Eternal Father
Anger and resentment spread like wildfire once the full scope of the heist on Rhen Var became known to the Empire’s aristocratic elite, the theft of so many accumulated artifacts hitting too close to home for those who remembered Emperor Ardik’s failure. Demand was made to retaliate against these thieves, and Emperor Carnifex was more than willing to oblige. Astral calculations and triangulation eventually produced a bevy of coordinates of possible locations for the thieves and their Jedi watch dogs. That list was then whittled down to a handful of locations, with one in particular being singled out above all others.Pantora.
With a tangible goal in mind, the Emperor summoned his legions and assembled a mighty host to usher in retribution. Though it was a slim possibility that the exact same thieves would reside upon Pantora, the Empire could still squeeze the world for all of its worth before they were done.
So with warships armed and the holds of slave barges empty, the Empire set forth to kill and burn.
Fire crackled and smoldered in the darkness of the chamber, burning just bright enough to illuminate portions of the twenty by twenty meter room. Four braziers hung from the ceiling by heavy iron chains, bronze basins pounded into gargantuan Rancor skulls ornamented with gold. These were the only light source, for no grandiose viewport dominated any of the four walls. If they had, the churning madness of hyperspace would seethe just beyond its boundaries. Heavy acrid smoke billowed out as the incense burned in these great censers, filling the room with the putrid stench of death. In the crux between these macabre thuribles was a single man, naked and kneeling in devout contemplation. Though impossible to tell in the shadows of the chamber, he was a giant of a man; his muscular body mutilated with scars from battles too numerous to recollect. Many who had inflicted these healed wounds had died by his hands, those that yet lived would soon find themselves in his grasp.
From the darkness emerged four creatures, their sexless bodies concealed by shimmering cloth-of-gold robes that left only the bottoms of their face revealed. Crowning their heads was a skull-cap of ruby-studded gold which encompassed the entirety of their craniums and the top half of their face, which had been fashioned to resemble an immaculate face with aquiline features. In their emaciated hands were pots of gently sloshing liquid, which they placed on the floor next to the kneeling giant as they themselves mimicked his posture and bowing so low that their golden faces kissed the floor. Unbidden, they rose and dipped their fingers into the liquid which clung to their fingers most fervently and began to spread it along the giant’s naked flesh. For hours they did this, never ceasing in their obsession to see every inch of the giant’s skin glistening with sacred oil. When at last their pots sat empty, they produced a knotted satchel and slowly unfastened the twine. Reaching into the bag they produced a mound of white powder, which they also began to coat the giant’s body with as well. The powder stuck to the oil which coated him, creating a ghostly pale sheen that soon encompassed his entire body.
Once these two rituals had been completed, the four creatures retreated into the darkness with their pots and their bags of powder. The giant rose, his bones creaking in protest at being disturbed from their prolonged rest. He walked with purposeful steps towards the wall directly facing him, two panels parting into the wall’s partition to allow him access; closing behind him once he has passed the threshold. This new chamber was more brightly lit, artificial strips of light beating down oppressively from above. In this light the giant was even more impressive, the enormity of his size fully presented without shame. More creatures awaited him, these ones clad in robes of sapphire samite and wearing masks of deep silver studded with amethysts. In lieu of pots and bags they held ornate scarlet pillows with golden tassels, upon which sat individual pieces of armor. The first pair of creatures approached and began to dress the giant, pulling on a skin-tight black body glove over his powdered muscles, upon which pieces of the giant’s black and red armor was affixed and tightened. Greaves were brought and placed around his lower legs and sealed, vambraces were done the same around his forearms. Gauntlets were pulled up tight over the hands, one pulsating with dark malefic energies. An armorweave hauberk was pulled down over his torso, his upper chest covered by black Impervium. Likewise his shoulders were protected by segmented plates of Impervium. A cloak of maroon armorweave was then magnetically clamped at the back of each shoulder pad, the emblem of the Empire proudly emblazoned across its rippling fabric.
All that remained was an austere helmet, bereft of over complicated ornamentation in favor of battle practicality. The giant held this last component in the crux of his left arm while his right hand grasped the hilt of a massive lightsaber, far greater than one of average stature could possibly hope to possess.
Another partition opened up before him, leading to a wide hall large enough to drive two heavy repulsortanks side-by-side with some room left on either side. The giant strode with head held high, the unrivaled master of this domain of dark durasteel and recycled air. Everywhere he journied he was assailed by re-confirmations of loyalty in the form of crisp salutes and demonstrations of submission by those beneath him, the mounting reverence leaving little impression on his mind. He suffered such prostrations nearly every day, the subjects of his vast interstellar Empire more than willing to prove their devotion at any given moment in his presence. To another man it might have proved grating, and to another it might stroke the flames of ego. But the giant barely noticed it.
