NATION

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The Grand Migration - A New Era Begins [FT; Closed]

A staging-point for declarations of war and other major diplomatic events. [In character]
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Thrashia
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The Grand Migration - A New Era Begins [FT; Closed]

Postby Thrashia » Tue Dec 13, 2016 10:28 am

OOC/Author's Note: This thread's events take place within fluid-time, in the future from where things are presently in some areas of the multiverse. For those that either do not understand or have questions, always feel free to send me a TG.

Image


Between Galaxies


Pain and sorrow filled the room, feeling like a dense fog that threatened to choke out the life of the one sitting cross-legged in the center. Eyes shut, muscles loosened as far as they could, and breathing controlled to a slow pace that saw minutes pass between inhales. Images flashed before Antares Draco's mind. Visions of his past flowed forth and through him, his mind's eye jerked back and forth, either troubled or traumatized by what it was seeing.

Faces of friends from long ago, companions, lovers – people whom Antares had respected, cared for, believed in. Voices echoed through the fog of sorrow, filling the room with a soft murmur that drew forth agony from the heart. His fists, unconsciously, became tight and hard as steel as they made fists in his lap. His heart began to beat faster.

I did not want it! he cried out in the Force. I did not mean to fail!

The ethereal figments of his vision crept closer, becoming more malign in nature as they did so; beseeching, screaming, and wailing. More still simply stood, silent. Eyes stared, boring into Antares' soul. The weight of those stares was unbearable.

I did not ask for this! I tried! I followed the will of the Force!

Cold air flowed around his seated form, his breath coming out in great bursts of hot mist that seemed to meld with the depressingly dark fog around him. The temperature of the room was controlled by a computer and yet it felt as icy as a cave on Hoth. Antares' knuckles were white, his hands near shaking.


A loud beep sounded. The lights of the room came on. The door at the end of the room, behind Antares, slid open. Antares gasped, feeling as if he needed to fight to the surface of some great ocean to gain a single breath of air. He stood up instantly, still lithe and strong even for his age.

“Master Draco, my apologies. I did not mean to disturb you,” came a soft voice behind him, a familiar voice. Antares turned to see Princess Dheinalia Vera Nuruodo standing in the doorway. She was dressed modestly in loose black robes, a small veil covering his head, except for her face. Seeing her clothing brought another pang to Antares' heart.

“It is fine, your highness, you did not disturb me. I was not meditating seriously,” said Antares, his voice a bit harsh.

Dheinalia looked at him with sympathy and understanding. Antares wished she wouldn't.

“I see. I was just bringing little Tanaris to see outside the viewport here. He seems to like the view from here best, for some reason.” Antares finally registered the small being wrapped snugly, warmly in Princess Dheinalia's arms. The boy had light blue tinted skin, raven-black hair, and normal-looking eyes until it was noted that while he did not bear the glowing eyes of a Chiss, his irises were still solid red, glowing bright with youth from behind them.

Antares looked to his left. The wall had a great transparisteel viewport running the entire length. Outside you could look over the vast length of the Black Ark. The Super Star Dreadnought was traveling at speeds surpassing even that normally allowed by hyperspace travel. The lights that flowed past could be beautiful to some, though Antares found nothing enjoyable about the spectacle.

“I'll leave you to it then, your Highness,” said Antares. He moved to walk past Dheinalia and leave the room. The princess's hand stopped him, gripping his arm as he passed.

“Antares Draco, please listen to me for a moment.” The tone stopped Antares cold. They seemed to hit an inner string of his soul, causing him to halt and listen.

Dheinalia's eyes looked into Antares' and the warmth there seemed to grow, imparting a spark to Antares. He felt a slight tremor course its way up his spine.

“You are Grand Master of the Imperial Knights and have served your empire with the kind of devotion and love that only poets can speak of with surety. You served our Emperor with filial love. You served my father, our Regent, with honor unsurpassed. You served my husband, Grand Admiral Thrawn, will devotion. I see in your eyes that you have forgotten the good that you have done, how much others appreciate the service you have rendered,” said Dheinalia. She seemed to gather herself.

“You are not to blame for my husband's death.”

A ragged breath came from Antares. Dheinalia could feel the muscles tighten beneath her hand.

“No one, not even you, could have prevented it. My husband chose his death, as a warrior will, and in doing so helped to save all our lives,” a hard, steely tone now flowed forward, “Do not make the mistake of thinking that because you could not prevent it that you are to blame. By trying to accept that kind of burden you lessen the worth of my husband's sacrifice.”

Antares' muscles loosened and he averted his gaze. Dheinalia dropped her hand away.

“Grand Master of the Imperial Knights, Antares Draco of Bastion, will you stand now ready to serve us again?” asked Dheinalia, her voice taking on the tone she used in courtly proceedings.

Antares, by reflex, responded to the tone by coming to attention. He turned and stared back at the princess. In a smooth, slow motion Antares fell to one knee before Dheinalia.

“I, Antares Draco, swear to serve in whatever manner is needed. I shall be thy vengeance and thy shield. I, and my Knights, will never forsake our oaths to the Thrashian Empire.”

A hand came to rest upon his head. A benediction, an acceptance.

“Then I, Dheinalia Vera Nuruodo, accept your oath. Rise, Grand Master Draco.”

The words seemed to draw Antares through the fog and his despair. True, he would never be able to forget his past, but in that moment he remembered that there was still a future. He stood up and looked down upon the open, smiling face of the little boy, Tanaris – the son of Thrawn. Yes, he thought, there is still a future.



Briefing Room A12-8, sub-level 12 | Assertor-class Super Star Dreadnought Black Ark


Moff Banston Creed took another long draft from the cup of caff that had been placed in front of him by a protocol droid. The warmth helped to wake him but a bit more. There was no day or night aboard the Black Ark, and he wasn't adjusting to the 32-hour shipboard cycle as well as some others. He glared a bit at the man sitting to his left, Moff Ivrik Leander who, for all that he was older than nearly anyone else sitting at the table, seemed outright peppy. It just wasn't natural.

“I'm still surprised we managed it,” said Moff Verna. The female moff was sitting across the table from Banston, nursing her own cup of stimulants.

“It wasn't easy,” agreed Grice, sitting to Verna's right and Ivrik's left. “The amount of trouble we went through getting the Kuati families to come along...” Grice shuddered, “It doesn't bear thinking about it too much.”

“Agreed,” said Banston, setting his cup down, “We have the future to consider. This is the single greatest migration of the Thrashian Empire since our people first left ancient Earth all those long centuries ago.”

“And we return to that cradle,” commented Gerard Holt, who spoke through a mouth full of snack sandwiches. “Though I wonder how Grand Moff Noventa will take to our arrival.”

“He was alerted and forewarned,” Verna said, sharply.

“Yes, but he's ruled our Beta Quadrant territories as a near independent fiefdom for nearly three decades,” countered Grice, surprisingly supporting Holt. “I know for a fact that if I were in his shoes that I'd be most unhappy to see the Imperial government show up on my doorstep and ready to take over the reigns.”

“Which is why we won't really be taking over the reigns,” said Banston. “In fact, on Princess Dheinalia's advice, I agreed to give up my former position as Leader of the Moff Council and give it to Grand Moff Noventa. He outranks me, at least. It's only fair to give him a reward for accepting the new reality.”

“He accepted things far better than Grand Moff Tarkin,” murmured Ivrik.

The whole group of Imperial moffs shuddered slightly, remembering the rage and ferocity that Valek Tarkin had displayed when Princess Dheinalia – backed by the Moff Council – had decided on a course of action that would change the future of the Empire of Thrashia forever. Tens of billions of citizens, entire planets, their industries, their wealth, their populations – uprooted and put aboard starships to make the great migration across the dark gap between galaxies.

“There was nothing truly left for us in the wake of the Chaos War,” said Verna, “Nothing except more war as the great nations of the galaxy prepared to crawl upon the corpse and eat at the remains like scavenger insects.”

“We did quite a bit of nibbling ourselves, before leaving,” commented Holt. “So much men and material wasted...to an extent.”

“Well, the newly minted Grand Moff Valek Tarkin has his own regional forces in the Greater Seswenna – he has already announced, by the way, that the new 'Greater Seswenna' will become an independent dominion. He's officially cutting ties, politically, with the Empire,” said Banston, revealing to the other moffs the intelligence that he'd sat on for nearly half a year while the Great Migration was being prepared.

That seemed to suck the air out of all of them.

“We truly are leaving forever...” said Grice, disbelief clear in his voice. “I am here, on this ship, among the multitude, and yet...a part of me refuses to believe it.”

“A part of all of us wish to disbelieve,” said Verna, softly. “But we cannot afford the luxury of disbelief. While we have uprooted the greater part of a galaxy and plan to transplant it into a new one, we cannot afford any weaknesses.”

The assembled group all nodded. Banston smiled and tipped his cup of caff slightly in salute to Moff Verna. She seemed to pretend to ignore it, but a knowing, mirthful glint in her eye told otherwise.

“Of course, you know what this will mean, don't you?” asked Ivrik. All eyes turned to him, but the soft-spoken old man didn't budge an inch or waver. “If we're to truly bring forth a new age for the Empire of Thrashia, we can no longer abide by halves. We, the Moff Council, were a stop-gap measure. The Regency was a stop-gap measure.”

Banston nodded. “The matter has been discussed, as you well know Ivrik. We will address the issue once we arrive at New Bastion. There are many matters to put at rest, but I agree. This is a new age and a new age requires...a fresh start.”

Verna raised her cup. “Long may it last.”


