Populate Grey Steel | NIO Populate of Gala | Imperial Knights

[Faceless Narrator]

GREY STEEL
New Imperial Order​

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B A S T I O N
Dies Irae

Before his death, Irveric Tavlar made it clear that all agents of the Darkside, Sith or otherwise, would not be tolerated under his rule. When the valiant forces of the New Imperials and their allies, at the present time, besieged Bastion from the defunct Sith Empire. During the siege the late Sovereign Imperator gave an executive order to all his subordinates: the execution of Operation: Kyber Dark.

An order to kill any and all Darksiders, no matter their allegiances.

Since then the New Imperial Order adopted an iconoclastic stand against the Darkside, policing the general population for any Darksiders. Anyone suspicious are investigated and await for their final verdict of being innocent or otherwise.

Recently an Imperial Knight has been detained for practicing the Darkside, awaiting trial for his verdict.

B A S T I O N
OBJECTIVE I | PUNISHMENT FIT THE CRIME
FOCUS | IMPERIAL KNIGHTS
FOCUS | RAVELIN​

Marcad , an Inquisitor of the Imperial Knights, was detained on Dathomir by another Knight belonging to the Crusader Chapters of the Knights, Atticus Draco .

Imprisoned in one of Bastion's many cells with high security the Imperial Knight awaits trial and judgement.

A council comprised of Rurik Fel and other senior Imperial Knights will decide the fate of Cewr with other Knights opting to witness this trial. Serve as an example of what happens to those that fall to the temptations of the Dark Side.

OBJECTIVE //: BYOO​

Whatever gets you to write, chief.

// SETPIECES //:
> GALA

• Darkness Falls
• Vinum Sabbathi

 

[Dorian Sicarrio]

Rurik Fel Marcad
Feat. Mavia​

"Sewer."

"Cewr. Cewr Ara."

"Ara ara."

She looked at him, utterly exhausted by his crap. He laughed.

"Okay, cool. Thanks babe." He gave her a quick kiss. "I'll try to make things less boring. Yell out some, uh, objections."

"Shouldn't justice be boring?"

"Probably. Don't fall asleep."

"I was going to tell you the same thing."

They parted, with Mavia headed to the congregation of observers, while Dorian headed to the entrance that would lead him to where the council of senior knights would be sitting. How he'd acquired the designation of 'senior' was beyond him. Rurik had never been keen on favoritism, even though they'd fought together many times. He supposed it was just his years of distinguished service -- even as he found himself assigned to duties on the Imperial homeworld, or in the most stable areas of the Order's territory. Poster child, maybe?

Either way, he didn't feel especially well-qualified to sit on the judging council today. He didn't know Cewr. He'd never been 'tempted' by the Dark Side as many knights had described before. All he'd done was fought Sith, and he thought he was pretty good at it.

Maybe that's why he was there -- to figure out if Cewr was the type he'd need to fight.

In any case, the Dark Side confused him. How was it even related to the Knights outside of being the thing they were meant to combat? Was it just a lapse in discipline? What stopped people from just... stopping being Dark?

Probably should've studied more, but he supposed he'd have a good chance to learn more today.

He entered the council's seating area, giving a mock (only because he thought it'd be weird to do a full salute) to Rurik.

"Imperator," he greeted.

 

[Errant]

Offering attention to something like fate or destiny never came easily to Errant. He considered the idea of predestination foolish, more so than any ideology or belief practiced across the galaxy. Yes, adherents of the Sith Code turned his stomach. The only difference the Jedi Code brought was in his reaction. A slow-building frustration, one born of their hubris showcased throughout the ages. He did not hate the Jedi nor the Sith. He merely wondered why. Why wholly dedicate yourself to something as intangible as a code? One that's proven contrarian in both the past and present state of things. Sith showed compassion. Jedi committed acts of wrath. Neither side was perfect, but at least action was taken.

Fate did not drive the Jedi. Their Code led them, to some degree, to do something worth merit. They fought beside the New Empire during its budding infancy. The Sith supposedly shattered the chains that bound them. They fought to control something, be it their power, others, or some grandiose, esoteric nonsense Errant could not be bothered to understand. But that didn't matter. Choices were made, something was done. Sith or Jedi, Imperial or other, no one waited around for fate to deliver a happy ending to their story.

Yet, Errant couldn't help but mutter curses under his breath with each step he took. Fate had meddled in his affairs. Bastion welcomed him home, not as Crestfallen, but a freshly reinstated Imperial Knight. A Knight Commander, no less. His efforts did not go unnoticed. Years dedicated to redemption brought him here. Home... to bear witness to a trial.

