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Faction Tomorrow, We Launch [Eternal Empire & Friends]


Perhaps not the word he'd have selected as a prevalant first option, nor a second granted it's potential to be lackluster, but it served as a descriptive faithful from memory. Magnificent was the speech the Emperor had delivered to his people, followers and guests; one to be remembered by any who might have, or continued to, overlook the enterprise that was his empire.

After all it had not been long since his dismissal, and subsequent departure, from former alliances that the man, Kainan Wolfe, turned his attention back to fully affirming his position in the galaxy. And as such his position within the unknown regions as an imposing neighbor to the slumbering Chiss Ascendancy; or so he had come to describe it at present given it's apparent lack of interest in the galaxy at large.

It wasn't until the woman at Wolfe's side began to show the slightest signs of unease, noticeable to his trained eye from even the longest distance, that the Chiss began to make his way closer to where the Emperor had delivered his speech. A fight began to break out, various people in the crowd paid heed to it in kind in the briefest or longest of manners and the Chiss halted close enough to the stage so that he could see the fluctuating temperature of the human woman.

He was, with a great deal of disappointment and displeasure, unable to ignore the brawl for very long. It was almost as if those involved had made it a point to grab the attention of all those around them. And so, with the slightest shift in his tightened posture, the Chiss turned his glowing red eyes towards those who had now begun to slow their conflict and study them for a few brief moments.

Warriors, the looks of both. One visibly drunk with an air of self confidence and blatant disregard for courtesy and the other crudely masking a bloodlust behind a postured air of dedication towards the woman in the other man's company. Had they arrived together? Or perhaps were the bloodthirsty male and the woman in question a pair that the drunkard inserted himself between inadvertently?

He cared little, though he would settle the matter to the recesses of his mind until later. Matters of haughty, masculine displays of dominance were of menial concern in face of what currently intrigued him.

The matter settled, and his mind set, the Chiss turned once more to the woman standing upon the stage. The apparent, and seemingly former, Queen of Relovian in all her glory standing alongside the Sith Emperor deep within the Unknown Regions.

Curious indeed were events that few witnessed transpire.

Curious, but not beyond evaluation.

Vyra Silara Vyra Silara Kainan Wolfe Kainan Wolfe Mythos Mythos Khorde Drago Khorde Drago


His mind was always moving and churning when attending a social gathering. To keep one’s head in the sand during momentous events such as this eve was folly. There were connections to be made and people to meet. But in the end, there was always going to be someone who was unable to separate the battlefield from social niceties…

Looking over at Karisa with a grin, he answered, "Why do they choose to do what they do? Because they are not Chiss."

A smile formed on the Underlord Eshro's face as if that statement completely answered her question.

Malicar watched the brainless brawl and it was of no surprise to the Chiss crimelord that it was a Sith at the root of the ruckus. He simply watched with passing interest and then one them an began eyeing Karisa. There was no jealousy at all. In truth, he could not blame the poor, desperate Sith—Karisa was a creature of exquisiteness in every way. The Underlord Eshro simply stared at the obnoxious human with no expression whatsoever. When the man made his puzzling artwork out of glass in the likeness of Karisa, he looked over at the former Sabosen noble and said loud enough for those around him to hear, “Look Karisa, the Sith made an attempt at your likeness. It reminds me of a small child desperately scrambling to gain the approval of his mother, yet failing in every way. Amusing...shall we get a drink?”
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Lord Commander
Cultures were marvelous things to the Old Sith, not ones he, in his infinite wisdom and foresight chose to put too much stock into, but interesting. Sith Dominance was the only culture worth existing, that was already seen to. The warrior Khorde Drago Khorde Drago Was formidable, Honorable and had the power of a wife that channelled his soul's troubles. He did not know it but she had saved his life, the act granting them both a bow from his Golden crown.

"You honor thyself in combat and in your stock Drago." He said while raising his right fist, a silent warrior cast with Mythos raised their glasses with them. In His custom he who shed blood beside Mythos was His brother, Drago had done so and thus earned his chalice. The Molok legion would present him in time with his own ornamental dagger from Ankhypt in commemoration of the event.

Mythos spoke his next words in clear Anubian, over his shoulder and they were echoed by those of the race in unison as was tradition. "By blood of my blood, brother is thy name". A title few other than The Eternal Emperor held from the Anubians. The highest honor one could receive as an outsider inside the Great Pyramids.

Seeing no threats, seeing the tension die entirely, his skin began to sizzle and boil with tutaminis. To the naked eye it would seem as if he was steaming, all impurities clean little by little as the oppressive heat made his body steam. It was a good way to sober up instantly. He sighed at the sound of shattered glass and shrugged, passing it off with an overconfident smile.

"And they call me the savage"

The Blue Skin, a Pandoran he had brought walked over with a massive snow white pelt fur over three meters long by either side. At the edge of the furs were the claws of the beast and tail, long and jagged with the ivory of the beast still held in place by masterful skinning. The Sith covered himself with the large and opulent looking fur before regarding the Chiss beside the female he was regarding.