New Bastion System | Beta Quadrant | Milky Way Galaxy


The area of space dedicated to the arrival of new ships from the old, home galaxy became filled in a way that had never before been seen. The warp gate system that allowed travel through the darkness between galaxies was taxed to it's very limits. The sheer size and amount of ships that would be required to travel was mind-boggling, from the smallest freighter to the greatest megalithic industrial transporter. The Imperial Navy had never had to organize such a venture, ever in its history. Without the aid of droids and advanced AIs the organization of the effort would have been hopeless at best and dangerous at worst.

The first wave, led by the Black Ark, arrived in the tens of thousands. The New Bastion authorities were forewarned of what was coming of course, but the reality was much more intimidating than even they were quite prepared for. It would take weeks to get all of the ships situated or sent to those systems that had been designated for them.

Standing on the bridge of his personal flagship, the Carcharodon, Grand Moff Alexandros Noventa breathed deep and took it all in. The spectacle was unique, never before seen, and Alexandros was happy to feel that no sense of trepidation came over him.

“Captain,” Alexandros turned to the aft side of the Star Destroyer's bridge, “See to it that a message is sent to Princess Dheinalia and the Moff Council aboard the Black Ark. They're invited to come aboard at their convenience. Also, please make sure that Vice Admiral Eckhardt is having all of his liaison officers working through Fleet Admiral Chiraneau.”

“Yes sir, my Lord.”
Last edited by Thrashia on Thu Dec 29, 2016 3:04 pm, edited 3 times in total.
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Postby Thrashia » Thu Dec 15, 2016 12:38 pm

Arrival Point Aurek-0-1 | New Bastion System | Imperial-class Star Destroyer Carcharodon


Standing at full attention in the main hangar bay of the Carcharodon were four companies of Imperial Stormtroopers, their white armor polished to a mirror-like sheen. Their serried ranks left one with the impression that you could measure the straightness of a razor's edge. Between the companies a red carpet had been presented and laid out. Standing at the head of it was Grand Moff Alexandros Noventa, his wife Genevieve, Admiral Iishin Koga, Vice Admirals Ekhardt and Atrachus, and Rear Admiral Greene. Representing the Imperial Army was General Harold Krohl. Behind this group were a group of the richest and most influential nobles from the sector.

A Mu-class shuttle swept gracefully into the hangar, it's escort of TIE Defenders sweeping away in a stark turn that displayed the skill of the pilots as well as their determination to follow the shuttle as far as was necessary to protect it. Alexandros mentally gave a nod of his head to the pilots. That shuttle was far more important than nearly all other ships in the entire armada that was outside, beyond the Carcharodon. The shuttle's pilot brought the Mu-class down smoothly and had it's wings fold into their characteristic landing position. The back of the shuttle fell away to reveal several figures standing in the door frame.

Four red-armored men and women stepped down the ramp, eyes darting everywhere – as if they expected an attack to take place at any moment. For the slightest of moments Alexandros was offended at such suspicion, until he reminded himself that there were profoundly important reasons why the Imperial Knights should be so wary. The mere fact that they were using their eyes as much as their other, more ethereal senses, was telling.

The lead Knight, none other than Grand Master Draco himself, clipped his lightsaber back to it's position on his belt. Antares was satisfied, looking about at the gathered multitude of stormtroopers. Stormtroopers were reliable and nigh incorruptible. The gathering of functionaries at the foot of the ramp, standing up a rich red carpet however...far less trustworthy in Antares' opinion.

Behind the Imperial Knights came a gruff and somewhat thin man wearing the uniform of a Fleet Admiral. Fleet Admiral Chiraneau seemed to take a deep breath and then walked down the ramp.

“Officer on board!” called out a Fleet Captain who was standing nearby, Logarn was his name. At that call, all the military personnel – minus General Krohl – came to a stiff salute. Krohl merely inclined his head slightly.

Admiral Chiraneau returned the salute, then joined the gathered dignitaries, turning back to face the shuttle.

Dressed in a black, silk dress, with silver threads on the edges, that hung attractively to her bodice, was Princess Dheinalia. Her long black hair was left to lay where it may, with only a small hairpin made from silver was in her hair, displaying the symbol of House Nuruodo. The dignity of her step and high arch of her chin made Alexandros immediately think of Dheinalia's father, his old friend, Ardus Kaine. She has her father's demeanor, he thought. Coming behind Dheinalia was a handmaiden, a Chiss female with short-cropped hair, carrying in a miniature court-clothing assemblage the young Tanaris Nuruodo.

Without an order being given, each and every Stormtrooper fell to his or her knee. The synchronized clattering of armor on plasteel was cacophonous, all the more so for the fact that there had been little other noise within the hangar besides the ever distant hum of the ship's engines. Alexandros looked around the hangar in mild surprise. He'd not seen such devotion in the Stormtrooper Corp in some time. He turned back to see a small smile on Princess Dheinalia's face, her eyes crinkled slightly at the corners.

She stepped down the ramp, followed closely by her son and the handmaiden. Once she reached the carpet, Alexandros gave a flourishing bow that would have made his old etiquette instructor proud.

“May I be the first to greet you and welcome you, Princess Dheinalia Vera Nuruodo to the New Bastion System,” declared Alexandros. “I, Grand Moff Alexandros Noventa, am at your service.”

Dheinalia let her hand be taken and Alexandros hovered his lips above her knuckles, head bowed, in a courtly sign of supplication. Alexandros' wife curtsied at his side. The assembled officers all bowed smartly at the waist, eyes toward the ground out of respect.

“I thank you for your warm greetings, Grand Moff Noventa,” said Dheinalia, once Alexandros had released her hand. The princess turned to look all about. The stormtroopers were still kneeling, statues as far as the world cared. “Please, I beg of you, my loyal friends – rise.”

Once more the synchronized cacophony of clattering armor filled the hangar as the stormtroopers rose once more to attention. If he didn't know better, Alexandros could swear that they seemed to stand even straighter and prouder than before.

“My lady,” interjected Admiral Koga. The man stepped forward and bowed again. “If I may be so impertinent. Please, tell me: is it true that Grand Admiral Thrawn is dead?”

A black shadow seemed to cross the princess's eyes, a hollow look – tinged with an edge of light that seemed to grow stronger. Dheinalia took a deep breath and nodded.

“Yes, Admiral. My husband, Grand Admiral Thrawn, fell in battle against the forces of Chaos. He sacrificed himself to save us all.”

A murmur of awe, reverence, and sadness swept the hangar at that pronouncement. Even the normally well martialed stormtroopers could not entirely keep their composure. Grand Admiral Thrawn had been a hero of the Empire for many years, time and again giving victory to the Empire where others would have failed. That their great hero and idol should fall was saddening, but the proud tone that had entered the princess's voice gave them pride too.

Admiral Koga took off his service cap and fell to his knee. His black hair, cut short to the skin, shone as he bowed it forward..

“Please accept my sincere condolences to you and your son, Highness,” said Koga. “It was once a tradition among our people that after the death of a great warrior or leader, his followers could choose to commit ritual suicide to accompany their lord or master into death. Grand Admiral Thrawn was my teacher, my commander – I...I cannot bear to think of our Empire without him.”

Dheinalia looked down at the kneeling Admiral.

“You say you were his pupil?”

“Yes, Highness.”

“Then you forget one of his simplest lessons and one which I embrace: if the loss of life can be avoided, then do so.”

“Highness, I -.”

“You are forbidden to commit harakiri. I share my late husband's view and I do not wish to see a valuable and needed officer of the Imperial Navy wasted in such a manner; though I do thank you for having such honor. I can see why my husband would have mentored you.”

Koga stood and put his service cap back on.

“If that is your will, Highness, then I will not utter such words again.”

“Thank you, Admiral,” replied Dheinalia. She turned to Alexandros. “Grand Moff, I believe it is time we saw your planet. I hear that New Bastion is beautiful.”

“It is, indeed, Highness,” smiled Alexandros. “Let me show you to a waiting room. Admiral Chiraneau, I hope you won't mind riding in on my flagship?”

“Not at all,” Chiraneau replied, unperturbed. “I've already notified my XO to oversee the deployment of the Imperial Navy assets in the First Wave arrivals. I'll send another to make sure that he and the civilian craft coordinate with your own system authorities.”

“I would appreciate that,” nodded Alexandros.

The grand moff turned on his heel and motioned with his outstretched arm for his guests to follow him. The other officers and functionaries filed along after them, as they left the hangar. Little Tanaris was making cooing, happy noises as he waved at the stormtroopers as he passed them by – his caretaker, the handmaiden, struggling slightly to keep him from falling out of her arms.
Last edited by Thrashia on Thu Feb 28, 2019 1:35 pm, edited 3 times in total.
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Postby Thrashia » Thu Dec 22, 2016 11:36 am

Private Suite Aboard Imperial-class Star Destroyer Carcharodon | New Bastion System


Grand Moff Noventa had invited them into his private suite. A pair of silver protocol droids served a variety of sweet meats and drinks. Lady Dheinalia and and Admiral Chiraneau both compliment Alexandros on his wine's vintage. “It's grown from the vineyards on Novos II, one of the moons here in the New Bastion System. Once we've got you all settled, I'll see to it that a case is sent to your residence, Highness,” said Alexandros. The party took a while to chat over small matters, relaxing and unobtrusively observing the others.

And an appropriate enough amount of time had passed, Alexandros breached the subject which he was, privately, most desirous of speaking. He set his silver cup down and turned to Dheinalia.

“The Empire is re-settling itself here in the Beta Quadrant then.”

It was not a question, but a bold statement. One which had been communicated indirectly over a number of occasions spanning the months and few short years since the end of the Chaos War.

