Faction [Tarkin Initiative] I, Empire || Conclave on Nirauan

[Daedalus Tarkin]

I, EMPIRE: CONCLAVE ON NIRAUAN

//: INITIATIVE FACILITY 4417-B
//: NIRAUAN
//: 1600 HRS

Tarkin's face remained stoic as the highly anticipated question of the evening swirled around the room: what's different this time?

It was not lost on him that there had been countless meetings just like this one since the fall of the last great Empire. The Empire of the Lost, Dark Empire, Imperial Confederation, and recent Galactic Empire had all began as a secretive congress of likeminded Imperials gathered much like they were now—and only the Confederation remained.

"The Initiative, for starters, is a factor of its own; while our hand was instrumental in the efforts of several notable remnant movements, none have enjoyed the complete and dedicated support of our organization."

"Furthermore, we have something that no other had laid claim to since the fall of the New Imperial Order."

Behind the director, an angular portal slid open with a sharp hiss. Clinical light from the corridor outside brightened the chamber briefly as a cloaked man stepped through, then they closed and plunged the room once again in Tarkin's preferred dimness. Daedalus did not bother turning to face the new arrival. Instead, he straightened his spine as the man approached and came to a stop next to the director.

"We have legitimacy." Dade spoke with the same precision he would have at an Initiative conference with the galaxy's foremost scientists; clinical, precise. The man who stood beside him nodded once, then parted his lips to speak.

"I am Caius Fel," he announced. "Descendant of Roan Fel, and heir to the Fel dynasty."

A moment of quiet passed, which his voice soon cut through.

"I am your Emperor."

The Imperial Knights in the chamber would surely bend the knee, but Dade was uncertain what level of reverence—if any—the others would display. It had been several decades since the last Fel ruled the Empire. Naturally, there would be questions about his heritage. How closely was he related to the late Rurik Fel? Was his claim any more legitimate than the missing Stennis Fel, or the heirs of House Dooku? Tarkin could only attest to the genetic evidence the Initiative had gathered when they first took interest in Caius.

The rest would have to be answered by the Emperor himself.

TAGS: Althea Varrick | Amena Kader | Jaryg Syn | Karsten Halak | Kroeger | Marion Edrane Fel | Meta Zero | Tavian Rhyse | Tiberius Korvan | Tydeus Shorn | Gronow Farr​

 

[Tydeus Shorn]

I, EMPIRE

"For the ashes of his fathers, and the temples of his gods.” ​

//: INITIATIVE FACILITY 4417-B
//: NIRAUAN

After Tion burned, Tydeus spurned all hope of aid. Other Sith were just as bad as the Kainites. And the Jedi proved incompetent, blundering fools.

He had been determined to root out Darth Carnifex himself, by whatever means necessary.

...Until he met Caius Fel.

The scion of the imperial line had a gravitas to him that Tydeus could not fathom, an authority and calmness to his presence that commanded attention without demanding it. His will was strong as durasteel, but his mind keener than a vibrosword. Cruel to his enemies. Merciful to his friends. And simply being around him made one want to do better, to be better, if only to earn a smile and a nod.

So when the uncrowned emperor entered the room, Tydeus' knee met the floor immediately and without complaint.

Daedalus Tarkin Kroeger Amena Kader Jaryg Syn Karsten Halak Marion Edrane Fel Meta Zero Tavian Rhyse Tiberius Korvan Gronow Farr

 

[Gronow Farr]

CONCLAVE ON NIRAUAN
Linor Dragant, Head of the Imperial Mission

TAGS: Daedalus Tarkin | Tydeus Shorn | Karsten Halak Tiberius Korvan

As soon as the intellectual appeared they were replaced by the drunkard, as his drooping eyes wandered over to Doctor Althea Varrick his face stretching wide in a comfortable smirk, white eyes glimmering with the sort of arrogance that only a species that had mastered science could possess.

"Twelve percent?" Yrovis echoed, the words spilling out with a wet, dismissive chuckle. He waved a gloved hand as if shooing away a swarm of dull insects. "Doctor, please... my dear, sweet Doctor. You speak of... sh-enobiology. The study of the chaotic, the... the unrefined, the... natural." He took a long, wobbling pull from his flask, the liquid burning a trail of confidence down his throat.

