“Where once there was defeat, victory can sprout anew.” - Ignacious Korvan
It had been some time since Tiberius had left the confines of his flagship, and even longer since he had set foot upon the soil of Nirauan. He was but a boy, in the twilight of the last true Empire that stood as a bastion against the chaos of the galaxy.
His father stood next to him on this very ground, educating Tiberius about the blood that was spilled here several times over in the name of peace and order. But that was a bygone time; a memory of a dead father, a dead state, preaching a failed dream.
Tiberius was now a man grown in his own right. At one time, he served the navy of the Dark Empire, with his father as the Imperial Despot of what promised to be an evolution to the Imperial dogma, but what turned out to be a betrayal of all the Empire stood for - an unholy bastard to the vision its predecessors once held. It was almost needless to say that the events of the past decade had left a bitter taste in Tiberius’ mouth.
In the wake of his father’s murder, Tiberius seized what he could among those loyal to his father’s memory, and spent the balance of years surviving from the collapse that would follow. But he had spent too long surviving.
Director Tarkin had promised more than mere survival. He promised a resurgence. It was a promise that Tiberius was naturally skeptical of, yet he was pragmatic enough to know there was little by way of alternatives offered to him. At the very least, this initiative Tarkin had thus far described to him could be used as a vehicle for Tiberius’ own ascension. An ascension, not for the restoration of his father’s legacy...
But the birth of his own.
Tiberius’ shuttle touched down upon the landing pad near the facility he was sent the coordinates of. Flanked by
his personal guard, the renegade Commodore did not break stride until the party stopped at the guarded entrance. The Death Trooper guards eyed the entourage from behind their helmets, with the Death Mask unit doing the same. Pre-empting the inevitable confrontation that would have otherwise developed, Tiberius turned to the commander of his detail.
“You may accompany me, along with one other. The rest will remain out here to reinforce this checkpoint, assuming the sergeant could use the support...?”
Tiberius’ tone was as if wrought from silk, carrying a diplomatic charm coupled with an air of command, as though his suggestion
was what was going to happen, as opposed to having any chance of denial by the security team. After a pause, both the Death Mask commander and security officer met glances, and nodded fractionally at the compromise. Two of the facility’s troopers fell in behind the two Death Mask escorts, while the 2 remaining Death Mask troopers stood at attention by the security checkpoint.
In short order, Tiberius would be escorted within the meeting room, where a host of others already began engaging in pleasantries. There were a few objective truths surrounding Tiberius’ standing in this meeting, first among them being; Tiberius wasn’t simply summoned - he was invited personally by the very man who called for it.
The ‘Young Korvan’ (as he was casually referred to by his subordinates) was a presumptive Commodore of his own flotilla, and therefore lacked any honorific standing or political authority outside of such. But his name still carried weight to it, and the personal invitation proffered to him by Director Tarkin was commensurate with the prestige the Korvan name held, his father’s lunacy notwithstanding.
It was because of this that Tiberius refrained from fawning over Tarkin when he entered. The other two men before the director were already doing a marvelous job at it, and Tiberius was going to let them. Instead, the scion of Ignacious merely waited until his eyes locked with Tarkin’s, after which he would simply give the man a respectful yet silent nod, his hands clasped behind his back as he would then appraise the other men assembled; wordlessly gaining the measure of them before this meeting commenced.
