Private Heirs of the Empire

[Laira Darkhold]

Muunilist, the home of the Banking Clan. Spires soared high into the sky, disappearing behind the clouds of smoke and ash left from the Imperials war with the Sith. Silver eyes took in the scene quietly as she flew, death, destruction, and suffering blazed on the world still. Likely hold outs and zealots from the Emperor’s reign still putting up a little fight against their new occupiers. Whatever the Sith Emperor had put in the water supply to make his populace so loyal was beyond Laira’s understanding, but she’d never bothered to test a sample of Sith groundwater.

She had left Saeza behind with Faljinn where they would be safe. Dangerous missions like this were not the kind-hearted Yuuzhan Vong’s specialty and she was the only person Laira truly trusted with the toddler’s life. If Laira couldn’t make it back, Saeza would ensure the child’s well-being.

Leo on the other hand sat in his Death Trooper gear, sans helmet, piloting the aging Delta-class T-3c shuttle Laira had managed to find and restore with only a little help from the mechanics in the Hollow. It bore a very old Fel Imperial designation, one of the earliest governments formed in the post-Gulag era some thirty years ago and had been dead for almost as long, forgotten by most given how quickly galactic events moved throughout the redhead’s lifetime. Such a thing served her well enough, as records and evidence from long collapsed governments were hard to locate by new ones. Chaos was a bureaucratic nightmare to say the least.

She wore classical red Imperial Knight Armor, form-fitting red plates over tight black armorweave covering her limbs. The blast-fauld around her waist was a little shorter than was standard with slits up the front and sides to allow for movement, and her cape was a tattered black flame-proof armorweave. It appeared as though the armor had seen combat several times, by design, the cortosis gauntlets she wore scarred and scored after having been reshaped to fit her form perfectly. Around her throat she wore an SH-N projection helmet ring though at a moment’s notice it could be activated and encapsulate her head with a Sovereign Protector styled helmet. On her brow, a simple gold circlet marked the redhead as a royal.

“Remember now DT-967, Lady Laurasiah Fel. How does one respond to their lady?” She asked smoothly, her voice low as he pulled the shuttle in the direction of one of the outposts beyond the irradiated zones.

“My Lady, but I’ll be wearing the helmet so no one without your earpiece will understand it.”

“I’ll accept Lady Laura. Do you think I should have worn a nice dress instead of this old armor?” Laira asked, crossing her legs comfortably in the single seat set above the cockpit.

“The armor means warrior, dress means aristocrat. You don’t have any money and you aren’t claiming to be close enough to the bloodline to have strong claims to the Fel Throne, soooo, armor. They’d rather have a haughty Imperial Knight than a poor Royal.” The death trooper responded, reaching for his helmet as the shuttle approached the landing area, transmitting his codes and waiting for a response from air traffic control for permission to land.

Agrippa Voren Lef

 

[Agrippa]

OUTPOST, MUUNILINST
GLADIUS COMPANY

We were recuperating. We were mourning. Near two-third of our company had been lost at the Battle of Hairdan, including our Captain. As we routed the Sith-Imperials, their Armada let loose an Armageddon of fire upon the planet indiscriminately sparing none of their own. This was who we fought against. This was what made us rise up in arms against the genocidal freaks. Or so most believed. Gladius Company was a whole different beast, it had been formed with the predominant majority of former militian men of pro-Imperial paramilitaries across the galaxy and a small minority of mercenaries. Now, mostly the latter remained alive. Mercs, me being one for a period of my life, I knew were as immortal as roaches.

We were a band of degenerates.

And with Captain Belisarius' ashes scattered in the irradiated wind, I was shoved into his position as the new commanding officer of the Company. Rank hierarchy and what-not.

A private approached me and alerted me of a vessel on a course to landing at our outpost. Codes checked in but they were old. Quite old, as a matter of fact. I scowled, made the private alert the sergeants and moved to where our unexpected visitor had landed. As the highest ranked officer in sight, it was only natural I was the one to play the part of a welcoming committee. I limped right up to the ramp where our makeshift platform was and where the ship landed, scanning for any noticeable details on the old-ass shuttle but found none.