“Yes,” said Dheinalia. “Our future, such as it is, lies here. I'm sure that Grand Moff Tarkin will look after his own holdings, but he'll have nothing to do with us. He even called me a traitor to my face.”

“I can well imagine that,” nodded Noventa. He had been an old Imperial Academy classmate of Tarkin's and knew how rigid his ideas of honor and belief were. To simply give up and leave the ancestral territories and systems of the Empire would have been seen, in his eyes, as an affront to the gods themselves – not least of which would be the Empire's sacred dead. All Thrashians held their ancestors and the dead with great respect – the land upon which they were buried considered sacrosanct in every respect. To leave it, without good cause – which usually meant death, was inexcusable.

“And that is why I have made you Grand Moff,” said Dheinalia, playing one of her strong cards now.

Alexandros raised an eyebrow slightly. “Indeed?”

“You have ruled over our prospects in this new galaxy for nearly three decades local time,” commented Admiral Chiraneau. “To ignore you or make any local supporters think you were being supplanted – even by her Highness – would be seen as insulting.”

“Agreed,” nodded, Dheinalia, chiming back in. “That and I also think you're an effective ruler. We Thrashians tend to be level headed at the worst of times, when it's needed most, and you are the man I would want captaining my vessel in a storm.”

“Captaining...”

Dheinalia smiled. “Yes. Captaining.”

Alexandros crossed his arms in front of him and rested his chin on an upraised hand. He pretended to consider what was being said, already having made up his mind and knowing what the younger woman intended.

“You'd need a new government.”

“Yes.”

“One that is a mix of old and new.”

“Agreed.”

“I'd be leader of a newly reconstituted Moff Council.”

“Agreed.”

Alexandros decided to play his card. “And we'll declare you to be the Dowager Empress of the Empire.”

Both of his guests froze for a moment. Dheinalia had her cup almost to her lips, but stopped and set it down on the table next to her. She looked into Noventa's eyes and searched there, studying.

“I would rule in my own right? Not as a regent?”

“In your own right. Not as a regent,” replied Alexandros. “With the agreement that I, as head of the Council of Moffs, would be the head of government while you would be the head of state.”

Dheinalia frowned slightly. “I will have the power of veto.” Another statement, not a question.

“Over matters of domestic policy, yes. But for foreign policy, you must, I am afraid, let the more experienced diplomats among the Council of Moffs oversee things.”

“The military?” Admiral Chiraneau spoke up.

The military had always been an interesting beast. By tradition, the Emperor was, besides Head of State, also the Commander-in-Chief of the Military. If Dheinalia were to be Dowager Empress and Head of State, but not head of government, then who would command the military as a whole?

“I think it's high time we promoted another individual – perhaps two – to the highest rank in our armed forces,” said Alexandros, half-thinking out loud. “What would you say to the two branches each having a nominal leader of their respective branch and being equal representatives on the Council of Moffs. Non-voting representatives.”

“So the Council of Moffs would command the military by committee?” Admiral Chiraneau's face had a great sneer of disdain on it.

“Oh, no worries, Admiral,” smiled Alexandros, “The Thrashian Empire has always given its commanders leeway in the interpretation of orders and how to carry them out. The military would operate within certain guidelines and parameters – and would consult with a higher authority, the Moff Council, at need.”

“The Oath would remain?” asked Dheinalia.

“The Imperial Oath would remain,” allowed Alexandros. “The average soldier always appreciates having a visible being or purpose to fight for; and I would hardly desire to take away a chance for them to fight for you, your Highness.”

“Quite enough already have,” said Dheinalia, quietly. That sobered Alexandros, who grimly nodded.

“Well,” said Alexandros, motioning for the protocol droids to start serving more wine, “I think that that will be enough for today. Nova Bastion awaits.”
Last edited by Thrashia on Thu Dec 29, 2016 3:27 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Postby Thrashia » Wed Dec 28, 2016 1:14 am

Assertor-class Super Star Destroyer Black Ark | New Bastion System | Arrival Point | Beta Quadrant


Captain Stark stood at the fore of the bridge's center aisle, staring through the transparisteel viewport. The fact that he could actually see the various ships and craft surrounding the Black Ark was a testament to the size of the endeavor currently being undertaken by the Thrashian Empire. For some while he'd been passing the time by spotting and identifying ship classes – a few Imperial-class Star Destroyers, the Black Ark's escort squadron, civilian freighters, aged Acclamator-class cruisers, bulk cruisers, etc. There were tens of thousands of ships, of which fewer than a thousand actually belonged to the Imperial Navy.

“Sir.”

Stark turned to see his adjutant, Lieutenant Jorle, standing at attention, a data pad under one arm. The young deck officer gave a smart salute and then lowered her arm. “Sir, we've got a tech team requesting permission to enter the bridge – said that they have orders from Grand Moff Noventa's liaison from Beta Quadrant Commander, Admiral Koga.”

Stark frowned slightly. Why would a tech team need to come to the bridge? He wondered. Oh well, it would be a welcome distraction.

“Let's see what they have to say for themselves,” replied Stark, moving past Jorle.

“Yes, sir,” she murmured and followed.

The bridge to the Black Ark had four stormtroopers stationed at it from the inside at all times. Outside were four more stormtroopers. The blast doors were open, as well as the main doors, allowing personnel with the correct authorization to come and go as they needed. Standing in front of the entryway, to the side, was a tech officer, wearing the drab work uniform of Imperial Engineering, an astromech droid, and two ISB security officers in beige uniforms with blaster pistols holstered at their sides. The combination was strange enough to be humorous.

Stark lifted an eyebrow as he walked forward and accepted the salute from the three waiting individuals. “What might be this all about then?” he asked.

The engineering officer, a captain, smiled. “Well, sir, we've got all the requisite information to update your ship's core databanks. Navigation, time, stellar movement, quadrant map, classified information on various things within the quadrant – the whole makedo.”

“Makeda-what?” asked Lieutenant Jorle.

“Oh, it's a local food, a kind of meat stuffed into a rolled, baked flat bread that you--.”

“We're not here to listen to your diet choices,” interrupted Stark. “Let me see your authorization orders.” He held out his hand.

The engineering captain looked suitably scolded and handed over a datapad. Stark took out his primary code cylinder and pressed it to the receiver. Within a second the datapad activated and information with all the correct authorization markers was scrolling down the screen.

“You couldn't have done this over the normal holonet?” asked Stark, going over the last bits of the scrolling text.

“Unfortunately that's against regulations, sir,” replied the ISB agent to the left of the engineering officer. Whereas the engineering officer looked soft and somewhat naive, the dead-eyed ISB agent somehow managed to set Stark's teeth on edge. “While the military holonet network is encrypted, there is always a chance that it might be sliced. High Command issued orders that for each ship that enters the new galaxy here, must be updated manually.”

“But our local net encryption is--,” began Lieutenant Jorle.

“Sufficient,” ended the ISB agent. “Which is why we only have to update the Black Ark and allow your own intraship network to handle the dissemination of data. The civilian ships don't need the sensitive data that the Navy does, so they're all being updated as we speak.”

“I do hope that Admiral Koga has the system on lockdown. I'd hate for some foolish civvies to go running off without warning.”

“The system's orbital station Ox-1 over the outer planet Numantine is currently using a system-wide gravity-well generator to keep all traffic from leaving,” said the engineering captain.

“Well,” nodded Stark, “It seems all is in order. Permission to enter the bridge, granted.”

“Thank you, Captain Stark.” The small team entered the bridge, two of the bridge's stormtroopers immediately taking up their tail.

The engineering captain carried a small brief case with him which he unlocked through a code and genetic marker lock. Opening it revealed what the techies referred to as a large 'data lode', or sometimes data tapes. A small cord was connected from it to the astromech who immediately put out an data spike and jammed it into the central computer station at the rear and aft of the bridge.

Stark walked over to his deck officers. “Notify all stations, new data coming. It's an update on the local space. Also, Comms, make sure you get the data-network links checked over and increase encryption. Once we're fully updated, begin spreading the data-packets to all ships in the system.”

A chorus of 'aye ayes' and 'yes sir' followed.

The roughly six hundred and fifty exabytes of data were transferred in fifteen minutes. Without any real flourish the engineering team was escorted off the bridge – but not before Lieutenant Jorle managed to get more information from the engineering captain about the local cuisine.


* * * * * * *




Starwind-class Pleasure Yacht Crown of Kuat | New Bastion Orbit | Beta Quadrant


Dorn van Kuat was fuming, slightly. He'd been waiting for three days. Three days! Three days since the Empire's first wave of migrants had emerged from their trans-galactic trip between galaxies. Three days since he had arrived and not yet once been given an audience with either the Moff Council or the Lady Dheinalia. For a man who was the owner of Kuat Drive Yards and held titles of nobility within the Empire to be held waiting for one day, let alone three, was inexcusable.

“They won't hear the end of this,” Dorn thought aloud. “I'll make sure that someone's life is miserable as a result of this insult.”

“You do realize, father, that they might simply be busy?” Lounging on a comfortable couch nearby, sipping on Alderaanian wine, was Dorn's son, Jean.

“Too busy to meet the man who made this possible? Too busy to meet the man who literally tore apart centuries work of orbital shipyards and managed to make them transportable? Too busy for KDY?”

“Yes, yes, and yes,” smiled Jean. “You let your business nose lead you too often, Father. You forget that there has to be a little political dancing going on. Grand Moff Noventa will need to be settled with and the new dispensation of the Empire worked out.”

“To whit, I should be a part of that,” muttered Dorn, sitting down across from his son and grabbing a cup of wine for himself.