Another of the Knights faced the same humiliation Errant once felt. Dragged before a council of Knights, headed by none other than the Imperator himself, to meet the most heinous charge.

Failure to uphold the Code.

Failure to uphold the virtues of Empire.

Failure to stand firm when faced with the dark side's malignant temptations.

Errant shook his head as he took his place overlooking the floor. His first official task demanded the Albino determine the worth of a soul. One who gave everything for their Empire, only to fall short of impossibly rigid standards. Not for the first time, the Albino was left to wonder whether or not death would be a better fate than that of a Crestfallen.

He greeted both Dorian and the Imperator with a nod, all sense of decorum second to this internal dilemma.

Marcad | Rurik Fel | Dorian Sicarrio​

 

[Atticus Draco]

W H I T E C L O A K
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
KNIGHT-ERRANT OF THE EMPIRE
Imperial Knight Armour | Lightsaber
ACCUSER
Rurik Fel - Marcad - Errant - Dorian Sicarrio

​

He could not remember the last time he had been on Bastion. Not since... The Sith's Invasion of the planet. The Empire had grown to such a size that Bastion had seemed as a far off dream, than the 'official' breeding ground of the Knights. The Crusader Fleets, constantly patrolling, journeying through the Void, was far more familiar than any other place in the Empire. Atticus could say that much for certain.

The Fel Redoubt's Assembly Hall had been readapted for the days proceedings, he had heard.

Plodding along through the many corridors, he barely recognized the Redoubt. Less so for it being built anew for a second time, but more so for the amount of Knights that he passed. He could not recall the last time he had seen so many of their Order in one place at a time. There was some comfort in it, but there was a gravity in the air that he could not deny. A weight that increased in each hall he stepped, each Knight he passed.

They are here because of me.

Was it respect, or fear in their eyes?

Unwavering loyalty to the Empire and their Emperor, or fear of their own darkness being rooted out and for them to endure the punishments destined for any Crestfallen.

He could not say, but it seemed plausible.

Before he realized it, he found himself marching through the threshold into the Great Hall. Passing brothers and sisters in arms, but in reality, strangers. Only known by feats and actions, there was no telling who favoured his decision of arrest, and who didn't. There'd been a point where not even he believed it the right one, back on Dathomir, he recalled.

He had sensed the Inquisitor's voluntary plummet into the darkness, and it would've been a lie to say he had not planned to kill him then.

I should've.

Brows furrowed.

Mistake.

They were at War.

No different than any other time in this New Empire's existence. Yet, it still begged the question of there being better things to do.

He stopped, a podium stood before him. His place as accuser and as the arrester.

Fists clenched.

Another duty in service of the Empire.

 

[Atsá Vyshraal]

Atticus Draco | Errant | Rurik Fel | Marcad | Dorian Sicarrio
​

Moff Ravraa Vyshraal. Dead.

Regent-Moff Jeresen Alverm-Vyshraal. Missing.

These were the things that sent Atsá Vyshraal into the arms of the dark. He fell so easily into it’s embrace. It held him, nurtured the feelings of hate and abandonment. Resentment of the state and it’s machinations. It taught him that he could change the galaxy. Warp it to his will. All he needed was to reach out and seize the light by the throat. Bury your positive emotions deep, little Vyshraal, and one day you might have your vengeance. One day the twilight that dwells within you will boil to the surface in a wave of rage and despair that will drown every sun from Hutta to Exogol. A demon that would harrow even the Spirits of Moraband.

The dark made promises.

Just as it had to Cewr Ara.

Crestfallen, that was the term they applied to the Knights of the Darkside. It was the othering that the Empire used. It was the wall of ignorance, to Atsá, that let them explain away the genocides they carried out. Not the Sith of course.

The Sith weren’t people.

The fear of the dark was a tool that the Empire was using to seek out and destroy any and all opposition. It was obvious. It was easy. And the New Imperial population loved all of it.

It was the same tool that made his father hate himself near the end. The same hate that left self-deprecating holologs in his journal. The same hate that drove Atsá to rage again the foundations of the Empire.

His father didn’t die for the Empire.

He died for hope.

His father didn’t die to silence the dark.

He died to redeem it.

People like Atsá, those with cursed blood, were no longer welcomed in the Empire.

Somehow, though? The Crestfallen Errant had slipped him in. In the guise of the Force Corps. As a page-in-training. Labels and titles applied to him that he never saw proper. Ideas proscribed, propaganda evoked, and histories blurred. There were others in the gatherings, others that bore the beliefs of the Crestfallen Knights. Hinting to one another with phrases here and there. Through it all, he taught himself just as much.

Control the anger. Control the rage. Control the hate.

Direct it. Use the institution that used your father. Use the war-machine of the Empire.
Mask it. Disguise it as passion and valor. Lest the Knights put you to the blade.

