Faction Imperial Reclamation Authority | Inquisitorius | Tools Of The State

[Alexandra Delaine]

"There are no chains stronger than duty, and no executioner more relentless than order."

The Inquisition had made itself well known during the previous meeting...

As the 9th Mechanized Corps and the 3rd Naval Task Force gathered beneath the watchful gaze of the Resolute, the Inquisition had been present to ensure that the proceedings ran smoothly and that any hidden Force operatives were uncovered. Instead, they seemed to have created more division than they prevented.

Now, those present, under the authority of the First Sister herself, return to their designated transport above Lothal to prepare for whatever role they may soon play in the coming battle. Yet between the ever-brewing tension between the Second Brother and Sixth Sister, the watchful vigilance of the Third Brother and Tenth Sister, and the mysterious arrival of the Ninth Brother, the First Sister has concluded that unity must first be secured within their own ranks.

There is much to discuss. Though the Inquisition has been officially formed, some already question its loyalty, its discipline, and whether such an organization can truly be controlled by the state. The disturbance at the meeting has done little to silence those concerns.

Order must be established. The obedience of the Inquisition must be beyond question. Unity must be forged, for they will be ready for the coming storm on Lothal.

But most importantly, they must be prepared for the question that everyone knows is coming...

​

The Inquisition has been ordered to return to its transport above Lothal for an internal review of operational readiness, discipline, and command structure. Recent events during the Imperial summit have raised concerns regarding cohesion within the newly formed organization, prompting the First Sister to convene all active members for discussion.

During this assembly, matters of loyalty, obedience, conduct, and the role of the Inquisition within the wider Imperial hierarchy will be addressed. Existing tensions between members, questions regarding authority, and the expectations placed upon those entrusted with policing Force-sensitive threats are to be resolved before deployment.

With the Battle of Lothal approaching, the Inquisition must present itself as a unified instrument of the Empire. Individual ambitions, grievances, and disagreements are secondary to duty. The Empire's servants cannot afford division.

 

[Alexandra Delaine]

"Setting an example." | Tags - OPEN

The Inquisitors needed to be reminded of their place.

Alexandra knew that if she did not stamp out this attitude quickly, it could jeopardize the coming operation over Lothal. Such a failure would do more than cost them a battle—it could destroy any hope of Force-sensitives securing a place within a restored Galactic Empire. The task itself was simple enough from the First Sister's perspective, but maintaining order required more than victory. Authority had to be exercised, discipline enforced, and, if necessary, skulls cracked to remind others of their responsibilities.

To that end, she had ordered every Inquisitor aboard the transport to gather within one of its smaller cargo holds. The room was far from glorious, that was the point.

The Empire did not exist to serve them. They existed to serve the Empire. The drab walls, stacked containers, and utilitarian atmosphere were deliberate reminders that their station was only as elevated as the state permitted. They were weapons, not nobility. Tools, not rulers.

Ensuring that every Inquisitor understood that distinction was among the highest priorities of this meeting. Alone within the cargo hold, Alexandra leaned against a pair of large supply crates stacked atop one another. Her gloved fingers slowly rubbed together as her thoughts wandered through the countless possibilities of what was about to unfold.

There was a greater than zero chance that someone would die today.

Another name scratched onto the already immense ledger of Imperial casualties.

Too many faces had already vanished from her life. Too many capable servants of the Empire had become memories, names preserved only in reports and casualty lists. A small part of her hoped that none would join them before the hour was over. A very small part.

She remained silent as the others entered the hold.

They all knew exactly why they were here.

 

[Arturion of Kalidan]

​

---

++ Resolute Cargo Hold​

++ Inquisitorius Gathering​

​

++ Shadowkeeper Command​

---

Alexandra Delaine​

Ninth Brother had followed the First Sister away from the gathering. The Inquisitorius mattered more to him than the plans they laid out before themselves, though he approved of their indirect dismissal. A tool did not necessarily need to know why it was used, it did not have the capacity or importance to gain such information. It only needed to be wielded, used and if broken, discarded. The First Sister hopefully understood that.

With a quick gesture of his hands, a strange sign language, he dismissed his two Purge Troopers of Shadowkeeper Command as they returned to the shuttle and he kept to the other Inquisitors. He clasped his hands on his back as he followed, just slightly above the hilt of weapon.

Arturion stood out among them, not merely because of height, but also because he did not decide to dress in black with at least two further shades of black. He understood the idea of a uniform but this has been his uniform for a long time and aside from the ones who gave it to him and his long dead parents, nobody has ever seen him outside of it nor his face. And it would remain that way. He was an Imperial, the iron sun on his plate proved that and thats all he needed to be seen as. A soldier of order.

She led them into a cargo hold and by the atmosphere, he was honestly surprised that she did not have some corpses hanging in chains from the ceiling. It would add to the already existing flair of casual grime and disrepair. A cold calculus of hers to set the scene reminiscent of both the state of the remnant and the nature of the Inquisitorius.

He was confident in silence and simply moved to one side, his hands still clasped as from within the helmet, his eyes stared at each of the others in turn.

 

[Tenth Sister]

Location: Small Cargo Hold - Acclamator-class Transgalactic Military Assault Ship
Thread Objective: Servants of Order
Tag: Alexandra Delaine Arturion of Kalidan
Attire: Light Inquisitorial Weave
Equipment: Double-Bladed Spinning Lightsaber - Hilt

Tenth Sister was no longer on the Resolute. The Inquisitorius had taken an early leave from the conference between the Third Naval Task Force and the Ninth Mechanized Corps. However, even with her work there complete, she had yet to remove her helmet. There remained more to be done, and—although it had not been explicitly stated—there were issues that required resolution. In particular, conflicts and complications had surfaced during the conference, that if left to fester, could risk threatening the future of the Inquisitorius.