"Arkanian science does not... it does not fail by margins of twelve percent. We do not gamble with the... messy variables of hive enzymes and... and hallucinogenic sludge. Compound 47-V is a surgical strike upon the... the psyche. My failure rate is... well, it's practically non-exis-tent. If a subject breaks, it is usually because their brain was physically too... too small to house a complex thought to begin with. A problem your rathtars and drones... gurgl... likely share."

He leaned back, the chair groaning under his shifting weight. He had been listening partially to the political posturing. He noted with a hazy sort of clarity that Director Daedalus Tarkin was being evasive about certain questions the assembled council had. Every question about the how and the why was met with a redirection toward the who.

It was the classic move of a man who didn't have all the answers but had a very impressive shiny object to distract the room with. And then, the object arrived in the form of Caius Fel, causing the Arkanian to tilt his head at the man claiming to be the heir to the Imperial Dynasty. Being a collector, he knew the difference between the genuine article and a convincing reproduction.

If there was one man who understood this best besides himself it would have been General Kroeger sitting across the conference table with cigar lit.

"Gen-eral..." Yrovis called out, his voice raspy with dehydration. "You've spent your life in the... the muck of the New Imperial Order. You saw the rise and the... the messy, bloody fall. You knew... Rurik's line. You knew the weight of that blood when it was actually... being spilled on the floor. So you... you of all individuals within this room... would be able to tell if this is a genuine heir... or a—a very convincing con-artist our friend, the Director Tarkin, found on the corner... hic."

He gestured sloppily with his flask toward the proclaimed Emperor standing next to Tarkin, a few drops of the Potent Boga Noga escaping the rim to splash onto the pristine tabletop.

​

 

[Marion Edrane Fel]

I, EMPIRE: CONCLAVE ON NIRAUAN
​

Adrienne Halver Fel was rising before Caius had even been identified.

Even cloaked, there was something of the Fel line in this young man's jaw, in the eyes. She felt it instinctively, as real and as sure as the gravity that bound them to this world. She had never seen Caius Fel before, nor even his father, but there had always been rumors -- rumors that all the lines had not been broken. That out there, somewhere, an Emperor still waited for the moment to reveal himself and take his throne. Adrienne let out a noise of reverent awe and surprise and dropped to a knee then and there, her diminutive frame such that so kneeling she barely saw over the conference table.

It did not matter; her eyes were downcast anyway. As was befitting greeting an Emperor. "Your Imperial Majesty," the old woman murmured, as reverent as a prayer.

Marion, on the other hand, was bewildered. This young man who ostensibly shared her surname was a person of some import to some in the room -- Grandmama among them -- and yet was being treated as a potential counterfeit credit chit by others. Marion's brows furrowed, the glitteryl in her system slowing her thinking, her blinking, and for a few shocked moments she merely stared with utter fascination.

Then, a bony, wrinkled hand clawed at hers and pulled with surprising strength for a woman of Adrienne's age. "Child!" she hissed, sotta voce. "Kneel, now!"

Marion blinked cobwebs and complied without thinking, despite something in the back of her mind screaming about how ludicrous it was. She didn't know these people -- didn't know this man, this Caius Fel -- and neither did her grandmother, and they were expected to kneel like peasants? But to argue would have required more processing power than Marion could draw at that moment, so she mimicked Grandmama's pose, rising gracefully from her seat, pushing it back slightly, and dropping just as gracefully to a knee.

She ached to interrogate Grandmama. Did she know about this? Who were these people? What did any of this mean if, as she had been told, the Fel dynasty had been out of the galaxy for decades? But Adrienne merely flicked her fingers in a downward motion, beneath the table where none else would see, and Marion hesitantly bowed her head.

What in the blue hell is this place? she wondered anxiously.