He looked at him, stared into his eyes unblinking, each one of these Chiss always had something that he could analyze. As a sparkling star in Lego's dead sky it stood out like a sore thumb. That stance, imperial, but not of Tacitus' stock, not Dominion, nor Sith, it wasnt Chiss either. Mythos had spent countless hours training officers, admirals, infantry leaders and more of every one of those empire's best troopers... None of them stood at parade's rest like that. He did however fight officers with that regulatory stance, in Tatooine many years ago.

Mythos placed his hand over his mouth and cleared his throat. He straightened his back in the more traditional stance of Chiss nobility and flared the symbol of House Chaf in the fur, pinned in Songsteel and Amarite encasings as most of his possessions did. He then spoke in crisp Chiss the likes of which few humans in the galaxy were even capable of.

"My apologies but while you were so far south, enjoying the sun tanned beaches of Graf's Imperial failure I was protecting your race from extinction and still keeping my beautiful head on my shoulders all the while running my own seat of office in the One Sith." His tone was firm and professional but his smirk betrayed the utter amusement He enjoyed out of the faces of those high cut officers when confronted with an Educated Executioner.

He took the Axe of Adas and placed it beneath his right boot, the two jingling the sound of their many embroideries and jewelries on contact.

"The only reason there are even a count of you lot high enough for me to count with fingers and toes is because I chose to use this Axe to protect Csilla and not run it through them"

He pointed at his skull with his index finger and smiled at the female, taking his attention from the green admiral. "A little history lesson is always good"

He was surprised so little of the Chiss knew their history. So many were alive and breathing and bared children because one Aristocrat lady romanced one Sith Knight and they'd never know it.

Mitth'rae'leios Mitth'rae'leios Karisa Karisa Malicar Malicar
History, by all accounts, was written by the victors.

Or so that was what a great many of those who had been flattened beneath another beings boots would have others believe. The idea, the fallacy, held a merit but one that was minute in comparison to the grander scheme of conceptual thinking on the matter. History was written by those ready and willing to interpret what was valid and important for the masses to know and further progress.

And while there was value in knowing the truth, as much as there was a desire to snuff out the lies, even he could not deny that even the truth could be unbearable to the sensitive of mind; or of the heart. It was that very idea, the concept that he could see likely escaped the Siths own perception of the Chiss, that prevented those he addressed as of his kind from fully acknowledging his participation in their supposed salvation.

Did he hold any particular desire to warrant this Sith praise for his actions towards the greater Chiss? No. Simply for the reason that he held little desire nor love for the traditions that held them so tightly in their place for many a century. He was an explore, a warrior and a particular thinker; one unwilling to bow to the foolhardy or unwavering minds of those who believed tradition would keep them safe from the galaxy at large.

As such it was with a unaltered expression of distant, and mildly humored, interest that he turned his attention once more to the Sith who had addressed him. There was truth in that he had spent time with the failures of the Imperial Graf, but to the extent implied unequivocally described a thing farthest from the truth. For he had spent less time admonishing the Sith, witnessing the Galactic Alliance or humoring the Confederacy than he had expanding his knowledge of the known galaxy.

"While I acknowledge your prowess and abilities," he paused to allow his eyes to trail over the Siths body as he purged himself of toxins using what he could only perceive as an application of the Force. "One attuned with what I've come to understand of the Force would be better putting such capability to use better understanding the minds of others. While your abilities as a warrior are without question, your abilities with perception and psychology leave much to be desired."

With the final syllable he trailed off into the humdrum of the gathering to allow his thoughts to once again begin to churn. What more could be said beginning to produce itself within the confines of his mind as he allowed his fingers to press and release as a means of diffusing tensions that had begun to build within his arms. He knew he was at a disadvantage should the Sith become angered, but he had confronted Sith and Jedi before; each and every one with their own manner of placation.

"Where one is born, how they are raised or how they are taught do not shape the individual. It is how they build their paths, the routes they take and the people they come to align themselves with that begin to show just who they are. Though I will say that that is merely the crust layer of the matter of analyzing an individual who does not wear their personage on their breast so readily as some." As he spoke, his posture shifting away from that of imperial to that of traditional Chiss, he made due to acknowledge the Death Troopers and Trandoshan's standing at his left and right.

"I would much like to see what others you keep in your company, as I have already seen that your interest in Chiss heritage is rather apparent." He finished and once again returned his posture to one he felt more comfortable, his imperial stance one that had become second nature to him. What was left unsaid, little as it was, was that he no longer desired to be associated with the majority of his people or their history. He had learned what he could, seen what he could, from them and their ways in light of their near departure from the galaxy at whole on more than one occasion.

They had served their purpose to him.

As his posture shifted away from the Sith, though it hardly left him entirely, the Chiss turned his attention once more to the woman who stood atop the stage with the emperor. His analysis beginning again, picking up where it left off, and his perception once again delving deep into a pool of knowledge that only he had tapped into in reaches of space some might have forgotten held merit.

Lying in wait in the confidence of knowledge of another was the best means of entrapping the unprepared.

Mythos Mythos | Vyra Silara Vyra Silara

Adelle Bastiel

The Emperor's friends could be rough.

