Private How Many of You ARE There? || Imperius

[Aether Verd]

SUNDARI PALACE - FIRING RANGE
"Titles don’t make empires. People do."​

The crack of blaster fire echoed down the length of the range—sharp, rhythmic bursts that left trails of ozone and scorched durasteel in their wake.

The lower levels of Sundari Palace weren’t built for politics. No thrones. No stained-glass windows. Just iron, fire, and purpose. Here, under the weight of the old city’s bones, Mandalorians came to train. To bleed. To perfect their craft.

Aether Verd stood near the far end of the range, one arm resting across the stock of his favored pulse rifle. Black and crimson armor dulled by dust and carbon scoring. His helmet was clipped to his belt, hair still damp from a morning spar, eyes sharp but not hostile. This wasn’t a battlefield.

It was a proving ground.

He turned as the visitor approached—Imperius, as styled. A man of station and influence in his own right. Not Mandalorian, but someone worth meeting outside the veil of titles.

Aether nodded once, gesturing with his free hand to the long, wall-mounted display of weapons: disruptors, repeaters, slugthrowers, scatterguns, even ancient beskad-forged rifles made centuries ago and refurbished for modern use.

“Pick your poison,” he said simply, the faintest smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. “Everything on the wall’s live, but the shield-belts’ll keep you in one piece.” Probably.

He lifted his own rifle slightly, just enough for it to catch the light. “This one’s mine. Pulse rifle. Three-shot bursts. Enough kick to knock sense into the cocky ones, not enough to cook the walls. Feels honest.”

There was a pause as he turned toward the range, eyeing the fresh set of static and moving targets that flickered to life with a flick of a nearby panel.

But his voice came steady—not casual, not aggressive. Just real.

“Tell me something, Imperius.” His head tilted, gaze tracking the man beside him. “How many Empires are there, right now?”

Imperius Indomitus

 

[Imperius Indomitus]

W A R M A S T E R
LORD INDOMITUS
Through war, we bring order.
Through strength, we bring unity.

Too Many, Too Few
Aether Verd

IMPERIAL FIST​

Mandalore | Sundari Palace | Firing Range

There was never a shred of doubt in Imperius' mind about the skills and capabilities of the Mandalorians at arms. They were a culture based around martial traditions and had the history to prove their worth and strength. The Resolnare made it possbile for them to survive over millennia even if all of their members died at one point, one could not kill an idea. Sadly it was also this very code that made them disunited, reclusive and focused on their families more than on the greater good. But who knows, maybe the new Mand'alor could rally the strength the Neo-Crusaders had and reinforce it with endurance.

Watching them fight and train around the training grounds was impressive and while he preferred discipline over individual capability, it was this capability that could infuse discipline with lethal potency. He was rebuilding an Imperial Military, not out of scraps and ragtag bands, he wanted to build one of quality that was second to none. A Mandalorian cooperation as it existed during the Republic era for the Grand Army would be more than beneficial to that.

But diplomacy and negotiations could wait. They always could.

Imperius was still armored in his rather opulent warplate, though only had his sword Valoris at his side, not his trusted side-arm, a modified ST-W48 that was adjusted to his size and usage. So he had to make due with what was in front of him. Ranged combat was not what he considered his forte compared to his bladeskills, yet it would be foolish to pass on this opportunity.

"A quite valid question and the answer depends on the day and area you are in." It was dry remark, that was not hiding his distaste for the fact itself, but nevertheless could easily ridicule it. "And it is not even an absolute number. The Empire Reborn and Risen Empire are both now integrated into the Imperial Confederation who in turns has their own Empress. One might argue that the Diarchy under its umbrella of pursuing order counts towards it. And if one felt generous, the Sith of Jutrand believe they have an Empire as well. And there is your Empire and my Iron Empire remnant."

His eyes analysed the selection he had in front of him. The tall warrior was not a fan of rifles or larger sized firearms, so he decided to pick a heavy blaster pistol, weighing it in his hand and quickly adjusting his HUD and integrated firing solution calculator to adopt to the weapon.

"There are too many pretenders and too few that fit the description of an Empire or the unity of one."