Daedalus Tarkin | Kroeger | Amena Kader | Jaryg Syn | Karsten Halak
Meta Zero | Tavian Rhyse | Tiberius Korvan | Gronow Farr | Tydeus Shorn​

 

[Tavian Rhyse]

I, EMPIRE

Out of the looks of surprise, shock, awe, and displays of fealty. DT-219 and his squad didn't even move when the Emperor Caius Fel walked in. All of it was a carefully constructed, almost choreographed affair. Even the Director didn't even turn around when the door slid open and the Imperial Monarch walked through. It only meant he needed to keep his gaze fixed on the invitees even harder, with two VIP's in the room. The Tarkin Initiative had legitimacy behind it, this was the guest's opportunity to stand behind their new undertaking. Emperor Fel was the way to restore what was lost, to reclaim the legacy of shattered empires and wash away the failures of the past. It was up to the Director and the Emperor to corral the influential Imperials.

The Death Troopers were meant to be seen; they were meant to impose a certain imprint on the gathering. A symbol, an executioner. It was the unspoken word of what could happen if things turned a certain way. That was why he kept a close watch on everyone, on the mood of the room and the desires and reactions of the Director and the Emperor. If they desired anything, anything at all. All they had to do was say it. Even when the drunk Arkanian began prattling on, an embarrassment to Imperials all. There was a dark thought that crept into the recesses of Graves mind, the vision of what it would feel like to open fire and burn a hole in the man's skull for such disgusting lack of decorum in front of the Emperor. He choked the idea down, restraint was important here and the Sergeant showed no visible reaction to anything, maintaining his statuesque posture. So, he remained in position, close enough to be accessible if either of them, or the assembled command of the Tarkin Initiative needed him.

Daedalus Tarkin | Kroeger | Amena Kader | Jaryg Syn | Karsten Halak
Meta Zero | Tiberius Korvan | Gronow Farr | Tydeus Shorn | Marion Edrane Fel ​

 

[Kroeger]

HAND OF THRAWN, NIRAUAN
THE TARKIN INITIATIVE
904 ABY

D E M O N
THE GALACTIC EMPIRE
GRAND GENERAL
Daedalus Tarkin | Tiberius Korvan | Tydeus Shorn | Karsten Halak | Althea Varrick | Gronow Farr | Amena Kader | Tavian Rhyse | Marion Edrane Fel | Jaryg Syn | Meta Zero

TESTAMENT​

Fel. The most pervasive name in the politics of Imperial inheritance. The last of them to hold any merit being of course, the Emperor of Iron himself, Rurik Fel. Long dead with a supposed son of a rather nebulous status. All of which Kroeger had been keeping tabs on, even if through the intelligence work of the Trade Federation's covert apparatus, TRACE. Trade Agency for Corporate Espionage. He'd heard the name Caius, having been a frequent visitor of Entralla being as the Kuat-Entralla Engineering Corporations sustained his stellar and armored equipment directly.

The world, under the de-facto governance of the Trade Federation serving as a rather nostalgic pillar of which Imperial tradition, aesthetics and cultural notes still existed in spade. An enclave of sorts to those driven from the Braxant upon the violent collapse of the New Imperial Order. He was aware of the Fel there but hardly of his involvement in this conspiracy that had been shaping with the Tarkin Initiative. Arminius was still, a brief flick of his eyes over the man in appraisal before he glanced to the Arkanian, lofting an unseen brow beneath the weave of bandaging only to shift this eyes back to the Fel.

"I know of this one..." He muttered, his hand reaching into the coat of his Imperial Officer jacket to produce a small metal case, clicking it open to pluck a cigarette before he sparked it alight. Letting the weight of the reveal drag many of the others to the floor unto one knee as he went about meticulously lighting the stick of stimulant. He let the silence linger, the reveal register in the others as he took a draw, his eyes more focused with the nigh ritualistic task in his hands before he pocketed the igniter and case and, looked back to Caius as the draw of strong smoke parted from his lips.

"Legitimacy...names...Irveric Tavlar was born beneath the poverty line on Dantooine, to an ailing mother and a father he'd never met...names and legitimacy will get your foot in the door but you're hardly going to have planets swearing fealty from name alone. The Fel name meant nothing because of its Empire...not vice versa...the Empire was the sum of its parts. Laborers, soldiers, scientists, governors..." He took a pause to take another stroke of the cigarette.

"To build an Empire...to lay the foundation of order...there is one path ahead. It is not politics, negotiation or economic manipulation...it is the sole governing force by which the hands of fate are drawn and dealt. If you wish to make true on this dream, for that is all it exists as in whatever form our minds have each autonomously warped it into..." Another draw of the cigarette as he let the thought hang on a tether, unfinished.