Such trivialities were beneath the notice of the Emperor of the Sith.
The Emperor emerged onto a massive bridge, multiple walkways overlooking recessed data pits filled with machinery and the technicians to operate them. A massive throne had been erected on the side closest to him, raised up three levels above the walkway floor to give whoever sat in it an unparalleled view of the bridge. Beyond that was a viewport that took up the entirety of the far wall, the cerulean swirl of hyperspace churning just outside. As befitting his position, the Emperor took his seat upon the throne and gazed down at his subjects as they worked. Only the dreadnought's secondary captain moved to stand at his side, on the lowest rung of the raised dais.
“Supreme Excellency, we’re nearing the Pantora System. We’ll be there within the hour.” Captain Godfris was a short man, not yet reaching the average height threshold for his species, and woefully dwarfed by the gargantuan size of the Emperor. “Very good,” the Emperor’s voice was a deep baritone rumble, like the breaking of stone. “Summon the Admirals.” Godfris bowed and barked an order to a subordinate, who tapped several keys on a nearby console which in turn dispatched a flurry of encoded data to four of the other warships in transit. In front of the Emperor’s throne they materialized, awash in a haze of holographic light. To the far left of the Emperor was Admiral Thintith Karr, commander of the 42nd Invasion Force. A rarity even among the alien-laden ranks of the Sith Empire, the Ishi Tib’s eyestalks pivoted as she surveyed not only her surroundings, but the figures that had joined her in heeding the call of the Emperor. Next to her was Admiral Orok, commander of the 43rd Invasion Force. His was a more common occurrence, one of the many Mirialan who had pledged themselves to the Empire following the Battle of Mirial. The Empire had salvaged much of his barren homeworld in spite of the Jedi’s atrocities, and had pledged to the Emperor a life debt. To Orok’s left was Admiral Niclan Clarmerc of the 367th Escort Force, the scion of the wealthy and highly influential Clarmerc dynasty which had ruled considerable portions of Jelucan since before the Darkness. Clarmerc wore the fineries of his people’s heritage in tandem with the prim and crisp uniform of his station. The last of the Emperor’s Tetrarchy was Admiral Jaidar Calson, another of the Empire’s military aristocracy. His father was the late Grand Admiral Theos Calson, who had served the Empire during the reign of Emperor Moridin. Much like his father, Admiral Calson had been outspoken at the inclusion of non-Human species into the Imperial Military. His tune had shifted when the Emperor had selected him to serve in his War Fleet.
Yet despite their differences, all of them had heeded the Emperor’s call with the same urgency. They knelt before him, falling to one knee while their hands cradled their other, heads bowed in deference. “Arise, my Tetrarchy.” When they had done as he had bidden the Emperor continued, “Soon we shall be set loose upon the moon of Pantora, the last location calculated on the trajectory of those who had stolen from the Empire at Rhen Var. Make no mistake, my Admirals, we have come not to conquer, but to burn. When we are at last finished, all that shall remain of Pantora will be charred cities and fields of bone and ash. You know your roles. Prepare your Forces for hyperspace terminus and destroy any who oppose us.”
They crossed their right arm over their chest, their hand making a fist right over their hearts. “It will be as you command, our Master of Masters. Bone and ash shall be their reward for treachery. We, the Tetrarchy assembled by your will, shall co-sign this death warrant of Pantora.” Each spoke as one, undivisible in their strength and conviction, the words coming easily to them as breathing. There was no hesitation or doubt in their voices, no reservations for what each of them knew what soon to come. They had either made their peace with it or eagerly awaited it, but they would not shirk from their duties.
One by one their images blinked out of existence, the brief meeting between master and servants adjourned. When at last the Emperor’s War Fleet exited hyperspace between the moon of Pantora and the barren lifeless world of Orto Plutonia, those on the moon below would witness the arrival of the Emperor’s dreaded flagship; the Behemoth II. Six Marr-class Star Destroyers exited hyperspace in an octagonal defensive formation around the dreadnought, while ten smaller Velox-class Frigates filled in the gaps. But that was only the tip of the iceberg, for a total of five-hundred-and-sixty-seven warships of varying size and strength materialized all around them, unequally divided into the four Forces led by the Emperor’s Tetrarchy. Admirals Clarmerc and Calson had arranged their Escort Forces in the forward left and right quadrants, while Admirals Karr and Orok positioned theres in the rear left and right quadrants. The Emperor’s flagship and its destroyer escort dominated the center of the formation, the literal head of the beast.
And with one sentence it began, “Commence attack.”