“We've already been promised family control of three full systems and a tax rebate that will keep us in the black for the next twenty years,” continued Jean. “With those kinds of operating costs, and the fact that the Banking Clan agreed to follow along with us means that we're in the best position financially.”

“Yes, yes, yes – that all true – but there are certain things that rankle.”

Jean began ticking off his fingers. “We've got our shipyards coming after us in the second and third waves. Our engineering department head, Dr. Lovelace, said that we'd be able to have them back up and operational within seven months from the date that we manage to get them in-system to where we want them. And over half the Empire owes us money because we loaned them ships to make the crossing. We're in the best position the family has ever been in.”

Dorn muttered again, into his cup.

“Not to mention that a certain criminal syndicate owes us several favors for helping them across as well, with the added benefit of hiding as KDY employees.”

Dorn looked up sharply. “No talk of that, even here. Until we establish ourselves, we'll not talk of the Zann Consortium. They already had some people in this galaxy, but we were semi-forced to bring along the rest. The less anyone else knows we helped them across, the better.”

“It'll be fine, Father. Besides, you know how much Zann's daughter likes me. He'd not lay a finger on my head, or our assets.”

“You understand the criminal mind so very poorly, my son,” sighed Dorn. “For all that you'll make a good politician, you're woefully blind in many respects.”

“Time will tell, I suppose,” shrugged Jean.

Dorn sighed and drank more wine.
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Postby Thrashia » Wed Dec 28, 2016 4:31 pm

Imperial Navy Headquarters | Bastion City | New Bastion

Admiral Ishin Koga took off his service cap and tucked it into his belt. Most of the officers filing into the room did likewise. It was summer time on this part of New Bastion and even with the air conditioning it was still humid. Admiral Chiraneau was visibly and profusely sweating. Koga smiled at his opposite number. “You'll get use to it, soon enough.”

“I'd rather be back aboard my ship,” grunted Chiraneau.

“No wonder the ground pounders make fun of us Navy guys,” smiled Koga, “We always want our climate-controlled starship bridges instead of anything else.”

“They're more than welcome to this swelter,” groused Chiraneau. The other, junior, officers around them all chuckled and made noises of agreement.

The briefing room had a holo-projector table in the center. Koga motioned to one of his men to get it online. Within moments, the New Bastion system was floating in mid-air before them. Koga nodded toward it and began his brief as the other officers began sitting in the raised seating surrounding the projector.

“So, here is the center of all our operations – our regional capital...well, I guess it's Imperial Center now,” began Koga. That garnered a small laugh from the officers. “New Bastion. It is in what has been designated as the R-V Sector. When we arrived in this Milky Way Galaxy, we adhered to a local tradition of dividing up the galaxy according to a grid system of mapping.”

As he spoke, the image of the New Bastion System was replaced with a galaxy wide, wide angle image – graph lines crisscrossing it. It zoomed in onto the R-V sector of space in what the projector was labeling the 'Beta Quadrant'.

“Surprisingly, while they have fewer sectors than we are use to back in the home galaxy, the density of systems within a single sector is much higher. Within the R-V sector alone, we have 20,349,000 star systems; but of those, only a little less than a few thousand have naturally habitable planets. If you check section A, sub-section 1-1 on your datapad brief packets, you'll find a list of them. We've colonized half of those within the R-V sector and patrol the other half regularly. The other systems are barren star systems - empty and useless for settlement, but good for industrial purposes.”

Chiraneau looked up from his datapad. “Two hundred star systems isn't going to be enough for proper settlement...not by a long shot. We've hundreds of trillions of beings that will be flooding into here.”

“Yes, we've been aware of that problem,” nodded Koga. The holomap increased in size, showing surrounding sectors of space around the R-V Sector. “Which is why we've also mapped out and investigated nearby sectors of space. If you will, gentlemen and gentlewomen, check through Section B of your brief packets, you'll see the number of sectors, habitable systems each contains, etc.”

“Eleven full sectors...” Chiraneau was impressed. “On average 500-1,000 habitable systems, a further five thousand that could be made habitable with terraforming...this could work.”

“In terms of settlement, yes, and the new Settlement Bureau can handle the fine details” agreed Koga. “But it makes our job that much more difficult, or at least more complex. Now, we've established regular patrols in all these sectors, predominantly with probe droids. Practically half of the Beta Quadrant has, by now, been seeded with holonet transceivers, so you could be in the next quadrant over and expect your message to reach New Bastion within a relatively short amount of time.”

“What about the ansible technology?” asked a vice admiral sitting next to Chiraneau. Lacroix was looking at Koga closely.

“We've all had it for some time, but haven't made use of it except in extreme situations,” replied Koga. “You knew this as well as we did, seeing as how it was old Parlim and then the Colonials who gave us that technology. We just simply haven't used it, except strategically.”

“We'll definitely be using it more,” said Chiraneau with finality. “What defensive plans have you formulated?”

“Each sub-sector, at least in the R-V sector, has a deep space, secretly located naval base. Think of it as a way station for the Navy forces in the area. They're quite nice, really. R&R facilities, stores, you name it, they got it. But they also act as assembly areas. Each deep space station, DSS, has an Enemy Action Response Team – or EART – ready to go within thirty minutes. Those ships not on patrols, R&R, or refit usually take rotation as part of an EART.”

“And I assume it's been tested?”

“Down to the minute. We faced a few major incursions from a rogue migration of pirates, known as the Ravagers, recently. The EARTs managed to keep more than six colonies from being ransacked.”

“Casualties?”

“Minimal, mostly civilian ships that didn't run away in time. Each colony is provided with a planetary-grade shield generator in return for tax deductibles on Imperial goods sold to the colony. I'm told it's profitable in the long run. Either way, it forces a lot of enemy forces to face us in space.”

“We won't be able to count on that for the near future,” said Vice Admiral Lacroix. “We don't have nearly enough stock to give each planet we settle a shield generator. At least not on the planetary-grade.”

“It was something we expected,” countered Koga, as if he had been waiting for the vice admiral to voice these words. “And have therefore been furiously training the EARTs. With the addition of the entire Imperial Navy now in the Beta Quadrant, I'm quite confident that we can keep any planet from being subject to occupation – though they may suffer in the initial attack.”

Chiraneau nodded. “That will be unavoidable, unfortunately. But necessary for now. I applaud your efforts, Admiral Koga – you and your men have prepared well.” The officers around Chiraneau nodded and an impromptu round of applause broke out. Koga smiled and gave a dramatic bow, creating more chuckles.

Once the applause died down, Chiraneau looked up a bit more sharply. “Now, Admiral Koga, please move onto the indigenous species. You mention that we have these ten sectors to settle into, but that doesn't mean that we'll be able to do so without having to displace or live alongside new alien species.”

“You are correct, Admiral Chiraneau,” smiled Koga, grinning like a shark. “We've encountered hundreds of primitive species within each sector of space, most are without even rudimentary technology or understanding of science and natural laws. We have, however, encountered a dozen species that have reached a level of technology that would, in the home galaxy, mark them out for inclusion within the Galactic Senate.”

“Hostile?”

“Some. Others are genuinely happy to meet other species, even ones that are obviously more advanced. Nearly all of them within the R-V sector have submitted requests to join the Empire as citizens, an action which Grand Moff Noventa approved and has accepted.”

“Those that either did not submit such a request or accept that option?” asked Vice Admiral Lacroix, again.

“The campaigns were short,” deadpanned Koga. “Collateral damage was minimal.”

“I see we have several more dozens of species to negotiate with in these new settlement sectors as well,” said Chiraneau, looking through the datapad briefing files.

“Yes. The Imperial Foreign Ministry is going to be kept busy,” Koga said.

“Well, let's leave that to the pen pushers at the IFM,” said Chiraneau. “Let's get down to fleet deployments and dispersion for the next year.”

Koga adjusted the holo-projector again. “If you look now in your brief at Section C...”



* * * * * * * *




After three weeks of waiting in position, the Imperial Navy had finally allowed civilian craft to begin leaving the system. Settlement systems had been assigned to groups of craft according to their preferences as noted down in their files. Sometimes entire planetary populations from the home galaxy traveled together, requesting to be resettled again as a whole. Other times, colonies were founded by a hodgepodge of species and peoples, such as when the newly dubbed system of Anaxes II was settled by Humans, Rodians, and a group of Gran.

Within a full week, the entire First Wave of craft had been dispersed throughout the R-V sector of space. The Imperial Navy forces that had accompanied them here were similarly deployed, taking up the increased security duties normally required by Grand Moff Noventa's forces.
Last edited by Thrashia on Thu Feb 28, 2019 1:39 pm, edited 3 times in total.
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Postby Thrashia » Thu Dec 29, 2016 3:19 am

Galactic Arrival Point | New Bastion System | Beta Quadrant


The second wave of the Imperial migration appeared a day after the final ships from the first wave had been dispersed. The second wave was significantly larger as well, not the least of which was the arrival of the Epion. The one-hundred and sixty kilometer diameter of the maneuverable battle station was intimidating to those who'd never seen either the Epion or one of the aged and infamous Death Star weapons. The Epion, however, was not a super weapon – merely a subliminally large station whose operations and mission was classified. Within the first day of it's arrival, the Epion, after receiving it's data updates, jumped into hypespace and disappeared.

In the wake of the artifical moon came the civilian hordes. Groups of KDY owned space tugs appeared, control cables attached to monolithic sized portions of metal infrastructure. Baron Dorn van Kuat hadn't lied when he said that his company was coming with him – literally. Thanks to the modular design of the orbital dockyards that had surrounded Kuat, they had been easily enough taken apart...in fifty kilometer long parts. KDY's best pilots and crew were responsible for them. The primary orbital ring alone had had to be split into roughly 1,200 equal parts. The first shipment of which was here, in the second wave. The rest would be brought in the third.

