(If I miss your tags then you may kill me, for I am trash.)
The key to victory in any war was discipline. He whom had control of his men controlled the battlefield. Any sense of dissonance; any desire to ignore the decision of one's own superiors in favor of their thoughts was folly. To say that it was ego that drove Darth Mephirium's decisions was a gross understatement. He felt the flicker of dissidence from [member="Darth Erebos"] and forced himself not to become rankled at the Sith Lord. If intelligence from the Chimaera was correct, then it was his nascent calling of a force storm that had attracted the Galactic Alliance to Atrisia in the first place.
If Erebos was keen to be a rogue element, then so be it. Mephirium had no time for despots. He brought the glass of Balmoraan Bluesky up to his lips, tipping back the drink and letting it burn its way down his throat. The cold shock of the liquid brought him back into reality, gave him focus. Atrisia was under attack, and he was more or less responsible for its defense. This would make or break the Dominion, he realized, and he was alright with that ultimatum.
If they succeeded, then their liberation of the core would begin with an underdog's victory. If they failed, then he would soon join Cyrene and all the others that had fallen during the great war. The thought was comforting. For Mephirium, this was a win-win situation no matter how one might skew it.
"Grace," he began. "One needs dramatics when they stand upon the brink of annihilation. If what I've seen is correct, then those may very well be Mandalorian vessels just above us, and they do not have the humanity of the Galactic Alliance. They will bomb us into nothingness, and there will be nothing we can do to stop them. No, better the people meet the enemy with fire in their hearts than despair. Their immortal king has returned, if you don't recall."
Mephirium snickered. "I need you to join that droid. I heard him mention the Rancor -- it may be necessary to our victory here. Assist him in any way you can, but see to it you live. I would prefer not to replace you." The words were spoken as orders, but the tone was almost playful. If Mephirium was worried about the outcome of this contest, it did not show.
Seqeuestered at the command table he had been provided, Cyril Grayson allowed his thoughts to waver. There was no good or evil here. The Galactic Alliance had launched an assault on a snap-decision that would likely leave this world just as soon murdered as it would be 'liberated' in their eyes. The Dominion sought to genuinely provide some semblance of peace and sentient rights to this world, but one could not deny the company the Kaiser kept.
He surrounded himself with murders and thieves; liars and traitors. In his mind, only he could rein them in. Only he could harness their capacity for destruction and use it for something worthwhile, something simply good. The Galactic Alliance was not going to understand that, of course. They saw the red lightsabers and flicked off their safeties, and Cyril could not blame them. In their position, he likely would have done the same.
"What do I do here now mom?" He mumbled to himself, his finger trailing around the rim of his glass. A tactical display of the contest in space flickered in front of him. Another massive fleet had come into the system unannounced; its purpose unknown. Given the tumultuous nature of the Great Ocean around this massive conglomeration of vessels, Mephirium felt he had a bit of an idea at to their intent.
His mother would have hailed both fleets and called for cease fire. His father would have charged up the middle and taken as many Galactic Alliance vessels with him before going out in a blaze of glory. Cyril was too intelligent to fall into either camp.
"You see this?" He asked of his apprentices, gesturing toward the tactical display. "The Alliance will attempt to destroy our shield generator here," he pointed toward a small pinprick on the globe that was Atrisia. "They'll send Jedi or something similar. It's how they work. They send small and highly skilled teams to deal with relevant hard targets. Here," his finger trailed to a similar collection of lights just south of the generator. "Our turbolasers. As long as we have these, the Galactic Alliance has no chance of taking this world. We would tear their fleet to ribbons, but they know that. It is why I sent Malakai and the contingent of 501st to keep things running smoothly."
The cybernetics in his arm whirred as he gestured toward the fleet of @Ostanes. He knew not whom flew the vessels, nor did he recognize their colors. Their presence was something that needed to be dealt with all the same. "This fleet has the capacity to wipe out both the PDF, our personal vessels, and the Galactic Alliance collection. We might be able to hold, but if you see here -" he gestured toward a mass of ships moving on vectors independent of the defense force. "These are vessels that I can only guess belong to [member="Darth Erebos"]. From what I ascertained from his aura within the ethereal, he's not very pleased with our being here. Without his ships in our defensive line, we cannot repel this unknown fleet. This lesson is of dissension: there is a time to be an individual, and a time to work with your peers. Now is the latter. See how we suffer for it, and if we survive, remember this lesson."
Despite his gloomy words, Mephirium's choler was anything if not positive. He sat ramrod straight, his glass cradled close to the opened mouth slit of his mask, and his faux arm adjusting the setting on the tactical display.
"Admiral Fuga," he said, opening a direct line to [member="Jagger Fuga"], "Draw our guests closer to the planet if you, and refrain from firing the first shot on this ghost fleet. We don't need to make anymore enemies up there." Mephirium paused, "You are performing admirably, Jagger. Our turbolasers will begin firing momentarily. We'll do everything we can down here to give you a fighting chance."
Mephirium awaited a response before cutting the link. With a twist of his wrist, he turned the Tac-display to Atrisia itself. "These cities here?" He gestured toward to two large blips on either side of the continent. "These are key. We've sent a contingent of the 501st and a number of our armored units to reinforce them. Without them, we lose our ammunition factories and our steady stream of food surplus. If this turns into a prolonged siege, that means death."
