Private Osmanli's Patience

[Ivalyn Yvarro]

The sky over Qosantrya was a pale violet hue, fading gently into silver as twilight settled across the spires of the capital. It was the hour between dusk and duty—when the business of the Commonwealth slowed, and the city's great marble structures exhaled the heat of the day.

Within the Hyacinth Palace, shielded from the din of statecraft and ceremonial obligations, the Garden of Accord remained quiet. There were no aides here. No open datapads. No prying holocams or broadcast projections. Only the soft murmur of wind over still water and the faint rustle of blossoms opening beneath the star-kissed sky.

This was the place Ivalyn had chosen, not the grand Starlight Atrium or the gilded Petal Court, but the garden tucked between them, known less for spectacle and more for reflection.

Here, history was not spoken aloud. It was inhaled like the scent of native Dosuunian hyacinths, and worn in the silence between those who understood it.

When Arminius Kroeger arrived, he would be escorted not by the Belisaurius Guard, but by a single aide from the Order of Vigilance, a deliberate choice. The path through the garden was winding and dimly lit, designed to keep curious eyes away while offering no false shadows.

Ivalyn awaited him near one of the reflective pools, dressed not in her usual ceremonial attire but in something more reserved: a tailored deep navy ensemble with silver trim, the Grand Vizier's insignia discreet at her collarbone. Her posture remained regal, but her expression was unguarded. Here, at last, she could speak without posturing.

"Kroeger," she said with the barest nod, her voice hushed yet commanding, "Thank you for coming on such short notice. I needed someone who still remembers what true Imperialism was, before it became a slogan on the tongues of Sith sycophants."

She gestured subtly to the stone bench across from her. No armed guard lingered. No holo-feed recorded the moment. A place of quiet, of respect and where a conversation could occur with no prying eyes or ears.

"There's a conversation we need to have. One about survival, and about the price of reclaiming sovereignty when diplomacy begins to fail." It fell to Ivalyn to ensure that the Dosuunian Commonwealth, one of the last remnants of the First Order, continued to survive. Even if it would cost Ivalyn her own life. "You spoke well, even on such a notice as it was over Ryoone, and for that I am grateful." She remarked, knowing that for Kroeger it was all about practicality and the practical realities did not frame this fight well for Dosuun and her countrymen. That much, Ivalyn was well aware of but that was why she needed to speak with him, for if there was to be any hope of survival, it would start here.

Kroeger ​

 

[Kroeger]

​

HYCASINTH PALACE, QOSANTRYA
THE IMPERIAL COMMONWEALTH
902 ABY

D E M O N
IRON LEGION
'THOSE ONCE LOYAL'
Ivalyn Yvarro

IMPERIAL​

A lone vessel emerged from hyperspace, paired with two TIE Slasher heavy fighters to act as escort for the Legion Commander, the vantablack solar panels painted with the laughing skull-and-snake motif of the Iron Legion on its top wing of each side with the Iron Sun on the bottom wing to signify their mercenary allegiance. The signature screech of the twin ion engines along with the lower, nigh silent hum of the Phantom wailed across the atmosphere as they approached the Palace, setting down with an elegant and calculated descent unto the landing pad before the boarding ramp opened with a hydraulic hiss.

For the first occasion in a long while, Kroeger emerged in Imperial dress. The field grey tunic, trousers and black jackboots lined with a faint green piping signifying his branch in the Imperial Army of the New Imperial Order. The left shoulder sported the insignia of the Iron Legion and the right, the First Armored Assault Division. Even so, his half-cybernetic disfigured features lied beneath the woven bandaging, his cybernetic left hand of slick and black metal shaping emerged from his sleeve.

A pair of Deathtroopers, snapped to the proper facing on their heels to follow him in his exit of the starship. They followed him from the landing pad and toward the palace proper where the lone attendant was there to greet him. He motioned a closed, gloved fist up to the two Deathtroopers acting as escort, their duraplast armor snapping as they halted and splayed apart to stand at either side of the entrance of Kroeger's landing pad as the ship's crew and pilots began the preventative maintenance of each vessel. Refueling, checking for faults, tracking beacons and possible sabotage. Less of concern from the Commonwealth but any party at all.

He arrived in the flesh, the very nature and appearance of the man contrasting the serene nature of the garden, his gaze, half a brooding red cybernetic and half color sapped organic peered to her, looking her over in an appraisal of the woman as she spoke in greeting. He nodded. "Yvarro." He said, his voice deep, gravely and thrumming with cybernetic intervention.