A nice looking Lady stepped out, donning what looked like an Imperial Knight armor but painted red, with an equally red hair tied into a ponytail. I felt a sour taste crawl into my dry mouth, a space wizard was the last thing I wanted to be dealing with now. A glance at Faceless, our weird space magic wielding brother sitting all alone to the side, I noticed his frown at the arrival; usually, if his curiosity was piqued, it meant trouble.

I cut straight to the chase, "Who the hell are you?"

L Laira Darkhold Voren Lef

 

[Laira Darkhold]

With the shuttle on the landing pad and the ramp slowly descending, the Jedi Princess, masquerading as an Imperial Knight began to saunter down the metal decking towards the landing pad. Flames and the stench of battle still filled the air, the aroma of mass death hanging in the air all around them. The redhead pursed her lips, letting the tattered cloak on her shoulders sway from side to side to accentuate her gait as she walked, taking in the scene with shining silver eyes. There were wounded and dead being tended to in the outpost, something she did wish to aid with. Even though they were Imperials, Master B’rahk had taught her that asides from fanatics and leaders, everyone else was just a being with a gun hoping to make a life worth living, so even these poor souls deserved some respite.

Unfortunate that she could not reach out to help them this time. She had other matters to attend to.

Laira’s eyebrow raised slightly towards the Stormtrooper that approached her, waiting for Leo to descend the ramp behind her, his black Death Trooper armor nicely polished, lacking all the supposed battle damage her Imperial Knight armor bore. Both of them wore custom-fitted pieces rather than the mass produced armors most governments issued to their troops. Echos of the supposed importance or wealth of the foreign Imperial Knight.

“One would think a soldier would have more respect,” Laira held her hand aloft towards the stormtrooper so that he might kiss-the-ring as it were. She took little pleasure in acting in such a haughty royal manner, but the girl did have plenty of practice and formal education for such occasions. “Lady Laurasiah Fel, or Princess Fel? I’ve never bothered to keep up with my place in the line of succession since new cousins appear every few years. You may address me as Lady or Princess Laura Fel, personally Princess has a nice ring to it.” Ever the vain girl, Laira smiled at the thought of being called an Imperial Princess, exploring that part of her potential ancestry, and what her friends would think of it.

Behind her Leo stood at his guard position, unwavering before the ragtag company of stormtroopers. <Probably Penal Legionnaires, my lady.> His helmet distorted his words and his voice, leaving in the typical garbled death trooper fashion. Her ear piece translated in an ugly robotic monotone that lacked all the humanity of his normal speaking voice.

“Yes, quite.” Laira responded over her shoulder, “You, Lieutenant?” She squinted at his rank insignia for a moment, “I would like to speak to someone about providing assistance to the New Imperial Order in their war against the Sith. Certainly a room or a pavilion could be made available to me for such an occasion.” In her heart, Laira was having a blast playing dress-up, though she tried to keep it buried down behind layers of her will and maintain her soft, superior outward expression. She had not bothered to hide or obscure her aura of light and radiance, as an Imperial Knight she thought it was passable that she be good natured and possess a light-side aura given that they were supposed to oppose the Dark Side during the time she claimed to herald from.

Agrippa Voren Lef

 

[Agrippa]

The kiss-the-ring gesture flew right above my head back then. Someone more familiar with this pretentious etiquette, I think it was Hooks, mocked me for weeks to come after he'd witnessed me ignore the request/order dumbfounded. I ain't got much regrets, coming from the lovely shitbog of Mantell I hadn't really had the education to learn that. It was all salutes and, in very special cases - kneel. I am sure that we'd learned this back at the officer's academy but such classes were never my favorite nor my best. Time flies and with age memory wanes.