Tenth Sister made sure to arrive at the cargo hold early, her gaze drifting towards First Sister as the woman leaned against a pair of large supply crates. The small-statured Inquisitor offered only a quick glance in her direction, so as to avoid betraying anything to the other Inquisitors regarding the nature of their relationship. The caution, she sensed, was warranted. Affairs as they were at present within the Inquisitorius branch might soon change. The Inquisition was stronger than ever, with more brothers and sisters having been inducted over the past few days.

It would not be long before it came time to decide who would be the Grand Inquisitor.

Her gaze shifted towards Ninth Brother then, who would be the newest Inquisitor presuming that all matters pertaining to his induction and interrogation passed without incident. Clad in his crimson plate armor and T-visor style helmet, he cut an imposing figure as the tallest out of all of the Inquisitors. She acknowledged him with a glance as well, which was no longer, shorter, or any more or less intimate than the one she had given First Sister.

Tenth Sister then situated herself in one of the empty corners of the room, before extending her metaphysical senses to scan for the arrival or presence of others who might be concealed. All the while, her gloved fingers brushed against the hilt of her double-bladed spinning lightsaber, silence falling over the hold like a held breath as she waited for the others to arrive.

 

[Olorion Fossk]

The summons reached me long after the meeting had already begun. Not because I had ignored it, and not because I considered myself exempt from the authority of the First Sister. I had simply been elsewhere when the order was issued, occupied with a task deemed more pressing than my presence aboard the transport above Lothal.

The report waiting in my possession was concise. The operation itself had not been.

There are always people who claim loyalty to the Empire while quietly working against it. Merchants funding insurgents. Officials passing information to dissidents. Ambitious men and women convinced they know better than the state that protects them. Most never consider themselves traitors. They wrap their disobedience in prettier words. Reform. Liberty. Independence. Progress. The names change. The outcome rarely does. Information had been required, and information had been acquired. The methods were not included in the report. They never are.

I prefer it that way.

The dead no longer matter. The broken will either recover or they won't. Neither outcome changes the intelligence extracted from them. I take no pride in that reality, but neither do I lose sleep over it. Some duties are unpleasant. That does not make them any less necessary.

The corridors of the transport were quiet as I made my way toward the designated cargo hold. My boots struck the deck in a measured rhythm, neither hurried nor slow. Crewmen and naval personnel stepped aside as I passed. Some recognized the armor. Others recognized only what it represented. It made little difference to me.

My thoughts drifted briefly toward the summons. An internal review. Discipline concerns. Questions of loyalty. Questions of authority. Questions of obedience. I found myself struggling to understand why such matters required discussion at all. The Empire issues orders. Its servants obey them. The equation has always seemed straightforward. Perhaps too straightforward.

Over the years I have encountered enough people to understand that others have a tendency to complicate simple things. Pride. Ambition. Ego. Personal grievances. Such things infect organizations if left unchecked. They encourage people to lose sight of their purpose. Worse, they encourage them to believe they are more important than the institutions they serve.

That path never ends well.

I know that better than most.

The thought tightened something in my chest before I buried it beneath years of practiced discipline. My father had possessed power beyond imagination. Armies followed him. Worlds bent the knee. Men and women spoke his name with reverence, fear, or devotion. Some had even convinced themselves he was something more than mortal. And where had it led? Ruin. Ashes. A name I would rather not hear spoken. Authority itself was never the problem. Structure was never the problem. Leadership was never the problem. The pursuit of power for its own sake was. The moment a man begins believing he stands above the institution he serves, he has already begun walking toward destruction.

The distinction matters.

By the time I reached the cargo hold doors, the discussion had likely already begun. Through the Force I could feel the gathered presences within. Some familiar. Some not. Threads of tension lingered in the air like static before a storm. Rivalries. Suspicion. Ambition. Curiosity.

Politics.

The realization earned nothing more than quiet resignation. The doors parted with a hiss. I stepped through without ceremony.

My gaze moved briefly across the room, taking in each of the assembled Inquisitors. First Sister. Tenth Sister. Ninth Brother. Others. I noted their positions, their postures, and the atmosphere hanging over the gathering, but lingered on none of them for long.

I had not come here to compete for influence. I had not come here to argue. I had not come here to position myself for some future title. The Empire had summoned me. That was enough.

Crossing the room, I took up position against an empty section of wall. My hands settled behind my back as the crimson cloth trailing from my collar shifted slightly before becoming still. For a moment I simply listened, allowing the silence to settle around me. The others could concern themselves with politics, rivalries, and ambitions if they wished. My duty remained unchanged regardless of who sat at the head of the table.

At last I broke the silence.

"Fifth Brother reporting as ordered."

Nothing more followed.

There was nothing else that needed to be said.

Tenth Sister | Alexandra Delaine | Arturion of Kalidan

 

[Jekkath Raxus]

◆ Objective ◆

Servants of Order

◆ Location ◆

Lothal · Acclamator

◆ Equipment ◆

Crimson Pendulum · Cloak of Hate Inquisitorial Plate

The cargo hold was a fitting choice. It wasn't because it was humble or bare, but it spoke the truth. There weren't any banners here, it was no audience chamber, no grand table dominated its center where lesser officers could pretend their words carried the weight of command. There was only durasteel, stacked supply crates, low industrial lighting, and the muted pulse of a vessel waiting above a world that would soon burn beneath Imperial necessity. It was a room for things that moved only when the Empire required them to move.