"I've had many, similar conversations in past months. The Imperial identity is scattered like lone pups of a slain mother-wolf. Each one a divergent ideology. Each one a splinter to a greater whole and yet I doubt if the entities in unity would paint a united picture or a schizophrenic mess. Regardless, here I stand." He said, a hand smoothing into his pocket to produce a slick case, prying it open with a metallic thumb to draw a cigarette which he sparked alight, taking in a long toke of the stimulant before easing it from his lips.

 

[Ivalyn Yvarro]

Kroeger​

Ivalyn regarded Kroeger as he entered the garden, his uniform crisp and unmistakably Imperial—the classic field grey tunic, pressed trousers, and polished black jackboots. The image evoked memory more than novelty.

There was something about his presence, half-brooding and half-machine, that reminded her, almost uncomfortably, of her father. The cybernetics lent a certain coldness, a mechanical edge to his voice that thrummed low and gravely beneath the tranquility of the garden's stillness. A stark contrast, she thought, to the setting... and to herself. "Imperial divergence does seem to be quite numerous these days," she said with a touch of wryness, folding her hands before her.

"Though, if you asked my father, they should all bow to the Book of Tavlar. And in some regard, he isn't wrong." She let the remark settle between them, her voice calm, her posture composed.

It was, after all, the sort of political ideology that had—in recent memory—built one of the strongest Empires the galaxy had seen since Sieger Ren and Natasi Fortan's First Order graced its stars. Between the First Order and the New Imperial Order that followed, there had been precious little to unite Imperialism. Every Warlord, every Moff, every so-called reformer had their own vision, their own blueprint for conquest. And none seemed content to cooperate for long.

"I appreciate your presence today," she continued, inclining her head gracefully. Her tone carried the quiet sincerity of someone who did not extend thanks lightly. "I want to begin by stating plainly. I hold no illusions about where my nation stands militarily when compared to the Sith Order."

The admission was not defeatist. It was matter-of-fact, delivered with the cool precision of someone who understood power as more than numbers and firepower. "Therefore," she said, eyes fixed on Kroeger, "the actions I take next cannot be the work of a hammer. We lack the weight for blunt force."

She paused, letting the air settle again between them, fragrant with hyacinth and shaded by marble latticework.

"No. What I do now must be the work of a scalpel, precise, deliberate, and without unnecessary flourish." The time for the Commonwealth to collect itself had come. That much was clear.

She inhaled, steadying herself against the enormity of what lay ahead. "I must operate with intent, not instinct. Because unlike those who rule from thrones of arrogance, we do not have the luxury of failure."

Her words were quiet, but not soft. They were forged, not spoken, shaped in the crucible of diplomacy, legacy, and survival.

And with them, Ivalyn made clear: the path forward would not be paved in grand declarations or open war, but in quiet acts of defiance, carefully chosen allies, and the unflinching resolve to endure.

"As much as I am glad of your presence during the Ryoone crisis, I cannot lean on it." Her tone was even, neither cold nor ungrateful, but unflinchingly pragmatic. "It would be unwise of me to build a nation's future on the temporary strength of a mercenary legion."

They both understood what was left unsaid: Kroeger's forces had proven invaluable in the moment, but they were not the foundation of sovereignty. They were meant to supplement, to strike in moments of crisis, but never to substitute for the steady hand of a standing army.

"You have other contracts, ones more lucrative, I'm quite sure. Which is why my appeal to you today is not for deployment, but for counsel." She allowed a pause, the garden's hush offering space for gravity to settle between her words. "Your advice. Your criticisms. However blunt or bold."

She met his gaze directly. There was no performance here, only the sincerity of a stateswoman who had seen the chessboard shift one time too many.

"Everything from this moment forward counts toward a movement, one that has perhaps been inevitable since the moment the Najarkan Accords were signed."

Her voice lowered slightly, not conspiratorial, but reverent.

"A movement of independence."

She did not say rebellion. She did not need to.

This was not the First Order of old, and it was no longer enough to survive beneath the shadow of another empire's ambition. The time had come to chart a path forward, and in Kroeger, she hoped to find more than a hired sword. She hoped to find a veteran of Imperial collapse, a witness to its rebirth, and someone capable of guiding her through the narrowing corridor that now faced the Commonwealth.

She drew a breath, still composed, her tone like glass over steel. "So tell me, what must be done, and where must I begin, if my nation is to stand apart and survive it?"