The Executor-class Super Star Destroyer Black Knight led the Imperial Navy's escort of the second wave. Rear Admiral Josef Hark, commanding, had been quite gruff with the local liaison officers until he was told to cool his exhausts by Admiral Chiraneau. It seemed that the delays in getting the entire second wave into the New Bastion system was causing even the upper echelons to chafe.

The Imperial Customs Authority, responsible for incoming vessels to the system, was taxed beyond it's means. Personnel were expected to fit 72 hours worth of work time into a single cycle. A great amount of responsibility was being forced onto droids. The Imperial Navy was forced to take up the slack, further delaying their own deployments. Half a million civilian vessels, the majority of which were at star liners or bulk transports – rented by planetary systems from KDY or bought outright - proved to be depressingly difficult to inspect. Customs officials were being forced to simply rely on ComScan overviews on seven out of every ten vessel. The majority had been vetted before making the trip to the Milky Way Galaxy, but a secondary check was necessitated by procedure and caution.

It took an extra three weeks to get the second wave processed, updated, and passed along to their intended destinations. Baron Dorn van Kuat hadn't made things easier by using his clout to have the KDY dependencies looked to first – causing three days of backlog delays.



En Route Through Hyperspace | Imperial-class Star Destroyer Right To Rule | Beta Quadrant

Captain Adam Dorofei marched smartly to the head of the bridge. A few of the pit crew smirked as he went by, noticing the captain's distinctive walk. Dorofei's gait meant he had good news for which he personally wished to take credit. Moff Grice, standing at the viewport, was looking at nothing in particular. He acknowledged Dorofei's crisp salute with a desultory nod, continuing to look at nothing in particular.

“We have an update from astrogation,” said the captain. “Hypersignal sensor data and recalculation indicates that all ships shall emerge from hyperspace in formation. Only the Strike Cruiser Archon is anticipated to have deviated more than an arc second since we left New Bastion.”

The captain waited, standing at attention. Grice did not dismiss him. Dorofei began to look uncomfortable. The put crew looked up, aware of the silence. Dorofei glanced at the pit crew. Grice made a slow quarter turn, examining the comp centers. Dorofei stiffened to full attention again as he inferred Grice's meaning.

“Astrogation assured me that the data has less than a fourth factor expected delta,” the captain said aloud, as if trying to fill the silence as desperately as he could. Grice nodded as Dorofei snapped another salute. He made a slight change of facing as the captain gratefully withdraw. One pit crew member swore he saw a small glint of a smile in the Moff's eyes.

The rest of the pit crew, alert to the Moff's posture, began running test charges through all of the Right To Rule's weapon systems. As the gaze of the Moff meandered over parts of the bridge, the crew leapt even further to life. The comm station began preprogramming fire command messages to the other ships for all of the exigencies for which they had planned. Controllers began the launch drill with the TIE pilots. Sensor crews began zero basing their instruments, fine tuning them to squelch any noise. Shield loads were tested, compared with standard energy draws on the engines and power plant. The helm worked through all of the emergency simulations with techs in the engine room. All sections reported to the staff lieutenant. When the row went green, the lieutenant looked up at the Moff.

“We're set to exit in 45. We shall proceed on the attack vectors unless you have any alterations to the plan, sir.”

Moff Grice nodded, turned and faced the helm.

“Lieutenant...”

Staff Lieutenant and deck officer, Hast, saluted faster than he ever had at the Academy when he heard Grice's voice.

“Yes, sir?”

“Let us show these recalcitrant people what we mean when we say 'the full might of the Empire'.”

All the crew members within hearing grinned like a school of sharks.


* * * * * * * *



One of the newly designated settlement sectors, categorized as Sector S-T for the time being, contained two space-faring species that the local Imperial forces under Grand Moff Noventa had encountered. The first, known as the Illyrians, had proven to be allies and trade partners. They did not possess the same level of technology as the Empire, using sleeper ships to achieve colonies on a number of worlds, but were happy to meet another space-faring people. The Illyrians, when given the chance to become a client state of the Empire, had accepted and agreed.

The other space-faring people, the Morgil, had not been so agreeable. From the moment of first contact, the Morgilians had proven hostile – firing upon Imperial ships without provocation. The fact that the Morgil had a small six-system empire, and building more, had not perturbed Grand Moff Noventa. Because the sector would need to have a strong, military-minded governor, Empress Dheinalia had agreed with Noventa's suggestion at giving the sector to Moff Grice – one of the few major members of the Moff Council to have actual experience in the Imperial Navy.

Once given the position and able to gather his former sector forces, along with an addition of forces from Grand Moff Noventa, Moff Grice had set off to the S-T Sector. He had initiated contact with the Morgil and offered them one more chance to submit.

The Morgil had refused.
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Postby Thrashia » Tue Jan 03, 2017 10:47 am

Battlegroup Grice | Morgil Colony World | Sector S-T, Beta Quadrant


The battle-group hung in the darkness of space on the edge of the Morgil system. A dozen heavy cruisers, cruisers, and frigates sat in prepared positions about the larger form of the Imperial-class Star Destroyer Right To Rule. Instead of moving directly into the heart of the system, Moff Grice had ordered his battle group to settle on the edges. Probe droids were sent further into the system, gathering intelligence, as well as a specially tasked SCAR trooper squad. It had been three days since the SCAR squad had been sent on their mission, enough time that Captain Dorofei was beginning to itch for action.

“Sir, I still don't understand why we're waiting here,” Dorofei said, repeating himself for the second or third time.

“We're waiting for our intelligence gathering to finish,” replied Grice, managing to keep his voice neutral and his face an emotionless mask. No need to burden the Fleet captain with anything else. The man's record indicated he was solid, if unimaginative.

“Ship coming up in sector eighty-seven, Captain,” called the ComScan officer from the crew pit.

“Identify,” ordered, Dorofei, turning away from Grice to his duties.

“We have you one our scopes, please identify yourselves,” the communications officer said over the comm.

This is SCAR-15, reporting back to base. Mission accomplished. Transmitting code clearance now.

Dorofei leaned over the man's shoulder and nodded. “The code checks out. Have them dock in the main hangar.”

“Aye, sir.”


* * * * * * *



The SCAR trooper, a Sergeant Kreel, stood in the debriefing room next to a stretcher bearing the corpse of an alien being. Captain Dorofei gagged slightly at the stench as he walked in, followed by Grice. The Moff simply grimaced. Both men returned to salute that the sergeant gave them.

“Your mission was successful then,” said Dorofei.

“As you can plainly see, sir.” The sergeant's tone was a bit off, but Grice let it pass. Dorofei was annoying to him, after all.

A pair of droids entered the room and Grice motioned them towards the repulsor stretcher. “Take it to Medical. I want a full diagnostics report and examination of its physiology on my datapad within three hours.”

“Yes, sir, Moff Grice,” the lead droid replied, before it's clanking steps took it out of the room. Thankfully the stench of the creature left the room with it.

“Report, sergeant,” said Grice, taking a seat at the table. Dorofei took a position standing behind and to the left of him. The SCAR trooper sergeant nodded and took out a data-stick, plugging it into the holo projector on the table. The planet, fourth form the system's star, appeared.

“We managed to sit in orbit for half a day, taking a full passive-scan record. The locals were making periodic launches into space. Their engines are fairly primitive, still using an explosive-reactant to get thrust, so we didn't have to worry about our ship giving it's position away due to all the backwash that they themselves were creating.” The imagine showed three orbital facilities, each larger than the last. “They appear to have three fortified orbital stations. Weapon platforms with extensive weaponry on them. They appear to use a form of mass-driver cannon weaponry. It might not be terribly accurate, but it packs a punch.”

“Strike craft?” asked Captain Dorofei.

“One of the orbital stations has an number of hangars, each containing what ComScan showed to be at least thirty strike craft or small corvette-analogs. No idea of their full capabilities, but it shouldn't be anything our own fly boys and girls can't handle.”

“Tell me more about the planet,” interjected Grice. “Number of cities, topography in their local, weather conditions, etc.”

“You can read the finer details in my written report, sir,” replied Sergeant Kreel. “As for cities, they appear to have only three major population centers – each containing a few million Morgil each. There are a few outlying settlements, but they're all devoted to agricultural businesses. It's from one of those that we bagged our smelly friend. Most of the cities are situated on alluvial plains. The Morgil harvest a tuber like vegetable as their most numerous crop. I brought a few of them in for the botanists in the Science detail to take a look at.

“As for weather? Mostly cool, with light wind. Based on computer projections, we're looking at the early spring time for the area of the planet where the largest of the cities is located. One other is also in the same geographical position, only one hundred klicks directly west. The third city lies south, seventy klicks, but separated by a fairly tall mountain range.”

“Ground facilities?”

“A few military bases, but no detectable planetary shield.”

Grice nodded. “Thank you, Sergeant Kreel. You are dismissed. Submit your written report and then get some R&R. You and your men have earned it.”

Kreel saluted again, turned smartly on his heel, and left. Grice manipulated the holo-projector controls, looking over the raw data that was being projected. “You're dismissed too, Captain. I'm sure you're needed on the bridge.”

“Uh – yes, thank you, sir.” Dorofei awkwardly stitched a salute and left Grice alone in the room.

Grice brought up a direct link to the medical examination room aboard the Right To Rule, watching as Chief Medical Officer, Commander Feyrise, was using a scanning probe over the creature. He was speaking aloud, making notes to a floating assistant droid as well as to the cameras in the chamber.