Adelle closed her eyes and stifled both the eye-roll and the groan threatening to happen as an actual fight broke out. Lady Silara had made that statement after requesting her presence at this function. Even stood by a wall, as out of the way and still close to Silara as she could be, she could see and hear everything going on. The military cut of the uniform unique to the Imperial doctors didn't chafe quite as much as watching some of the antics by the guests. But, she supposed, some posturing was to be expected. After all, this was a party thrown by a literal emperor and his guests would include political allies. Naturally, they'd all be trying to figure out the hierarchy of this particular food chain.

Silara, for her part, looked every bit as regal as Adelle presumed she would be. While she'd heard snatches of conversations referencing a summer queen, Adelle thought the Empress Apparent didn't look nearly as soft as her detractors made her out. Her unease in the Force could very well be from having to attend yet another fancy political party among hundreds of people. But whatever she felt didn't reach the coy looks reserved for the Emperor and the polite smiles for everyone else.

The brawl cut itself short as one of its fighters left the fight and beelined right for a female Chiss. Another deep sigh repressed. A Twi'lek slowed near her, uncertainty rippling off her in the Force. Her direction seemed to lead her to the female Chiss, who'd been in conversation with a male Chiss, and the Sith barbarian. Adelle didn't blame her.

"I'd give that one a wide berth," Adelle said to the Twi'lek. "Doctor's orders."

Vyra Silara Vyra Silara | Fimrati Vailyippin Fimrati Vailyippin
Evil Genius

  • Wulfngard | Kalidan, Eternal Empire
He felt soft, warm fingers closing around his calloused, taloned hands. Her fingers. Oh, how he wished he could just turn around, pull her into a close embrace and kiss her, but he couldn't. Could not take advantage of warmth he did not deserve. He had told her once that she was meant for better things. He still believed that, especially now, when the Empire he was binding her to, was about to unleash such horrible things upon the galaxy. He knew how it made her feel. The same regrets and doubts and pain ate away at his heart, but he had no choice. The Empire had no choice. The crimson, blood-soaked banners of Kalidan had to rise over every world in the Unknown Regions. It was the first and most vital step in his plan. A plan that would see millions of lives extinguished, so that countless billions more could live. A final, desperate plan to save the galaxy from a horror which only he and his Wardens could see.

The wretched Force would smother all life, a hidden, malevolent puppet-master which sought to subjugate and bind everything to its vile, hungry will. Hungry for souls, hungry for control, always manipulating, pushing everyone and everything towards yet another calamity, so it could feed. Infinite Conquest was his answer to that, the Empire's great crusade, its secret weapon to hold up to the jugular of that vile, wretched thing. He would strip the Force of its influence over the galaxy. And then, he would drown it in the angry cries of an endless tide of well-armed soldiers. Then and only then, when the natural order was restored, when the Force and its servants were ripped off of their heavenly pedestal and cast down into the dirt, to be trampled under the boots of armies, would the galaxy finally be free. Truly free, for the first time in eons, perhaps since the dawn of time itself.

One day, that better galaxy that Vyra desired, would be possible. But first, the Force must die. And for that, the stagnation, corruption and aimlessness which were the consequences of too many millenia of peace and Jedi preaching, had to be ripped out and obliterated. Yes, one day, there would be a better galaxy. One without bloodshed, without fear, or pain, or suffering. Right now, though, the galaxy needed something better than the peace that failed it. It needed a drastic change, to right the course of the sinking ship. It needed war.

For, blood alone moves the wheels of history.

His taloned fingers involuntarily closed around hers, ever so gently as to not harm her, giving her hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze and, showing no hint of the turmoil in his soul, he led her into the great hall of the massive fortress, soldiers and officers saluting as he stepped into the room, guiding her to the head of the main table, where two chairs were reserved for them. Tasteful, classical music was playing, the orchestra taking full advantage of the hall's excellent acoustics, which were reportedly only outmatched by the main concert hall of the Imperial Grand Opera in Arcenon.

Somewhere in the room, a fight broke out. Ah. Mythos and his captain of the guard, Khorde Drago. He let the fight go on, though Mythos' behavior drew a number of scowls and scorn, the demure, disciplined Imperials disapproving of such displays. As soon as it ended, servants and droids scurried forward to clean up the mess, swiftly erasing all trace of the brawl as they skillfully made all the broken glass disappear.

The Emperor's eyes scanned the room, acknowledging Baron Aiglos with a nod, knowing that his return meant that the great Zakuulian warship was finally operational. He nodded to Taozi of Clan Tal, to the Chiss admiral, who's skills would lead Imperial fleets to victory, to the businessman Malicar and his companion, would have nodded to Mythos and Vyra's friend, the doctor, were they not preoccupied with someone else.

As if on cue, the orchestra started playing something more lively, something better suited for dancing, though many of the foreign guests would still probably find it stuffy, at least if they were the kind who preferred the electronic noise that passed for music in the galaxy's many clubs, or that cheap drivel the Bith played in too many cantinas to count. Such things had no place at an official Imperial event, however. The Empire favored something more refined.