First Reply God is Dead

[Marlon Sularen]

G O D_I S_D E A D

IMPERIAL CONFEDERATION
ATRISIA, CORE WORLDS

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The Third Death Star. The Superweapon conceived by Darth Solipsis and his Imperial cronies within his Galactic Empire, had been destroyed. What they had envisioned to be their ultimate weapon that would force the galaxy into submission was gone. The Battle for Atrisia, a battle that had seen half a dozen galactic governments unite to halt the relentless advance of the Galactic Empire had predictably ended in a victory for the Anti-Imperial Coalition, with the Galactic Empire's fleets scattered and their Stormtrooper Legions shattered.

Yet even with this victory, Sularen knew very well that this was just the beginning. Atrisia was the final nail that sealed the fate of the old galactic order and now a massive political shift was underway which would shape the future of the galaxy for decades to come. The question now was who would come on top amongst the various galactic governments scattered across the galaxy.

In the aftermath of the Battle for Atrisia, Marlon Sularen found himself visiting the site of the Third Death Star's wreckage on the surface of Atrisia. His Fleet lingered in orbit, still searching for any remnants of the Galactic Empire and Black Sun that might have been left behind and to serve as both a deterrent and a declaration, that their intervention was the difference that prevented the Death Star III from coming close to destroying Atrisia.

Still even with this victory, the Supreme Commander couldn't help but think about how a large amount of Imperials had fallen in line with Darth Solipsis including those who had once denounced him and all Sith who sought to co-opt the Imperial ideology for their own personal gains and ambitions. In addition to this, Solipsis had already failed twice before, first with the Brotherhood of the Maw and again the Galactic Empire. To even side with him was pure insanity, a complete rejection of order and reason and yet still many had chosen him over the more rational Imperial Confederation.

Nevertheless, even if individuals flocked to the Galactic Empire in far greater numbers then the Imperial Confederation, Sularen would continue doing what he needed to do. To ensure that his vision for Imperialism triumphed over that of Solipsis and to bring order, reason and stability to a broken galaxy through any means necessary.

Tags | OPEN​

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Marlon Sularen

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The wreckage of the Third Death Star sprawled across the scorched surface of Atrisia. Scherezade deWinter stepped across twisted metal and glowing fissures of molten debris, boots crunching over scorched plating. She had just returned to the area from a post-war feast with her DeathDrop crew, and now hunger of a different kind drove her forward.

She didn't bother to hide herself either visually or through the Force. She had fought on the winning side, and that gave her a certain liberties as far as she was concerned. Whoever else was still around, they all were welcome to see or notice her if they cared to. But no one did. The Sithling didn't need to blend in. She thrived on exposure, on the tension of being both predator and spectacle.

Her blood hound senses, usually a flawless map of the living and the bleeding, were useless here. Anything worth hunting had burned to ash in the death star's fiery collapse, leaving only echoes and cinders. Still, she moved with purpose, scanning, sniffing, feeling the Force brush along her skin in faint, fractured waves. She was looking for… something? She didn't know what, but instinct hummed beneath her awareness, an itch she couldn't ignore.

Her Tessen, the gift she had carried since her time on Asteria, rested in her hand, spinning idly. The curved metal glinted in the dim starlight, reflecting shards of flame from ruptured hulls and molten wreckage. A weapon for precision, for sudden, chaotic violence… The royal family of Atrisia had understood her when they'd commissioned the weapon for her so long ago.

Every so often, she crouched, examining a scorch mark, a burned container, a fragment of hypermatter conduit. There were traces of something left behind, evidence of the Empire's arrogance, and perhaps of those who had survived the final destruction.

Scherezade moved forward, deliberately, with the certainty of someone who didn't need to question why she was there. Whatever it was she was sensing, feeling… It'd call for her when she was close enough. She had a good feeling about it.