“These aliens are a type of mammal. They have two arms and four legs, with a long, thick tail. They have two eyes which sit narrowly in their sockets and, well, appears to make them look 'excited'. Their eyesight does not appear to be the best, based on position, size, and lack of pupils.

“Their mouths are large, indicating an omnivore eating habit. An enormous nose and complex nostril aperture indicates that smell is an important part of how the creature 'sees' and comprehends the world around it. Their ears are large and like indicative of excellent, or preternatural hearing. They also have small horns on their hands and feet, indicating that their ancestors were once combative, four-legged creature.

“Their skin is course, thick and strong. It's covered in short, curly hairs. Skin color is mostly light purple, light orange, and dark red, likely for mating purposes. Based on this sample and scans further provided by Sergeant Kreel, it appears that the males are usually taller than their female counterparts and their colors are more vibrant. The females, however, are heavier...”

Moff Grice cut the connection and went back to viewing the orbital scans. The first hurdles were over and completed. Now was the time to make a plan of action – besides simply barreling into their defenses.
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Postby Thrashia » Sun Jan 15, 2017 5:26 am

Battlegroup Grice | Morgil Colony World | Sector S-T, Beta Quadrant


The TIE Interceptor squadron came accelerating around the port bow of the Victory-class Star Destroyer Fiery Ascent, bearing down upon a half-mauled and destroyed Morgil strike craft group. Green laser fire erupted the four fire-linked laser cannon of the lead Interceptors, slashing across the escape vector that the assaulting Morgil strikers were desperately trying to escape along.

Watch your lead, Onyx-5, pick your targets.

Morg-spawn on your nine-nine, Onyx-7 – take him down!

Break into teams and mop up. No survivors,” came the call from Onyx Leader.


The battle for orbital control of the Morgil colony world was nearly complete. Spearheaded by the Right To Rule, the Imperial battlegroup had launched a surprise assault. Making a microjump from the very edge of the system to within several hundred kilometers of the planet's outer defensive umbrella. Within moments of transitioning from hyperspace, each of the six cruisers and the Imperial-class Star Destroyer unleashed a wave of TIE Fighters and TIE Interceptors. Missile boat squadrons followed along in their wake, cutting through to make attack runs upon the orbital assets and stations. The Right To Rule took up a static position and unleashed the full might of it's turbolaser batteries upon anything that presented even the slightest threat to it or it's lesser escorts.

It proved to be practically unnecessary, as the three Morgil cruiser-analogs in orbit were blown into composite pieces of quickly expanding gas and momentary puffs of escaping flame, before the cold of space extinguished them.

The orbital stations were proving slightly harder targets. ComScan revealed that they were actually asteroids, dense from hardened metals and ores, that had been tractored into the planet's orbit and modified locally into defense stations. Captain Dorofei had had to be satsified with merely destroying their offensive weaponry. Grice had already alerted his stormtrooper contingents to prepare for boarding actions to clear out the stations.

The last remaining threat, the Morgil strike craft, were being cleaned up by the TIEs.


Standing on the bridge of his Star Destroyer and observing the tactical plot being projected before him, Moff Grice felt satisfied.

“Congratulations, sir,” Captain Dorofei said, looking up from his datapad. “The surprise attack was a complete success.”

“You had doubts it wouldn't be, Captain?” asked Grice, allowing a slight frown to crease his forehead.

“I-uh-that is, no sir. I simply meant-.”

“I know what you meant, Captain Dorofei,” interrupted Grice. “I swear, you're far to easy. Be at ease, Captain.”

Captain Dorofei's face changed from uncertainty and fear, lapsing into anger and obvious frustration, before returning to a more muted and blank-looking facade. The fact that the captain was so easy to ready and manipulate at times was becoming a favorite button to press for Grice. It passed the time at least, but spoke poorly for the captain's future career.

Grice decided he needed to give him a little something to help salve his pride. “Just a joke on my part. I make those from time to time. If you would, please give the order for the ground assault to begin.”

Dorofei perked up at that. “Yes sir, Governor Grice!” Like a pet that's been given a new distraction, thought Grice.

The captain turned to his aid and a comm channel was opened for him. “Brigadier Jjormund, are you and your men ready?”

Been ready since we entered the system, Captain Dorofei. I assume that the Imperial Navy has finished mopping up orbit?” The general's voice was craggy and solid. Having spent some time with the brigadier over games of holochess, Grice had come to respect the man's abilities and merits.

“You'd be correct, Brigadier,” replied Dorofei, a slight scoff to his tone. “You're clear to start your landing.”

Might I add, Captain, that Knight Isvail and his neophyte are on my landers. I'm assuming that they have permission from either you or Moff Grice to be there?

Captain Dorofei looked up at Grice. “Sir?”

“The Imperial Knight order is beyond my control,” said Grice, shrugging. “If they want to join the troops for the assault, then I'll encourage it. They might be the edge needed to make this quicker.”

The captain nodded and turned back to the comm. “They're cleared to accompany and help in the assault. Feel free to try giving them orders, but I'm not sure if they'll listen.”

Duly noted, Captain Dorofei.” The dryness in his voice dripped with sarcasm. “I'll be sure to pass along your concerns to Knight Isvail.

The line cut off and Dorofei sneered at the receiver. Grice merely laughed internally and turned back to the tactical plot.


Primary Hangar Bay, Imperial-class Star Destroyer Right To Rule


Brigadier Jjormund pulled his service cap back on tighter and readjusted his armored combat vest. He wouldn't be wearing the same full-suited plasteel and ablative armor that his clone troopers wore, but rather his normal service uniform with a few coverings of armor here and there. By rote he checked to make sure his personal deflector shield was attached at his hip and it's battery charged. Satisfied, he turned back to where the line of Imperial Drop Transports waited. Modeled on the older LAATs, the IDTs were an improvement in armor, shielding, and weaponry; more sharp angles and dangerous looking that the more bulbous LAAT had been.

His personal IDT sat hovering above the deck of the hangar bay on its repulsorlifts. His command squad and a half-platoon of clones awaited, a few hanging out the side of the IDTs side doors as they chatted and talked with others.

Kastor Jjormund smiled at his men and walked over. They all wore their armor painted with yellow-tan markings – the color designation of the 35th Infantry Division, Third Legion. The same color was matched to the blood stripe that ran the lengths of Jjormund's pant leg seams.

“Any news from the top brass, General?” asked Commander CC-2339, otherwise known as “Decker”.

“You'll be happy to know that the Navy is finally done sipping their tea and given us clearance to launch,” replied Jjormund. “Go ahead and get the men on their ships.”

Decker snapped a quick salute, his all-too-familiar face, the same as that legendary Mandalorian warrior Boba Fett, grinning with anticipation. “Yes sir, general.”

Decker walked behind the line of IDTs where there were perfectly arrayed blocks of clone troopers, gear ready, weapons primed and held at attention, waiting like a coiled spring. Decker raised the amplification device he had in his helmet to address them.

“Alright men, you all know the plan. You've been briefed. Some of you Shinies might feel inclined to do something stupid and heroic – don't. Stick to your training and you'll soon not be Shinies any longer. This is the first time that the 35th will be leading an attack in this, our new home galaxy. Let's not muck it up, shall we?”

Decker raised his hand, formed a fist, and slammed it into his chest armor. “Steel within!”

“STEEL WITHOUT!” cried back a thousand voices, with fists extending and beating twice upon their own armor. The motto of the Third Legion was stirring in it's way. Jjormund smile grew bigger as he too anticipated the coming battle.

The two battalions in the hangar began to move into their IDTs and Decker came swaggering back to the command IDT. “Message sent to all transports in the battle group, general,” said Decker. “The 35th is launching as planned.”

“Then let's go, you're slowing us up,” replied Jjormund. “We can actually look forward to fighting a people who aren't as mentally unstable as Chaos fanatics.”

“Oya! Let's show their aruetii how the Imperial Army does business.”

“Just be sure to save some for us,” said a more cultured voice, behind Jjormund. He turned to find the red-armored forms of Knight Isvail and his neophyte standing there, strapped in and ready for the drop.

“There'll be more than enough for everyone,” smiled Jjormund. “SCAR intel says these Morgs are tough. We might end up needing your help, after all, Master Knight.”

The side, armored doors of the IDT slid closed and sealed the drop ship. Within moments, a stream of IDTs poured out of the hangar bays of the Right To Rule. Across the battle group, other capitol ships and transports unleashed their own payload of clonetroopers. The IDT and heavier transports, carrying armored vehicles, walkers, and tanks, swarmed into the atmosphere on trails of burning light.
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Thrashia
Minister
 
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Founded: Aug 31, 2004
Compulsory Consumerist State

Postby Thrashia » Sun Mar 26, 2017 9:36 am

Morgil Colony World | Battle


I am one with the Force.

A laser bolt slid past, it's trajectory predicted and subtly dodged.

Let it's power flow through me.

The hum of a lightsaber filled the air as a silver-white blade rose with practice ease and batted aside a flurry of follow up blasts.

By my will, I flow. By it's will, I fly.

The red armored Imperial Knight used a burst of Force energy to accelerate into action. Like an after-image, the figure zipped across the thirty meters of open ground in the blink of an eye. The gangling creatures holding weapons behind a series of emplacements looked up in apparent shock. Knight Isvail could sense their fear reaching phenomenal heights as he brought his blade down.

One. Two. Three cuts. Four.

Three heads and a limb fell to the ground. The last living of the emplacement's defenders fall back onto it's hind corners, hissing in it's own alien tongue. It's narrow eyes squinted up, becoming wide as an avalanche of pain and fear exploded. Isvail drove his blade through it's chest, ending both.

"Thanks for the assist, Lord Knight," came a voice behind Isvail.

