Faction Imperial Reclamation Authority | Intelligence | Eyes Of The State

[Herald of Order]

"We must have eyes and ears everywhere, the enemies of Imperial unity lie within our very hearts."

The ISB had fallen into shadow once more.

The intelligence networks of the Galactic Empire had been shattered. Countless agents loyal to the Imperial cause found themselves cut off from their handlers and severed from the greater machinery of the Imperial Security Bureau. Only a handful of elite operatives remained, having escaped the collapse by fleeing alongside the remnant military forces that now sought to restore Imperial order to the galaxy.

To accomplish this task, Admiral James Raddock had gathered these surviving remnants and charged them with rebuilding what was once the greatest intelligence apparatus in galactic history. He knew such an undertaking would not be achieved quickly. It would demand patience, cunning, discipline, and an unwavering commitment to the Imperial ideal. The road ahead would be filled with trials and setbacks, made all the more difficult by the presence of so-called "Imperial Warlords" in the surrounding regions, as well as the countless factions and institutions that now competed for influence across the fractured galaxy.

Within a small but efficient officers' boardroom, the Admiral awaited those who would answer the call and serve in the name of the Empire once more...

​

The purpose of this meeting is simple: the re-establishment of the Imperial Security Bureau.

Those assembled are among the surviving intelligence officers, analysts, field operatives, informants, and specialists who escaped the destruction of the Empire. Many have spent years operating independently, cut off from central command and forced to rely on their own initiative to survive.

Admiral Raddock has called this gathering to identify what assets remain available, establish a chain of command, and begin laying the foundations for a new intelligence network capable of serving the Imperial cause. Participants are encouraged to introduce their characters, explain their specialties, discuss what resources or contacts they still possess, and contribute ideas for how the ISB should rebuild itself in the current galactic climate.

The future of the ISB begins here.

 

[James Raddock]

"A solemn duty to darkness." | Tags - OPEN

They were the shadow in which the Empire breathed.

Raddock had always held a particular respect for the ISB, COMPNOR, and the countless institutions that maintained Imperial order across the galaxy. They were silent guardians of the state, organizations that rarely boasted of their victories yet served the Imperial machine with unwavering diligence. He had done his best to preserve those networks after the Empire's collapse, but more immediate concerns had inevitably taken priority. Survival had a habit of eclipsing everything else.

Standing behind his chair, his arms resting lightly upon its back, the Admiral found himself wondering who exactly would answer this summons. There were undoubtedly agents whose existence had never crossed his desk, operatives embedded so deeply within Imperial society that even now they remained hidden amongst the remnants. Some may have been serving aboard his own vessels for years, patiently waiting for the day they would once again be called upon.

There would be much work ahead.

He knew of agents who were still active throughout the galaxy, men and women continuing their duties long after the handlers who issued their orders had vanished. Some operated from habit. Others from loyalty. A few simply because they knew nothing else. Whatever the reason, they would need to be found and brought back into the fold. The Empire could not afford to waste such talent.

More pressing still was the strategic reality before them. The region had become infested with self-proclaimed Imperial warlords, each claiming legitimacy while carving apart what little remained of the old order. Accurate intelligence, infiltration assets, and deep-cover operatives could prove decisive in the conflicts to come. Without them, their fledgling restoration effort could be strangled before it ever truly began.

The thought lingered in his mind like carrion birds circling above a battlefield. Imperial Intelligence was wounded, scattered, and vulnerable.

But it was not dead.

Raddock intended to ensure it never would be.

At any cost.

 

[Koryn Varkos]

◆ Directive ◆

Meeting

◆ Sector ◆

Lothal · Resolute

◆ Issued Gear ◆

Sidearm · Comlink · Datapad

When word came of the assembly, Koryn Varkos hadn't rushed to answer the summons. It wasn't hesitation that slowed his steps. That would imply uncertainty, and that was something the Imperial Security Bureau had rarely permitted its officers even in better days. No, his delay had been deliberate. The summons heralded the first collective meeting of all of the intelligence assets that'd managed to escape the Core Worlds. Disorganization enabled inefficiency to infest the ranks, and inefficiency created the kind of intelligence failures that spelled utter disaster. Preparation was critical.