The Second Brother entered the room without ceremony, wasting no time in his exodus from the Resolute to attend at the request of the First Sister. Black inquisitorial armor swallowed the light around him, the hard plates catching only the thinnest fragments of light from the holds paneling as he crossed the threshhold. His helmet remained fixed atop his head, shrouding his pale Rattataki features and the scars that lay beneath with darkened steel. The very moment he walked into the room his eyes scanned every inch of it closely, the exits, the crates scattered all throughout, the dark gray walls every inch of it was carefully scanned, as he moved. Every step seemed slow, purposeful, and with the grace of a slow-moving glacier. It was only after seeing the room that his gaze finally fell on the First Sister.

A lesser creature might've mistaken the setting for insult; a savage might've taken offense at being summoned like equipment to inventory. Jekkath did neither. After all the Empire hadn't gathered them here to flatter the Inquisitors. It was chosen as the setting because the scent of disorder had become too sharp to ignore. The summit had proven that much. Force sensitives invited into the machine of Imperial order were always going to be watched, but this was rooted in wisdom not paranoia. The old orders taught the galaxy what happened when those gifted with order began to confuse service with entitlement. The Jedi wrapped their dominion in virtue, while the Sith clad theirs in destiny. Both expected the galaxy to bend around them and heed the "wisdom" or "will" they profess over others. Such weakness couldn't be afforded among the Inquisitorius.

It existed because the fledgling Imperial State permitted it to exist. They were not the sovereign rulers, the arbiters of law and destiny over the Imperials. They were here to serve the state, to be its shield and sword, to serve it faithfully. The truth didn't wound Jekkath's pride, it sharpened it instead. He crossed deeper into the hold with the measured silence of someone accustomed to being seen only after it had already chosen its path and allowed others to gaze upon him. Each step was deliberate controlled, and without the restless hunger others might assume from the Hangman of Rattatak. The old arenas taught him spectacle, while his master taught him restraint. The Empire had given both purpose, honing him into the blade it needed.

He stopped near one of the stacked containers, far enough from the center that he didn't appear to challenge it, close enough that no one could mistake his presence for retreat into the recesses of the cargo hold and uniquely positioned to keep the gathered individuals in his sight line. Jekkath slowly pulled off his helmet and set it down upon the crate beside him with care, exposing his pale Rattataki features to the stale air of the hold. The scars across his skin crept up his neck, while the haunting grey of his piercing gaze was enough to unsettle even those gifted with the strongest resolve. For the moment the Second Brother clasped his hands in front of him, and observed.

✶ Transmission Directed To ✶

Alexandra Delaine | Arturion of Kalidan | Tenth Sister | Olorion Fossk

Order · Compliance · Reclamation

 

[Zara Saga]

Location: Transport
Tags: Alexandra Delaine | Arturion of Kalidan | Tenth Sister | Olorion Fossk | Jekkath Raxus
​

Following closely behind Jekkath, Zara slipped into the cargo hold with an intentional closeness designed entirely to annoy the Rattataki. Walking right in his shadow amused her, a petty retaliation for the chokehold that still made her throat itch. Navigating past the grim, armored figures already assembled, she picked out a tall stack of supply containers and hopped up onto the metal surface. Sitting with her back against the secure hull ensured nothing could surprise her from behind.

Silence stretched across the room, heavy and stagnant as each Inquisitor took up a defensive posturing. The Fifth Brother leaned against the far wall like a statue, while the newly arrived Ninth Brother loomed in his crimson plating. Zara casually swung her legs over the edge of the crate, her gaze drifting past the watchful Tenth Sister before finally locking onto the First Sister.

"Well, that went well," Zara mused aloud, her voice shattering the quiet with an arrogant, bratty lilt.

The political theater on the Resolute had been... something. But sitting around brooding in a cargo hold wouldn't fix their standing with the remnant. Keeping this many dangerous, volatile Force-sensitives cooped up in a single room was a liability. They needed to be deployed against actual targets before individual ambitions and rivalries turned the Inquisition against itself.

 

[Kaelya Vossan]

"A tool is judged by its purpose. A noble is judged by what they accomplish with it."

Location: Cargo Hold, The Resolute
Equipment: Hoshikiba, Hoshirei, Kagekiba
Tags: Alexandra Delaine | Arturion of Kalidan | Tenth Sister | Olorion Fossk | Jekkath Raxus | Zara Saga | OPEN

The deck of the transport thrummed beneath Kaelya Vossan's boots as she made her way toward the designated cargo hold. The summons had been impossible to ignore. An internal review. Discipline. Loyalty. Conduct. The sort of meeting one held when a newly forged weapon had not yet decided whether it would point outward at the enemy or inward at itself. The First Sister had clearly recognized the danger.

Kaelya found herself almost impressed. Almost. The doors parted with a hydraulic hiss.
Her crimson cloak shifted behind her as she entered the hold, armored fingers resting loosely near the hilt of Hoshirei. Unlike many within the Inquisitorius, Kaelya had not been born into obscurity, desperation, or servitude. She was House Vossan. One of the last surviving heirs of a warrior-noble bloodline that had endured war, exile, and the collapse of an entire social order.

Even now, beneath the authority of the Empire, nobility was difficult to unlearn. Amber eyes swept the room. The First Sister stood near stacked cargo crates, silent and watchful. There was calculation in her posture. Control. Kaelya could already see why she had been placed at the head of this gathering. She did not command attention through theatrics. She expected it.
That was often more dangerous.

Nearby stood the towering figure of the Ninth Brother. The crimson armor and concealed face made him appear more execution machine than man. Irony of the assessment was not lost on the armored Eighth Sister, who probably looked similar. Kaelya studied him for several moments, measuring height, bearing, and the deliberate discipline in his stance. A soldier first, she decided. Perhaps entirely a soldier. Whether that made him predictable or dangerous remained to be seen.

