Prefsbelt Commander
St Eberal's Cathedral
The gothic halls of St. Eberal’s Cathedral echoed with hundreds of hushed voices and muted musings. The crowds of Galidraan, and a sizeable portion of what remained of the First Order’s political and military command, had now assembled on the Outer Rim system. They would have found it equal parts exotic and familiar, given how much of the First Order’s own social constructs had been inspired by Galidraan, but experiencing it first hand was something different for most. The rigid structure by which events occurred was not to be trifled with, even as Galidraan struggled with a situation whose protocol was not exactly clear: how to handle a ceremonial funeral for someone who had served a foreign power but never let Galidraan be out of sight or mind.
But it was still a foreign country, a separate country, and the survivors of the First Order were still very much in turmoil, having been ejected from their empire by the Ssi-Ruuvi invaders. There was talk of great gratitude for [member="Darth Carnifex"] for his generosity in hosting the remnants and allowing them to honour their fallen leader on her homeworld. The First Order would have a debt to repay the Sith Imperials in the days to come.
As ever, rigid adherence to protocol helped to assuage the emotional aspects of the day. By rank and station, people filed into St. Eberal’s, finding their seats. Lower ranks arrived first, an hour prior to the start of the service, and as time drew nearer the cream of society arrived: the nobles, the functionaries, and any royals who had elected to attend. Last in were George and Reima Vitalis with their uncle, former Governor Thaddeus Vitalis, who took up their positions at the front of the church, just minutes before the casket arrived.
Those who had not been invited to attend (for St. Eberal’s Cathedral was large, it was not large enough to house them all) lined the streets of Calavar, from the Royal Library on one end of the city to the river where St. Eberal’s stood tall on the other. It was an eerie silence as the gun carriage carrying an empty coffin signifying Natasi Fortan’s worldly remains was pulled through the streets, not by horses but by men, dozens each of stormtrooper officers, naval officers, and starfighter officers, in harness. The men who pulled the carriage, draped in the Fortan family standard and adorned with a few flowered wreaths, were considered the cream of the crop, having been selected for their meritorious careers for the privilege. Only the pallbearers were more decorated.
Everyone had arrived and been seated when the gun carriage eased to a stop in the street outside. Necks craned to get a view as the pallbearers approached and carefully lifted the flag-draped coffin off its platform and onto their shoulders. They maneuvered up the stairs, following the red carpet to where the bier stood waiting, and then placed it gently down before retreating to their places as a guard of honour.
It was not what she would have wanted, but Grand Admiral Carlyle Rausgeber comforted himself with the small things. The display was gorgeous. Local roses adorned the bier and coffin, white and crisp as the uniforms of the stormtrooper and naval officers who had been given the honour of bearing her to her final rest. It was rather fitting in a sense. She had been the one to guide the Order, to guard its strength and provide its people with hope. Hope which was now needed more than ever, now that she was gone.
The Grand Admiral had disguised his mechanical form for the purposes of this event. He was a clean cut but solemn figure. The ostentatious white of his usual garb, absent and replaced with the conservative black of an officer. Adorning his chest, the rank plaque denoting his position and his Order of the Golden Sun, an accolade bestowed upon him by the late Grand Moff for his service during the Omega Crisis. Stepping up to the podium, a gaunt, but stoic figure faced the crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Rausgeber began, voice cool yet carrying a gravitas, “Comrades, and esteemed guests. Today, is a day we remember a woman of remarkable strength. Remarkable character and remarkable legacy.” The droid paused for a moment, and contemplated the words. It had dawned on him that in spite of calculating thousands of separate scenarios and none of them involved this. The death of the Grand Moff, nor he standing here officiating her final journey. Nonetheless, the droid continued.
“Natasi Fortan meant a lot of things to a great many people, as I am sure we will hear.” The droid gestured to the row of other eulogizes who sat behind him. “But to me, personally, she embodied the imperial spirit.” He allowed a smile to pass across his features, “Tenacious. Persistent and loyal. Not to just me personally, but the peoples of the Outer Rim. The worlds, which through her vision and nurturing care, thrived.” The figure licked dried lips. “Natasi Fortan, gave an energy, one which saw systems. Backwaters,” A chuckle escaped him, “That would have otherwise fallen to piracy. Degeneracy, the Ssi-Ruuk.” A venomous scowl crossed his features. A darkness fell over him, one his voice echoed.
“But she found potential. Within us, within me.” A hand clasped against his chest, seemingly pounding. “Were it not for Natasi Fortan, millions, if not billions would not have been lifted out of poverty and desperation.” He proclaimed, voice booming. “Her charity. Her generosity. Her belief, in our people, in our Empire. Unrivalled.”
“The true legacy of Natasi Fortan, will not be statues or memoirs. Plays or holofilm.” he shook his head, and wagged a finger at the masses. “No, no, it will be within the men and women she touched. The people she saved and the future generations, whose lives her efforts improved.” He let in a sharp breath, and feigned wiping away the pixelated tears. “Long live Natasi Fortan. Long live the First Order!” A mighty salute went up, and with a clenched fist, Carlyle Rausgeber retired from the podium.
The bishop took to the podium and indicated the next item on the order sheet, the singing of the classic Galidraani hymn “Which,” he said, “has come to signify the life of service led by the Grand Moff: I Vow to Thee My Country.” The organ music swelled as the mourners lifted their voices, filling the soaring heights of the cathedral.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bvouc8Qs_MI
