motionless through every arrival before them, through every declaration of loyalty and every rehearsed credential. Something about this particular pair had drawn him out of his stillness; though whether it was Sabine's defiance or the specific fact of what stood beside her was impossible to read.

"Vengeance," Vane's voice was low, yet it carried the weight of a death sentence. "It is a luxury for those with time to waste."

Vane's eyes locked onto Sabine's frosty blue irises.

"You said your father's legacy was tainted by lesser men," Vane said. "But your father's legacy is standing next to you. You brought it here yourself."

He let that sit.

"The First Order does not exist to settle your family's debts. It does not exist to validate your father's memory. If you join us, the Scion of Korvan dies here. You will be a tool of the State. Nothing more. Nothing less."

He paused, the silence stretching until it became a vacuum.

"The Director will determine what you are without the name. If there is something there, it will survive the process. If there is not…"

He settled back into stillness, the sentence unfinished.

The unfinished sentence was the answer. Braith gave a single, measured tilt of his head, first toward Jago Lohr , then the side door.

"Processing begins at Vanguard Station. Your fleet, your men, your brother; all of it enters the audit." A pause, thin and precise as a blade. "And leave the tunic."
​

 

[Nixie Voidskipper]

"Well I'm very impressive," she replied without a hint of irony. "As are you," she said. "I couldn't imagine anyone wouldn't want you on their flight team. I wouldn't want anyone else." She chewed and spit out a seed that the baker had failed to find. Military cooks were many things, thorough, or good was never one of them, no matter the service - no matter the place. However, the food was plentiful, and it made it worthwhile for the sons and daughters of the poor class to join up.

"They shouldn't have you mopping. I dare say, you're a better pilot than I am." Not something Nix had ever said about anyone. She had fought tooth and nail for every advantage she had, and when the Empire was advancing people who had less skill but more connections, she would have never said anyone was better than her, but she had seen Lyra in the simulator and watched her face off against a pilot who's skills had challenged Nix. She'd watched Lyra defeat him with ease, and so her praise was not bluster.

"We could rule the bloody skies, you and I." She looked down the tarmac at the TIE/in and TIE/fo craft painted red and black in the First Order color scheme. "You should be in one of those before me." Nix looked angry now, her eyes flashing like blue blaster bolts.

She then turned to Lyra and narrowed her eyes; "You're right. We are friends, and I'm going to help you get you flight approved. I'm not going to bloody fly while you're bloody grounded."

Nix grabbed a cup and took a long drink, but meanwhile her eyes were scanning for the Wing Commander, "There's got to be an officer with wings around here somewhere. I'll find them."

Lyra Ventor

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra listened without interrupting, her attention settling fully on Nix as she spoke, the intensity in her voice, the certainty, the frustration that burned just beneath it. It wasn't something Lyra was used to receiving, that kind of unwavering belief directed at her, and for a moment she didn't quite know what to do with it.

Her fingers tightened slightly around the cup in her hand before easing again, her gaze drifting briefly toward the line of fighters resting along the tarmac.

"Hey…" she said quietly, the word enough to slow the momentum of what Nix was about to do. She shifted just enough to step into her line of sight, not blocking her, just grounding her.

"You don't need to go hunting down an officer for me," she continued, her tone calm, steady, and far less heated than Nix's. "I'll get up in the sky soon." There was no doubt in it. No frustration. Just quiet certainty.

Her eyes flicked toward the fighters again, lingering there for a second longer before returning to Nix. "They'll test me when they're ready," she added, more thoughtfully. "Or when they decide I've waited long enough."

A faint breath of amusement touched her expression then, softening it.

"And when they do…I'd rather earn it than have it handed to me because you scared someone into signing a datapad." There was no dismissal in the words, only a quiet kind of appreciation.

Lyra stepped a little closer, lowering her voice just slightly. "Besides," she said, the faintest hint of warmth returning, "I want to see you fly without worrying about me stuck on the ground."

Her head tilted just a fraction as she studied her. "You said it yourself. Only the best get to be up there." A small pause. "So go prove them right."

