Private The Anzati Connection

[Marlon Sularen]

T H E_A N Z A T I_C O N N E C T I O N

IMPERIAL CONFEDERATION
ANZAT, MID RIM

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"You presume to know everything. You are drunk on power and you wield it like an axe when it should be a surgical knife"

Those were the words that Tirstan Evore had spoken to Sularen the last time they'd met. Back then, Sularen was the High Regent of the Final Dawn during the waning days of the Brotherhood of the Maw, at a time where he had grown far too comfortable within the ranks of the Maw engaging in pointless endeavors across the galaxy. It was the first time he had secured a proper powerbase unchained by political restrictions and with minimal opposition, so naturally he had gone drunk with power eager to flex his muscles against his many rivals and opponents.

But now times had changed. Now Sularen was no longer some mere Mawite Warlord in the Unknown Regions, he was the Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces within the Imperial Confederation. He now wielded a proper military force that had already proven itself to capable enough to stand against the likes of the Galactic Empire and the Sith Order. He wielded true power, and yet still there was much work to be done before he could ever come close to the level of power and influence he had dreamed of reaching during his days within the Final Dawn and this wasn't something he could accomplish alone.

Thus, the Supreme Commander soon find himself standing onboard the bridge of his flagship as it entered hyperspace beginning it's trip to Anzat. Already he had contacted Tristan Evore, having arranged the meeting and informed him of his imminent arrival. With any luck, he'd be able to convince the old Anzati to join the cause of the Confederation and help it project it's power the proper way, like a surgical knife.

Tags | Tristan Evore ​

 

[Tristan Evore]

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The chamber was silent except for the cold hum of the twin pods. Evore rested inside the primary cradle, suspended in a transparent medium that kept his body stabilized as the machine worked. Opposite him, in the linked pod, the subject lay motionless. The process had already begun. Molecular disassembly was slowly reducing flesh, bone, and mind into a pale field of luminous particulate. This was the method that had saved Evore's life. After twenty years of disease stripping him of strength, ravaging his organs, and eating at the ancestral hunger of his species, he replaced feeding with mechanized conversion. From willing donors came the energy he needed. From this machine came the sustenance that his body could no longer draw through traditional means.

He hated the weakness that had driven him to this point. The Anzati believed themselves immortal. Orchard Syndrome had proven them wrong. At first he fought it with stubborn resolve. Then he hid it behind cold command. Eventually he yielded to what necessity demanded. The device was not elegant. It was a crude merging of medical science, energy physics, and the oldest truths about the consumption of life. Yet it worked. Each week the machine tore apart another form. Each week Evore felt the frailty inside him slow its descent and reverse by degrees. His body was stronger now than it had been in two decades, but not yet whole.

He knew the donor for this cycle. The man had been a loyal adherent of his vision. In the final hours he had spoken quietly of service, belief, and the hope that through this act he could become part of something enduring. His voice had trembled as the sedation took him, but not from fear. Evore respected that. He always respected the ones who understood the weight of sacrifice. The machine made no moral judgment. It consumed. It converted. It obeyed. Yet Evore never forgot that there was a person behind each surge of strength that returned to him.

As the final sequence completed, the donor's body dissolved into a sphere of trembling light. The second pod dimmed to emptiness. The energy conduit running between the chambers pulsed, thick and bright, carrying the distilled essence into the cradle where Evore waited. The warmth spread through his limbs with a slow, heavy pressure. His thoughts sharpened. His lungs filled. His legs tingled where sensation had been dulled for years. He closed his eyes and let the renewal settle through him. With every passing second he felt more like the figure he once was.

The ship continued toward Anzat as the cradle drained down. He used the stillness to reflect. He had been thinking about life more than usual. Thinking about purpose. Thinking about what the Force was and what it was not. Orchard Syndrome had stripped away much of the arrogance he once carried. Recovery had replaced it with an unexpected clarity. He found himself wondering whether the Force cared for lives given freely. He wondered whether the galaxy would ever understand the difference between hunger and survival. These were questions he had never asked in centuries of existence.

When the pod unlocked and the pressure seals released, Evore sat up slowly. Strength flowed easily through him and his expression settled into calm authority. He stepped out of the chamber and entered the corridor outside. The air was cool and metallic. The deck hummed beneath his feet. He paused only long enough to adjust the collar of his coat before walking toward the bridge.

"Notify Sularen." he informed the Essionian on duty, "Tell him I will arrive shortly."

Marlon Sularen​

 

[Marlon Sularen]

T H E_A N Z A T I_C O N N E C T I O N

IMPERIAL CONFEDERATION
ANZAT, MID RIM

​

After a few hours, the INV Sularen's Revenge soon reverted from hyperspace arriving in orbit of the Mid Rim world of Anzat. As the imposing Imperial Flagship positioned itself in orbit of the planet where Sularen prepared to receive his old friend. As the Supreme Commander waited for Evore's arrival, he took some time to gaze upon the planet below.