His heart ran hot. He knew this was the right path, but not for what reason.

He milled about with the rest of the Pages of the Order. No saber, no battle-armor, nothing besides the required garments and trappings of discipline required.

He waited, and he watched. To see what was awaiting him should he falter.

 

[Rurik Fel]

E M P E R O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
ORDER OF THE IMPERIAL KNIGHTS
Iron Skin | Lightsaber
Atticus Draco | Errant | Atsá Vyshraal | Dorian Sicarrio | Marcad

It was difficult for Rurik to come to the remembrance of the perspective that the Empire was once a state where Sith Lords and Knights led Stormtroopers into war. Fel, once Jedi, expended his ultimate effort to avoid them- and was often very successful. That hastily drawn together host of rebels led by the defiant Irveric Tavlar had faded. There were few left from those first meetings of the Imperial High Command. This Empire was a different beast. A more coherent and unified identity, while in its strength- had solidified a Galactic Superpower it left little room for deviance in the Imperial Identity that Rurik commanded.

"Bring him forward." He commanded in a hushed tone to a nearby Knight-Paladin who nodded, disappearing past the entrance of the Great Hall before returning in tow with the Mirialan, bound in heavy metal force dampening shackles, he was flanked by two other knights before stood before the ornate metallic 'bench' where the Imperial Knight tribunal loomed over the Crestfallen Knight to cast their judgement.

"Cewr Ara. You have broken the Oath of our Order, betraying your brothers and sisters of the Imperial Knights...and wholly embraced the darkness." Rurik stated, his voice shrouded in its characteristic strain and ethereal potency.

"We shall hear your plea and then the words of the accuser, Knight Draco." Rurik stated, leaning back in his seat as he awaited the Crestfallen's words.

 

[Marcad]

C R E S T F A L L E N
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
BASTION
STARRING | Rurik Fel | Errant | Atticus Draco | Atsá Vyshraal | Dorian Sicarrio

How long had it been to be in these shackles and nulled from the Force? Weeks? Felt like it couldn’t have been more than that. He grew rabid from desperation, angry to be caged like an animal. He could not use the Force, but the corruption of the Dark Side still lingered within him. It always had since Mirial was scarred by the Jedi and Sith years ago when it was under the occupation of the former Sith Empire. It was controlled until it became like a cancer eating him when he journeyed on Dathomir.

His only regret? Not redeeming Dathomir from the blood of witches whom were pawns to the Sith. He was denied of that as another Knight interfered his wants and put him in these shackles.

A change of rhythm as the Emperor summoned the Crestfallen, escorted by an Imperial Knight, and brought before a tribunal that would give judgement and decide his fate. His eyes glanced at the members of the tribunal and then his accuser. His eyes burned with hatred at seeing him, the man that opted to give mercy to those who didn’t deserve it.

"Cewr Ara. You have broken the Oath of our Order, betraying your brothers and sisters of the Imperial Knights...and wholly embraced the darkness." Rurik stated, his voice shrouded in its characteristic strain and ethereal potency.

"We shall hear your plea and then the words of the accuser, Knight Draco."

Where should he start? There a moment of silence from Cewr, picking his words which were laced with venom.

“I wanted to purge Dathomir, killing those that once served the Sith and their machinations,” he began, his eyes looking down at the floor. “But I was denied as Atticus intervened and detained me, he spared witches and Nightbrothers from the deaths they deserved. I used the Dark Side to accomplish what I sought for.”

“That is the truth.”

 

[Hans Rennagen]

Zunlu Jal Sken
​

A small, solemn shuttle of uninterest landed close to the headquarters of the Imperial Knights. It was of local Tionese make, registered some twenty years ago as a diplomatic vessel in the Sith Empire. It bore the scars of war. It had been stopped once crossing the border at Galidraan, then twice again along the Braxant Run. Every time the answer had been the same: the shuttle was going to Bastion. Their documents bore the royal crest of Raxus, surprising every officer that stopped them. Nevertheless it was legitimate. They had no appointment, but they needed urgently to reach Hans Rennagen.

Upon landing a sortie of Knights approached the vehicle calmly and orderly. Standard procedure or no, the arrival of this shuttle was out of the ordinary. The ramp of the shuttle lowered, and off came a single young man in a black cloak, some light armour visible beneath. On his back were sheathed two vibroblades. He raised his hands in mock surrender.

"What is your business here?" the leader of the group went straight to business with a gruff question. He was older man, no doubt a veteran knight, his black hair and goatee fading to grey.