Succession line? Fel? What? What the hell was some sort of royalty doing out here in this shithole? This was not only the worst of places but the worst of times for the Company and me to be dealing with a supercilious kid.

"Pavillion?" I raised an eyebrow from beneath my helmet. I voiced my next thoughts, "I don't know what the hell a pavillion is, Lady but if you want to kill Sith - this is the right place to be." it didn't sound like she meant anything else by what she'd said. At least to me. If so, sure. I really didn't have anything else to tell her. I jerked my head at Bingo. "Add another body to the living fray, rations and all." our lovely quartermaster, Bingo, stared at me for long few moments before turning back to his datapad with a few grumbles under his breath. Supplies were running late. A week late, to be precise. We'd sent foraging parties to keep us surviving on something more than just nuclear blaster crumbs.

With a well-practiced, muscle memory ingrained soldier's turn of the heel, I headed away.

L Laira Darkhold Voren Lef

 

[Laira Darkhold]

The difference between supercilious and a royal was that a royal was superior to the people they spoke to. At least, that was a paraphrased version of something her grandmother had once told Laira about the fine line between arrogance and confidence. “Oh,” Laira whispered beneath her breath, her expression dropping the cold authoritative aura she had exuded for a second, replaced by surprise and confusion. The pretty redhead let her hand drop back to her waist and hang loosely. These troopers didn’t seem to care at all with whom they were speaking to, and they didn’t seem to benefit from her degree of formal education.

It took a moment for the girl to regain her composure enough to speak clearly under her guise, “Oh,” Laira sighed, gods did she hate being royalty, but at least her upbringing had taught her how to fake the behavior expected of one of her assumed stations.

The redhead stepped forward, lowering her chin as she moved quickly behind the stormtrooper. She was a bit shorter than the stormtrooper, but the girl didn’t spend all that time lifting weights and exercising just for looks, though she did look spectacular in her opinion. In her crimson Knight armor, Laira thought she cut quite the dashing figure of a warrior-princess deserving of respect, if not outright adoration. Clearly from his reaction to her presence, this trooper was uncouth or traumatized from the conflict with the Sith, the latter being a situation she could identify with.

“Trooper, if you are shell-shocked, please sit down and rest so I can tend to you. But I will not be dismissed like some cur by my allies.” Her tone was low, barely a whisper. His helmet sensors should have no difficulty picking it up and making sure he heard her words clearly enough. “If not, I require a liaison and you’ll never disrespect me again. I need to know the people I’m going to be protecting, the ones in boats landing in war zones that need a fighter escort, are worth it.”

“So, dig up some manners, address me with some respect, lieutenant,” she spat his rank through her teeth like a bad taste, “And find a place we can talk.”

Agrippa Voren Lef

 

[Voren Lef]

Voren Lef AKA Thracian Fel Had heard rumors of a relative that wished to speak to the New Imperial Order, such a thought had brought a groan to him mentally. He had changed his name, and joined within the ranks of the NIO shortly after it's inception. More noticeably it was the ranks of the Imperial Knights, and while he had little interaction with them. He felt that little interaction was best at all possible. For he had ambitions to see what was his by right of Birth restored. He tried to distance himself from much of the men of NIO, Stormtroopers and Knights alike even the mysterious Inquisitors. Now he was here at the sight of a recent conquest. He had not seen battle against the Sith, or even the fact that he had wielded his saber at all. He was what most would say a noob, that or he seemed rather distant from any other part of the Order. An enigma perhaps.

He remained to the side, as he had been met with some unease around the Troopers of Gladius company. While they themselves had tolerated Imperial Knights, he would not expect anything less from the vanguard of the Order. After all when one like him has been on the run for most of his life, working on the fringes of Space. Doing what he could to survive and keep his head low from those that had ruined his life, his chances at greatness. He was not in the Order to make friends, even if he couldn't help that. He was only here to take the throne the Sith had usurped from him, and if not he would claw to the top to gain control of his family's birthright. Even if others in the line of Fel had brought nothing but shame upon his house. Now here he was, silent. What he wore was unorthodox. Traditional white of the Force Corps had stuck to what plates of armor had shown themselves, on the piece on his chest, and his shoulders and legs equally. His robes were similar to that of the Jedi, but as to pay homage to the Knights of old were in a crimson hue. Wrappings or what could be similar to that of a scarf had been wrapped around his neck, and all the way down to his shoulders.

