Fleet Admiral
High in orbit above the planet below was the home of the Home Defence Fleet, assigned to Fleet Admiral Zethran Cott. His storied career in the Imperial Navy, in its various iterations and guises, has allowed him to rise from a simple commissioned officer to one the most decorated commanders in the service of Korvan. His presence at Dantooine and countless other engagements saw his star in the ascendant, set to shine brightly as long as he chose this path of service towards the Imperial goal.
He had seen service with legends of the Empire and gallant foes, many long dead, their names all but lost, save the groups of old men who now sat about mess halls and service dinner parties, drinking whisky and talking of their former glories.
Cott preferred better still the diligence that his work entailed, the actual call of duty that took him again and again onto the bridge of his own Star Destroyer, the Edifice. He sat looking out through the vast viewport as the ship jutted out of the dry dock, into the vacuum of space, hundreds of smaller ships and drones buzzing about it, repairing and maintaining its impressive bulk.
It had taken some significant damage at the hand of an unforeseen celestial phenomenon, so the official report had relayed. What was being squashed was the information that a large force of insurgent remnant Imperials from a distant faction had chanced upon the Edifice and her support fleet whilst making routine sweeps of a neighbouring system and the resulting attack had cost the fleet not only the capability of its flagship but also its Executive Officer, Ahnsan Real.
Real, alongside twenty six other crew, lay buried in coffins, set to be dispatched home to the growing presence on Carlac. Cott was going to take personal command of the ship for its next appearance in the system, with additional support ships in tow, sure to eradicate any further signs of the remnant force. They themselves had sustained a significant amount of damage but not enough to silence their guns permanently. This irked Cott.
He returned to his desk, his private secretary, dressed in crisp grey military uniform, sat at his own desk near to Cott's, finalising the morning's briefing.
Cott spoke in his sing-song baritone.
'Dispatch these to the Commanders, Yeck. Post haste'
Yeck stood, nodding with a crisp movement and headed to the doors, across the hard steel decking. Cott liked his offices to resemble those of his ship's own quarters; he liked to avoid comforts he might miss at a moment's notice.
He opened a paper file on his desk, reserved for only the most secretive and sensitive information.
Beneath the Imperial Ensign was a recommended list of names for the new Executive officer of the Edifice.
Normally the Commanding Officer would appoint this, a rank usually far lower than a Fleet Admiral. In this case, with Admiral Cott set to take personal charge, it was his duty for the taking.
He looked at the list of names and images, most crossed out in various colours, indicating the various sanctions made by various departments. One remained.
He sighed. An instant headache flared in his temples.
'You have got to be kidding.'
Tiberius Korvan
He had seen service with legends of the Empire and gallant foes, many long dead, their names all but lost, save the groups of old men who now sat about mess halls and service dinner parties, drinking whisky and talking of their former glories.
Cott preferred better still the diligence that his work entailed, the actual call of duty that took him again and again onto the bridge of his own Star Destroyer, the Edifice. He sat looking out through the vast viewport as the ship jutted out of the dry dock, into the vacuum of space, hundreds of smaller ships and drones buzzing about it, repairing and maintaining its impressive bulk.
It had taken some significant damage at the hand of an unforeseen celestial phenomenon, so the official report had relayed. What was being squashed was the information that a large force of insurgent remnant Imperials from a distant faction had chanced upon the Edifice and her support fleet whilst making routine sweeps of a neighbouring system and the resulting attack had cost the fleet not only the capability of its flagship but also its Executive Officer, Ahnsan Real.
Real, alongside twenty six other crew, lay buried in coffins, set to be dispatched home to the growing presence on Carlac. Cott was going to take personal command of the ship for its next appearance in the system, with additional support ships in tow, sure to eradicate any further signs of the remnant force. They themselves had sustained a significant amount of damage but not enough to silence their guns permanently. This irked Cott.
He returned to his desk, his private secretary, dressed in crisp grey military uniform, sat at his own desk near to Cott's, finalising the morning's briefing.
Cott spoke in his sing-song baritone.
'Dispatch these to the Commanders, Yeck. Post haste'
Yeck stood, nodding with a crisp movement and headed to the doors, across the hard steel decking. Cott liked his offices to resemble those of his ship's own quarters; he liked to avoid comforts he might miss at a moment's notice.
He opened a paper file on his desk, reserved for only the most secretive and sensitive information.
Beneath the Imperial Ensign was a recommended list of names for the new Executive officer of the Edifice.
Normally the Commanding Officer would appoint this, a rank usually far lower than a Fleet Admiral. In this case, with Admiral Cott set to take personal charge, it was his duty for the taking.
He looked at the list of names and images, most crossed out in various colours, indicating the various sanctions made by various departments. One remained.
He sighed. An instant headache flared in his temples.
'You have got to be kidding.'
![Tiberius Korvan](/data/avatars/s/40/40325.jpg?1708140678)
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