"Hoping to find one of you, actually. A Hans Rennagen." the stranger replied in a less than serious tone,

"Bold of you to waltz in here asking for Hans Rennagen. What's he to you?" the knights looked visibly irked by the request.

"My name is Erich Rennagen. He's my father."

The declaration sent the knights looking awkwardly and uncomfortably at one another.

"I'm sorry boy. Your father was killed in the line of duty. He... never mentioned a son."

The realization set into Erich. He wasn't sure what he had hoped to find on Bastion, but it wasn't this. He supposed it made no difference now. The father he'd never known, and now never would. A tense feeling in the pit of his stomach swelled.

"He never knew I existed. At least I don't think so. I..." the words were hard to speak, "I came all this way to find him. I've heard about you Knights. I thought maybe I could follow in his footsteps."

"Who says you can't? I sense you have strength in the Force. Your father was one of our best. A skilled warrior and a capable diplomat. We could use another like him."

Erich had once hated his father, or at least the idea of his father. He hated him for never returning, but now he saw the myriad reasons why and the young man's mind was at ease.

"I can join the Imperial Knights?"

"It is not so simple as knighting you on the spot, my boy. And you have chosen to come at an unfortunate time."

"Why is that?"

"There is a trial in process, one that I must attend. I cannot tell you more than that. For now, walk the grounds and acquiant yourself with Bastion. You will be watched, so do not leave or try anything."

"I understand, sir."

The two men bowed and the Knights turned tail, marching back to the trial of Cewr Ara. Erich was curious of course, but not so curious to disobey his first orders as a prospective knight of the Empire. He followed distantly behind them in silence, then cut off into a courtyard were a number of knights went about their day. On a large patch of green grass stood a grand tree, shading the studious knight-errants around it. He hadn't seen a living tree in years. He entered its shade and took a quiet seat beneath it. resting his back against its firm trunk. The city rose all around them, so vibrant with life and aliens he'd never seen. He was alone, many parsecs away from home, and yet it felt fine. To know his father had been valued as a knight was to know he was at the start of a brighter future, brighter than the past he'd lived in for all his life...

 

[Atticus Draco]

W H I T E C L O A K
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
KNIGHT-ERRANT OF THE EMPIRE
Imperial Knight Armour | Lightsaber
ACCUSER
Rurik Fel - Dorian Sicarrio - Errant - Atsá Vyshraal - Marcad

It began.

​

As the shackled Knight spoke, Atticus looked to the tribunal and those upon it, attempting to discern a reaction. To anticipate how they would feel. Were they of a harsher hand and call for what he could not, or would they allow him the chance of redemption? Of their number, the Emperor himself, at the head of such a procession. To other branches within the Order, it would be odd to see him direct intervening in an event like this. But not only was he the greater Empire's leader, he was also the leader of their Knightly Order. His interest, Atticus surmised, was a given.

There was another present. A Knight Sicarrio, the rumours said. He did not know much, quite literally nothing of the man, but to be up there, he must have been someone. Atticus had no thoughts on them.

The third, was the infamous - for better or for worse - former Crestfallen, Errant. Warrior. He had been redeemed. There was not a doubt in Atticus' mind, that the Echani Knight did not think the same was possible for Ara.

And as his gaze trailed to the reason for their being there, he truly thought of the Inquisitor for the first time. What state would he be in? Did he resent him for the arrest? For 'getting in the way'? In truth, Atticus did not care what he thought. He may have questioned his decision over time, but only so far as regretting to strike him down. There were many warriors here amongst them today, whose experience would be of better use elsewhere.

His nose twitched.

A blind man could've seen the resentment the Mirialan possessed for Atticus.

There was a grim satisfaction at the recognition, and the Knight-Errant looked back up to the tribunal, and then swept a gaze over the gathered Knights.

"He has spoken Truth," Atticus confirmed without hesitance. "Our orders were to investigate and recruit Witches wanting and willing to serve the Empire. We did not get the chance. Before we touched down, I could sense Ara's Darkness. I presumed it to be on account of the planet itself, bending and twisting his perception as the Dark is known to do. He wanted to kill them all before we even arrived. I counseled that there was yet use to be found amongst Dathomir's Witches.

We were attacked, and I could sense him-- not just willingly, but happily, submitting to the Dark Side to slaughter them. After we fought through the ambush, violent intent was all that I could sense from Ara. He wanted to kill, and with nothing in sight, his attention fell onto me... And so I attacked."

As he recounted the events, Atticus could recall the same sentiments pushing him into action then, filling him now. He would not be taken unawares, and be turned victim.

"I tried to appeal to him. To lay down his blade, to surrender. He did not listen. I subdued him, despite wanting to kill him for eschewing his oaths. I figured that... It would not have been right, to give esoteric Witches a chance, and not a Brother.