Choosing to be satisfied with his selection, he turned back to the man, the black eyes offering very little in terms of emotions, and yet the large non-Sith Pureblood had a strong aura, both physical and emotional that was almost inspiring. Or intimidating.

"Your Empire will see its strength proven soon enough I believe." It was not a threat or anything, but his firm belief. Nothing Mandalorian and nothing Empire would be left alone for too long by those that considered themselves . . . . righteous.

"Shall we?" His eyes moved towards the shooting range and the targets.

 

[Aether Verd]

MANDALORE
"Breathe. Fire."​

Aether listened.

Not politely. Not absently. Listened. The kind of quiet that weighed every word, not for offense or opportunity, but for meaning.

So many Empires, and yet so few rulers.

At the mention of the Empress of the Imperial Confederation, his brow arched slightly. The name meant nothing—no face, no reputation, no precedent. Aether had kept a vigilant eye on the galaxy’s shape since donning the mantle, and yet this figure had eluded even his shadow.

“An Empress,” he echoed. “First I’m hearing of her. Either a master of subtlety… or content with letting others do the work.”

His gaze flicked toward Imperius’ warplate—polished, noble, unlike the scorched plates worn by the clans. He didn’t judge it. Every forge made different tools.

“And the Iron Empire,” he continued. “If what you’ve built is a remnant, who came before you?”

Not a challenge. A question. Simple curiosity, heavy with interest.

Then came the pistol—a heavy model, compact enough to fit the warrior’s style. Aether gave a nod of approval, gesturing slightly with his free hand.

“Good choice. Some take the biggest gun and pretend it makes them dangerous. You know your reach.” He turned slightly, gaze settling back down the range.

“I hope our strength is more than steel and fire, though,” he added, tone thoughtful. “I hope it’s something that rallies the clans. Something that outlasts me.”

He stepped forward, boots heavy on duracrete, and flipped the panel.

The range hummed to life.

First came the paper silhouettes—rudimentary, old-fashioned, almost ceremonial. They moved in lazy arcs from left to right, crossing at varying distances. But even as the first target passed, obstacles rose—pop-up forms shaped like civilians, designed to punish a lack of restraint. One wrong shot, and you earned nothing but shame.

Aether raised his pulse rifle. No flourish. No wasted movement. He tracked the silhouette with steady precision, squeezed the trigger once—

Thup-thup-thup.

Three-round burst. Center mass. The target stuttered from the impact and kept gliding. Aether lowered the rifle slightly, exhaling through his nose.

“Curious about anything?” he asked, glancing toward Imperius. “Mandalore’s a name heavy with history. Some true, some borrowed. You’ve seen it from the outside.”

His eyes narrowed faintly.

“Anything you want to know from the inside?”

Imperius Indomitus

 

[Imperius Indomitus]

W A R M A S T E R
LORD INDOMITUS
Through war, we bring order.
Through strength, we bring unity.

Too Many, Too Few
Aether Verd

IMPERIAL FIST​

Mandalore | Sundari Palace | Firing Range

"Considering I have not met her either and only her representatives, I believe in the latter." He offered in neutral judgement in regards to the topic of the Empress. "I personally do not see a Confederation needing an Empress, absentee or not. The definition should not call for it - though on the other hand, Imperial and Confederation also only work as concepts for so long."

"I claim succession and heritage to the ideals of the New Imperial Order, and Empires of old. Neither the recently perished Dark Empire nor Empire of the Lost justify reverence or successions. Our defiance was iron. Our will is iron. The Imperial dream should not suffer compromise at the hands of the narrow-minded or the complacent."

His eyes briefly inspected the gun he took, as if to reaffirm its visual appearance and that he actually took it. A gesture of his subconsciousness working more than his active attention actually required. "It is not the weapon which makes the warrior - especially not a size/success relation. Too many aspiring warriors will yearn and aspire greatness and fame before they have mastered simple matters. Too many run before they can walk." He said it, ultimately tying it to the previous topic.

Together they stepped forward, Imperius yielding to the Mandalorian in who would start - it was his home and his invitation. Instead he listened to the thoughtful remarks and considered them. While he easily could be considered cold, calculating and distanced in nature, the Warmaster cared quite a bit about those he saw himself affiliated with, especially when they were brothers in arms.