He turned to find a Clone sergeant standing behind him. In the open ground before the emplacement, dozens of clone troopers were moving forward - their passage now made easier by the removal of the entrenched defenders. The sergeant nodded once and then went back to doing his job, moving his men forward into the fight. Isvail took a moment to settle himself and then focused outwards. He quickly sensed his apprentice nearby, a beacon compared to the less Force attuned Morgil, or even the clones.

The Imperial Neophyte was also helping to mop up a bunker emplacement that was blocking the advance of the Imperial column up these main road arteries through the center of the city. 35th Battalion forces had sprung upon the reeling Morgil defenders like a pack of wolves upon wounded prey. With fierce, lightning speed they'd been able to penetrate into the outer sections of the Morgil people's three primary cities. Voices over the comlink tactical net indicated that two of the three cities were already taken - their inhabitants surrendering.

"Master," nodded his neophyte, Exandria. Though younger than anyone else, the girl's calm and collected face left no doubt that she was fully in control of the present. Dark, dusky skin with long, flowing black hair; she was far different from the pale, red-haired Isvail. But her potential in the Force was all that Isvail cared about.

"You managed to complete that task in a fairly short time. Congratulations. You're improving!" Isvail allowed a smile.

Exandria returned the smile. "I need more practice with my blade-work through."

"You've not yet mastered the Third Form," agreed Isvail. "Soresu is an important aspect of your lightsaber abilities. Do not take it likely. It'll save your life."

"I understand, Master," nodded Exandria. "I feel like I'm beginning to understand better though, now. Faster, even!"

"War has a way of teaching you - whether you like it or not," replied Isvail. "Now let's go, I can hear over the tactical net that our assistance is needed elsewhere."

"Aye, Master."


~*~*~*~*~



The battle was over within less than two days. The last battle was more protracted than had been expected. The Morgil became more fanatical in their desperate self-sacrifice, at times literally throwing themselves before the blasting guns of the 35th Legion. More than a few clones despaired at such blatant massacre, and switched to stun bolts.

The Morgil leader, known in the local dialect of their language as 'Exulted Breed', was captured within the last hour. Once captured and the creature's image broadcast by Imperial holodroids, bound in chains, the will to fight left the Morgil that remained.

Like a well oiled machine, the Morgil war caste were put into containment camps to await disposition. Others that had not fought, or willfully surrendered, were allowed to return to their homes and help rebuild their cities. Outside of each settlement, an Imperial garrison was set up, prefabricated edifices that were deployed from the fleet in orbit.

Within a week of the Morgil capitulation, Governor Grice had overseen the leveling of a mountain top and the foundations laid for a new city to be built - the new center of Imperial power upon the planet. In order to better make clear his power as the new Sector Governor, Grice declared the planet to be the new seat of his sector governorship and renamed it after his birth world:

New Corulag.
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"D-Damn you all...! All of you dogs whose souls are still bound to the Earth! Long live Neo Zeon!" - MSG: Unicorn

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Thrashia
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Founded: Aug 31, 2004
Compulsory Consumerist State

Postby Thrashia » Mon Mar 27, 2017 11:18 am

New Bastion System | Newly Crowned Throneworld of the Thrashian Empire

Imperial City, as it was being now called, glowed in the morning light. The marble and alabaster buildings shone like opals, while the spring greens of the parks and promenades surrounding nearly every skyscraper were alight like emeralds. The weather could not have been better. The cool morning air flowed through the open portico doors, brushing aside drapes and hanging tapestries. Dheinalia, wearing a slight white, silk sleeping shift stood upon the balcony and stared out upon her world.

Her world.

The reality of what was happening, had happened, would happen...it was almost enough to engulf any single being. Dheinalia was, however, made of sterner stuff. Whether by the teaching of her father, Regent Ardus Kaine, or by the lessons learned from her lover and husband, Grand Admiral Thrawn - she stood stronger than forged transparisteel. The breeze felt nice. Beneath a hum of ship engines and the normal drone of life awakening within a major city such as this, Dheinalia could hear birds and animals greeting the rising sun. Which reminded her....

Dheinalia turned and walked back inside her suite's chambers. Two protocol droids, platinum bodies mirror-polished, twitched to her appearance and bowed in synchronicity.

"Did you sleep well, Majesty?" asked one, C-5R0

"How was the city looking today, Majesty?" asked the other, LUQ-9.

"Well and good, to both," smiled Dheinalia. "Fivero, please tell the nursemaids that I wish to see my son. Lucky, please have my gown readied."

"Of course, Majesty. I also wish to remind you that the coronation begins in two hours. Grand Moff Noventa has requested to join you for breakfast," replied LUQ-9. C-5R0 had already left, exiting through the grand doors that led into the outer halls, to the room next door where the young Tanaris slept.

Dheinalia sighed. "Yes, yes - see to it that breakfast is ready for when the Grand Moff arrives." Less than half a year since the Empire had begun it's great migration, of her own arrival to this new system, and already Noventa was beginning to feel like a nuisance. The man was good, she'd admit that. Smart, witty, charming, and more efficient than half the administrators that had ever overseen Imperial territory in the past -- but still, he grated upon her mind. The man is far too slick for his own good.

Lucky brought her a day gown which she slipped into, before turning to be handed Tanaris. The little boy, growing too fast to be an infant any more, yawned mightily as the warm embrace of his mother was felt. The boy's eyes fluttered open, revealing solid-red irises. Dheinalia smiled down at his and planted a warm kiss upon his brow. "Good morning, my little darling." Tanaris grumbled in protest and his arms attempted to push up and out of the swaddling he was kept in.

Dheinalia took a little time to play and feed her son, before giving him back to the group of chosen women who were guardians over her son. "Keep him here and let him have the run of the apartments. He'll not enjoy the ceremony today - much too loud - so please see to it."

"Yes, Majesty," the voices chorused, heads bowed.



Grand Moff Noventa was already awaiting her in the dining hall. His uniform looked freshly pressed and starched, his various medals adorning his chest. He smiled, charmingly as always, and bowed as she entered. "Good morning, Highness!"

"Grand Moff," Dheinalia nodded. She took her seat, followed shortly by Noventa himself. Within moments servants appeared at their shoulders, presenting trays of beautifully prepared delicacies. Much of it was fresh, local fruits that Dheinalia had not yet learned the name of, but they were delicious; tart at the beginning and sweet at the end. She dove into her meal with gusto, knowing that she wouldn't have much time for the rest of the day to eat.

"I am pleased to say that all the preparations have been complete," said Noventa, after having waited a few minutes for both of them to eat a little first. He sipped a cup of steaming green tea and sighed contentedly when he set the cup down. "The procession from the Imperial Palace will go down the main thoroughfare for six kilometers, before ending at the prepared dais set upon the steps of the old Governor's Hall. There you will be given the Oath and a parade will step before the dais. Afterwards, you'll retire to the throne room, where you will receive some foreign dignitaries and other high ranking members - as well as the obeisance of the new Moff Council."

Dheinalia simply nodded in reply. She sipped her own tea, an import from the Old Galaxy.

"I leave it all in your capable hands, Grand Moff Noventa."



~*~*~*~*~*~




The main thoroughfare, a street that had remained part of the city's physicality throughout the hundred or more years of it's construction, was wide and well kept. The great buildings on either side of it made for a canyon, white and silver in color from the marble and metal. Thrashian citizens of every stripe were present. Various races, though the majority were human or near-human, stood within the crowd cheering. Balconies overlooking the procession were filled and mobile hovering stands, where wealthier folk could sit in comfort to observe the spectacle, also hove about like so many silent birds.

A special carriage had been created for the procession. A gold vehicle in the shape of a stylized heart moved smoothly down the road, an open portion atop having a golden throne with blood-red carpets underneath. Sitting upon it like some celestial vision in a white dress was Dheinalia. A series of holo-droids kept pace, her image being broadcast not only to every projector on the planet, but was being rapidly beamed throughout local space upon the HoloNet. Her smile was beatific and she would wave left, right, up, and down - many citizens swearing later to have made actual eye contact with her as she passed.

The Imperial Knights, their red armor pristine, were out in full force. They marched before and behind the royal conveyance. Two of them, including Grand Master Draco, stood behind her throne like watchful hawks.

Red and white flower petals fell through the air like pouring rain. Children were raised high upon their parents shoulders to enable them to have a better look. Picts were flashing and holo-cameras galore were running and recording. The crowd roared and chanted.

"Dheinalia! Dheinalia! Dheinalia!"

Drums, trumpets, instruments of all kinds, blared forth and beat music of such celebration that even the most disinclined towards such theater could not help but be swayed.

"It's quite impressive, isn't it, your Highness?" Draco asked through the minuscule comlink bead in Dheinalia's ear.

She smiled. "It is that."

"Your father would be proud," Draco said, his voice slightly strained. The pain was still with him, even now.

"I know he would."


The procession reached the end of the six kilometers, finally. It had seemed to take half a day, but had actually only been a single hour. Dheinalia walked down an extended ramp upon a newly constructed marble dais. Its stone was chased with gold and silver. Four great columns rose, two to a side, behind and two the sides - garlands of white flowers stretched up their height to the air above. A banner bearing the Thrashian Eagle grasping the Imperial emblem was strung between the rearmost columns. Its eye seemed to glare down upon any who dared to approach the throne sitting safely beneath its feet.

Once seated upon the throne, her vehicle moved aside, and the small but enthusiastic marching band that had accompanied her removed to the side, Grand Moff Noventa appeared. The crowd hushed, the entire city becoming quiet. Alexandros bore in his hands a small, red silk pillow. Upon it was a golden circlet adorned with diamonds, opals, and sapphires - a newly forged crown.