 

[Kroeger]

​

HYCASINTH PALACE, QOSANTRYA
THE IMPERIAL COMMONWEALTH
902 ABY

D E M O N
IRON LEGION
'THOSE ONCE LOYAL'
Ivalyn Yvarro

EMPIRE IS DEAD​

As she spoke, he continued to nurse his cigarette with a slow drag of the stimulant. For all he was an Imperial Officer, his presence could not have more starkly protruded in the garden more. A horrid amalgam of man and machine with unavoidable horrific marring from war and strife. In a way, he could've been as an image of the man she spoke of in an indirect nature. Irveric Tavlar. For all the images projected of him, he was irrepairably wounded from his fight with the Sith all the same, most notable of the beskar spike which loomed too deep into his skull and too close to his brain for any surgeon to attempt a proper excision of. Kroeger himself almost as a more eroded and disfigured image of the man, a reflection of the death of Empire itself, a living corpse pieced together by metallic machinations and for all he kept himself composed...contempt.

"The heirs to the First Order are no less guilty of the deviating philosophy. If history serves correct, your people had been firm to remain distinct from the Empire. Now...has the sentiment changed?" He asked, lofting a brow in a less accusatory manner and more as a means of genuine inquiry.

"Unfortunately- I was not bred for politics. The dueling pits of Adumar to the academy on Bastion had molded me into the hammer of the Empire's will. But- certain circumstances have forced me to adapt nonetheless. The Iron Legion is perhaps the most paltry of the remnants...by my own fault, undoubtedly." Kroeger admitted, drawing a toke from his cigarette once more. In the analysis of the post collapse Imperial remnants, the Iron Legion numbered in a few thousand at best, holding a loose claim over Kroeger's home world and perhaps a third of a fighting fleet with a brigade's compliment of Imperial fighting men, mostly drawn from the Galaxy's muck to be its army.

"The Empire of old was able to fight the Sith because it appealed to the nature and identity of the Imperials that dwelled within it. A nation molded and inhabited strictly by thus. The Sith Order...lacks less of the burden of being tied to the identity of Empire and exists as a state with no illusion to serve anything other than the depraved creed who rule in bickering cabal over it." Kroeger explained. "It is why their tactics on Ryoon were to subvert and not to conquer or even uplift. They want for chattel and nothing else to fuel their ambitions. Imperator Tavlar had toiled for years to sow dissent within the Sith Empire's ranks, making its defiance in-exile a much more palpable and attractive cause to those who served in the ranks of the Sith Empire. I was fortunate enough to pledge undying allegiance to the New Order and nothing else, though the Sith Imperials were instrumental in winning the Third Imperial Civil War." Kroeger explained.

"If you hope to grasp at the same will and fire that forged and tempered the Empire...you need to enter the system and destroy it from within. To seize the tactics of the Sith and use it against them. I had aimed to do the same within the ranks of the Dark Empire...but I could not tolerate such a role any longer than I held it." He said, referring to the instant in which he'd infamously committed treason against the Dark Empire in the midst of their invasion of Coruscant, shooting and killing a Sith Lord with the witness of several others. Were it not for the Trade Federation, he would be a dead man.

"That is your best hope...but all the same, it leaves you to the throes of intrigue and politics to build a reliable network of those willing to rip apart the Sith Order from within, if such thing even exists." Kroeger explained, letting off a low breath. "The reality you have to face is that Ryoon is not first nor last. Soon enough, your Commonwealth will be not but a rump state within Sith control. Divergent in name only to keep you placated but in truth, all resources of worth will eventually funnel to them. At which point...you need to consider what is most important..." He said, his half cybernetic and half organic gaze in idle observation of the area around them, pacing in a slow, heavy and methodical footfall before his gaze finally shifted to meet hers in a rather analytical manner.

 

[Ivalyn Yvarro]

Ivalyn sat and listened, because she had asked him to be there. She had asked him to offer information, guidance, counsel. Whatever he could give that might help her steward the Commonwealth through what was quickly becoming a defining era. So she listened, her gaze steady, her presence still, taking in Kroeger's words with the full gravity they deserved.

He spoke of philosophy, of deviation from it, and in doing so implied there had once been a single, shared ideal all Imperials had subscribed to.

Perhaps there had.

Order. That was the thread, wasn't it? The one belief she was certain every Imperial, regardless of banner, had embraced. That the galaxy could be perfected, must be perfected, through order.

Her eyes remained fixed on the Iron Legion officer as he spoke, the cadence of his voice like iron drawn across stone. He mentioned Bastion, and she remembered its might, how it had served Empire after Empire, most recently the New Imperials. That memory lingered like a shadow behind his words.