Her gaze shifted. The Tenth Sister. Smaller in stature than the others present but carrying herself with a confidence that suggested she had no intention of being overlooked. Helmeted. Reserved. Observant. The sort who watched rather than spoke. Kaelya recognized the type. Such individuals often learned the most.

Slowly, she stepped further into the hold. The room itself drew a faint curl of amusement from her lips. A cargo bay. Crates. Steel walls. Utilitarian lighting.

The First Sister had chosen the setting deliberately. A reminder that the Empire viewed them as instruments rather than aristocrats, mystics, or warlords. A lesson many here likely required. Unfortunately for the Empire, Kaelya had spent her entire life being reminded of who she was.

The Eighth Sister came to a stop near one of the bulkheads. Her posture remained flawless. Chin elevated slightly. Hands folded behind her back. A noblewoman attending court. Not a servant awaiting instruction. Not yet.

Silence settled around her as she regarded the assembled Inquisitors one by one. This was the organization she had joined. These were her brothers and sisters. A collection of hunters, zealots, soldiers, survivors, and weapons gathered beneath a single banner. Interesting.

Whether they would prove worthy of the title remained to be seen. "An impressive gathering," Kaelya said at last, her voice calm and measured. The faintest hint of superiority touched the corners of her smile. "I confess, I was curious to see what sort of individuals the Empire would entrust with matters of the Force."

Her gaze moved briefly across the room. "I look forward to being enlightened." Then she fell silent once more, content to observe. For now.

 

[Silthe Aerin]

TOOLS OF THE STATE
SERVANTS OF ORDER

She hadn’t made an appearance for the wider meeting, and that was deliberate. Already doing the work, even if it hadn’t been under the auspices of the Inquisitorius that the hunt was taken on — it predated the decision to engage with this fresh machine of Imperium — the distinction mattered little. Priorities did.

The long months between the last flash in the pan that promised imperial dominion, to now, had solidified who and what she was, and the surety of her beliefs. Silthe was not yet jaded enough to resist its pull. Not enough to turn her back on the only thing, these days, that qualified as home.

Not enough to turn her back on the core of her knightly oaths: the preservation of state. Service to an imperator, where there was a true imperator to serve. Rooting out threats and other bad actors. The line between what she had trained to be, and what she was becoming, was thin when viewed through such a lens. In other respects it was a delicate line to walk.

The doors to the cargo hold hissed open once again while Kaelya was speaking, and Silthe walked in only so far as to let the doors shutter, once again, standing as a juxtaposition of dark armor and pale features. Light slate eyes and cursory senses cased the room and its inhabitants in a near-instant.

“I find the enlightenment of imperial doctrine to be a sufficient baseline,” she injected, not quite so flat as to be dismissive, the lilt of her voice deliberately faint as she entered further into the hold, and came to stand out of the way of the egress; her head turned just enough to give the Eighth Sister a sideways look, “but if you need more than that…”

The thinnest of smiles as she trailed off, and turned her attention to the First Sister at the front of this small gathering.

“What have I missed?”

Alexandra Delaine • Arturion of Kalidan • Jekkath Raxus
• Kaelya Vossan • Olorion Fossk • Tenth Sister • Zara Saga​

 

[Alexandra Delaine]

"Setting an example." | Tags - Arturion of Kalidan | Jekkath Raxus | Kaelya Vossan | Olorion Fossk | Tenth Sister | Zara Saga | Silthe Aerin

They arrived one by one, answering the summons of the First Sister.

The Ninth Brother entered first, silent and imposing within his crimson armour. Alexandra had no issue with it, at least for now. It marked him as an outsider, which was precisely what he was. Yet his respect, discipline, and willingness to remain silent when appropriate were qualities she appreciated.

Next came the ever-pleasant Tenth Sister.

Her presence was one Alexandra particularly enjoyed. The Tenth Sister understood something many of her brothers and sisters did not: she was a tool of the Empire. Nothing more, nothing less. There was a purity to that understanding, a willingness to serve those above her without needless ambition or ego complicating matters. Such qualities were rare, and therefore valuable.

The Fifth Brother followed shortly thereafter. Though he had not been present during the previous gathering, he was welcome nonetheless. Alexandra found it refreshing that someone had chosen to announce their presence properly and acknowledge the occasion for what it was: a formal assembly of Imperial servants.

Then came Jekkath.

There had never been any doubt that the Second Brother would answer the summons. He entered with the same sense of purpose and discipline he carried into all things. Whatever disagreements others might have with him, Alexandra could not deny his commitment to the Empire. In many ways, he represented the standard that the other Inquisitors should strive to emulate.

The Sixth Sister arrived not long after him.

Close enough, in fact, that Alexandra briefly considered the possibility that she might soon witness a head become separated from its neck.

The thought amused her.

She found the Sixth Sister endlessly entertaining. Passion, spirit, conviction—qualities the young woman possessed in abundance. They were traits Alexandra actively sought to cultivate. Yet passion was much like fire. Feed it too little and it died. Feed it too much and it consumed itself.

The sarcastic remark regarding the previous meeting earned the faintest hint of a smirk from the First Sister.

Then came the Eighth Sister, another who had remained aboard the transport and had been absent from the gathering below. Judging by her comments regarding the assembled group and her curiosity toward the personalities around her, pride was already becoming apparent.

Pride was always an interesting thing to observe.

Alexandra enjoyed a particular game with individuals like that. She often wondered how long their pride could survive when placed against sufficient pain, humiliation, and adversity. Some lasted longer than others.