Not a word was uttered from him, as he only observed, remaining quiet for the time being, and out of view. For he perhaps wouldn't be recognized by any relative of his family. He also couldn't take the chance of this being a Sith trick as well. For all he knew, he was still being hunted down by the cronies of the usurper Carnifex. All he could do was just silently observe and yet remain out of sight for the time being, unless there was a reason to reveal himself to the being that would come fort.

He watched as what looked like an Imperial Knight appeared, perhaps the woman did not get the memmo that only the old Knights wore red, while the new Knights wore white armor. She clearly had not been informed, and that already had made Voren suspicious. Even with what looked to be old Imperial Death Troopers behind her. He was skeptical and to hear that she was a Fel. She spoke with truth and confidence in her voice. Now to say he believed such a claim he was not entirely sure. Given living his entire life in paranoia, and consumed by fear. He wasn't sure what to believe. But the audacity from her was outragious beyond belief. He may have not spent his life long as a child of royalty, groomed to pass on the family name and to make it as proud as it was.

When the two dealt verbal blows already within meeting each other. He felt that the woman carry an air of arrogance about her. One that had irritated him, for in his short life humility and being humble were things he picked up quickly. Rather it was a needed trait to be a Knight, yes Imperials were often superior but one did not needlessly flaunt their family name as if a fistful of credits. That was but a fool's choice for it would mark one for death quickly. That is why he was hiding amongst a band of defectors and idealists who believe a new path should be forged.

When she spoke asking for a place so rudely, Voren stepped forward now speaking to the woman. A slight scowl of disappointment evident on his face. "Is this what the Fel line has been reduced to? Dictating orders all because you are simply a Fel. Perhaps being humble is a better approach, as a guest to this territory show the troops some respect, and they will be inclined to do the same. We could speak here, or you may speak with me if you wish. But remember you do not rule this territory, and it is not wise to upset any of the troops around here with talk like that." He stopped to take a breath for the moment. As he did not wish for a Stormtrooper to be slighted. After all his family had taught him that you must treat your troopers as if they were you. Do so and you would be given the respect they get from you. It was only fair after all.

She needed to understand, that outside of titles they were simply just people. Despite the motivations he carried. He knew that most of all. "I can lead you over to a nearby tent where we may speak in private. As much of Muunilist has been damaged in months of fighting. The city is still recovering, and I myself resorted to simple things not to deprive the frightened people of their homes. If that is not befitting of your status. Then take it up with the trooper, and see how much progress you make.." He said as he ended his attack towards her, seeking to quiet the snobby attitude that came from her, for which if this was a Fel. She had not lived to the expectations he thought the red headed woman would.


L Laira Darkhold
Agrippa

 

[Agrippa]

I knew I had slighted her way after our conversation that day. To me she was just another young, Force-gifted thinking she could change the tide of the war by herself. A fantasy I didn't want to reward and simply wanted to ignore; there was far more important issues to deal with as the new commanding officer of the Company. She didn't back off like a child berated by an adolescent, so I did respect that. Stubborn characters were needed in every war despite the fact that soldiers were usually indoctrinated in complete obedience.

The Lady had a venomous way of stating my rank, I never found it condescending because it had been the rank I went by for most of my life and what the guys referred to me, even now when I had been field-promoted to a captain. I doubted they'd ever call me a captain, either. They'd been so used to the lieutenant nickname it would never rub off. It didn't matter.