When Imperial Center was falling, the Umbaran found himself one of the very last to evacuate, others within the bureau had to nearly pull him out of headquarters then. It had been about retrieving critical information for remote storage and destroying databanks so they couldn't fall into the hands of the Sith. Before the Battle of Atrisia he'd been officially assigned as the Head of the Investigations Branch, it was his responsibility to safeguard the Imperials even in defeat and protect the identities of those he served alongside. His uniform was immaculate: White tunic, black belt, black gloves, black cap and matching black trousers. Severe lines. No ornament beyond what was considered regulation. Disaster seemed to fail to describe the magnitude of what happened to them.

The Core Worlds had been lost. The great offices guiding them had fallen silent, codes once treated as sacred had become discarded like dead languages. Informants vanished into refugee streams, underworld ledgers, or shallow graves. Entire chains of command vanished in every direction, disappearing so completely one could mistake their absence for death. Almost. Koryn had spent years within the machinery of Imperial power to believe that an institution of its magnitude ended when its headquarters fell. The idea of Imperialism had never truly died not in the near millennia since its conception, and nothing the galaxy did could ever kill it, they would always recover. In time they would recover and grow stronger for it.

The door to the boardroom slid open with a soft, mechanical parting. Koryn stepped carefully into the room, his eyes adjusting to the light, once they had he took in what was available soaking every piece of information. He noted any other entrances, considered the likely places of surveillance devices, the distance between himself and the Admiral, the seating arrangement and where others would soon sit. It was important for any intelligence officer to take in the entire room and see through the details into what others would miss. He advanced deeper into the room only after he was satisfied with his assessment, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders straight beneath the high collar of his uniform. Umbaran features already lent themselves well to stillness, to pallor, to the suggestion of something half-lit and unreadable. Koryn had refined his natural advantages into a professional habit. His gaze fell entirely on Admial Raddock.

"Admiral." Koryn inclined his head appropriately, then moved to one of the chairs closest to the Admiral, resting a gloved hand upon its back and remaining standing for a moment longer. Koryn produced a slim data cylinder and placed it neatly on the table. Its casing was dark gray, worn along the edges, marked by an ISB sigil on its surface, his fingers lingered on it for half a second before pulling back. It survived everything he had up to this point, one of the most critical infrastructure data cylinders he was able to save before denying the enemy access to their systems, it was the most important in the set. "Major Koryn Varkos, Investigations Branch of the Imperial Security Bureau." He drew the chair back and seated himself with measured care, his posture straight and placing his hands calmly before him.

Whatever plans Admiral Raddock had for this gathering he would listen first, analyze, then speak. Before one advised, one assessed. Verification before trust, it all came from a career in the line of intelligence work. Before one built an intelligence service, one determined which surviving pieces were clean enough to use, the status of what remained.

✶ Dispatch Directed To ✶

James Raddock

Order Endures · Loyalty Remains · The Empire Continues

 

[Odile Demetrian]

---

++ OUTER RIM TERRITORIES | ISD RESOLUTE​

​

James Raddock | Koryn Varkos​

---

Odile Demetrian had boarded his shuttle following the missive of the Moff and left the Avenger above Cholganna almost immediately. He understood the risk the overall situation implicated, but yet he hoped that the farsight of his superior was proving true and the Fist's involvement could bridge the narrow-minded approaches and prevent a civil war before it was too late. They had to seize every opportunity to maintain Imperial strength and the shadowy hands and eyes of the ISB could lay the groundwork for either disastrous or beneficial progress.

The tall, almost gaunt-like figure emerged in the meeting room. His starched white uniform not sitting tightly anymore - he had lost weight - but still drafting an imposing image due to his height. On his chest were the plaques of a Vice Admiral which together with his apparent age gave an impression of seniority and subsequently, a long service history.

"Admiral Raddock." He offered a stiff bow of his head before he started walking with exact steps towards one of the seats, stopping behind it. It has been some time since he was in such dangerous company and he included a recent fleet engagement in that count. Naturally, non of that doubt or even remote nervousness could be spotted on the noble's face. "I am Vice Admiral Odile Demetrian, branch of Security Operations."

He stood opposite of Varkos and offered a slight nod before his attention focused on the Admiral and whomever else might join this meeting.

 

[Aldric Vael]

His entrance was not grand, nor was it announced. It was simply an entrance.

A man who crossed a threshold the way Aldric Vael did was dangerous for precisely that reason. This was no theatre to him. He gave no raised voice, no entourage, for he had absolutely no need to command attention. He entered the room as though he already belonged there and, more often than not, people accepted that assumption without question.