"War is our judge, our constant and our destiny. If we desire it or not. It is the nature of life that challenges, that brings conflict. Your people have embraced the way of the warrior as part of their fundamental culture, but not only that. Stability and order, maybe even prosperity are not mutually exclusive with the state of war. Fire and steel are necessary to protect what you hold most dear."

"I witnessed your political acumen in your court. You are walking a path that may keep the Mandalorians together for much longer than your very recent predecessors."

His eyes followed the targets and the bolts, not flinching or blinking as the burst erupted from the rifle of Mand'alor. He was an excellent shot and the familiarity with the weapon showed. The calibrations for shooting the targets were easily done, however fast they moved. The distance, speed, air conditions and pressure, everything was almost automated within Imperius' brain. He was a good marksman - but he wasn't a passionate one. The only active correction he had to do, was to avoid shooting through the civilian targets.

"You have reclaimed Mandalore, your ancient home and its domain. You call yourself Empire. Do you believe your further expansion will go unchallenged? The Alliance might be busy with the degenerate threat that is the Sith, but they and their Jedi lords have historically very little diplomacy in them towards Mandalorians."

His pistol barked three times. Three center hits on three of the targets. His arm had risen and extended, the hand pulled the trigger and it happened. It was done in such an efficient and robotic movement that it almost seemed as it was a droid doing the shooting. He lowered the arm again.

"Why did you come forward now?" His gaze moved onto The Iron, the black eyes offering little, but the tone was curious.

 

[Aether Verd]

MANDALORE
"To rise is a challenge."​

Aether listened again—not just to words, but to tone, to cadence, to the intent woven between syllables. His gaze never strayed from the range for long, but his mind was clearly elsewhere, tracing the implications of what Imperius had shared.

When silence returned, he finally spoke—measured, steady.

“I’ve only ever known nations steered by a strong hand. Even the ones who swear by democracy still rally behind one figure. A President. A Chancellor. A Prime. There’s always someone.” His eyes flicked briefly toward Imperius. “So if not the Empress, then someone else moves the Confederation’s stars.”

There was no judgment in his tone. Just recognition. A pattern seen across dozens of systems, dressed in different uniforms.

“The New Imperial Order,” he echoed next, voice thoughtful. “I remember the reports. Relentless in their campaign against the Sith Empire. Efficient. Merciless. Focused.” A pause. “Is that your path too? Is the Iron Empire planning such a crusade?”

He didn’t press. He just let the question settle like a coiled wire—tense, patient.

When Imperius spoke of warriors and weapons again, Aether nodded once.

“You’re right,” he said plainly. “A bigger warship doesn’t mean a better conquest. Just means more metal to bury if you lose.”

There was a quiet appreciation behind his words—a warrior who knew the difference between strength and showmanship.

When Imperius spoke of fire, of steel, of destiny, and offered that rare nod to Aether’s political bearing, the Mand’alor gave a low exhale. Something close to gratitude, or maybe resolve.

“We are what the galaxy made us,” he said. “But we choose what we become. Fire and steel made us warriors—but it’s the bonds we forge, the oaths we keep, that’ll decide if we endure.”

Then came the real question. The sharp one. The inevitable one.

Do you think your Empire will go unchallenged?

Aether shook his head.

“Having a presence beyond a single world in this galaxy is a challenge in itself,” he said, voice calm. “There’s always someone watching. Someone who decides that your strength is a threat. Could be the Alliance. Could be someone worse. Either way—”

He raised his rifle again. Another burst—thup-thup-thup. Three more clean hits. The target jerked in rhythm before sliding off-screen.

“—we’ll be ready.”

He glanced to the side, noting Imperius’ efficient shots with a nod of respect.

“You’ve got a steady hand,” he offered. “Most don’t.”

Then, at last, came the truth.

“I came forward,” Aether said, his voice lowering slightly, “because there was no one else. The Clans were splintered. Leaderless. Wounded. Someone had to rise.”

He paused, then finished:

“They chose me. And in choosing me, they chose to rise as well. That was the birth of this Empire—not ambition, not conquest. Just the will to stop bleeding.”

He looked ahead again, watching as the range reset with a mechanical hum.

“And I intend to honor that will. No matter who comes knocking.”

