Faction Tomorrow, We Launch [Eternal Empire & Friends]

[Frontier Tenacity]

Attn: Aaran Tafo || Adelle Bastiel || Alondra Lareina || Alwine Daye || Alyva Terrix || Anton Delane || Arturo Braga || Azazel || Bachus || Carter Tymon || Centiro || Cero Pax || Charlotte Knyte || Caulder Dune || Darth Aion || Ecthelion Aiglos || Eirene || Eryn || Fimrati Vailyippin || Formorta || Goonch Bagarius Yarrelli || Ilsa Visel || Ingrid L'lerim || James Cerensp || Jardann Lancus || Juggernaut || Kainan Wolfe || Kalic Daws || Karma Jayne || Kerstan Blackmoore || Khorde Drago || Lanebsa || Loreena Arenais-Valhoun || Lorelai Ventira || Lyla Quinn || Malicar || Mythos || Nekana Quane || Nerulic || RadioWhisper || Ranik Delmont || Rath Exigo || Shandria Navin || Taozi Fuyuan || Tela Uolmi || Tiberius Bayne || Vidalu Na'an || Viktor Goetz || Tsavong Kraal || Vyra Silara || Will Westender || Wulf Orlock || Xiomar Ren || Mitth'rae'leios || Broka the Hutt || Karisa || Servelus Zambrano​

• Location: Arcenon | Kalidan-Lysenia, Unknown Regions
• EEWiki: Arcenon, Wulfngard, Kalidan

For years, the Eternal Empire had been a sleeping dragon. Embittered by tragedy and hardship, the dragon had gathered its dark forces, quietly raising armies, building fleets and recruiting new, loyal followers to its cause. Seeking refuge on its secret colony within the Unknown Regions after being driven out of the gentler parts of the galaxy, the Empire had been carefully planning its triumphant return. Slowly, patiently, carefully it has hatched and carried out plots to prepare the way for its rise to power, amassing resources with which to carry out its conquests and now, after many trials and tribulations, after a long time of planning and preparations, it was finally ready.

The time for hiding in the shadows, had passed. Now, it was time for the galaxy to see its true strength. For many years, the Eternal Empire had been a sleeping dragon. Now, the dragon sleeps no more.

And yet, not all hope is lost, for the Empire's dark machinations have not gone unnoticed. The memories of the First Order's dominion over this part of the galaxy still fresh in the minds of its inhabitants, have led many to voice their concerns about the growing threat of the totalitarian regime stirring on the remote, harsh world of Kalidan. And amidst a chorus of billions, these voices, few but growing in numbers, had found eachother. Knowing full well that their small bands of malcontents were hopelessly outmatched by the Empire's ferocious military, these plucky individuals did what people like them always do in times of crisis, when the threat of an imperial power smothering all hope and freedom, was high: they formed a resistance movement.

Forced to resort to asymmetric tactics in order to challenge their foes, these Eclipse rebels, as they became known, went underground and reaching out to the criminal organization known as the Black Sun, which had been gradually expanding its operations into the Unknown Regions, they hatched their own plans, to spread their own message of hope to this troubled part of the galaxy, to let others know that the Eternal Empire's voice was not the only one, that this dark regime was not unopposed. As fate would have it, the Empire intended to reveal its own intentions, on the same day.

Something unusual was occurring on Kalidan. For the first time since its founding, the Eternal Empire celebrated. For the first time, the state had not called for remembrance and the people had not come out to mourn, but to cheer. In the streets of Arcenon, the Imperial capital, only a light snow fell and the wind was mild, as if even the capricious weather of the hellish planet, was conspiring to make this day an auspicious one. Like every city on the planet, the capital was abuzz with activity.

Early morning began with the amassing of fleets in orbit of the planet, fleets of transports and warships in significant numbers, numbers not seen in a long time. Throughout the streets, people gathered to witness the procession making its way down the city's main avenue, a seemingly unending cohort of soldiers, tanks and other heavy, armored machines of war, parading their way up to the fortress of Wulfngard, the Imperial headquarters, where they began amassing on the massive citadel's parade grounds, silently awaiting the speech of their leader, the enigmatic Sith Lord who commanded their loyalty. And in every other city, fortress and military base, similar scenes were unfolding, of soldiers marching, gathering, in anticipation of something that was yet to be revealed.

Throughout the streets of the capital, patriotic music played from every loudspeaker and crimson banners were hung from every window, painting the entire city in red. Cantina's swung their doors open unusually early and people exchanged gifts of weapons, tools and other supplies, as it was customary on the planet. Above the streets, holographic projectors hovered from repulsorlift devices, projecting images of the festivities in the cities and the gathering troops. Soon, very soon, the man who called himself Eternal Emperor, would address his people.

Points Of Interest:​

For the first time in recorded memory, Kalidan is not mourning or commemorating, but celebrating. People are coming out in great numbers and the enterprising businessess of Arcenon, have opened their doors wide open for the tide of eager customers. Drinks flow from the tap in every cantina, the smell of delicious food lingers outside of every restaurant, as the chefs struggle to cope with the demand and for the city's wealthier residents, the Imperial Grand Opera is hosting concerts all day long.

Of course, civilians are not the only ones streaming into the city, as Blackwatch, the Empire's secret police is also out in full force, knowing full well that opportunistic individuals with a... lesser sense of civic duty, would be prying their foul trades amidst crowds and in dark, secluded alleys, looking to line their pockets with stolen credits, or sell illegal wares to those too weak to resist the temptation.

And unknown to them, hidden amongst the crowds of cheering masses, a group of rebels is planning to slice their way into the city's communications system and hijack the Imperial broadcasts for their own purposes.

Up at the fortress of Wulfngard, the Empire's leaders and highest ranking officials, are gathering for a banquet hosted by the Eternal Emperor within his grand hall, which is due to begin after his speech to the people. The guests will enjoy fine drinks and courses and dance to tasteful, classical music.

As expected, the dress code is very strict, guests being expected to wear their military uniforms, or the finest suits and dresses, while a veritable army of servants and protocol droids, stands ready to tend to the guests' needs.

Guests who grow tired of the music, may also enjoy a quiet moment on the terrace of the grand hall, or a walk into the courtyard beyond, where a hedge maze has been created, using some hardy, native plant, the unusually mild weather offering a rare chance to spend some time outdoors without too much discomfort.

 

[Carter Tymon]

Wulfngard, Kalidan-Lysenia
Fighter Bay

Even inside, Carter Tymon felt the cold chill that Kalidan gave one as soon as they stepped on the planet. It did not seem to matter how warmly Carter dressed, since even now as he wore an additional layer of clothing underneath his uniform this chill still crept into his bones. He tried to shrug it off and ignore it, but it seemed he couldn't help but notice it as he went about his duties. Carter stopped what he was doing and took a moment to look towards his comrades, most of whom were born into the cold. Carter could feel his slight jealousy of their acclimation to the weather.