Few lasted forever.

Finally came the Fourth Sister.

Like the Fifth and Eighth, she had not attended the previous gathering. Consequently, Alexandra knew relatively little about her. What she did know, however, was already proving interesting. The wit hidden beneath her response, the subtle edge of sass woven into otherwise intelligent observations, suggested a personality that would either become very useful or very troublesome.

Either outcome promised to be entertaining.

As the last of them entered, Alexandra allowed her gaze to drift across the assembled Inquisitors. Different personalities. different ambitions, different strengths and weaknesses, yet all of them belonged to the Empire.

Before this meeting concluded, they would remember that fact.
And so, with all the calm conviction of a seasoned killer, Alexandra finally began to speak.

"Oh, you missed quite a bit, Fourth Sister."

Pushing herself away from the crates, she moved into the centre of the gathering. Her approach toward the Fourth Sister was slow and deliberate, every step carrying the effortless grace of a predator that knew it occupied the top of the food chain.

"I think nearly everyone missed a very important detail from the previous meeting. Everyone except the ever-lovely Tenth Sister, but we'll address that when it becomes relevant."

Her tone was soft, almost conversational. Then it hardened.

"We made a truly exceptional showing of ourselves."

A pause.

"If by exceptional we mean appearing like a collection of opportunistic psychopaths who could snap the neck of nearly everyone else in that room."

A faint sigh escaped her. Behind the helmet, Alexandra rolled her eyes.

"The first item on the agenda is simple. Remind yourselves of what you are."

Her gaze swept across the assembled Inquisitors.

"You are tools of the Empire."

The words were delivered like a commandment.

"We are meant to inspire fear, not hatred. When soldiers hear that the Inquisition is coming, they should lower their voices, straighten their posture, and pray they have done nothing wrong."

She slowly clasped her hands behind her back.

"They should not be wondering whether they need to shoot us."

The First Sister allowed the statement to linger.

"Never forget this: one Force-sensitive is powerful. One hundred disciplined soldiers with blaster rifles, heavy weapons, and close air support are more powerful. The Empire has no shortage of soldiers."

Her voice lowered slightly.

"The moment we become more trouble than we are worth, we become expendable."

A glance toward the Sixth Sister.

"Which means, Sixth Sister, that you need to watch your tongue."

The statement was calm. That somehow made it worse.

"You will remain behind when this meeting concludes."

A brief pause.

"With me."

The final word lingered on her tongue, spoken with a barely restrained hunger that transformed an otherwise ordinary statement into something distinctly threatening.

"Personally."

Then she turned back toward the group.

"Now."

Her hands spread slightly.

"Does anyone disagree?"

Her gaze moved from face to face.

"Is anyone here convinced that acting like hooligans at a professional military briefing is somehow beneficial to the Empire?"

Then the faintest hint of amusement entered her voice.

"Please. Speak freely. I'd love to hear the argument, or agreement."

 

[Olorion Fossk]

I remained where I was as the First Sister spoke, my hands clasped behind my back while the conversation unfolded before me. The tension in the room was impossible to miss. It lingered beneath every word and every glance exchanged between those gathered within the cargo hold. Some watched the First Sister carefully, measuring her words for hidden meaning. Others seemed more interested in watching one another. Rivalries, suspicions, ambitions, and personalities all occupied the space between us just as much as the crates and bulkheads did. It was strange in a way. I had been absent from the gathering that apparently sparked this meeting, spending my time elsewhere pursuing matters that had been deemed more pressing than politics. Yet even without having witnessed what had occurred personally, I could feel the consequences of it now. The atmosphere alone was enough to tell the story.

The First Sister's words did not surprise me. In truth, I found myself struggling to understand why any of it required discussion at all. We served the Empire. The Empire provided purpose, structure, and direction. It gave orders and we carried them out. There was a simplicity to that arrangement that I had always appreciated. The moment individuals began believing themselves more important than the institution they served, problems inevitably followed. History was filled with examples of powerful men convincing themselves they were exceptions to the rules governing everyone else. Some wrapped themselves in ideology. Others wrapped themselves in destiny. In the end it rarely mattered. The result was always the same. The larger they believed themselves to be, the harder they fell when reality finally caught up with them.

As the First Sister continued speaking, my attention drifted briefly across the room. Not in challenge, nor suspicion, but simple observation. The Second Brother carried himself with discipline and purpose. The Sixth Sister possessed a restless energy that seemed eager to push against whatever boundaries were placed before her. The Eighth Sister's confidence bordered on pride, though whether that would become a strength or weakness remained to be seen. The Fourth Sister struck me as intelligent enough to know when to speak and when to listen, while the Ninth Brother seemed content to observe without inserting himself unnecessarily into the proceedings. The Tenth Sister remained perhaps the easiest to understand. Professional. Focused. Controlled. Different personalities, different motivations, different strengths and flaws. None of it made them enemies. None of it made them untrustworthy. Yet it was information worth remembering.

An Inquisitor's responsibility extended beyond hunting external threats. Understanding people was as important as understanding battlefields. Individuals broke in different ways. Some yielded to fear. Others to pride. Others still to desperation, anger, guilt, or ambition. Knowing those things did not mean one intended to exploit them. It simply meant one was prepared if circumstances ever demanded it. Today's ally could become tomorrow's liability. Not because of betrayal, but because people were imperfect. The Empire understood that. It was why discipline existed in the first place.