"The true means by which any of these great moving forces of history have made their will manifest...is war." He said, shifting his eyes to Tarkin. "So the question is not to whom the knee will bend, for the matter is irrelevant...the question is we are going to temper the steel in fire and blood to mold the Galaxy to our making. The answer is rather simple...almost dreadfully so...and it is that millions are going to have to die. Dying to make the dream or stop it. Fel can worry of governance when the realm is seized but I am merely a practioner of mortal nature's ultimate trade." He said before he sat himself back into his seat, a faint groan of aching flesh and bones emerging from his gravely throat.

"A founding document of ideology needs to be drafted, just as it was fourty some years ago in this very facility. So that there are no good faith misconceptions in what this Empire is and will be. From there...a target. A force of which the mettle of every soul in this room and thousands of others will be tested and only in victory, only in the Iron Sun rising over the Galaxy...will there any legitimacy." He said before he drew from the cigarette once more.

 

[Siyndacha Aerin]

INITIATIVE FACILITY 4417-B | NIRAUAN
​

Many funneled into this meeting room not far behind Arminius, his half bloodshot, half cybernetic gaze flicking over each as they approached the table and eased into their seats.

And she was one such, rounding the table, settling into a seat just as Arminius began to speak. As she was wont to do, Aerin had gleaned the goings-on of this meeting on walk up, with her reach, a faint note of her power that was neither dark, nor light, but cold; a surreptitious act while being escorted here from her vessel, by the Death Troopers in her wake.

She answered the call, not by the pull of hope or fervour, but in ambivalent curiosity alone. She had extracted herself from wasting away in the propping up of one dead dream, and that fact had given her pause when the invitation arrived, but it was old vows that compelled her not to ignore it. An internal conflict that followed her here, and prompted questions in her silver eyes when they landed, at the end of her scan of what was largely unfamiliar faces, on the helmed inquisitor hovering near Tarkin. Drawn there by a familiarity she couldn't yet place, while the General spoke alike to the structure of her thoughts in coming here at all.

Then Director answered, with a reveal that only brought more questions and pulled at one of the oldest parts of the Knight she was. Aerin's gaze flicked to the young and supposed heir of imperium, presented to them all, faintly narrowing. A younger version of herself might have believed it without reservation. A younger self that hadn't yet been through the fall of imperium. The infighting. The loss. She might have followed suit, bending the knee, a reflex that was so long woven into the fibre of her being... but Aerin instead wore a light frown as the drunk went on, appealing to Arminius. His sloppy speech was overall unpleasant to listen to.

She glanced coldly, witheringly, at the sloppy Arkanian, drew a breath in through her nose as her eyes briefly closed in a reach for patience, and out by the same avenue, as she turned her attention to the General, then back to the purported Fel. Chalk-pale hands remained folded together on the tabletop. She had served with the scions of Fel and Tavlar. Trained under the banner of Rurik. She had known them well, and the long-buried ache throbbed faintly, here, skimming the surface of those memories.

Aerin could not, and would not, as her vows demanded, take kindly to pretenders to their memory, or throne.... but she remained quiet as the smoking man wound out a response, her eyes still on the white haired man who was younger than what the first of the Knights she had once trained would be now. By the time Arminius was done speaking, she still had not moved. It was enough to settle one question, but she did have another.

"If you are as you say, then you will know well as I do, that the legitimacy of blood is only proof enough to make the claim and wear the crown," she unfolded her hands, only to lace her fingers together, "you will also know that worth is the proof that strengthens and sustains it, and that is a proof that can only be given in words and action."

She allowed the ghost of a cordial smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"You will have my blades and my intellect, but I gather the sense that I will not be the only one watching." Someone ( Marion Edrane Fel ) here hadn't been doing well to curb the waves of what she was feeling — doubtless, there were others without of this room that had their own reservations — but the Echani couldn't name any names that were as-yet unknown to her. "What do you say to this, son of Fel?"