Doing his best to push the frustrating coldness out of his mind, he began to focus diligently on the task at hand. Carter was inspecting his I-3A Lance Fighter to ensure she was armed and ready to go in a moment's notice. He ducked down slightly to reach the Torpedo launcher, which was seated directly below the cockpit. It took just a minute or two for Carter to verify and check off the launcher on his pre-flight checklist. Following his typical routine for pre-flights, he moved swiftly from the launcher to his right-side blasters. He spent a moment for inspection, then proceeded to check them off as well. All the exterior boxes were checkmarked, so Carter took a few steps to the ladder and climbed into the cockpit.

At the top of the ladder, Carter looked down into the seat of the cockpit. He spent a brief moment marveling at the beauty of it all. Carter had spent a significant amount of time in this cockpit finely tuning every last feature to his own specifications. Almost gleefully, he lowered himself into the seat. The rest of the pre-flight took very little time, as Carter took very good care of his ship and knew her well. When finished, he slowly pulled himself out of his seat, almost hoping that something would happen to draw him back into it. Only time would tell if that would be the case, and for now Carter meandered on over to his comrades to try to talk with them in a language that was still somewhat foreign to him.

 

[Kainan Wolfe]

Attn: Vyra Silara || @Everyone else
​

• Wulfngard | Kalidan, Eternal Empire​

Silence fell as the Sith Lord led his entourage out onto the podium which overlooked the parade grounds of his massive fortress, his heavy, fur-lined cloak dancing eerily in the light wind, only making the silence even more tense. Dressed in a pale white uniform, red sash and the Chains of Office slung from his shoulder, the Eternal Emperor's golden, cat-like eyes surveyed the assembled mass of troops with the hard, steel gaze of a dictator.

The soldiers' answer was a thunderclap as all of them, in a display of synchronicity which hinted at their famous discipline, saluted in Imperial fashion, fist-over-heart, a scene repeated in every city, in every square and every military base on the planet by countless soldiers and millions of regular citizens, their eyes glued to the holographic projectors as the Emperor addressed his nation.

"<My people,>" the Emperor spoke in High Nelvaanian, slowly, at first, in a hushed tone, pausing for effect. "<Sons and daughters of the Empire, those born on Kalidan and those who journeyed here on our great Exodus, as we look upon the scattered worlds of this galaxy, at the corrupt, degenerate democracies and self-serving Jedi cults, let us be reminded once again of the depths of their depravity.>"

"<For many years, while they undeservedly enjoyed the fruits of our labor, we have suffered unimaginable hardship. Banished by our enemies to die from disease, from famine, they scarred us, they murdered us, but that time has passed. For years, we have drifted from planet to planet, patiently toiling away in silence, rebuilding our strength, our armies, but that time has passed...>"

"<For our refusal to surrender ourselves into the slavery of democracy, we have been looked upon with hatred, envy and contempt, forced to endure persecution, betrayal and genocide at the hands of those who hypocritically style themselves as the arbiters of morality. While the lesser nations of the galaxy grew fat and complacent, we made sacrifices. While they sunk deeper and deeper into degeneracy and hedonistic indulgence, we learned to struggle together and draw strength from our unity, our determination, our pride. While they enjoyed peace and comfort, we earned mastery of war, facing the most vicious of enemies, surrounded, always outnumbered, but never broken, or routed, from the fields of battle which became our home, growing stronger, patiently waiting, preparing for the day when we would seize our rightful place in this galaxy.>"

"<And now, that time has come,>" the Emperor spoke with powerful, passionate fervor. "<On this day, we stand together once more, one nation, united, of one heart, one mind, one soul, ready to fulfill our manifest destiny, to bring Imperial enlightenment to a broken, corrupt galaxy and forever extinguish the vile, wretched lie of individualistic democracy which only serves to enrich the corrupt and lazy few by teaching the many to give in to materialistic debauchery, to pointless consumerism and aimless, impulsive depravity. Today is the last day when our truth, our ideals are confined to a single planet, surrounded by a sea of despicable lies.>"

"<Tomorrow, we embark on the greatest crusade in the history of this galaxy... A crusade for true freedom! To bring order and purpose to a broken galaxy, to liberate those who know nothing but the oppression of aimlessness, weakness and greed! Tomorrow, Tygeria, Timora and Desolation Moon shall be the first worlds to be uplifted into the Empire as our great fleets and armies join with Imperial loyalists there, to cast down their false rulers and raise the Imperial flag over their cities, the first of many to come!>"

"<The days of Jedi democracies, are over! We will not stop! We will not falter, or cower, or fear, we shall not rest until we bring the Imperial truth to every world, every city, every corner of the galaxy and beyond! Today, we decree that the Age of Lies has ended! Tomorrow, the Final Age, the Age of Infinite Conquest... begins!>"

 

[Fimrati Vailyippin]

Attn: Kainan Wolfe | Vyra Silara​

Fimrati "Banshee" Vailyippin gave a polite if disinterested clap as the 'Eternal Emperor' finished his speech. She wasn't one for them. Lot of grandstanding, lot of exposing yourself, a lot of just playing ego games. She cared little for those. For her, the goal was much simpler. Get in, do what needed done, get out. No more, no less. She also didn't much care for all the fancy wear she was in. Sure, it was basically required for this particular gathering she was present in, and she could play up being some stuck up rich person should the job require it, but she didn't care for it. And, thankfully, other than her being dressed up, she didn't have to be anything but herself.

And besides, the coat that was part of it did a good job of helping hid her ZJ-15's strapped to her legs and combat knife on the small of her back, hidden under the half-cloak her dress brought with it on the right side.. Was she paranoid? At a party like this, of course. Being ready to fight was a good thing. It wasn't like she was the only one armed in this affair, as could be readily seen. Fimrati just took care to have hers be more discrete. Not hidden, not stashed away, just discrete.

Frimrati was also curious why the Black Sun's Shroud though she'd be best to mingle in this particular party. She could play off belonging to an affair like this, but she was a wet work specialist, who just happened to have some skill and knowledge in how to infiltrate with disguises. No matter, she was sure she'd learn why soon enough. Plus, it was a chance for her to not have to play up a role or a disguise or even being anything but herself, despite the dressing up.

 

[Khorde Drago]

LOCATION: Wulfngard
ATTN: Kainan Wolfe , Vyra Silara , Fimrati Vailyippin

Khorde was among the millions of applause that echoed around Kalidan at the conclusion of the Emperor's speech. Moments like this... one could almost feel the surge of energy sweep through the crowds, those who truly believed in the Empire and the force of change it'd represent for the people. But like countless manifest destinies that'd been undertaken by an infinite amount of governments, kingdoms, and empires before, the Galaxy would find itself drowned by a sea of blood, anger, sadness, and despair. But not tonight. Tonight, the Empire would celebrate it's newfound vigor and strength. At least, that was the idea.