The First Sister eventually arrived at the heart of the matter. We were tools of the Empire. The statement hung in the air as though she expected someone to challenge it. Perhaps some would. I found myself unable to see the insult. A tool had purpose. A tool fulfilled a function. A tool existed because it was useful. There was dignity in that. Far more dignity than I had ever found in those who spent their lives convincing themselves they were entitled to authority simply because they possessed power. The Force did not elevate us above consequence. If anything, it demanded greater responsibility. Power without accountability was little more than a disaster waiting for the opportunity to happen.

When she asked if anyone disagreed, silence settled over the room. My answer came easily.

"No."

The vocoder carried my voice throughout the hold without urgency or emotion.

"The Empire entrusted us with authority because we are useful. If soldiers begin viewing us as a liability rather than an asset, they are correct to question our continued existence. We are not exempt from consequence because we wield the Force. The Empire has survived the loss of admirals, generals, governors, and moffs. It would survive the loss of Inquisitors as well."

The words were neither criticism nor warning. They were simply reality. The Empire was larger than any one individual standing in this room. Larger than all of us combined. That was not something I found threatening. On the contrary, I found it reassuring. Institutions endured because they were built to survive the loss of those who served them.

As silence returned, I allowed my gaze to move across the gathered Inquisitors once more. This time I paid less attention to appearances and more attention to reactions. Who seemed irritated. Who seemed thoughtful. Who agreed. Who merely tolerated what was being said. The distinctions mattered. If the Empire expected us to function as a cohesive organization, then understanding the people standing beside me was no less important than understanding the people standing against me. Should the day ever come when one of them ceased serving the Empire and became a threat to it, I would carry out whatever duty was required of me. Until then, they remained my brothers and sisters, and I intended to understand them as thoroughly as I would any target placed before me. The Empire demanded readiness, and I saw little reason to limit that readiness solely to the battlefield.

| Alexandra Delaine | Arturion of Kalidan | Jekkath Raxus | Kaelya Vossan | Tenth Sister | Zara Saga | Silthe Aerin |​

 

[Jekkath Raxus]

◆ Objective ◆

Servants of Order

◆ Location ◆

Lothal · Acclamator

◆ Equipment ◆

Crimson Pendulum · Cloak of Hate Inquisitorial Plate

Once nearly everyone had assembled in the hold the First Sister began with the vitriolic lecture she'd been holding back since the poor showing during the prior assembly. Alexandra never could contain her displeasure when it rose in her chest, it was written across her face before she even started speaking. Jekkath knew this about the woman long before they'd reunited, since their prior contact during the time of the Dark Side Elite. There were so few remaining here now, with Alexandra and Olorion it made just three in the hold alone. The Son of the Emperor, Olorion was everything they'd said about him and more disciplined, ruthless, relentless, they'd hunted together back then, an assignment gone bad that they'd salvaged into victory together. It was good to see him here.

So much had happened so quickly even through the Force, the future was clouded with uncertainty. The Galactic Empire had fallen, the Emperor disappeared. In its downfall the Empire fractured into a thousand pieces that scattered into the winds, spreading across the length and breadth of the known galaxy, treason ran rampant among Imperials who devolved into Warlordism, allowing ambition and avarice to erode established loyalties. Such concepts of what it meant to be Imperial were uniquely understood by the Hangman of Rattatak. When Ibaris Varanin brought him to their ranks, he found purpose in the Church of the Dark Side, in the Dark Side Elite. Through his master, through the institutions that helped shape him the beast born on Rattatak was reborn a champion of Imperialism, an adherent of the dark side.

Once silence fell across the hold in the wake of the Fifth Brothers declarations, Jekkath stepped forwards his hands clasped behind his back. The Second Brother began to slowly, calmly walk in a circle through the room passing by the assembled "inquisitors". "We have avoided saying it, but we can afford the truth no such concealment any longer. We must accept the fact that our Emperor is gone." Jekkath paused, letting the words sink into those gathered before resuming. "Yet do not mistake his absence for permanence. I can still feel his power flowing through my veins, from the very day I knelt before him and rose among his champions. The interests of the Breaker of Fate has taken him away from us." Jekkath allowed his gaze to pass over each inquisitor he slowly walked by, his piercing eyes scanning their features closely, shapes of faces, the lines of helmets worn and weapons carried. "I did not think myself above the masses even then, and that is because of the foresight of our Emperor. We were not bound by any strict ideological dogma like the heretical Sith, or the Jedi blind by morality. Our brotherhood was built upon three simple pillars that our loyalty was to remain." Jekkath stopped briefly, his gaze passing by the nearest inquisitor as he spoke. "The Dark Side of the Force." He held a number on his hand then as he continued his walk "The Empire." The number rose on his hand. "Our Emperor."

Jekkath continued his path across the room with the slow walk of a stalking predator after his next victim, his eyes narrowed when his gaze passed over the Sixth Sister. In those gray eyes there was a murderous flash of killing hunger, before it quickly disappeared. "Our brotherhood stood as the champions of Imperial dominance, the paragons of dark side supremacy, and the embodiment of the Emperors will in living flesh. We were given all of the tools necessary to serve not ourselves, but Emperor and Empire. To shepherd Imperialism across the stars bringing enlightenment to some, fire to others." The Second Brother continued through the room "United our very presence instilled fervent loyalty in Imperial subjects, and terror in those who could not accept the only truth, the Imperial Truth in their lives." Still he could hear the words of the then Chief Minister echo in his mind back then: His will has never left us. Only were they too blind to perceive its design. We are sharpened by fire. The galaxy sickens and cries out for control. For clarity. For deliverance from the illusion of freedom. They were still relevant even now. The illusion of freedom was a sickness that grew in the absence of Imperial control.