Althea Varrick • Amena Kader • Daedalus Tarkin • Hall Mannarra • Karsten Halak
Kroeger • Tavian Rhyse • Tiberius Korvan • Tydeus Shorn • Gronow Farr​

 

[Tiberius Korvan]

The Scion

CONCLAVE ON NIRAUAN
LOCATION: NIRAUAN - PLANET SURFACE | INITIATIVE FACILITY 4417-B
TAGS: Daedalus Tarkin | Tydeus Shorn | Karsten Halak | Althea Varrick | Hall Mannarra | Aymeric Prendergast | Siyndacha Aerin

She could not hold the sinister chuckle that sounded through her vocoder. She leaned forward, , switching off her vocoder as she did so, to whisper the information into Tarkin's ear.

<Tiberius Korvan - son of the late Ignacious Korvan. He used to serve the Dark Empire and the Sith that controlled it.>

The chuckle.

Tiberius did not immediately recognize the source of the chuckle; but its timing after his interjection, combined with the demeanor of its source caused him to narrow his eyes and ever-so-slightly purse his lips. One of his guards whispered in his own ear: “Amena Kador - a former Imperial Knight, who followed your father in the Dark Empire.” His pursed lips slowly formed into a smug grin, his eyes locking with hers for but a moment before shifting back to the different speakers in the room. He couldn’t be certain what exactly she whispered in Tarkin’s ear, however petty or vainglorious it was. Yet Tiberius wondered if Tarkin realized how closely he was sitting next to a woman who so vigourously fell under the sway of Darth Solipsis. He wondered what else she did to ingratiate herself so well with the Dark Lord...

His mind drifted back to his private audience with Director Tarkin several days past. In the years prior, Young Korvan had assumed he was all-but alone in the galaxy; forever branded as the son of a traitor. But Tarkin had surprised him.

“Not everyone will be as understanding,” Tiberius recalled Tarkin saying, a neutral expression on his face. “You will undoubtedly need to stand for yourself. But you have a place to stand among us, if you wish to take it.”

Tarkin had given Tiberius a chance to prove who he was. Amena had proven how fickle her principles were, mockery aside. His father had, unfortunately, proven who he was. Tiberius would show them not only who he was today - but who he would become in spite of it all.

He would show them all.

"Much...to discuss..." Kroeger muttered, a faint groan parting from his strained lungs as he leaned forward in his seat, planting the end of the cigarette into an ashtray on the table.

"You know as well as I do, Tarkin that this is hardly the first assembly of Imperials. The ideology has rather become the sick man...many dreams, many claimants to proud histories and legacies...hardly worthy of the name. What is it now? Another super weapon? Another gimmick or cheat to convince the Galaxy that we should be respected again?" He asked, slowly pulling himself unto his feet, a low groan parting from his lungs in a gravely, cybernetically thrumming nature.

"And in this pursuit, we will be summarized as footnotes hardly befit within the margins of history...so do tell, what is the plan? Or- is that what you were hoping to find yourself?" He inquired, lofting a brow beneath the weave of bandaging covering his face.

General Kroeger spoke again, as if Tiberius had not vented the same thoughts a moment earlier. But the Young Korvan’s expression remained neutral. He was content to fade into the background of this meeting, especially if others were moving it into the direction he desired.

Tarkin’s response was... not what Tiberius expected.

"I am Caius Fel," he announced. "Descendant of Roan Fel, and heir to the Fel dynasty."

A moment of quiet passed, which his voice soon cut through.

"I am your Emperor."

Many instantly bowed before the supposed-Emperor, yet a significant number remained unbent. Tiberius remained silent as his mind processed this new - and unexpected - information. The scion of Korvan had assumed the Fel line was broken; why else had the Triumvirate Regency ruled in place of the Emperor for several years after Rurik Fel’s demise? All he could recall from the stories his father told was that there were several potential claimants, yet political infighting and corruption had held any pretender at bay. Several such claimants had died or gone missing, which had apparently resulted in those who remained going into hiding within the shadows.