As the speech ended, the banquet stirred into full gear, the political and military elite of the Empire congregating together to no doubt delve into the courts of political maneuvering, intrigue, and wit, all games that Khorde himself took no pleasure in. The fact of the matter was, he wouldn't even be in here, at least in a guest capacity, if it wasn't at the assistance of his date for the evening, and his soul mate for eternity, Elaine Drago. The pair of them walked towards the main party area of Wulfngard arms linked together, their pace steady and purposeful. Both wore their full military dress, chests adorned with various commendations. Draped over Khorde's shoulder was a crimson half-cape, while at his side sat his own personal Nelvaanian Longsword and a KC-95 Blaster Pistol.

"Love, you're scowling." Elaine said as they entered the main room.

"Hmm? Ah." His expression flattened out, though most wouldn't see a noticeable change. "I hate these things."

"I know, Love, I know, you say it at every single one of them we come to. I thought the Emperor's speech would've lightened your mood a bit, though."

"Mmm. Lord Tacitus' vision for the Empire is certainly grand, and I have full confidence that he'll see us through it."

"But?"

"Nothing... it's... nothing."

"I know when something is on your mind, Khorde. But I'll let you have your thoughts, for now at least." Elaine broke the link between them. "Alright, I'm going to go talk for a bit. Please try not to scare intimidate the crowds to much." Her hand cupped his face as she looked to him.

"I should be saying that to you." The barest hint of a grin graced his face. With a soft pat, his wife parted ways to join one of the social circles of the banquet. Left to his own devices, at least for the moment, he called over a serving droid, taking the entire tray of appetizers, which consisted of some kind of meat, stacked onto a cracker and coated in a gel-like orange sauce. They tasted appetizing enough, and so he was content to hover near the edge of the room, enjoying them, his eyes glancing around at the various attendees.

 

[Mitth'rae'leios]

The Eternal Empire.

As much a tumultuous, rising power in the galaxy as it was an enigma kept hidden with equal fervor to it's own dogmatism. Or so that is what he would have assessed of the slowly amassed, sleeping giant. Little could be said to sway one's mind from the prevalent air of it's magnanimous leader, regardless of the entities lofty aspirations. However, despite his apparent and extensive analysis, this new enterprise proved to possess more than enough assets to achieve a modicum of their goals should the galaxy permit.

Something very few to present date had accomplished with even a modicum of proper, and factual, merit.

As he stepped out onto the parade grounds, or similar to the sort as he'd describe it with his own eyes, he immediately rendered the collective of troops and civilians and compared the sight to others. Much akin to that of the former First Order, variable to that of the once lofty and successfully powerful Galactic Empire yet starkly contrast to that of the Confederacy and it's once neighboring Galactic Alliance.

Perhaps it was too much for him to consider comparing values to other factions with far more time to back their repertoire, but that was in his very nature.

Flanked on both his left and right by an imperial Death Trooper and a pair of visibly discomforted Trandoshan's, as well as the young and virtuously aired Lorna Tivel, the former Imperial Admiral looked on with somber contentment as the emperor delivered his speech. The words quietly translated by a protocol droid, his mannerisms dissected to pieces by the Chiss studious eye, fell upon his ears in such a way that he could not help but amuse himself with some of the accuracy that his own initial analysis.

"Most impressive, Emperor Tacitus," he breathed into the cold wind, his voice low enough that the booming voice of the emperor would drown it out with the most minimal effort. He cared not if the passerby could hear him, if the occasional soldier cast a glance for the sake of curiosity or concern, only for the each and every movement of the man standing before them in a position of highest power. "How easily you play into the hands of the people, into your prestigious role, while I suspect there is some left unsaid."

He trailed off into his own hushed breath as he clasped his hands tighter behind his back. He had heard what others had said about the Sith, seen the various demographics and data records kept by those with a mind to question the surface of manner, and he had begun to deduce. Deduce that, much like the legendary Emperor Sheev Palpatine, there was more to this man than any common man or soldier would even begin to understand. It mattered not what it was, who it was or even the question of why; he merely cared for the intrigue.

Today proved to be promising. An empire worth serving, a man worth analyzing and an approach to the galaxy worth exploring.

All thoughts that brought a slow, and mildly unnerving smile to the Chiss' lips.

 

[Mythos]

Mythos thought more of the Sith Empire's Lords and powers would be here today but so far He was it's sole representative in this most glorious occasion. When the Ancient Eye formed @Darth Carnifex had sent not one but two envoys to his throne room, was this a sign of its inevitable decline or a foreshadowing of a great Sith Invasion? There was little time to ponder such things, soon the Eye would reveal all in time.

Instead of wearing a formal uniform Mythos was adorned in the pelts of hunted beasts of Onderon, jewels of Csilla, leather from Korriban and the skinned and taxidermied head of a massive feline beast upon his head.

The celebration had baerly started and He was drunk as only a King could be. Wineskin in one hand and blue skinned female in the other Mythos raised his glass to the Eternal Emperor.

"Glory to Tacitus! May the blood never dry upon the blades of the Wulfgard and the wine never run out!"

His voice was something else, it was as loud as it was inspiring. The figure of the Sith Lord did not betray His age, His bare upper body was for all to see and as always fine chiseled like all warriors of His profession. Among the fine and civilized warriors and soldiers around Him Mythos looked like a barbarian straight out of Midvinter, in a way He was.

The scars He earned were visible as only part of His body was covered in jewlery and skins, The Axe of Adas was strapped tightly in His back as well as many other weapons and trophies he earned all across the galaxy. He threw the wineskin above His head as high as he could, slammed the Legendary Axe into the ground sending a shockwave of the Darkside throughout all the mighty castle, kissed the lady He brought and while their lips touched caught the wineskin coming down with his hand.

Drunk with lust, confidence and surging with pride over the Empire of one of the if not His most trusted Generals, Mythos could now sit with a new blue skinned trophy and enjoy the festivities.​

 

[Malicar]

Wulfngard | Kalidan, Eternal Empire

The ebb and flow of fortunes and follies…this was the current mantra of the criminal organization known as Black Sun. Malicar Raith had done the nearly impossible in uniting some of the largest criminal organizations in the galaxy, sweeping though Hutt Space like the Black Plague—but just as wild animals are not meant to be caged, so to are the largest criminal organizations not meant to be brought under heel by one entity. The Chiss was sensing his slip of control on the Hutt Cartels and before it became an “ugly break”, Malicar decided that no bridges needed to be burnt when they did not have to be. As such, Black Sun relinquished a great deal of their control in Hutt Space and officially broke apart the Black Sun Cartels and went back to being just “Black Sun”. However, this was not the end of Black Sun’s story. It had survived for millennia by being deft and adaptable in the face of adversity. Black Sun had its tendrils all across the galaxy, even in the far corners of Unknown Space in the Eternal Empire...