"Some of you were there beside me then, many of you weren't. Many of you were accumulated during the turbulence of the Empire's fall, and the long retreat that delivered us to the farthest reaches of the galaxy. The Dark Side Elite no longer stands united, and here in its place the Inquisitorius was born. But the pillars of the Dark Side Elite remain important now more than ever. In this era of Warlordism, the Imperial Truth has fragmented and mutated across the stars through the hands of heretics who twist it for their own ends." The Second Brother paused in front of the First Sister, his eyes passing over Alexandras as he carefully read her reactions, before continuing. "The First Sister speaks true. But she and the Fifth Brother fall short in their explanation of our role." The Second Brother pointed towards Fossk as he walked. "We retain a vital role for we are Custodians of the Imperial Truth, Enforcers of Imperial Dominance. Through personal might, through the Dark Side we stand out against the masses for we are those designated to blaze a trail across the stars. To stand against the rising tide of heretical Sith, and idealistic Jedi who cannot accept the message of Imperialism." Jekkath turned to face the room then.

"They will not question our liability, they will question our very devotion, if we stray too far from the path, if we devolve into monsters who eschew discipline for baseless indulgence. If they question our devotion then in the eyes of all we may be viewed as little better than the heretics we devote ourselves to fighting against. If that realization comes to pass than we've failed as an institution, we've failed our duty, we've failed the Emperor, and we've failed the very legacy whose shadow we stand in." Jekkath returned to where he'd been standing previously. "We will soon need to come together to choose a Grand Inquisitor to lead us. In carrying out our duties discipline must be maintained. Until such a time as we choose our leader, the First Sister must be our guide. I however do not share the First Sisters enthusiasm for defiance. In order for us to carry out our duty here and now, the rot must be excised from our ranks for we must stand pure, united if we are to deliver Lothal from the throes of chaos to the embrace of Order. Those who cannot accept these truths being spoken must step forward, you will be given a swift death." Jekkath picked up his helmet then, staring into the visor before turning it around and placing it securely on his head, locking it in place. The Second Brother turned to face the room then, letting his words sink in.

✶ Transmission Directed To ✶

Alexandra Delaine | Olorion Fossk | Tenth Sister | Zara Saga | Arturion of Kalidan | Kaelya Vossan | Silthe Aerin

Order · Compliance · Reclamation

 

[Zara Saga]

Location: Transport
Tags: Too many to tag​

Rhetoric about the old days always seemed to draw a crowd of philosophers. The Fifth Brother's monotone agreement with Alexandra regarding their expendability was typical for his predictable, algorithmic nature. Then came the Eighth and Fourth Sisters, trailing in with their noble mannerisms and witty observations as if the cargo hold were a high-society parlor. It was amusing to watch them posture, completely blind to the reality that the military leadership below didn't care about their pedigrees.

Alexandra's sudden focus shifted directly onto the crates where Zara sat. The First Sister's warning was soft but laced with an explicit threat of a private, painful disciplinary session after the assembly. A familiar thrill of defiance mixed with a trace of genuine caution danced in Zara's chest. She merely offered a slow, deliberate wink in response, entirely unbothered by the looming promise of a reprimand.

The subsequent speech from the Second Brother took the theatrics to an entirely new level. Jekkath paced the floor like a tragic theater actor, mourning the missing Emperor and lecturing the room on the sacred pillars of the defunct Dark Side Elite. He sounded like a dusty archive come to life, completely missing the fact that the survival of the remnant relied on immediate tactical results, not nostalgia for dead monarchs.

Slowly raising her hands as his grand monologue concluded with a threat of swift execution, Zara began a loud applause.

"Bravo, Second Brother! Truly inspiring," Zara called out, her voice dripping with a bratty, sarcastic warmth as she hopped down from the container. "I absolutely agree. Let's definitely excise the rot and focus on being the perfect, unified little weapons the General expects us to be. I'd hate for us to miss our bedtime stories about the Emperor because we were too busy fighting each other."

 

[Arturion of Kalidan]

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++ Resolute Cargo Hold​

++ Inquisitorius Gathering​

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++ Shadowkeeper Command​

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Alexandra Delaine | Olorion Fossk | Tenth Sister | Zara Saga | Jekkath Raxus | Kaelya Vossan | Silthe Aerin​

He listened. They talked. He listened intently to the First Sister. For there were facts to consider, even though he did not support the sense of the theatrical and idea to challenge them here. It was wasted, there were methods, actions for that rather than asking for an opinion. Yet the first response given was something Arturion could rally behind behind.

Fifth Brother was concise and indeed entirely correct in his entire statement. And still, the few sentences were washed away by an entire holo-theater act of the most hilarious propaganda and brainwashed nonsense he had heard to date. His helmet was locked on the Second Brother as he ran rampant in his own twisted ideology and like a drunk preacher among the patrons of a cantina, moving from place to place to make sure to reach everyone with his bad breath and twisted concepts.

He remained standing where he was, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Ninth Brother was calm in his response, though not without passion, he addressed the Second Brother directly.

"Tell me Brother, when will you exchange your baseless indulgence of a Sith and your mindless adherence to a dead corpse of a cult to actual duty to the New Order? How many Empires must be left in the dirt by that prophet of yours for you to understand that Sith, Jedi, Dark Side and Light side are concepts for those who serve themselves and not the realm? The Empire is neither of these and it needs neither of these to prosper."

From crossed arms he imitated the dramatic counting of the Rattataki. "The Empire, the Empire and the Empire. How can this fledgeling remnant count on your loyalty if two of your loyalties lay outside of it? To a lost messiah whos only message was useless and endless carnage? To the mystic energy that corrupts us? If your faith is the foundation for this Inquisitorius, then they will and should get rid of each and every one of us right now. Hiding a personal cult and faith in the Force behind Imperial ideals is disgusting, it is the path to another failed Empire."