Had it not been for another young Imperial Knight showing up from nowhere, I would've probably went on leaving the Lady to rant on while I tended important matters. He drew good lines on what the New Imperial Order strove for and I commended that but taking this heir-apparent away on a private discussion without me was a no-go. This was Gladius Company jurisdiction.

I was the law.

Trusting a Force user was something extremely hard for us. Considering we all were insurgents against a Force user dominated rule.

"The camp's headquarters is this way." I halted, turned and gestured at a nearby tent. "You either talk in my presence or you don't talk at all."

The ultimatum was clear.

If they did agree and enter the tent, I would be the first to start the conversation with a direct question:

"What the hell exactly are you here for, Lady? And none of that high-horse protecting us bull."

L Laira Darkhold Voren Lef

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Laira became visibly exasperated, her contempt plastered across her features and body language. She did not bother to turn and face the Force User that approached her and began speaking, her silver eyes did not break from the Stromtrooper until after the Lieutenant offered to speak with her in one of the tents filled with computer monitors and communication stations. She did not smile, or let a hint of satisfaction show in her aura.

“Careful young knight,” the redhead began, only managing to give him a side-eyed look before following after the Stormtrooper. “That you not fall from your self-righteous pedestal during your sermon on humility.” Her Death Trooper bustled something in the indistinguishable, metallic garble that was common of those of his rank. Laira didn’t respond to it, but seemed to acknowledge the message with a slight nod as it translated through the earpiece she wore.

She regarded the trooper once they arrived in the tent. “Well, since you refuse to use any decorum, I shall do the same.” Laira’s well-trained royal haughtiness mixed in with her own ego and disdain for military protocol. The girl had been a pain for anyone who enjoyed military procedure for years, but for the most part she still managed to come off as respectful in normal situations. Those pretenses were sternly dropped for these circumstances however.

“I want to blow sith up, like my grandfather did to Zamboni’s first Empire and like my family has been doing since Darth Vader chucked the Emperor down a well, but such an act is easiest and most effective when you and those working towards those same goals are working together and alive. You know, breathing, walking, talking. Those things you can’t do at the same time.” The second insult seemed to spill out of her mouth before she realized she was saying it, as though her tongue had been guided by the Force to smack this stormtrooper’s ego back down to his IQ, but most likely it was her frustration. Usually, Laira would have wanted to help the Stormtrooper, free him of his shackles by some means. Or would have at least pitied the man.

“To trust you, I wanted some fuggin respect, but that’s out the airlock now, ain’t it? So, thank you. Next resolution.”

Agrippa Voren Lef

 

[Agrippa]

This conversation was tiring. Ever since stepping down from her shuttle, the Lady has been a pestering nuisance draining the little energy I had left. Listening to her yapping made me want to point the carbine at my head and pull the trigger. Bang. Liberation. But even I knew that royalties were a pestilence a mere stormtrooper had to endure despite the fact that it was that exactly what the New Imperials fought against.

Her intentions did not change from her initial ones. I usually had a good eye for deception and she smelled fishy. Not fishy enough to pluck it out of her with a pickaxe but fishy enough to keep an eye on; besides we needed any able body to the front, be it a red head teenage menace or not.

"Respect is earned, Lady." I said dryly. Her smart ass insults were ignored, I had learned to take them on an hourly basis from Hooks. "I don't want your trust, you need ours. You want to test your mettle against the Legionnaires and their Sith handlers - be my guest, but if you think we're the guys running around with cloaks waving on the wind and upright with a stick up our arse - this is not the unit for you." Our old Captain, Belisarius, often told me that a commanding officer had to be stern and direct. No chewing of words. "Now, if that works for your highness, you will tell me what the hell of a use you would make for us. Everyone's good at at least something."

L Laira Darkhold

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Laira sighed once more, finding a seat in the tent that the stormtrooper had led she and Leo to, the Death Trooper taking up a guard stance behind her, his shoulders and stance relaxed while she crossed one leg over the other and absent mindedly looked at her gloved hand.