Interstellar Shipping was the most visible facet of Malicar. His company had grown exponentially in the last few years. While war crushed some businesses, it allowed Interstellar Shipping and its subsidiary, Interstellar Starship Technologies, to flourish. Interstellar Shipping had large, lucrative contracts with the Sith Empire, some Mandalorian clans, the Corellian Confederation, the Chiss Ascendancy, several criminal organizations like Black Sun, Lucerne Personal Defense, Intergalactic Monetary Fund, and most recently, the Eternal Empire. Between the credits coming in from these contracts and from the credits streaming in from all of Black Sun’s “other” endeavors, it had been a monster year, financially, for the crimelord.

It was this evening, that Malicar would represent Interstellar Shipping, as a business partner and contractor to the Eternal Empire. In fact, it was Interstellar Shipping who aided in the construction of the capital city, taking on multiple shipping contracts for construction companies during that time.

Malicar believed a part of his recent success could be attributed to the Chiss on his arm, Karisa. The exiled Sabosen noble shared this in common with the Underlord Eshro of Black Sun—they were both not completely welcome back to the Chiss Ascendancy. The pair quietly came in following the tail end of the Eternal Emperor’s speech. Looking across the ballroom, he spied another Chiss in a military uniform, Malicar leaned in and whispered quietly in Chiss to Karisa regarding the sighting of one of their species here. While it was not unheard of to see a Chiss in this area of Unknown Space, it was quite another to see one in an Eternal Empire naval uniform...

Malicar simply dipped his head with a slight smile in acknowledgement to the Chiss officer and the pair made their way around, speaking to clients and making new “acquaintances”. Malicar spied Fimrati across the room. He was quite sure the Shroud had her out to accomplish a directive here. She was also a fellow practitioner of Ziltus Jor.

I need to workout with her soon…I am getting soft.

Looking over at Karisa as she spoke to one of the Blackwatch leaders, he admired her poise and grace…not to mention her beauty. She was in her element speaking to others. Perhaps she could help him in a very real way besides giving advice…she could take Interstellar Shipping to the next level…

Ruminating those thoughts, Malicar looked around and made a mental note of those he would need to touch base with before the night was over. You see, while Karisa and Malicar had full intentions of enjoying themselves this evening, this was a time of business. It was deftly woven into a time of patriotism and social niceties…but what would one expect from the Underlord Eshro of Black Sun?

Karisa Fimrati Vailyippin Mitth'rae'leios

 

[Vyra Silara]

|| Attire ||
|| Kainan Wolfe ||

​

"We will not stop!"

Even Vyra’s limited understanding of High Nelvaanian couldn’t muddy the meaning of those four words. If only that’s all they were. Just words. Lesser leaders spun them with honeyed, impassioned promises all the time with little to no actual follow-through, no lasting effects or grand changes ever made. But that wasn’t him, could never be him. As the force of the Emperor’s closing words swept through the people and their eager roar of elation swelled through the bitter air, in the deep, secret places of her mind, Vyra wished. Wished Kainan was a lesser man, wished he never said what he meant, wished he’d never shown her his heart…

Wished she’d never risen from the wreck that’d brought her to his doorstep months ago.

For the idea of this cold nation, this realm of hopeless darkness, his Eternal Empire, spreading their color across the galaxy disturbed her to the core as deeply as its silver-haired leader had stirred love in her soul. Perplexing even at its most innocent, but undeniably love all the same.

And yet, they had denied it. Vehemently.



"We will not stop."
It stuck in her ears like dried blood.



Not an ounce of her terrified doubts touched her fair countenance.

Dark eyes kept a steady gaze outwards, steel to match Kainan’s and the glint of a smile on red lips, watching an inevitable victory on a secret horizon only they could see. Cinnamon hair hung heavily down her back, woven together in a complex series of braids and metallic cord, a dramatic design with a militaristic twist. Under furs of white, a simple gown of starlight grey draped over her lithe frame, secured around her waist with a thin belt and decorative armor-like upper body plate of brushed platinum. A pair of sleek boots and fitted pants under her ensemble assured functionality and modesty should she have to run. And crowning each fingertip of her left hand were a set of dainty, intricately crafted silver talons, an elegant if purely ornamental echo of her fiancé’s deadly taloned grip.

On the surface was a queen, unquestionable, unwavering. Was it ALL an act? She couldn’t remember. It’d been so long since she’d tried to be anything else.
Underneath, though quiet and hidden, she was struggling. By the Whills, she was struggling.

Kainan knew it, had to know it, she’d made sure of it since the moment she’d accepted his proposal and every day since then. Not with hate or disgust or rage, though there had been moments… But with every drop of unconditional benevolence and tender treatment she could wring from her spirit.

It was out of place here, on this frozen world with these frozen, desolate people. It was out of place and dangerous. But it was real, and she’d told him once that she couldn’t make a better galaxy using the same cruel, violent methods that had broken this one.

Vyra could tell herself that’s why she was here. The ONLY reason she was here. It did make it an easier pill to swallow. Heal the beast from within its own body. Shift the tides, drown out the darkness gripping these people, guide the Empire on a lighter path. Nothing happens overnight, change takes time, and there was so much worth saving here.

She could tell herself that.

But she knew it wasn’t even half the truth. The rest was standing right next to her.


With a slow, ragged sigh, the Naboo native drew closer to his right side. Very carefully so as not to shred her flesh on his talons, she slipped her right hand into his behind the podium, her pulse quick, and held it firmly. It was support, but for him, it was appreciation, but for him, it was a silent understanding they’d never given voice to, not on Kalidan, and it was for him. Not for his empire, not for his endless power. Just him. Kainan. The man under the weight of those Chains of Office.


The content of his words aside, one thing was for certain.

He could give one hell of a speech.

​

 

[Viktor Goetz]

​

Attn: Open

Baron Viktor Goetz saluted simultaneously with the other disciplined military officers and Imperial Assembly members as Kainan Wolfe proceeded onto the podium. Military discipline and order was ingrained in his bones, and as much as Viktor believed he had his own autonomy and independence, he was always bound to the Eternal Empire through his oath and his years of training and life in the military. Viktor could only stand side-by-side among his peers in the Imperial Assembly as equals, and not lessers despite his lower rank as a Baron, due to the fact that he had directly proved his cunningness, his cruelty, and his warlordism on the Eternal Empire's battlefields. He was field-promoted to Colonel of the Eternal Army's 3rd Ultranaut Regiment during its many conflicts, and he was granted the right to command the 3rd Ultranaut Regiment despite officially retiring from military service and entering the reserves.