Satisfied with his explanation, Mephirium keyed the comm to [member="Darth Malakai"]. "Gratua, it's time. We've a very short window to get all our turbolaser rounds past the atmosphere safely once the shield goes down Target those Galactic Alliance vessels and ready yourselves. Our crews are adept, but you have my training. You must make our window of vulnerability as short as humanly possible, otherwise we're all doomed. Nulgath has come to assist you. Allow him to do so."
Cyril's thoughts drifted to the Mandalorian presence in the stars. He could not say why they were here, save that they were firmly in bed with the Galactic Alliance. It was no secret that the clans seemed to enjoy having themselves bent over a table by foreign powers, so long as they could justify their bloodletting in the eyes of their civilian population.
The weapons that Mandalorians pointed at Atrisia could not be enjoyed. Should the shield fall, then they might very well deliver some form of thermonuclear devastation, though the use of such archaic weapons was something most abhorred. It seemed fitting for the Mandos, however. Mephirium weighed the odds of lowering the shields long enough to assist the fleet. If they let Fuga and [member="Bartic Myth'rand"] fend for themselves, they would be annihilated. Without their naval presence the Galactic Alliance would hold void superiority, and holding Atrisia would become a hell of a lot harder.
In the end, the only realistic choice was to take the chance that the missiles might breach Atrisia in the mere seconds the shield was down. It seemed unrealistic, and Mephirium most certainly could not pull it off, but the Great Ocean was violent today. Perhaps she had decided that Mephirium was abusing her a little too much as of late, and this was a righteous comeuppance.
Cyril shrugged the thought away. There were bigger things to worry about than moral dilemmas. If that ghost fleet decided to fire upon either side, all this planning would be pointless anyway.
Not for the first time, Mephirium sorely wished he had any talent for battle meditation, or any manipulation of the ethereal that could help in a situation like this. Unfortunately, the force would not aid him here. This was a game of the mind, and what a powerful weapon it was.
He could only guess at to where [member="Mythos"] had gone. Likely off to rally his men, Cyril imagined. It suited the boastful king. He was a figurehead; a pretty face with pretty words. His presence on the field would improve morale tremendously, though that would not matter all that much if the planet found itself glassed. Assisting the fleet and seeing to the Rancor was paramount.
"Enma," he spoke, "Maintain security here. I would prefer not to have myself skewered by an assassin while I play a very complicated game of Risk Dejarik."
Things had the potential to be messy, but if Mephirium played his cards right, perhaps they wouldn't be. A thought bubbled in the back of his mind. "Scratch that. We've a duty to the people of this world. Mythos wants them all to pick up a gun, but giving weapons to farmers won't accomplish much. I need you to travel through the capital and get as many people into the underground shelters as possible. Let the volunteers stay, but open the compounds to any whom do not wish to fight. We won't force them to throw their lives away for the sake of bravado."
Another element cropped up on the tactical display.
Mephirium knew of the Graug presence via Shlurk, though he had not been aware of Vulcanus' presence. The Sith Lord whom had cheated death would be of great use if the Galactic Alliance ever came to ground, but he could also be a curse. There would be no commanding Vulcanus here without dealing with a posturing contest; something Mephirium had no desire to take any part in. He decided to sound a general evacuation order of a thirty mile radius around the Graug presence. At the very least it would limit casualties.
[member="Marcus Itera"] should have commed by now. The former Dreadguard was growing into a lazy bastard; Cyril would need to whip him back into shape one of these days. "Marcus," he spoke through their private comm channel. "Give me a sitrep. Are your men ready to launch, or are you all too busy with the Zeltrons to fight?"
One of Marcus' conditions in joining the Dominion had been a gaggle of Zeltronian women. Mephirium held a particular distaste for the pink skinned race, but he had obliged. The smells of debauchery and peasantry still clung to Mephirium's cloak from his last visit to Marcus' quarters.
Scrunching his nose up in distaste, Mephirium scrolled through some of the recent security vids of the city. Most were as he expected: Atrisians preparing to defend their homes against what they perceived to be hostile invaders. One, however, caught the Kaiser's eye. She was a woman with dark skin and a patrician face that stood out from the Atrisians. More importantly, he Cyril recognized her.
"Lady Cardei," his brow furrowed. "This is no coincidence. Not after Naboo," his comm tabbed to [member="Kruel Zing"]'s frequency. He received and ear-splitting roar in response. The sound made Mephirium jump, his chair tipping back and his body hitting the floor with a loud smack. Despite the fall, he managed to keep his drink from spilling.
"Karking..." Mephirium cursed under his breath as he rose back up to his feet. "Eugh...put out a search warrant for this woman." He gestured toward the still picture of Ajira. "She is Lady Cardei, and she most certainly should not be here. I'm curious to find out what exactly she is doing here.," he did his absolute best to look in control as he rubbed the pain out of his behind. These Atrisian chairs were examples of truly terrible craft skills. It was clearly the inferior design of the chair that had caused Mephirium to fall.
Turning his attentions back to the tactical display, Mephirium spoke seemingly out of the blue. "What do you think about all of this, [member="Alecandria"]?"
[member="Draco Vereen"], [member="Ultimatum"], [member="Warden T. Abroms"], [member="Enma Jayss"], [member="Nulgath Zardai"], [member="Ajira Cardei"]