He briefly hesitated, but he forewent offering his newfound biases -- this time.

That is all."

 

[Dorian Sicarrio]

Rurik Fel Marcad Atticus Draco Errant Atsá Vyshraal​

Dorian had never been put in such a position as Atticus -- to see a fellow Knight falling, being twisted, and thus forcing him to act. For Dorian, the Knights of the Empire had always been steadfast and unwavering in their discipline and loyalty. Follow orders, destroy darkness; finish the mission, kill Sith. He'd always been the least disciplined among them. Seeing someone outright fail, though...

What was it they called them- Crestfallen. Weird thing to give such a cool name, but the Knights didn't half-ass things, he supposed. Everyone here had a sense of style, even men as stoic as Rurik. But they were all different. Small variations, cultures, and morals. Still, to Dorian it wasn't enough to justify this sort of thing. Most Knights were zealous as Cewr. Most wanted to kill Sith no matter the cost.

"What's the difference? Between using the Dark Side to kill someone and not, I mean," he said. "Like, whether I shoot someone or chop them in half, doesn't make much of a difference. Result's the same. I mean, I guess there's torture, subjugation, extra suffering or whatever, which is why we kill Sith -- but you just wanted to kill them, right? If you'd killed them without the Dark Side, would things be different? Would we be having this trial?"

He wasn't sure who he was asking, but his gaze fell to Rurik, assuming the man had answers in some form.

 

[Atticus Draco]

W H I T E C L O A K
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
KNIGHT-ERRANT OF THE EMPIRE
Imperial Knight Armour | Lightsaber
ACCUSER
Rurik Fel - Dorian Sicarrio - Errant - Atsá Vyshraal - Marcad

Atticus squinted. Not to get a better look at the Knight, but in confusion.

Maybe it's for the benefit of the Pages in attendance.

It was a curious council. One that had fallen, a paragon of their Order, and one seemingly ignorant of the enemy they had to fight to get here.

"Intent," Atticus answered. "When one is fixated on killing, the Force moves darkly around such a being. We are different, because yes, it is our duty to kill Sith. But it is not a task to be looked forward to. Not one to be enjoyed, savoured, and to crave more of.

We are an Order meant to safeguard the Empire and its people. Its Laws. Not one that employs Force-wielding serial killers that revel in slaughtering regressed societies whose armed forces amount to stick waving warriors, unprovoked. We are not Sith.

That is why we are here."

They were governed by laws, rules, hierarchy. Beyond eschewing them to enact ones own self-determined justice, Atticus had viewed Cewr not for a second think to spare a soul. That bloodlust was only fit for one with an inclination to the destructive tendencies of the Dark Side. However long he had operated in the Order before they had been deployed together, Atticus felt it was an embarrassment to their Order. More so, was Sicarrio's 'let it be' attitude.

It was an attitude that had allowed the Sith to fester and spread in the corner of the Galaxy until they grew from a Brotherhood, to an Empire. Luckily for Sicarrio, there was a Jedi Order infamous for their inaction just to their Galactic South.

 

[Dorian Sicarrio]

Atticus Draco Marcad Rurik Fel Errant Atsá Vyshraal​

"Okay," he said, nodding to Atticus, before he looked to the accused.

"Cewr, do you think it was your duty to kill the witches?

"Did you enjoy it?"

 

[Zunlu Jal Sken]

Hans Rennagen ​

A trial. This is her first dealings with the Imperial Knights ever since her completion of the training a few days ago.

Exercises under sweltering weather, frigid winds, and soaking rains. Honing her skills to their peak. Proving she is a true asset to the Knights.

And her reward...is to sit and wait for the completion of a damn criminal trial.

It is an aggravating affront to her abilities, which she knew she had showcased perfectly during her education on the ways of the Knights and the Imperial Dogma. Her quickness and agility, dexterity and finesse, and strength and endurance were nearly unmatched by any of the other recruits, who were little more than baby-faced humans or near-humans. The traits that Zunlu displayed were done so with abject perfectness to her educators. Yet, they haven't even given her the right to know her Master in the field will be, or even what unit she will be assigned to, or what path of the Knights she is to be categorized in. It is unfair, even, that people her age were so granted these things and are now capable of going out to fight for and defend the people they have sworn to protect. But not her. No, she was ordered to stand around while the goings-on of this legal proceeding went by in agonizing slowness.