His retirement, of course, did not dull the sharpness of his regiment but instead, enhanced it. With the freedom to control the 3rd Ultranaut Regiment as he saw fit, Viktor intensified the training of each and every member of his regiment, allowing for each soldier to be thoroughly baptized in the flames of battle and war. Viktor sought to prove the rigid warfare tactics of the Eternal Army to be inflexible to the larger galactic conflict, and hoped that one day, his 3rd Ultranaut Regiment would surpass the combat effectiveness of the Emperor's Wolfguard. In time, of course.

In order to achieve this dream, however, Viktor required immense resources. Resources the Eternal Empire could not justifiably funnel into only Viktor's regiment: manpower was scarce and armaments and munitions were plentiful, but there was still a limit to what the Eternal Army could possess. And so, as his dear Emperor had ingrained in every Imperial citizen: The only thing that matters is the survival of the fittest.

Taking out his second, heavily encrypted, two-way comlink, he ordered stoically, "Start Operation Beheading. I will be joining you shortly."

As Viktor took one final swig of his champagne, he bowed in the direction of the Emperor and said to no one in particular, "May the games begin."

Handing the barely drunk glass of champagne, Viktor exited the ballroom and went toward the hangar bay to board his modified diplomatic shuttle, a Styx-class Assault Dropship. It had been modified to hold a single starfighter: a T-77 "Talon" Stealth Interceptor. As the piloting droid of the Assault Dropship slowly ascended and flew away from Wulfngard, he entered the cockpit of the T-77 "Talon" Stealth Interceptor, Death Zero, and began the preflight checklist. Just as the Assault Dropship was at the fringes of Wulfngard's sophisticated sensor system, Viktor engaged the stealth systems on Death Zero and the modified hangar bays of the Dropship opened. On the ground, an Ultranaut of the 3rd Regiment slowly counted.

"Five...Four..."

Viktor engaged the engines of Death Zero and readied himself, counting alongside the Ultranaut.

"Three.....Two....One."

Throttling the starfighter to maximum speed, the T-77 "Talon" Stealth Interceptor bolted out of the Assault Dropship while the Ultranaut simultaneously shot his missile launcher at the Assault Dropship. The back-end hangar of the Dropship completely exploded, and began crashing downward. Meanwhile, a pre-recorded message was sent to Wulfngard by the pilot droid.

"Departing to Arcenon to inspect potential insurgent threat...MAYDAY, RE...." The transmission ended in static.

At the pre-determined crash site, a group of Ultranauts finalized the scene, making it appear that a group of insurgents dragged away Viktor's body and drove off. Viktor's blood and DNA was spread throughout the scene, as well as a few pieces of artificially grown flesh that was burned and rended. As the group of Ultranauts drove away from the scene, the staff at Wulfngard were shocked and proceeded to contact the Director of Blackwatch, Ingrid L'lerim ....

 

[Khorde Drago]

Khorde had somehow heard the man before he'd seen him, if that were possible. His voice broke through the air like a scream in the night, not in that it was terrifying, but that it broke through the relative quietness of the banquet violently. Many eyes within the room turned towards him, some with confusion, some with disapproval. Though none had the expression of disgust that he held. Draped in furs that seemed to be torn straight from the hides of their owners, and in jewelry that served no purpose other than being a gross display of wealth, Khorde clenched his teeth and had to fight against the urge to grind his teeth. There was no way in any hell that the man was in any way, shape, or form an Imperial. He'd have been executed on the spot if he showed even a fraction of what was going on currently, especially at an event like this one.

The fact that he got away with this meant that either he was close with the Emperor himself, or he had some kind of influence or resources that could prove of some use to the Empire itself. Unless directed by Kainan Wolfe himself, Khorde would just have to ignore them, as difficult a task it would be. The next annoyance would come from the man letting his great axe fall to the ground, it's edge plunging into the solid flooring. He noticed many of the other attendees express a look of sickness and unease on their faces at the action, though he didn't quite know why.

He eyed Elaine, who seemed discomforted more so than others in the room, and watched as she broke from the circle of people she'd been talking to. Khorde began to make his way to meet her, and watched as she crossed the path of the fool in pelts. What he said, Khorde hadn't fully heard, but what he did, would forever be burned into the man's memory. He brought his hand down from his current female partner, and slapped Elaine's rear suddenly, causing his wife to step forward once in surprise. All the sound seemed to drown out from the world, as well as all the light, save for that surrounding the immediate path to dead man. He didn't even hear or recognize the punch Elaine returned across the man's cheek, nor did he hear her call out his name.

His hands were curled into white-knuckle fists, and he strode silently towards Mythos , as the other attendees looked on, grabbing the man's shoulder without a word, and bringing his fist into a collision course with his chin.

ATTN: Vyra Silara , Malicar , Fimrati Vailyippin , Carter Tymon

 

[Mythos]

The darkside of the force was a pathway to many abilities some would call extremely violent and bellicose. Nice Imperial suits, well cut ties and hair styles, the sleekness of their uniforms. Sometimes these formalities and beauties made those under them forget what they were... Killers and Warriors.

Mythos never once let burocracy shake away the primal rage of the dark side. He was first and foremost a Sith Warrior. A barbarian, a brute of the hills, The Stalwart Shadow of Midvinter, The Titan Slayer of Crasus, Champion of the Arena. His drunkenness had led His hand into the rear of one of the many females, He sometimes forgot that He wasnt in the war clans of Ankhypt where mates and beings were exchanged like gifts. It was a compliment in His old tribes, the Imperial Officer that headed His way didint seem to share this idea.

Drunk and distracted by the voluptuous blue skinned trophy He nabbed, Mythos never saw the punch, hardly registered anything but a spurt of blood showering the fine white dress and white gold embroidered gown His date wore.

His eyes snapped to the edge, instead of scowling or frothing rage the insulted Imperial would be rewarded with a smile, from ear to ear from the Old King.

"I thought no one would ask me to dance!" The words were followed by a mad laughing cackle that vibrated through the chairs and seats. As the fist that struck Him returned so too did His entire frame rise from His chair, hauling the arm of His opponent over his own shoulder.

Mythos would seize the man and lift him over his own head. A feat of strength, rivaling the strength of the Vol'gorian beasts of the northen wilds. His veins engorged, the massive muscles on his body clenched and flexed to the spectacle of all that surrounded them, the peak of human physical craft.

Some jewles cracked and broke, the feline head upon his crown fell, the flimsy belt snapped as He turned his hips in the direction of a table lined with the finest cutlery, mirrored crystal and beautiful yet fragile glass cups.

With all his strength Mythos would attempt to send the Imperial crashing through the table along with all those fine and expensive glasses and vases.

If successful Mythos would stand across his opponent, naked, wine dripping across his chest and he drank deeply from the wineskin. The red, thick wine drawing lines across his body and the pungent stench of alchol detectable from the other side of the hall.