The last time he had been here, was when he had been summoned to a meeting with his old subordinate Domaric Mordane, once his right-hand within the armed forces of the Dark Empire. It was here that Sularen was made aware of the resurrection of Darth Solipsis, the restoration of the Dark Empire as the Galactic Empire and the reveal that it had been Solipsis and his hardcore loyalists whom had been responsible for the destruction of Cademimu V and Ord Cantrell.

It was here where Domaric Mordane made his empty threats to Sularen and the other members of the Confederation's Ruling Council, which unfortunately did not materialize especially as the Confederation dealt a major blow to the Galactic Empire by playing a key role in the destruction of their precious Third Death Star. However the victory at Atrisia did not mean that the Confederation had triumphed over the Galactic Empire and there was much work to do if Solipsis and his rabble were to be permanently removed from the face of the galaxy.

Hopefully by enlisting the aid of Tristan Evore, a man with centuries of experience and knowledge, the Supreme Commander would be given a strategic edge that would enable him to succeed in all his goals and ensure the destruction of those who would oppose him and the Imperial Confederation. Thus, the Supreme Commander would continue to wait for Evore's arrival, comfortably seated within his commandchair, his hands crossed on his chest.

Today would be the first step towards the creation of something greater, something that would alter the course of the nascent Confederation's history and properly set it on the path of greatness that had been long denied by the many obstacles that stood in it's way.

Tags | Tristan Evore ​

 

[Tristan Evore]

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The shuttle's thrusters hummed as it detached from the Pinnacle. Evore leaned slightly against the cabin wall, his posture relaxed but deliberate, the residue of his pod-fed strength still settling through his body. Once on board the Sularen's Revenge, the Anzati was to be escorted to his meeting with the Imperial Supreme Commander.

Supreme Commander. Good for Marlon, he thought. It was better than being a lacky to a Sith with no imagination.

The escorting officer was a young man with the standard Imperial uniform. He kept a steady pace, eyes trained on Evore as if the Anzati's presence alone could unbalance the ship. Evore observed without overt attention, scanning panels, conduit lines, and the low hum of energy distribution. Subtle vibrations whispered to him, a familiar rhythm of systems speaking to one another, and energy flowing from place to place. It was beautiful. Listening to the symphony, he made mental notes. The ship could still be made more self-sufficient; its reactors could be rerouted to balance defensive output with energy storage and logistical autonomy. Subsystems could be modularized, cores isolated, reserves prioritized. A week with the right adjustments, and this vessel could operate for years without resupply.

He muttered under his breath as they walked, loud enough for the officer to hear. "She's a power slave." he whispered. The escort remained silent, uncertain whether to acknowledge the murmured commentary. Evore allowed it; the officer would take it in as authority, as analysis, without question. That was the effect of confidence wrapped in observation.

They reached the entrance to the bridge. Evore stepped inside, his gaze sweeping the expanse of command stations, crew at their posts, and the massive viewport showing hyperspace stretched behind the stars. He moved toward the central console, eyes tracing the structural grid of the vessel. "A fortress of obedience," he muttered to himself, voice carrying across the bridge. "All this potential wasted on raw consumption. It must be horrifying to spend so much time in port." The officer standing beside him nodded nervously, unsure if he should comment or remain silent. Evore did not wait for a reply. He circled, inspecting each section, cataloging, evaluating, understanding. The bridge crew barely dared breathe, each aware of the predator's mind behind the calm, measured gestures.

At the last moment, he caught the unmistakable bald visage of his former compatriot.

"The galaxy trembles in the might of the mighty Grand Admiral Sularen!"

Marlon Sularen​

 

[Marlon Sularen]

T H E_A N Z A T I_C O N N E C T I O N

IMPERIAL CONFEDERATION
ANZAT, MID RIM

​

The doors to the bridge opened as Tristan Evore walked in, making a couple of remarks about Sularen's Flagship as he crossed the command walkway on his way towards the command chair positioned at the front of the bridge. The Command chair would then proceed to slowly turn revealing Sularen seated upon it as the Imperial Supreme Commander faced his old comrade from decades ago. Upon seeing Sularen, Evore would proceed to greet him in a somewhat formal but grandiose fashion which amused the Supreme Commander who let out a short chuckle.

"Grand Admiral. Warlord. Supreme Commander." he began. "I go by a lot of titles these days, although i doubt it carries any weight outside the borders of the Confederation." he added. It was nice to hold so much titles but at the end of the day they were just empty titles and Sularen had yet to pull his weight against a galaxy that was starting to turn against the Confederation as enemies started to pile-up across their borders.

At that point, Sularen proceeded to stand-up from his command chair and walk towards Evore to extend his hand for a handshake. "Still, it's been quite some time since we last met Evore. How have you've been holding up lately?"

Tags | Tristan Evore ​