Yes, this world of Bastion might be exponentially more beautiful and elaborate than any other she has stood on, and much more orderly than any she ever fought on while fighting in the resistance, but she does not care for that. She wants to continue that fight her parents instilled in her, not engage in or listen to dialogue over matters she has no knowledge of. It is a pointless waste of her time and energy. A Kaleesh is nothing if not a practicing soldier and even-less if not using those practices in a war. So, Zunlu stands in stewing crossed-arm silence at the edge of a courtyard, her golden eyes peering beyond the ridges of her traditional Kaleesh mask, hawk-eyeing the others wandering about. Her tusked lips curl into a hidden sneer at the sights.

She would have been twirling and fidgeting with a weapon had they assigned her any, such as a Lightsaber which she most desperately desires. Instead, all she can do is tap her left index finger lightly against her right bicep and try to envision the battles that will come to her - remember the Gods of Kalee that she will invoke upon her enemies. If she could, she would do so now on these rancid folk in the courtyard, calling down the ravenous might of Qymaen jai Sheelal to best them in duels of prowess like he did against the Huk. Maybe then the Knights would have no choice but to acknowledge her abilities and assign her immediately to the field.

Uncrossing her arms, Zunlu runs both of her clawed hands through her hair in frustration. The white locks are growing matted with sweat born from stress, and several strands are yanked from her scalp from the agitated motions. She sighs heavily and resumes to examine the courtyard, reattempting to get a feel of anything that could be of interest to her.

Nothing. Nothing, but young faces and idealized children conversing about Ancestors' knows what. It isn't until a ship arrives that this festering boredom is waylaid, for it seems that this ship was not scheduled to arrive. While no one else seems to pay any mind to it, perhaps used to this sort of thing, the Kaleesh's interest is quite perked as what looks to be a young human male departs the ship. Her interest is even more intensified as this newcomer is stopped by a pair of Imperial Knights who had been wandering the courtyard for moments only. Uncertain of what the meaning of this is, Zunlu finally moves from her shadowed corner of the courtyard and begins to creep closer. She barely makes it to the cover of a rather large tree when the young man is set loose by the Knights who themselves march away - likely to watch the stupid trial unfold. The Kaleesh sniffs the air disdainfully as they vanish, the hope of some fight between them and the newcomer poofing into dust.

Zunlu then watches from behind her shaded cover as this newcomer makes his way over the same tree and takes a seat against its wide trunk, looking almost wistfully at the sky. She grunts at the calmness exuding from him, and the questions of why those Knights just let him go begin to rise in her mind. The Kaleesh abruptly zips around the tree with feline quickness and slides to a stop in front of him, clawed hands placed on her hips and glaring eyes furrowed with disgruntled confusion.

"You're new," she practically hisses at the young man. "Why did those Knights just let you go, eh? Where the hell did you come from?"

 

[Errant]

Errant scoffed.

"Whether he enjoyed it or not isn't of any relevance," the Albino declared. "Look at him. He's more beast than man at this point. He stands before the Imperator, filled with seething hatred. If ever there was a time to be the Knight you are believed to be, it is now."

Looking past Dorian and Atticus, Errant descended from his place overlooking the accused. He strode with an ethereal sway, a sharp juxtaposition to the plate-ladened templar seen battling through the streets of Nirauan and Bastion alike. A gray cloak shifted around him as the Knight Commander planted his feet square before Cewr. He shrugged the cloak aside from left to right shoulder and exposed the freshly earned lightsaber hanging from his hip. No armor adorned his peremptory figure now.

Errant looked the mirialan in the eyes.

"When you took the Oath, Cewr Ara, you swore to uphold the tenets of our Order. Your sword is an extension of the Empire's will. Your mind and body were honed to accomplish what none other could, not for personal feelings such as hatred or retribution," the Albino spoke each worth with open contempt. "Your orders were to capture the witches and kill the Night Sisters. Those who have already given in to the dark side's wicked machinations could be of no use to us."

He raised a hand, fingers curling downward into a loose fist. Invisible strands of power snaked around the accused, tightening like a second set of chains over the first. Only, these bindings pulled the mirialan down to his knees.

"Yet, you ignored the parameters of your assignment to undermine the Emperor in a personal quest that holds no bearing on your Oath."

Turning away from Cewr, Errant strode closer to the tribunal and nodded once more to the man in the Iron Mask.

"Emperor Fel," Errant clasped his hands together behind his back. "I ask you only to entertain my musings for a moment longer. I would pose one request of you," he lifted a slender finger, "and ask one question of you," a second joined the first. "I request you elaborate on the orders given to the Knights who stormed Dathomir the day Cewr was apprehended for the tribunal's sake," he looked from the Emperor to his peers. "As for my question," his gaze drifted back to Rurik. "Do you feel the witches we spared have shown some use following the events of Nirauan?"