"It is customary for warriors to spill blood on commemorations for their Kings where I come from. " Mythos said, spitting blood and wine to his side, The man hit hard, really hard, there was a tooth gone, he probably swallowed it.

"After I show you what a warrior looks like, I'll show your wife too"

He took two steps back, allowed his opponent to recover and flexed his arms and chest in a show of dominance. His body, a body that conquered dozens of worlds and survived hundreds of duels was a sight to behold. It was customary where he hailed from for things such as these to happen daily, but judging by the shocked and curious looks of those around Him it was quite rare here. This amused him to no end.

Khorde Drago would face a Sith Lord, even if it was an exibitionary brawl.​

 

[Warmaster Nyâsh]

Just in time, as expected, for the celebrations the project was finished.

Accompanied by a small portion of the Eternal Empire´s navy force a single unique ship left hyperspace. Its shape wasn´t seen for thousands of years and yet it maintained an indomitable presence between the naval forces. The large hull was slowly gliding through the system, approaching the fourth planet. Kalidan. Its hull was flawless, no signs of battle or time were visible anymore, the engines burning in a moderate setting not to leave the other fleet assets behind, still it was at their front, its leader.

The system was busy, the traffic around Kalidan was immense and the fleet presence was extreme. Silently he stood on the bridge of his ship, The Phalanx, watching the scene in front of him. Despite the size of the ship, its bridge crew was marginal. Only a dozen trained naval officers were working on the various systems and stations of the two-kilometer battlebarge.

Reaching the outer rings of Kalidan where most ships stopped, the escort of The Phalanx as well, the ship moved on. Slowly gliding through the planets defence grid and entering its atmosphere, the ship still showed no sign of any failure in its systems. The engineering and recovery of the last year being worth the effort and done very well. The warship finally comes to a halt several kilometers above Wulfngard, hovering like a protecting mother above the mountain hold.

Following the landing of a single shuttle, the doors to the banquett hall open audibly during the last words of Lord Tacitus. A single figure in a grey stormcoat walks in, his cap already removed and now giving both the coat and cap to a waiter nearby.

Feeling very exposed without a proper armour which he grow fond of in the last months, Aiglos steps into the hall, his movement accompanied by the slight noise of his high-boots on the pretty floor. Dressed in a neutral uniform, showing no insignia, he musters the people present with his cold, artificial eyes. Everyone could see his horribly scarred face, even from distance. Showing no emotion or expression following the applause for the new 'Eternal Emperor', Ecthelion puts his gaze on the host and liege, he hasn´t seen him in a while.

The old man, even if he didn´t look older than in his fourties or fifties, didn´t know any of the people around. His absence during the exodus and colonisation meant that he was in fact an outsider to this society. Even his appointment as Baron of a planet they do not hold control over yet, meaning nothing, except as an 'honour'.

The Zakuulans view spots some figures across the room, a drunken savage clad in fur, making noises like the barbarian he seemed to be. An example of the lowest kind in the Galaxy, Sith, the pathetic Dark side aura around him not hiding anything. Aiglos just eyed the man, curious if this any of the pretenders-officials would do something about it.

Kainan Wolfe | Khorde Drago | Vyra Silara | Malicar | Mythos

 

[Taozi Fuyuan]

Tags: Kainan Wolfe Vyra Silara @Everyone probably?​

Taozi watched the party curiously from the small corner of the room she and her two female assistants had made for themselves. While her clansmen had donned their beskar'gam, sans their helmets which were clipped to their belts, Taozi chose to don one of her more formal outfits. Her Atrisian attire contrasted highly compared to the white armor the two women besides her, and the large gowns she saw a few other guests wearing.

The Emperor's speech was impressive, and she smirked as he insulted the Jetii more than a few times. Her assistants cast worried glances to their Alor, who merely waved a hand nonchalantly to assuage their worries.

"Do not worry you two, Taanab is safe for now despite being under Jetii watch. We will cooperate with the Empire until it is no longer safe or profitable for us to do so, and if they go too far with anything, we can be there to minimize the carnage against innocent people. The Empire may seem cruel to us, but they are admittedly kinder than those who betrayed us at Concord Dawn and Mandalore. They know not of mercy, for it was not given to them.

We will provide mercy where they can not."

Taozi smiled as she swirled the drink in her glass around, exuding an aura of calmness to relax her clan members.

 

[Khorde Drago]

Blood had begun to fall down the side of Khorde's face, the wound unseen amongst his black hair, yet it's origin no less clear. Imperials wasted no resources on unnecessary decadence or wealth, yet they did not cut corners when it came to the finer aspects of living. Food was cooked with only the finest stock and spices, ships were constructed from only the sturdiest of metals, and their dishes were made from only the most superb crystal and ceramics. He felt that quality now, in the minute cuts and lacerations that crossed his upper body. His jacket was torn from the debris, shards stuck in several places.

He had to concede the dead man was quicker than he looked, even if he were supposedly drunk. Combined with both his endurance, being able to not only take a blow from Elaine, but him as well, and his strength, able to toss him across the room like that, made the man out to be someone not to be taken lightly. His injuries were light, having managed to brace the impact of his fall, but he felt them when he rose up. Khorde undid the buttons of his military jacket, and took it off, before tearing away the already ruined shirt underneath of it, letting both fall to the floor.

This was sport to him. The way he spoke, the way he carried himself, it was a spectacle for the man. That would prove a fatal error. Khorde had never fought for sport. It'd been instilled in him that every punch he threw, every trigger he pulled, every flourish that he performed with the sword served the ultimate purpose of eliminating the target. The word "spar" didn't exist in his vocabulary.

The taunts fell on deaf ears as he entered an all too familiar state of bloodlust. He wordlessly drew his Nelvaanian Longsword. The phrik-forged blade cast a dull sheen in the lighting of the hall. Khorde spared a glance toward Elaine, who rubbed her fist after having struck the man, no doubt with all her strength. Her expression was one of tired annoyance, no doubt knowing, after decades of similar occurrences at multiple occasions, that nothing would dissuade him from this course of action. She gave a slight nod of confirmation. Do what you will, Love.

It took only the bare minimum of movements to close the gap between them, and after that, only half a moments time for the first strikes to be made, his leading foot still in the process of touching the ground. Held in his dominant in his right-hand, Khorde would bring the longsword across the man's waist in a slashing motion, using the momentum if successful to follow through with an upwards slash vertically up his body, and ending with jab into his abdomen if all went well.