“Respect is earned. Make no mistake, I’m not here to gather a following and claim some throne my great-great-seven times removed uncle or whatever used to claim.” Laira twisted her head back to set silver eyes upon the skull-like helmet the trooper wore. “I was raised to respect military procedure and decorum, and I admit Lieutenant, I had not taken you for the see-oh when I arrived, and for that I apologize.” The apology would have ached in Laura Fel’s throat if she had existed, but Laira was able to garb her words and her demeanor with enough class that it seemed genuine, if haughty and superior.

“I don’t want you to pledge an oath,” the girl paused for a moment, a devilish grin slipping across her mouth that she turned into a slight pout as she mused internally. “Though a few troopers that found themselves under me have professed undying loyalties.” Laira could feel her Death Trooper shift slightly behind her, as though he registered the double entendre she was making. “But trust is important for soldiers that find themselves in the same foxhole. You cannot trust me, until I trust you and vice versa, Lieutenant.”

“I’ve tested myself against them plenty. Give me a TIE and I’ll kill a few squadrons. Put me on the ground and I’ll go back to kicking in Sith-teeth. I’ve fought plenty of legionnaires, tanks, apprentices, and knights since I was fourteen,” admittedly Laira, despite all her curves and well-toned physique, still looked like a teenager. Still, in her few short years she’d fought on a few dozen worlds and racked up quite a spree of Imperial, First Order, Sith, and Dark Jedi and their minions. She’d been beaten around by some, injured by others but she had walked away from each battle stronger than the last. “And I’m still alive because I do it well. Just because you have not seen me fight, does not mean I have not been fighting.”

“What I want, is to build trust. Right here, right now. Let's start with your name.”

Agrippa

 

[Agrippa]

I leaned on one of the poles holding the tent together, crossed my arms and felt the weight of exhaustion pound at me like a hammer. There were nasty aches running free all over my body; I'd been just on my way to take a break when this lady showed herself out of the blue along with that creep of a death trooper. If she was trouble, ISB would've been all over it. Or should've been. With our lack of resources, you'd never know.

"You can call me Agrippa." not my real name. No one of the Company wore their real name, hell no one knew the other's real name. Tradition. One that Belisarius implemented. Made sense. Most of us were scumbags, a chance for a new name meant a new start, all sins of the pasts forgiven...or just ignored conveniently. Smart man the Captain. The shoes I had to fill were way large. I knew it, everyone knew it, but this is how the chain of command works.

"Joining the Company means leaving everything else behind, Lady. Your name included." I said and jerked my head at the Death Trooper behind her. "And the spook?"

L Laira Darkhold

 

[Laira Darkhold]

“Oh, sweetie. I’m not here to join your company. I’m here to help your company.” Laira said, smiling relatively warmly, placing her hands on her knee as she rocked her calf back and forth. “Why don’t you take a seat Agrippa.” She said the name personably, now that she was getting what she wanted. At least in part. Really Laira could have gone for some refreshments and a hot meal, her credits were rather low but even she still turned her nose up at MREs and ration bars.

“DT-967 is my bodyguard. He has his number which more than suffices for him and will accompany me if my presence is required on the ground, though I would prefer to find myself in the cockpit of a tie.” The Death Trooper behind her rocked on his heels, shifting his weight around as he stood tall and brooding behind the red armored Imperial Knight.

“Back to the matter of recruitment. I’m here because I wish to honor my family legacy by sticking my lightsaber somewhere in the unfathomable girth that is Zambroni or his cronies. Bastion is my family home, I’m not going to abandon the millenia long legacy currently on my shoulders.” Her cousins, however distantly removed from the Fel Bloodline she was, were one of the older families, dating back to Soontir Fel, as well as possessing Skywalker blood, even if only in trace amounts. Her family had killed several Sith Emperors, even if technically Laira was from a different branch of that very vast and complicated tree.

“Will the New Imperial Order accept a Fel Knight among their ranks who intends to honor their past, or does having that legacy and wishing to do it justice disqualify me?”

Agrippa