Rurik Fel | Atticus Draco | Dorian Sicarrio | Marcad | Atsá Vyshraal​

 

[Rurik Fel]

E M P E R O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
ORDER OF THE IMPERIAL KNIGHTS
Iron Skin | Lightsaber
Atticus Draco | Errant | Atsá Vyshraal | Dorian Sicarrio | Marcad

He listened and observed before he dared speak up. To see this dialogue between the Knights, an ignition of tempered passions and purpose in the name of bettering the Empire, it was a humbling sight. But alas, it was not much longer before he would have to pipe in with his own input. Naturally, that inquiry came from the direction of Errant, his once prodigal apprentice.

"The directive of the Imperial Knights on Dathomir was to 'purge' any known Night Sisters clan and to conduct 'Inquisition' on all Witch clans. It was specified this way as it is known the Night Sisters are fervent followers of the Dark Side, adherent adjacently to the Sith Code and the Witches are varied in their alignment, with some giving themselves to the dark side and others more receptive to our Empire." Rurik iterates.

"A handful of witches have been integrated into the ranks of the Order of the Imperial Knights and fought alongside the Empire in New Carannia. One of which attached to Knight-Paladin Dathrohan's unit, the very man who vouched for your return to the fold. So yes, I would say the Witches had seen service in the name of the Empire immediately following their integration into the Empire. Such is the process of Inquisition. To trust but verify the intent of those who would seek to integrate into the Empire. To interrupt this process in needless bloodshed makes all further Inquisition operations immensely more difficult and vindicates both Jedi and Sith who would seek to deface the Order." Rurik iterates.

"To do as Knight Cewr did is not to channel the Force as the weapon, the tool it is but instead to give into emotion and shatter the most valued virtue of the Knights of the Empire, Discipline. If one can not adhere to that tenet, they have no place within the Order of the Imperial Knights, nor the Empire." He iterates, before nodding back to Errant to continue.

 

[Sara Braven]

"C'mon. You know this'll be good. We gotta see what's goin' on!" News from the front lines were always plastered on the holotv, sure. But to actually see the crusaders in person? The Knights that saw glorious battle against the Sith and bringing justice and peace to those who needed it!? It was a chance no page would give up! And certainly not Sara. She grinned wide at the red Nautolan she was walking with.

He just laughed. Nervously. This was a common thing of hers, dragging him along. "There's no reason to rush, Sara. It's a trial. Of one of our own."

"It's a trial of a darksider. Not one of ours Lezus. You break the code, you're punished. That's just how it goes." The brown haired girl stopped in her rush, staring back at her red skinned friend. "No one is above the law. Otherwise we might as well be Sith."

"Ah, yeah. I guess."

"Mmhmm! Now hurry up! It's gonna start!"

"Wait, the Emperor is here!?" It was a hushed and panicked whisper. The pair of pages found their seat in the back, quietly and quickly to avoid interrupting anything. But just as they got to their seats Rurik Fel spoke. Lezus just stared blankly. 'Of course the Emperor would be here' sort of stare. Sara watched her friend for a moment longer, then to the room. There was an atmosphere here that she hadn't expected.

There was nothing else to say. The pair just sat down and watched. Listened. There were things to learn.

Errant | Atticus Draco | Atsá Vyshraal | Dorian Sicarrio | Marcad

 

[Varus the Sigillite]

Varus the Sigillite
High Captain of the Vandemarian Vindicators, Knight-Captain of the Imperial Knights,
Paladin of Hohenlautern and Keeper of the Seal of the Spire

Objective: I. Punishment Fit The Criime
Location: Bastion, Imperial Knight Citadel
Assets: ~/~
Tag(s): Rurik Fel , Marcad , Atticus Draco , Errant , Atsá Vyshraal , Dorian Sicarrio , Sara Braven

​

The Vindicators were waiting outside of the tribunal halls and following other duties around their ship in orbit, Varus had only brought two of them with him. There was no need for troops around. He had noticed they actually shattered some of the tiling upon entering, their heavy armors not being ideal for this place, not at all. Two of the enhanced Knights were plenty if something in the trial should go wrong.

Varus was late. His helmet was attached to his belt and still his face was in a deep shadow of a white-clothed hood which was part of a long white surcoat which he was wearing partly over his silver armor. With every step servos were whirring and they echoed loudly by the protesting tiles on the floor. Not to destroy any more interior, he had adopted a quick marching pace. In his right hand he held a long staff, lightly decorated with silver emblems it was overall a steelish colour.

The large doors were opened by two servants and despite the noise and attention, Varus just marched on until he arrived shortly behind and next to the official Tribunal judges, taking his place, standing, like a tower of pure white and silver behind the Emperor of the New Imperial Order and his elected judges. He had studied the reports of the case and his blue eyes stared from within the dark at the accused.