Imperius Indomitus

 

[Imperius Indomitus]

W A R M A S T E R
LORD INDOMITUS
Through war, we bring order.
Through strength, we bring unity.

Too Many, Too Few
Aether Verd

IMPERIAL FIST​

Mandalore | Sundari Palace | Firing Range

"I do not know who claims to hold the reigns or who wishes to impose their will upon the Confederation. There is the Exarch, a Grand Moff and the Supreme Commander whos diplomatic skill was dwarved by yours. None shows the charisma or ambition to grow beyond and lead, sadly. They are sworn to their Empress for better or for worse."

He actually sounded disappointed. It was a rare glimpse of emotion that shine through the ever neutral and calculating gaze of the Pureblood. It was disappointing to him, but it was also not surprising. Since the death of Rurik and before that, the disappearance of Tacitus he had not seen leadership and rule united in a person that was worth committing to.

"The New Imperial Order made the fatal error to be defined by its enemies, the enemies were its purpose. It was the reason for their downfall when their enemies died one by one. It became aimless and suffered the consequences."

"We agree that there must be purpose beyond war, there must be a reason to fight for something and to fight someone other than to fight. I believe in structure, order and stability and only the, or an, Imperial system may bring it. Far from the decadence and capitalism of the Alliance, removed from the corrupting, self-destructive ways of the Sith and certainly without the paralysing naivety that is the Jedi."

Imperius gave an ever so slightly nod of approval to the further shooting. He tensed and repeated the shooting, this time in two double shots, hitting chest and head of two targets. The pistol started to feel more natural, its weight, its tendency to slightly recoil left after firing, sending the shot right if not properly adjusted.

"Your people are quite remarkable in that regard. While some few will continue adhering to their stubbornness, there will always be those that follow the greater good. It is the opposite with us Imperials. Only few will see beyond their person grievances and ambitions."

"I am surprised by your adoption of Mandalorian Knights into the ranks of your Empire. Your kin is usually quite predisposed towards Force users."

 

[Aether Verd]

HEADER TEXT
"If war is all we know, then peace is what will undo us."​

Aether said nothing of the disappointment he heard.

It was faint—just a fracture in the Pureblood’s otherwise disciplined delivery—but enough to catch. Aether had heard that tone before. In warriors passed over. In leaders forced to follow when they should have been followed.

But he didn’t call it out.

Instead, after a moment’s silence, he turned slightly and asked—genuine curiosity beneath the weight of his words:

“Then why aren’t you the one who leads?”

Not a challenge. Not a goad. Just a simple truth laid bare. You do not follow. Others do. So why not you?

He let the question hang. Let Imperius answer, or not.

Aether looked back to the range, but his mind drifted further than any target down the line.

He thought of the first Mandalorian Empire—how it rose under his father’s banner. How it gave way, not to conquest, but to unity. How the title was ceded to Ra Vizsla. Aether remembered the pride in his father’s voice when he spoke of it. Of the Crusade that followed. Of the enemies they crushed. Of the silence that came after.

The Republic fell. The Sith fell. And the Clans, having been defined by what they opposed, collapsed into themselves. With no war to wage, no quarry to hunt, they splintered. Their unity had been forged in fire—but it had no foundation beyond the blaze.

“I remember what happened to us,” Aether said quietly. “We built an Empire once before. Strong. Proud. But we tied our legacy to the enemies we swore to destroy.”

His eyes narrowed faintly.

“I won't make that mistake.”

He stepped forward as the range shifted again, metal whirring, targets rising.

“My kin—the Neo-Crusaders—they live for war. It is in our blood, in our myth, in the chants we teach our children. But war for its own sake?” He shook his head. “That damns us. Either we fall when there’s nothing left to conquer—or we’re crushed chasing a fight we cannot win.”

His voice was steady. Calm. Grounded.

“I intend for this Empire to outlast both.”

There was a pause, long enough for the silence to draw breath again.

“And I don’t lie to myself. All systems break. Democracy fractures when the people are divided. Theocracy blinds itself when faith becomes dogma. Even an Empire—clean, efficient, ordered—depends on one thing.”

He glanced to Imperius again.

“The one at the top. If they falter, the whole thing crumbles.”

With that, he lowered to one knee.