Nixie Voidskipper

 

[FN-999 (restored)]

OBJ: I
OPEN TO ALL GROUND FORCES/STORMIES
FT-444

FN-999 paused as a trooper in ink-black armor approached him.
​

Shadow trooper, the general reminded himself. They had existed in various names or forms since the days of the ancient Galactic Empire nine centuries earlier, but they all had the same purpose: stealth, infiltration, and covert operations. Even he knew better than to underestimate their intelligence, both during and outside of combat.

<FT-444, Shadow Trooper Captain. My unit was processed through the Shadow doctrine established in the wake of the Dosunn collapse. It is... rare... nowadays, to encounter someone who remembers the capital's original skyline.>

“Indeed it is, Captain.” replied FN-999. He spoke in a deep, unhurried tone, his voice carrying a hint of the patience and wisdom that came with his age.

“It was a beautiful city. Perhaps one day, it will be reclaimed. But let us return to the present."

“Manpower is a precious resource.” remarked FN-999, nodding to a pair of stormtroopers passing by. “Especially our stormtroopers, and especially the special forces among our stormtroopers.”

The general shifted his body to fully face the night-black captain, giving him his full attention.

“So let me ask you this, FT-444. What additional equipment do you think the shadowtroopers would benefit from having? I can request a product from the high command, and as long as it is within the First Order’s capacity to produce it, it will be provided."

“After all, manpower is a precious resource, but equipment can be produced en masse."
​

 

[Ashel de Stilico]

Ashel de Stilico, Stormtrooper Medic
Objective One
Location: Zakuul, Stormtrooper Barracks
Equipment:
KXR SFR-58 'Bozdugan' Blaster Rifle
Imperial Strike Force Combat Armor Mk. I


Inside the transport shuttle Ashel breathed evenly and gripped tightly the straps that kept her secured unto her seat. With a soft rumble and the hiss of hydraulics, she released her hold and stepped forward and through the opened ramp. The rattle of armor plates and slinged weapons of other troopers provided the cadence of her battalion's short march towards the barracks. Unsurprisingly there were literally thousands of others but Ashel kept her eyes ahead instead of attempting a futile count.

We’re just soldiers.

They soldier on, regardless of questions or complaints, a mistake her previous Commanding Officer had attempted. Ashel sighed and gave a rather ugly expression of disgust of the memory, at least her squad had managed to find themselves here on Zakuul. Whatever bitterness remained would forever remain in her memories, and in her medical opinion that was sufficient.

We march on.

Finally she reached the front of the line, a quartermaster awaited and just like her last day of basic, here she was given her MOS once again. The rest of her squad had hurried to their assigned barracks and quickly began to settle in, helmets and armor exchanged for fatigues. The Parades continued and the festivities awaited her squad mates as they eagerly gathered to make plans.

Ashel smiled in spite of herself, her helmet and armor removed in place for something far more comfortable. Her medical bag was placed beneath her bed and she opted to lay down and turned her head to watch the rest of her mates plan for tonight.

“I’ll have IV’s ready for you all for the morning.” Ashel muttered with a grin, her mind imagining their morning PT becoming nothing but regret and illness.

“And we’ll hold you to that!”

Ashel laughed, everyone finding a way to distract themselves at least for today. That was what mattered the most, their ability to disassociate with the work they have enlisted themselves to do. Duty and Service to a cause they had long but forgotten their original oath of loyalty to a dead empire. Best to laugh and find a semblance of happiness that they can cling to for as many hours as they could before they put the helmet back on.

For her part, she opted to remain in her cot in the barracks as the rest left to enjoy themselves the best they could. Ashel hadn’t felt the luxury of solitude and quietness for quite some time, despite claims of silence in deep-space the ships she was onboard of were hardly quarters of peace.

“Never a peaceful moment, not within the Stormtrooper corps,” Ashel muttered loudly to herself, the empty barracks responding with nothing. With gentle care she eased her hands behind herself and leaned her head back to enjoy her moment of tranquility.