A salute was offered to the Admiral before the Lieutenant-Commander moved towards the arranged seating. His expression remained neutral as grey eyes drifted across the room, cataloguing faces, uniforms and mannerisms with practised ease.

In truth, he knew that half the seats would remain empty. There just weren’t any agents left to fill them.

The Imperial Security Bureau had not died in a single battle. It had been dismantled piece by piece. Years of war, political restructuring and military necessity had stripped it down to the bone. Its officers had been dispersed amongst fleets and garrisons, their authority diluted, their purpose forgotten. Men and women who once shaped campaigns from the shadows had been handed rifles and sent to die alongside stormtroopers like any other servant of the state.

Unlike many Aldric had somehow avoided that fate. Not through brilliance or through political favour. No he had avoided it through circumstance and sheer luck.

While others had boarded the Death Star III, he had been dispatched elsewhere on a task so insignificant he had spent months cursing the officer responsible. At the time he had considered it an insult. A waste of his talents. A theft of his rightful place amongst the Empire's future.

Then Atrisia burned and the Death Star along with it. Every soul aboard it became dust. Each and every one.

Now, with the clarity that only survival could provide, Aldric viewed the assignment differently. The unknown superior who had sent him away had either saved his life through remarkable foresight or blind luck.

The distinction no longer mattered.

"It seems we are a scattered people." The observation was delivered calmly as his gaze settled upon those gathered. He studied them the way an auditor studied accounts. Uniforms. Decorations. Posture. Hesitation. Confidence. Grief.

Every face carried a story and every story carried a weakness.

This room was filled with survivors, but Aldric knew survival alone was not enough to rebuild an Empire. Survival produced refugees. Exiles and Warlords.

What came next would determine whether they remained remnants or became something more. So calmly he folded his hands neatly before him and fell silent. Watching and listening to his surroundings.

It seemed the habits of the ISB had survived the Empire's collapse far better than the Empire itself.

 

[Annie Scalora]

"There's a little fantasy people tell themselves. A young girl is saved by a charming prince and lives happily ever after. Perhaps the prince was simply too late. Perhaps the devil found her first." | Tags - James Raddock | Koryn Varkos | Odile Demetrian | Aldric Vael

Queen of Pain.​

There remained the faint hum of environmental systems buried somewhere within the bulkheads. The distant vibration of engines carrying thousands of tonnes of warship through the void. The occasional rustle of uniform fabric. Small sounds. Meaningless sounds. Usually, one heard such things when attempting to find rest, to calm themselves for the trials yet to come.

The young woman simply enjoyed such sounds, after all it was a difficult choice between the machinery of oppression and the screams of dissidents, but one could never be too picky.

She stood motionless just outside the boardroom doors, her hands folded neatly behind her back as she studied her reflection in the polished metal. Her uniform was immaculate: white fabric stretched smoothly across narrow shoulders, black gloves, black belt, black boots polished to a mirror sheen. Not a thread out of place.

Most maintained such symmetry to impress others and preserve uniformity. Scalora simply enjoyed being something perfect, a fantasy of the mind that she took immense pleasure in gratifying. Her profession, after all, demanded a constant pursuit of perfection, an overwhelming need to do whatever was necessary to ensure the smooth turning of the cogs of order.

Blood simply looked like a far more beautiful option than grease.

Stepping into the room, she saw four men of differing rank, posture, and stature gathered within the still-nascent intelligence movement. In her mind, the trite nature of it all was deeply dissatisfying. She disliked colleagues. The concept implied the existence of people equal to or above her, which, while a necessary lie to maintain a functioning Empire, was simply untrue. They, like so many other sentient computers programmed favourably toward the Empire, had their uses. Their ability to perform helpful tasks for Scalora was merely one such function.

Finally, after a brief silence, a smile touched her lips as she crossed the room. The sort of smile one expected from a promising young officer, the sort of smile that became deeply uncomfortable after a few seconds.

"Admiral."

Her voice was soft. She offered a perfectly measured salute before selecting a chair several places from the others. Not close enough to imply familiarity, not distant enough to imply distrust. Simply balanced.

She sat gracefully, folding one gloved hand atop the other. Only then did she speak again.

"Lieutenant Scalora."

People were fascinating. They lied, betrayed, rationalized, and built entire identities around principles they would gladly abandon under sufficient pressure. That fact had always interested her. The question occupying her mind as she looked around the room in quiet, private glee was very simple. How long until they broke?

In service to the Empire, of course...