Could this really be the heir-apparent to the Fel dynasty? Tiberius was rarely at a loss, but yet he found himself unsure where to go from here. And naturally, it fell to the drunk man to say what many in the room were thinking:

"Gen-eral..." Yrovis called out, his voice raspy with dehydration. "You've spent your life in the... the muck of the New Imperial Order. You saw the rise and the... the messy, bloody fall. You knew... Rurik's line. You knew the weight of that blood when it was actually... being spilled on the floor. So you... you of all individuals within this room... would be able to tell if this is a genuine heir... or a—a very convincing con-artist our friend, the Director Tarkin, found on the corner... hic."

A short pause would follow before the General responded. He did not challenge the would-be Emperor’s identity, but it was because he challenged the very idea of legitimacy to begin with. Tiberius found himself agreeing with the General’s words, and finding little cause to amend or give voice to anything.

Instead, now was the time to watch and observe. The General had played a very direct and blatant hand, which would in turn allow for Tiberius to see how Tarkin and his followers would respond. The General’s gambit carried risk, and potential for a sizeable gain in influence. While some would react rashly and try to overcompensate by needlessly chiming in, Tiberius held a broader view of the political landscape unfolding before him.

Whether General Kroeger rose or fell was irrelevant; he was now the target - the figure that Tarkin and Caius would either need to appease, or need to eliminate should the man’s manner be taken poorly. Tiberius was content to wait, watch, and take advantage as he awaited the “Emperor’s” response.

Chaos was a ladder, after all.

​

 

[Althea Varrick]

Dr. Althea "Juno" Varrick

Althea Varrick Amena Kader Daedalus Tarkin Hall Mannarra Karsten Halak Kroeger Tiberius Korvan Tavian Rhyse Tydeus Shorn Gronow Farr Siyndacha Aerin
​

Althea raised an eyebrow at the Arkanian, scenting the alcohol on his breath. Dear sweet? He was one of those types then, his mind had better be wonderful for all the negative credit his personality was getting him.

"Isn't that the fun of biology though? That twelve percent is the gap the species has given itself to try something different. What if those individuals have some other trait that is the next step for their evolution as a species." They werent her drones, just one of many species that held her fascination. "Arkanian hubris is another trait i find fascinating... I would love to visit your facility and explore your data with you." she added just as Daedalus Tarkin made his announcement.

She turned and watched a new man walk in, he held himself proudly as if he was someone, but then so did every one of the imperials in the room, it was why they were invited after all, he would have been entitely unexceptional if it werent for the name. There were murmurs, some bows, some awe and some challenges to automatic reverence. Legitimacy was a lie men told themselves when they didnt feel the need to earn things on their own merit. "Welcome to the conclave Lord Fel. An honour to meet you. Your ancestors did some great things, some big shoes.

However, it appears many in the room have questions. "Legitimacy" is a word that is used a lot by various different sons of antiquity. What else do you bring to this conclave that sets you apart from, for example, the Grayson line? Hell, I think there is even a few Palpatines running around in the southern republic." she grinned.

Her pet had by this point crossed the table towards the self proclaimed emperor and was observing him, at least someone seemed impressed. "○ ● - ● ● - ● ● ● - ● ● ○ - ● ● ○ ● - ● ● ○ - ● ○ ○ ● ● ● - ● ● ○" she said subvocally and the creature turned before scampering back over to her and jumping on her shoulder.


​

 

[Aymeric Prendergast]

I, EMPIRE
Ghost of the Core’s Past - Chapter 1

8PM​

NIRAUAN

The air in the chamber seemed to solidify as the Emperor was unveiled, a moment of staged transcendence that felt, to the Fourth Brother, more like a tactical deployment than a religious epiphany.

Standing in the shadow of Daedalus Tarkin , right beside The Grand Inquisitor, Amena Kader , Aymeric did not look at the figurehead. He did not need to. His world was defined by the man two paces in front of him, the architect who had sifted through the wreckage of a Jedi Shadow and found something worth salvaging. To the rest of the Conclave, the Emperor was the soul of the Empire; to Aymeric, the Emperor was merely the vision Tarkin had chosen to manifest. His loyalty was not to the throne, but to the hand that had rebuilt his own shattered mind.

The room, however, was far from unified.

Aymeric's yellowish-red eyes narrowed as the psychic landscape shifted. He felt the cold, calculating ripples from Marion Edrane Fel and Tiberius Korvan , presences that observed the proceedings like scientists watching Mustafarian volcanoes edging an eruption. But it was Kroeger voice that struck the room like a discordant blade against glass.