His rifle lifted with familiar ease—three rapid bursts, clean and lethal. The shots drilled into center mass, each impact dead on. The angle cleared the silhouette of a civilian to the left. It was a hostage drill—one every Mandalorian knew by heart.

Still crouched, he exhaled.

“The Mandalorian Knights are a correction.”

He rose, voice low but firm.

“I’ve never understood our people’s hatred of the Force within our own bloodlines. It’s the most powerful weapon in the galaxy—and we’ve spent generations pretending it doesn’t belong in our ranks.”

A brief glance toward Imperius. A quiet certainty.

“No longer.”

Imperius Indomitus

 

[Imperius Indomitus]

W A R M A S T E R
LORD INDOMITUS
Through war, we bring order.
Through strength, we bring unity.

The Iron March
Discipline. Order. Purpose.

Aether Verd

IMPERIAL FIST​

Mandalore | Sundari Palace | Firing Range

The question struck truer than any shots the two had fired at this time. It strung deeper than any battle wound that Imperius had suffered in recent memory, neither the scars from Nirauan nor those gained from the vicious Bryn'adûl were that apparent to him.

"Complacency, nepotism, scars, narrow-mindedness. I have led the remnants of the Dark Empire into the Confederation and offered them the chance to become an Empire again, so the Imperial cause may stand united. A mistake, I now realised. Unity and cohesion are not worthy to be achieved at all costs if the results are the aforementioned conditions."

His blaster barked. It hit its mark, as expected.

"You speak wise words, enlightened even, but sometimes the reigns of even the right leader are not in his hands. There are always the clever little brats that run their mouth, second guessing every decision, having childish pride and stupidity make their case in the hands of those that wield a miniscule amount of power and they will weigh you down."

He did not only speak for the Mandalorians here and those audacities and nonsense he had seen in the Court of Iron by individuals whos intelligence could be measured with a tape, a short one.

Imperius concurred with the Iron, offering another shot. This time hitting a target dead-center between the eyes - but through one of the civilian obstacles. "It does depend on the one at the top. How willing they are to do what is necessary to maintain control while balancing support. Respect, fear, love - it has to be one. Without, the direction will fade, the strength will falter and its purpose be dust in the wind." His eyes looked at Mand'alor while speaking.

He lowered his blaster. "The Force is a necessity we have to deal with. I completely understand the antagonism towards it - even though ignoring and outcasting its power is idiocracy. You do the right thing to utilise this tool. If you require aid in its implementation, training or direction, I offer my assistance."

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

MANDALORE

Aether chuckled—just once—as Imperius listed off his grievances.

“You sound just like my father,” he said, rising from his crouch. “Back when the Alor’e Council was more bark than bite. Many hurdles. Very little payoff.”

He didn’t elaborate further. Some wounds didn’t need salt, just understanding. He shouldered the pulse rifle again and fired — another controlled burst, center mass. Clean. Efficient. Just like before.

“I understand the instinct to go at it alone,” he said, exhaling as the shot rang through the chamber. “When every push feels like dragging a boulder uphill, you start wondering if anyone’s hands but yours are worth trusting.”

He paused, gaze fixed on the last target as it reset.

“But that’s the weight of command, isn’t it? Ruling’s a balancing act—knowing when to grip the reins tight and when to give the right amount of slack. Lose that balance, and you’re bucked clean off, legacy and all.”

Aether’s voice held no bitterness. Just the steadiness of someone who’d learned the lesson too well to ignore it.

When Imperius spoke of the Force, of its necessity, Aether nodded — once, slow and deliberate.

“I appreciate the offer. Truly.”

Aether stepped forward then and thumped the control panel on the wall. The hum of the range quieted. Targets folded back into recesses. The silence that followed was sharper than the shots that came before.

“Keep that blaster.”

He gestured toward the weapon in Imperius’ hand.

“It’s nothing special. Standard issue. But it marks this meeting. Two leaders speaking plainly — without spies, without advisors, without games. That’s rare in this age.”

His tone was calm, but not detached. It was the tone of a man who valued clarity over comfort.

Aether gave a final nod, solid and sure.

“Welcome to the future, Imperius. Let’s make sure it survives.”​

Imperius Indomitus