 

[Marcad]

C R E S T F A L L E N
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
BASTION
STARRING | Rurik Fel | Errant | Atticus Draco | Dorian Sicarrio | Atsá Vyshraal | Sara Braven | Varus the Sigillite

“You speak so righteous and just when you yourself fell low to the dark,” the Mirialan seethed at the former crestfallen. “Who are you to judge when you fell from the grace of the Order?”

“Yet here you stand, pretentious and pompous.”

Infamous as his name bear, now standing as a member of this tribunal. Ironic to receive judgement from an individual such as Errant, only recently was he recognized again as a Knight of the Empire.

“Spare your false preaches and ego.”

 

[Atsá Vyshraal]

Atticus Draco | Errant | Rurik Fel | Marcad | Dorian Sicarrio | Sara Braven | Varus the Sigillite
​

Calling the Imperial Knights blind to the darkside would be something born out of the hubris of Sith teachings. Only a Sith would have the gall to underestimate the Knights to such a degree. Only a Sith would believe themselves to be above the knowledge and understanding of an Order that had laid them low so many times. Only a Sith would cast insults and judgements without reasoning to back it up.

The Imperial Knights were ignorant to the Twilight.

The Knights were not bound by their Code to refuse or to reject their emotions. That would be a fool’s game and anyone that had paid a single second of attention to Galactic History would understand that all that breeds is genocidal tyrants and death-cults. It was a tale that played on repeat in the waves of the Force every couple generations. Ages ago, it was Vader. More recently? Carnifex. Of the latest it was the New Sith of the Maw. The Imperial Knights, the Silver Jedi, and the Blackguard all recognize that simple truth that comes with learning to be a sentient.

You cannot control your emotions.

All you can control is your actions around them, how you respond, how you channel them.

To the Imperial Knights, digging into that bastion of power, the negative that we like to hide away from, the Heart of Darkness, is something that gives you the label of Crestfallen and thrown into a courtroom such as this. In the same thoughts that he listened to the dictator Fel damn the Knight Cewr, he listened to the man throw out terms such as “purge” and “inquisition.”

When Ravraa would tell Atsá stories about the Imperator Tavlar, the type of man he was, the presence he held when he entered a room, it painted the picture of a man that cared for nuance. A man that understood where to draw lines and when to level patience. A man that allowed Ravraa to push for rehabilitation instead of condemnation and punishment.

In his place stood this shallow imitation. An Emperor draped in the same title that would see all free-men thrown to the call of war.

Sith, New Imperial, Galactic Imperial…

The title meant the same at the end of the day. They all used the same words. The same dictates. They persecuted and hated what they failed to understand. Burn the witch, kill the other, and let the Force sort out whoever is left bleeding out on the hill of Imperialism.

Atsá had to blunt the desire to smile when he listened to Cewr defend himself.

A cut straight to the core of the Emperor’s character? Brave move.

He was milling with the rest of the Pages of the Order, careful to not make much of a show, lest he draw too much attention. Too many prying minds.
That had been lesson one he had learned at the mountain of knowledge possessed by the Blackguard.

Mask who you are, lest they find you.

Afterall, he only wanted the best for the people of the New Imperial Order, regardless of where they fell on the spectrum of the Force.

He assumed that was what everyone was after.

 

[Rurik Fel]

E M P E R O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
ORDER OF THE IMPERIAL KNIGHTS
Iron Skin | Lightsaber
Atticus Draco | Errant | Atsá Vyshraal | Dorian Sicarrio | Marcad | Varus the Sigillite | Sara Braven

"And what do you seek to gain from your outbursts? Vindication?" Rurik says, his strained, stern voice booming in the direction of Cewr Ara.

"Tell me, Mirialan. Do you truly wish to continue a life in service of the Empire? Tell me what being a Knight ever meant to you? Was it a means to serve...or was it a means to gain power?" He asked outright. There was a clear distinction, but he knew the Force no matter what guise or banner it was in service to had a pulling allure all its own. To gain power, strength. While yes, the force was a tool, a weapon to the Knights of the Empire, it was all too commonly the allure to vindicate delusions of grandeur and power.

Rurik stood, slowly making his way from the stand before stepping to equal height with the once Knight-Inquisitor. He looked to him with pale, foreboding eyes beneath the metal visage of his Iron Skin. He watched a for a moment ever mannerism of the Knight after he posed his question, seeking signs of deceit or disengenuity.

"What is a just punishment for your crimes, Knight? The Oath of our Order calls that you take the path of the Crestfallen...but you seem to not think that just, you seem to not think that a fitting punishment to match the crime...unless you've had a change of heart, do tell me what the Order should do unto you..." Rurik asked once more, narrowing his eyes.