Kroeger spoke of her father's time, of the Imperials who had won their independence from the Sith. The Tenth Sith Empire, to be precise. A different animal altogether from the Eleventh, different in countless ways. He was right, of course: the current Sith Order bore none of the same identity-burden its predecessor carried. And in that, perhaps, lay its danger.

Then, laid bare before her, came the truth she had long avoided. The truth that now demanded her acceptance.

She would have to play the game. To wrest away the control the Sith sought to exert over her nation, she would need to enter the field of politics fully, not as an observer, but as a player. As a piece. As a queen.

A storm is coming, she thought. Oh child of Dosuun, will you weather it? Will you withstand the tide that now rises at our shores?

Still, she said nothing while Kroeger spoke. She would not interrupt. She wanted to hear it all, no matter how difficult. The Grand Vizier needed his perspective, unvarnished and complete.

Because what mattered most, more than pride, more than pageantry, was freedom.

The freedom of their people.

The survival of their ideals.

That the Commonwealth might live long enough to become once more what it was meant to be, what it had always been meant to be: the First Imperials.

Silence settled between them like dust after the end of a battle. In it, Ivalyn replayed the storms of Ryoone, the shadows of the Blackwall, the quiet truths whispered between disasters.

Then, at last, she spoke, her voice soft but sure. "I appreciate your candor."

"Your insight is invaluable, Kroeger," Ivalyn said softly, meeting his gaze with a rare sincerity that cut through her usual composure. "And it is clear to me now that I must do what I have long resisted." She paused, just long enough for the weight of her words to settle.

"I must play the game." Her voice did not waver, but there was steel beneath it now. A quiet acceptance of the path ahead. "You are right. It was always a matter of time." She let her words settle there for a few moments. "The Sith will not remain content with vassalage. Inevitably, they will seek to consume us. Entirely."

She drew in a breath, as though steadying herself. The flicker of defiance in her gaze was unmistakable. "And I cannot stand behind Lady Raaf forever. The Commonwealth must have its own voice, its own will." A faint smile touched her lips, but it was thoughtful rather than warm. "It would seem I must make use of every contact, every association I have cultivated thus far. Quietly, precisely."

Another pause. Her chin lifted slightly, refined and resolute.

"If they wish us to be pieces on their board… then I must move as a player."


Ivalyn looked the man over, his tunic, this presence, very much reminded her of the way the old Empire, the NIO had been. Rather, the impressions she had gotten from her father. "I'd offer tea, however you strike me as a gentleman that would much prefer a good humidor club instead." A moment, "you would care to partake. I happen to know a wonderful place in the city."

Kroeger ​

 

[Kroeger]

​

HYCASINTH PALACE, QOSANTRYA
THE IMPERIAL COMMONWEALTH
902 ABY

D E M O N
IRON LEGION
'THOSE ONCE LOYAL'
Ivalyn Yvarro

EMPIRE IS DEAD​

He nodded in affirmation to her sentiment, drawing from the sweet scented cigarette once more before he ashed what was left in an ornate, dedicate tray set nearby for him explicitly no doubt. Such was the meticulous attention to detail that had come with Dosuunian politics and governance. He’d accompanied missions to the First Order in the days of the ‘Bastion Pact’ and was not wholly unfamiliar with their modus operandi.

“The Sith seek to dominate, consume and warp all those to their bidding. Images and identities of ‘Empire’ are their means just as it is infiltrating democratic institutions or criminal underworlds. To tolerate them is to see your means of life and governance slowly marred into their own perspective and means.” Kroeger explained, crossing his arms over his chest, revealing the imagery of both patches sewn into each shoulder at once as he pondered a thought.

“There are few more than I who would rather obliterate their idols, sack their cities and destroy each and every acolyte to their dark cult of chaos, ego and self worship…but we don’t have the means. We do not have the same engines of war or minds of command that Imperator Tavlar marched unto Harnaidan with. The Empire is a fractured state of entities and ideals now. We’re all pieces in this game. They out number us…they’ve more power and infrastructure…but that has always been their means before they bloat and die.” Kroeger explained, uncrossing his arms before an exhale thrumming with cybernetic intervention left his nostrils. To her offer of a change of venue, a brow perked to which he nodded.

“I’d not refuse your hospitality, Miss Yvarro.” He said before he raised a commlink, relieving his security detail to return to the ship. As they’d walk together toward whatever means of transport would take them there, he spoke again.

“And is your fate so closely tied to Dosuun and its satellite worlds…or would you champion the Empire in-exile? If it ever came to it…” He asked.