The question, the audacity to probe the foundations of Tarkin's narrative, was a stain on the clinical perfection of the Conclave.

Aymeric's hand did not move toward his hilt, not yet, but the Force around him grew heavy, a localized pressure that seemed to draw the heat out of the air. He leaned into the connection he shared with his master, ignoring the Moffs and the honorable Knights, focusing entirely on the micro-gestures of Tarkin's posture.

He was reading the tension in the Director’s shoulders, the rhythm of his breathing, the specific stillness that preceded a strike.

Give the word, Aymeric thought. Show me where to cut.

He didn't care for the politics of right or legitimacy that the General sought to debate. In his world, legitimacy was found in the silence of the Tarkin’s labs and the absolute clarity of his will. To question the Director was to question the structure that kept Aymeric's own fractured psyche from collapsing back into the Light.

He remained a motionless sentinel, his gaze locked onto the back of Kroeger's head. He was a weapon in Tarkin’s sheath, waiting for the slightest flick of his finger to unsnap the lock.

Althea Varrick | Amena Kader | Daedalus Tarkin | Hall Mannarra | Kroeger | Siyndacha Aerin | Tavian Rhyse | Tiberius Korvan | Tydeus Shorn | Gronow Farr​

 

[Aetius Pestage]

EMPIRE ENDURES

Many of the Imperial Knights knelt at the presence of Casian Fel. Aetius did not. He stood in contrast to the other knights, clad in polished gunmetal armor and charcoal-colored robes. When Casian spoke, Aetius offered him a simple nod of respect; that much he would grant. If this man were to be Emperor, he would need an Empire. There was no Empire. There was no codified succession, no Imperial law, no centralized authority with primogeniture to legitimize a claim. He would not kneel to nostalgia. Galactic dynasties often had direct members numbering in the hundreds. How many Fels were there? Aetius was not even certain how many members of House Pestage still lived in the galaxy.

Daedalus Tarkin commanded the Seventh Fleet and the remnants of Imperial forces who refused to serve the whims of the Sith. Aetius remained silent while others spoke. His haunting purple gaze shifted from Tarkin to General Kroeger . For now, he would say nothing. If there was one truth in that chamber, it was this: if this improvised council of Imperial remnants wanted an Empire, they would need planets. It was time to consolidate territory and move swiftly in the fragmented era that followed the fall of the Republic and Solipsis's Empire.

The galaxy would not wait for claimants. The Sith were already on the move again, and they proved time after time how easily a throne could be taken. Blood meant little without the strength to defend it. Aetius was willing to fight and to take action, but was Casian Felm willing? Did he have the resolve? If there were to be law, order, and Empire, then now was the time to move the fleet for consolidation and conquest. He would not waste time on a ceremony for a hollow banner.

Althea Varrick Amena Kader Hall Mannarra Siyndacha Aerin Tavian Rhyse Tiberius Korvan Tydeus Shorn Gronow Farr​

 

[Daedalus Tarkin]

I, EMPIRE: CONCLAVE ON NIRAUAN

//: INITIATIVE FACILITY 4417-B
//: NIRAUAN
//: 1600 HRS

Many bent their knees for Caius Fel, heir of the Fel dynasty—and many did not. Tarkin, while counted among the latter, stood at attention nonetheless, paying respect to the man whom the Initiative had invested so much time and effort into grooming. By tradition, the director was not one to give in when it came to hereditary titles and pomp. Rank and title had to be earned, and even then, neither were iron-clad shields that protected the man behind them from scrutiny. In the case of Caius, however, the respect had indeed bewn cultivated. Years were spent in training, even before the Initiative took interest. His efforts were only doubled afterwards, to nearly inhuman lengths. Tarkin was not much older than the heir, but he knew all to well what it was like to carry the weight of a surname... and what it meant to melt it down, pour a mold, and re-forge it into something new. Something work bending a knee for.

Tarkin's ghastly gaze shifted to Caius as the questions and admonitions came forth, one after the other. Some things, he could answer. The others were best left to Emperor Fel himself.