"The Dark Side Elite's values have no place here nor its archaic adherence and misplaced faith in a saviour. Opportunism, ambition and power hunger are not our path. Order, discipline and devotion to the New Order are. Or rather, should be. I will stand corrected if this gathering's only intent is to bring the previous Emperor and his reign of ruin back."

He paused, concluding his main point while looking towards the First Sister. Yet he pushed one more statement towards the violent gladiator, fully expecting that this would end in violence.

"Do not spread your failure to your Emperor to our cause. We are not here to comfort your shortcomings to your previous master nor remedy them."

 

[Aymeric Prendergast]

BREATHE​

The compartment’s cold but Aymeric’s throat burns like he had swallowed Mustafarian lava. It’s not just the presence of almost a dozen other Dark Side adepts; he has survived hundreds and will continue to do so. His presence here was a choice, the first one he had in the past years.

It wasn’t easy, for him to jump from one Imperial Dream to another, especially after his conscience snapped from the strange-hold Tarkin had on him. He was a Jedi once, one that prowl in the shadows, but still a warrior of the light, and that’s where he thought he would return after he healed from the endless terror Tarkin put in his head. His complexion has regained its shiny beige complexion, his eyes have reverted from the venomous yellow back to his sky blue. Yet the crystal that makes his saber still bleeds; the Dark could never leave his heart.

Months on the road has shown that Silthe is more than a nuisance. Two lost souls wandering the dark plains of the galaxy in hope of finding something permanent; somewhere they belong. The exchange of ideas between all the spars, odd jobs, and petty fights have slowly shifted his beliefs from one of using the Dark to pursue freedom, to using the Dark to instill order. It seems like the girl he thought would be a thorn on his ass did leave a more diverse type of marks on him.

His throat burns not because of a a lack of faith in the vision, but of a certain figure that brought back memories from a distant past.

Second Brother.

He remembered the suffocating dark of Woostri. He had been holed up in a crumbling sub-level, the walls closing in as the Inquisitorius circled. He had clutched a communicator like a lifeline, hearing her voice through the static.

I'm coming for you, Aymeric. Stay in the light. I promise, I will find you.

He had believed her. He had clung to that name; his name, as if it were a beacon. But the light had gone out. The rescue never came. The Jedi Shadow had been left in the dark until the Inquisitorius found him, and by the time Tarkin was done, the boy who waited was dead.

He still talks too much. And every single one of his words smashes Aymeric’s head like a hammer in a Mandalorian forge. His mind instantly searched for the only other familiar figure; like he does all the nights he fought the demons in his head during the withdrawal of Tarkin’s total control over his system. Everything was a blank, perhaps absorbed by his companion, until another voice broke the link.

"Bravo, Second Brother! Truly inspiring," Zara called out, her voice dripping with a bratty, sarcastic warmth as she hopped down from the container.

Aymeric had felt that presence before. Where was it, he couldn’t recall. His mind has been such a jumbled puzzle the past months after all…

Alexandra Delaine | Arturion of Kalidan | Kaelya Vossan | Jekkath Raxus | Olorion Fossk | Silthe Aerin | Tenth Sister | Zara Saga
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[Kaelya Vossan]

"A tool is judged by its purpose. A noble is judged by what they accomplish with it."

Location: Cargo Hold, The Resolute
Equipment: Hoshikiba, Hoshirei, Kagekiba
Tags: Alexandra Delaine | Arturion of Kalidan | Tenth Sister | Olorion Fossk | Jekkath Raxus | Zara Saga | Silthe Aerin | Aymeric Prendergast

Kaelya remained silent as the discussion unfolded around her.

Others spoke of loyalty.
Others spoke of faith.
Others spoke of service.

Amber eyes moved slowly across the gathering as she weighed each voice in turn. The First Sister's measured authority. The Second Brother's conviction. The Ninth Brother's skepticism. The Tenth Sister's observations. Different perspectives, all orbiting the same question.

What made an Inquisitor useful?

A faint chuckle escaped her lips. Not mocking. Amused. The Eighth Sister folded her hands behind her back and straightened slightly. Her gaze settled first upon the Second Brother. Then the Ninth. A small smirk touched the corner of her mouth.

"If this Sisterhood was meant to be a tool of the Empire," she said, deliberately emphasizing the title, mostly to point out that there were more than just brothers present, "then faith—regardless of where it is placed—is merely a means by which that tool is wielded."

Her voice carried the calm certainty of someone discussing a matter long settled. "Whether one places their faith in the Force, in the Empire, in a creed, or in an individual matters little to me. What matters is that such faith produces results."

She allowed her gaze to sweep the room once more.

"House Vossan has served Empire in one form or another for longer than I can remember. Dynasties have risen. Dynasties have fallen. Banners have changed. Borders have shifted."

Her expression remained composed. "But duty endured." There was unmistakable pride in her voice now. Not arrogance alone. Legacy.

"Until recently, that service was rendered through steel, command, and bloodline obligation. The Force was not a gift we possessed." Her hand briefly touched the hilt of Hoshirei. "That has changed."

The smirk returned. "And so I shall wield this gift precisely as my ancestors wielded every other weapon placed in their hands."

Her gaze found the First Sister for a brief moment before returning to the group. "With loyalty." A pause. "With discipline." Another. "And with the expectation that those who stand beside me do the same."

The Eighth Sister fell silent once more, content to let the words settle. To Kaelya, the debate had never truly been about faith. Only commitment. And commitment, unlike belief, could be measured.