ATTN: Mythos , Vyra Silara , Fimrati Vailyippin , Kainan Wolfe , Carter Tymon , Taozi Fuyuan ,

 

[Karisa]

Wulfngard
Kalidan, Unknown Regions
Eternal Empire
w/ Malicar
_
​

Brask'ari'sabosen's life had taken many twists and turns especially in the last year. Though, the former First Daughter of House Sabosen's resilience and determination to survive had seen her through the unsettling times... along with the support of one Malicar Raith. The ex-noble son of House Vesnam had been her knight in shining armor the night an intra-family coup (something the two held in common) perpetrated on her homeworld of Sposia had seen to the assassination of all members of her side of the Chiss Ruling House including her father, the governing Aristocra at the time. The doctor only escaped certain death when the Chiss shipping tycoon came to her rescue, risking his own life and enterprises to save hers. It was only after the Sabosen's exile did she realize the full extent of Vesnam'alica'raith's business affairs as they began a life together outside the Chiss Ascendancy.

At first, it was shocking to find out Malicar was not only the CEO of Interstellar Shipping but also the Underlord Eshro of Black Sun and the crime lord of his own criminal organization known as Eclipse Consortium. Over time, Karisa Brask as she was known by now, came to accept this fact and embrace it, though choosing to put her efforts into the shipping company and looking the other way when it came to his other activities.

The Chiss power couple was dressed to fit the grand occasion they had been invited to by the Eternal Empire. Karisa was wearing a strapless, satin black gown with a chiffon wrap covering the blue-skin of her bare shoulders and back along with a set of ruby and diamond jewels to accessorize the look complementing her partner's distinguished attire.

Glowing red orbs gazed over to where another Chiss was standing all decked out in his pristine military uniform after Malicar had whispered softly in their native language bringing his attention to her. Karisa gave a respectful cant of her dark-head that was upswept eloquently in a pile of black silky curls. It wasn't as rare as it once was to see their kind in service of other factions besides the Ascendancy and more so the CEDF. Chiss are in general highly skilled in their specialized fields... hers being medicine, though now it was on the business side of shipping and logistics.

It wasn't but a short time afterward that things got rather interesting in the ballroom when a disagreement of sorts came to light in the near distance...

"I am intrigued by those here this evening so far, but why do men always have to show their bravado at these events, hmm?" Ari queried Malicar in Cheunh with a hint of disgust and amusement if there was such a thing before taking a sip from the champagne flute in hand.

​

 

[Mythos]

He pulled a blade, He pulled a blade on a Sith Lord and wasted no time in using it. Shining in Phirk, glistening in that precious metal Mythos once coveted above all things the man came after his neck with rage. He soon realized this man was righteously furious, He wasnt trying to spar, He was trying to separate limb from limb.

Yet there was something else off about the man, The Force screamed in agony around Him. He had seen this before but never really angered someone who was force dead enough to see it at work. He pondered all these things as he drank from the wineskin, He pondered whether using the force was necessary, He wondered until He saw another blue skinned female in the Hall.

Mythos' greatest weakness, Chiss, blue skinned females were simply an imitation of the real deal. His eyes trailed Karisa , a smile crept into his lips and suddenly he forgot He was in a fight.

The Phirk blade sliced as Mythos walked towoards her, The blade made mincemeat of the wineskin and cut off Mythos' sweet wine supply. He didint care, as the blade came up Mythos used his opponents own momentum to slip to his side and then to his back using very fancy Juyo footwork, then walked away from his opponent as if he didint even exist. In the galaxy, in this world, to Mythos' eyes there was only Karisa. He had to know her name.

He walked through the broken glass making a bee line for the Chiss, her red eyes peircing the veil of his drunk soul. He tossed the sliced wineskin to his right, combed his long hair back behind his shoulders and stood at the edge of the destroyed table. His eyes met Her, drunk but not disgustingly drunk he gave her a smile.

"What's your name blue? Aren't you far from Csilla?" His voice thundered with his usual charisma but there was something different now. He was always slightly nervous when speaking to Chiss, it was the only race he actually really let himself be infatuated with.

He knew the man would come for Him... He knew he was already probably charging to catch up to him. Instantly he thought of a way to slow his opponent to a screeching halt and impress the girl at the same time.

He had shown them his strength, he had shown them his martial prowess, but not his mastery over the force. He glanced back and raised his right hand forcing his will on the shattered glass, broken mirror and cutlery. The same he had thrown his opponent through now rose in a backwards rain of crystal and glass.

He brought his hand down and balled his hand into a fist, The Force screamed in response. The glass stained with both their blood coalesced between the man and Mythos, then it began to take shape.

Slowly every peice of glass, every shard of mirror formed a shape between them as well as a small tornado of glass and sharp objects that would hopefully keep distance between them. He turned to look at the Chiss and placed his other hand facing her as if he was taking a picture.

Chiss were cold beings, calculating, emotionless, cold blooded and showed as much emotion as a Muun in an auction. You had to impress them, you had to go above and beyond.

One more surge of will across the force saw the figure being created by the glass shards take full form. Slowly it began to take shape, gentle bolts of Sith lightning sealed it's joints before finally taking the form of the Chiss Lady, fine and perfect as only shattered glass could be.

As quickly as the glass storm began it ended. The table that was destroyed now took the shape of a three and a half meter statue made of broken glass and Sith lightning that was a spitting image of the Chiss lady who caught his eye.

He turned to face Khorde Drago with a confident smile. "I can make one for you too later"​

 

[Fimrati Vailyippin]

Attn: Kainan Wolfe | Vyra Silara | Khorde Drago | Mythos | Karisa | Malicar​

As the fight began to break out, Fimrati only gave it the briefest of glances, opting to shift her position to avoid being near the worst of it instead of gawking or even spectating such a sad affair. One was completely brazen, utterly moronic in his attempting to be the loudest, brashest, and most 'remembered' presence in the party... That was not about or for him. He reminded her of far too many of the slave owners she had to deal with when her neck bore the collar of a slave. Though those days were long behind Fimrati, she still viewed them as a low point. She had been left powerless and bereft of the means to act for herself. Even today, a decade after she'd gotten out of the slaving system, she knew that she was still vulnerable to it's vices. To the instructions ground into her psyche and her being.

And a man like the one who was causing the scene, was the sort of person she knew would likely be the sort who'd relish in pressing those buttons. So keeping her distance was, in her mind, a good thing. A shame she wasn't here on a proper wet work mission. She'd have seen about killing him for free just to be rid of one more bastard that'd so utterly ground her life down.

Her moving to the side also gave her a chance to see Malicar, the man who lead the Black Suns. The one who, at the end of the day, was her top-most boss. Figuring she'd be better off with him than on her own, because at least then there'd be someone she could trust not to stab her in the back, she began to make her way over. Only to find her plan thwarted when the large man seemed to be doing the same, though his focus appeared to be on the woman Malicar had come in with. Fimrati was left torn... Did she finish her approach, and leave herself exposed to this bastard, or did she act as though she was just moving around in the crowd and try again another time?