"The Initiative is not ignorant of what it will take to forge this new Empire. There will be many who support our cause, but for each loyal soldier and lawful citizen, there will be tenfold who wish to see us erased from the galaxy like each of our predecessors. The forces of chaos will wrestle against the Empire, and we will correct their errant ways."

"But the common man will never fly our banners if all they know is war and subjugation." The Emperor's voice filled the chamber with a certain warmth that the clinical director did not possess. "Fear and indoctrination will only pacify their hearts for so long before the seeds of rebellion take root. We must show them that the Empire is an ideal. An aspiration. Order amidst the chaos. Familiarity and reliability. Some may find that in a blaster, but many more will find it in a leader—I intend to wear that mantle."

Dade allowed a moment to lapse before appending another thought. "The surname is irrelevant in the grand scheme of things," he said, referring to the question of Grayson's or Palpatine's. "It just so happens that he is a Fel, and that a Fel's resonance will run deep, but the Emperor's role is not to parade his surname in palaces and boardrooms. The people will face many hardships if our Empire is to succeed, and they will need a strong leader to guide them through."

TAGS: Althea Varrick | Amena Kader | Jaryg Syn | Karsten Halak | Kroeger | Marion Edrane Fel | Meta Zero | Tavian Rhyse | Tiberius Korvan | Tydeus Shorn | Gronow Farr​

 

[Malcolm Sularen]

//: INITIATIVE FACILITY 4417-B
//: NIRAUAN
//: 1600 HRS

Tags: Daedalus Tarkin Kroeger Amena Kader Jaryg Syn Tydeus Shorn Gronow Farr Tavian Rhyse Althea Varrick Karsten Halak Marion Edrane Fel Meta Zero ​

They bent the knee. Then there were those who did not. Amongst the latter were those loyalty was of no question. Accompanying the Emperor and all his sovereign authority were his agents and personal protectors. The royal imperial guard. Like statues they stood in fully ceremonial attire. Red cloaks, red helmets that masked their expressions and armed with Force pikes that were cradled in one palm while the rest of the weapon leaned idle against the aligning shoulder.

The royal guard all but flanked Emperor Caius Fel, as was their duty and sworn purpose. Unlike the majority of imperials that stood at attention or bent the knee. The royal guard had already sworn their allegiances in blood and as the conclave continued there was one among the guard, though indistinguishable from the grouping, whose conscious attention was keen on listening and observing what exactly was the nature of this initiative was, was to become and more importantly the individual players that had parts to contribute.

Even now behind the visor, one black as the depths of space itself, brown eyes scanned the room scouring over body language and mannerisms.

This was Malcolm Sularen.

 

[Tydeus Shorn]

I, EMPIRE

Knight Shorn made no move to arise from his place kneeling on the floor. Nor did he say anything. He kept silent. The same could not be said for other imperial knights, or at least those who called themselves such.

Tydeus' brows furrowed. The one who still did not kneel did not even wear their armor.

No matter.

They were all tools. All of them. Sharpened blades to plunge into the heart of the Sith.

For Tydeus desired one thing above all others, even the birth of a new Empire...

The Malsheem must be destroyed.

Daedalus Tarkin Kroeger Siyndacha Aerin Malcolm Sularen Tiberius Korvan Aetius Pestage Aymeric Prendergast Amena Kader

 

[Siyndacha Aerin]

INITIATIVE FACILITY 4417-B | NIRAUAN​

The answer between the Director and the... Emperor was enough to settle the matter as much as it could be settled at this point. She'd had to rely more on her head than anything else, here, a calculation of projections, and speculations. The foreseeable future was far from set in stone, the path too variable. As she'd said herself, it could only be seen firsthand, but the intent was there. There was promise.

Aerin bowed her head and closed her eyes in a deferential nod, then unlaced her fingers and curled her hands along the table's edge, then pushed the chair back to make enough space. The Echani then stood just enough to allow herself to sink down onto one knee, unobstructed, and laid one hand over the other, on the forward knee, with her head bowed.

For the first time in a long while. The first time of many, to come.

Althea Varrick • Amena Kader • Daedalus Tarkin • Hall Mannarra • Karsten Halak
Kroeger • Tavian Rhyse • Tiberius Korvan • Tydeus Shorn • Gronow Farr​