 

[Khorde Drago]

Khorde's mind registered the man's action but not in the way that sane man would; stuck in the trance, he processed his use of the Force much as a predator would process it's prey using a natural ability, or performing a feat He watched as the glass shards were drawn together, and violently forced into shape, the crackle of lightning and the smell of ionized air spreading through the room. Khorde had limited experience with the Force. He'd encountered it on many worlds, it's users never amounting to the tales and myths that orders such as the Jedi and Sith. To him, they were no more than welps, toying with powers they hadn't fully mastered, using tools they didn't fully understand. In the moments before they were slain, they all shared a look of pain and confusion when they looked upon him, whether they'd been injured or not. For whatever reason, their powers never seemed to work on him.

The statue itself gave him pause for a moment, but only just; he wasn't familiar with all the powers the Force granted a person, and so hesitated to see there was anymore more to the display. Confident that there wasn't, he strode towards the dead man, all but throwing the glass statue aside as he did. The blood lust had effectively given him tunnel vision. He didn't hear the dead man's taunt, nor did he hear Elaine's voice call out to him. A fist would suddenly collide with his jaw, the force behind it familiar. He stumbled to the side, before bringing his gaze onto the new threat.

"Khorde, get a hold of yourself." Elaine command. She rubbed her fist, this time the other one, having hit him much the same as she hit the other man. Sound and light seemed to flood his senses, as he came back to full consciousness. "Honestly, look at yourself." He looked down, seeing the cuts and minor bruises beginning to swell. Elaine approached him, taking out a clothe from her pocket and dabbing his head. "This is neither the time nor place, Love. You realize that, yes?" His gaze drifted away from her to the man, the expression on his face threatening to send him back into the trance.

"Khorde."

"Alright, Elaine. Alright." He forced his temper to simmer down in the face of her logic. This wasn't some fighting pit or common bar; they were in Wulfngard. Behavior like this here wouldn't stand. He sheathed his longsword, and turned away from the man, going to gather his jacket and perhaps find a replacement top.

Elaine lingered a bit, her amber eyes burning with both ferocity and anger. "You know they say", she began, loud enough for most to hear, "that although the bears and lions are strong, it's the wolves that never have to perform." With that, she joined Khorde.

ATTN: Kainan Wolfe , Mythos , Vyra Silara , Fimrati Vailyippin , Karisa , Malicar , Taozi Fuyuan

 

[Shattered_Mirror]

It began as a whisper. There were rumours of what transpired behind the violet curtains of the Confederacy, but none could speak with certainty as to what truly happened.

Some claimed that a Secret Empire formed within the heart of that Stellar Nation, and was subsequently expunged to save face at the high tables of intergalactic politics. Others claimed that the Confederacy became a Hive of opulent scum and villainy - whose hypocritical actions twisted them into a shadow of their former selves - thus, those who desired to do something were forced to take to the stars.

In the end, the truth mattered little. These people, already conditioned by years of living underneath the First Order’s tyrannical thumb, would likely accept whatever propaganda their newfound government elected to spoon-feed them. If their powers that be didn’t give a damn about the unfiltered truth, why should I?

There was a part of me that actually pitied those poor, unfortunate souls. Forced to live beneath the yoke of one Empire to the next. Their own personal freedoms being curbed for the assurances of safety and security. However, I couldn’t blame them for attaching themselves to the only thing they’ve ever known. That assurance of comfort that came from familiarity was intoxicating, and despite it being the governing principle behind all of creation - people feared change.

Had I the chance to walk amongst the people of this benighted world, I would’ve likely seen the subtle decline of their heads, averting their gaze away from the Onyx Triad that billowed above their heads. Instead, I was forced down a different path - one that took me far away from the city along with their distant celebrations. My automated shuttle ferried me towards a Mountain Stronghold, and the spartan landing pad thereafter. While I wasn’t there to witness itself for myself, as my armoured form was sequestered within the shuttle’s cargo hold, I knew the process of events that unfolded as the transport touched down.

The clearance codes that were given to my ship in orbit were transmitted when the shuttle made its final approach. As one could expect, my transport was challenged by an array of weapons batteries and emplacements. Had I not garnered such codes, it was likely that I would’ve been shot out of the sky - or forced to approach by foot after my transport crashed. As neither eventuality came to pass, I was free to disembark and head towards the appointed chamber where the Empire’s political elite was hosting a banquet. The upper class of an Imperialist regime relishing the finer things in life, whilst their people traded food-chits to celebrate their newfound strength.

It was in moments like these, surrounded by an armed procession of guards, that I was wearing my helmet. At least they couldn’t see me rolling my eyes.

“You will need to relinquish your weapons,” One of the helmed guards intoned, as they passed through the first of many access hatches. Standard procedure for Offworlders, they told me. I was tempted to tell them to sod off, as no-one separates a Thyrsian from their blade and lives to tell the tale. Even though I could quickly dispatch these soldiers and the inevitable wave(s) of reinforcements that would attempt to come to their aid - their lives weren’t worth the effort.

“You are lucky, Soldier,” I said, as I went about removing the various weapons and modules adorning my armoured frame. “It’s not every day when someone not of the Sun Guard gets to handle our technology.”

When everything was handed over, I hesitated before reaching for my helmet. Would they care if I kept it? I couldn’t tell you. However, it was weaponized in a way - and thus was technically requested. Perhaps they wouldn’t care, or maybe they wouldn’t notice. Rolling my eyes yet again, I gave the crested helmet a twist and wrenched it free.

“Be careful with these,” I said, trying to suppress a smile. “They tend to self-destruct if they’re scanned or tampered with, and I’d hate to have half of this beautiful mountainside ruined because someone got nosy.”

Hopefully, with how seriously I presented myself, and with the rumours of how… notably advanced our technology was, they’d leave it all alone. Well, if they did mess with any of my belongings - I’d know. Their intent would linger like wine on a stained cloth.

“Proceed inside, and you will be escorted to your destination.”

Well, weren’t they sweet.​

Stripped of many of my possessions, I was led towards my destination in muted silence. The Guards, as they were, weren’t much for conversation. Instead, they ignored my questions and directed me into the banquet hall. As the doors parted, revealing the revelry beyond, I found myself… disappointed in the utilitarian display of autocratic vanity. Crimson banners were strung from the rafters, and statues depicting war heroes - or figures of note - were littered across the outskirts of the cavernous chamber.

Pausing at the edge of a flight of stairs, I took a moment to glance over the crowd - to see who wasn’t wearing the drab military uniform of the Eternal Empire, or stood out in some fashion as a member of their Imperialist Administration.

It was doubtful I would meet with the Emperor - especially since he seemed otherwise engaged, and was likely disinterested in meeting with someone considered scum - but perhaps, amidst the crowd, there was someone who would treat with a Mercenary adorned in Golden War-plate. T'was large banquet hall and anything could happen.