Alexandros marched methodically up the stares before coming to stand before Dheinalia. He spoke and his voice was carried throughout the city by broadcasters.

"Here then sits the Crown of Thrashia, the jewel of our Empire. I, Alexandros de marqui Noventa, Grand Moff of the Empire, present it. Do you, Dheinalia Vera Nuruodo, have the strength to take it and all it's responsibilities? Will you grasp this symbol and also the authority? Will you bind yourself and your blood to that of the Empire and it's citizens?"

Dheinalia stood and thrust out her arm, hand open as if grasping something that none could see - embracing the crowd with her eyes and seemingly her hand.

"I do!"

Alexandros bent his knee and lifted the silk cushion in his hand high.

Dheinalia used both her hands to take the crown into her grasp. For a moment, barely a few heartbeats, her hands merely rested upon the pillow, her fingers feeling the cold of the gold metal. Then, as if she had made the decision, she raised the jeweled crown and held it aloft. The moment the crown rested upon her head, the crowd burst into an even louder, crescendo-less, cacophonous roar. Dheinalia smiled and looked about her, watching the crowd as if it were a living creature writhing before her.

Noventa stepped away once the crown was taken off the cushion, handing it off to a nearby adjutant. He turned and motioned to a waiting Imperial Army colonel. The man saluted, marched smartly out onto the pavement before the dais and bowed at the waist before Dheinalia. Raised up once more, the man took out a ceremonial saber and saluted the row of military officers, all ranking general, admiral, or higher. With a snap of his heels, he faced back towards the street and called out - his words lost amid the torrent of noise. It didn't matter anyway, for the larger parade was already coming down the road.

Company by company, their white armor gleaming in the rays of the afternoon sunlight, marched the clone legions. Between the opalescent companies marched green-uniformed normal soldiers, members of the Imperial Army. Taking up the rear were slightly less well marching companies of Imperial Fleet ensigns. The clone companies bore banners declaring their respective legions, while the other Army and Fleet companies simply bore banners bearing the Imperial cog. Like a coiled, leviathan of a snake, the procession of soldiers marched past. Citizens cheered and waved. The military had always been respected and beloved by the average citizen of the Empire.

TIE Fighter squadrons buzzed over the city, tight formations performing feats of daring and finesse to impress any pilot. Higher still was a trio of Imperial-class Star Destroyers, their engines idling and allowing their great size to hover above the city like metallic clouds. Bursts of fireworks and shimmering lights danced across the skies to the delight of all who witnessed them.

Finally, three chosen companies were allowed to come to formation before Dheinalia's dais; one from the clone legions, one from the Army, and one from the Fleet. The rest of the military parade had moved on past back to their muster fields. As each company's officers stepped forward, the crowd once more grew quiet. The Oath, known to some as the sacrementum imperialis, was a hallowed act.

"Company!" roared the colonel at the front, still bearing his saber. "Atten-shun!"

Boots snapped together in the silence.

"Preee-zent...arms!"

Clones shouldered their DC-rifles, as did the Army troopers. The Naval personnel merely stood ever more straighter.

The colonel turned and raised his ceremonial saber's hilt up to his eyes, saluting Dheinalia. He then swept it down and fell to a single knee. In sync with their officer the three companies did likewise. The colonel stared up into Dheinalia's eyes and she saw true passion and devotion in his.

"I swear by the Goddess this sacred oath," shouted the officer, his voice carried forth and echoed by the raised voices of the soldiers behind him.

"I swear to you, Dheinalia Vera Nuruodo, loyalty and valor. That I shall give unconditional obedience to thee, my Empress, leader of the Empire and its citizens, and that I shall at all times be ready, as a soldier of the Empire, to give my life for this oath.

"That which is living, forever dies. That which serves, forever lives."

The rough voices of the soldiers dwindled and silence followed. The solemnity of the moment caught many's throat, as many citizens had served their time in the armed forces. Simply because a man or woman was no longer in uniform did not mean that they never stopped abiding by their oath. But this moment was even more important.

It had been more than thirty years since the Oath had been given to a royal ruler of the Empire. Before, during the Regency, the Oath had been sworn to the throne, empty though it be. But now? To have a living Empress standing before them? The hearts of the kneeling soldiers swelled with fierce pride, their eyes up and looking upon their beautiful Empress with a growing love. She looked down at them with understanding eyes. She knew soldiers, after all. Then she smiled, beatific and lovely.

"This oath, freely given, I accept," the Empress called out.

The crowd roared in approval. The companies stood back up, perhaps taller now than before, their chests swelled and puffed with pride. The colonel salute with his ceremonial saber once more before sheathing it. With a last bow, he left the foot of the dais and led the companies back down the road, the cheers following them the whole way.

Grand Moff Noventa then appeared and bowed.

"Shall we retire now to the throne room, my Empress?"

"Indeed. Let's get the day moving. I've no desire to bore my citizens any further," she replied, a small glimmer in her eye. Alexandros gave a small chuckle and followed Dheinalia behind the dais to the awaiting group of Imperial Moffs, nobles, and foreign dignitaries. She swept past them with her entourage of Imperial Knights and into the newly minted Imperial Grand Hall.

Within the Imperial Grand Hall was the throne room, ceremonial in purpose. The room stretched for one hundred meters from the door to the end, where a second throne, marble and gold-chased like the one outside had been, sat waiting upon a dais. The floor was covered in a blood-red carpet, until it met the columns, which formed a nave of sorts down the center. Red-armored Imperial Guardsmen, the best clone soldiers bred, stood at each column like statues. Banners of silk hung in the air. On either side of the nave, the air opened out to a balcony on either side, stretching the same length as the room. Cool air flowed through, as well as the noise of a celebrating city.

The Imperial Moff council members formed a small clique to the right hand side of the dais, closest to the throne. Standing at the foot of the dais was Grand Moff Noventa, making clear his place. To the left hand side stood various Imperial nobles, grandees such as Dorn van Kuat and his son, Jean van Kuat. Hidden in small alcoves near the throne were the ever watchful Imperial Knights.

Behind the groups of people, upon the portico, were set up trestle tables piled high with sweet meats and delicacies from across the Empire. No less than sixteen miniature fountains were presented on them, with sixteen different alcoholic beverages flowing from them. Protocol droids and liveried servants moved throughout the crowd bearing trays of food and glass tumblers of ambrosia.

Noventa turned to Dheinalia. "Many of the foreign dignitaries will be coming now. Most will likely bear gifts of some kind or perhaps simple greetings. We can discuss more on them later."

Dheinalia nodded and then motioned to the presenting herald at the entrance. The man nodded and opened the door, announcing guests as they entered. A line formed, groups and parties of individuals moving forward to present themselves before the newly crowned Empress of Thrashia.
Last edited by Thrashia on Wed Mar 29, 2017 11:39 am, edited 4 times in total.
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"D-Damn you all...! All of you dogs whose souls are still bound to the Earth! Long live Neo Zeon!" - MSG: Unicorn

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Telros
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Founded: Apr 29, 2006
Ex-Nation

Postby Telros » Wed Mar 29, 2017 11:07 am

“Run it by me again.”

Beak of Green shifted in his seat, talons gripping the holographic pad in front of him that was still refreshing and displaying its rotation of data over and over again. Streams of numbers and words could be seen moving down across a background of light blue, the white text proving hard to ignore. Occasionally, there would be images scrolling down, hinting at the contents contained within: large fleet formations, one in front of a giant faster-than-light gate entrance, another of a world with dagger shaped vessels patrolling. More would have red shields next to them, indicators of conflict reports, showing more of these ships in various planetary systems. All of this under a strange flag bearing an eagle that was becoming more and more known to the Directorate. The avian cleared his throat, and grasped the holopad with both hands, a talon quickly switching through various pages before settling on that flag again. Haltering and with some stuttering, they began to speak again

“W-Well, Primus, as we have...been watching the-”

“Young one.” The interruption stopped him cold, his body freezing as his muscles went completely taut. The voice continued. “Look at me.”

Slowly, their vision raised, moving up the finely made dark brown mahogany desk, curved in a backwards sickle fashion, to the top, covered in the darkest obsidian. Above were the silver-gray outlines of the computer displays and the keyboard, all bare structures that had the rest filled with holographic hard-light technology, able to register presses on the various buttons and sections of screen and respond accordingly. With built in implants, one could even simply input commands, queries, and more at the speed of thought, which is something the Primus was doing even at this moment, as the screen flickered with windows, commands, and messages almost constantly. As he continued moving up, he could see the talons of the avian across from him, worn with age and lacking that bright sheen that he himself hand, although still taken care of. Scratches and scars could be seen on the claws and the hands up until the flesh and feathers vanished into the uniform, military style, with cuff links marked with his rank, current and past, polished silver with lights displaying the needed information. The clothing's foundational color was black, setting him apart from Green who wore primarily white with blue and silver accents, though the accents were blue and white, edging the sleeves and collar and the designs on the chest. It was designed to display the power and authority of this position and the being who held it. Beak remembered how often he had protested at wearing it, saying he could just wearing his old uniform for the same effect, but the clothiers had prevailed upon him, convincing him it was needed to inspire the people and give legitimacy to the position.

In all reality, they just wanted to design a new set of clothing and have the claim they had made the clothing for the first Primus elected in over three centuries. His vision finally stopped when his eyes met the other's. The plumage was much as any Tezekian, even his own, a forest of feathers forming its own crown on top of his old, giving birth to a phrase that had endured throughout the years from an old Tezekian philosopher “We are all kings on this world.” Unlike his own, which was uniformly and storngly green, the Primus had only dimmed feathers, some even lost entirely and artificially replaced, the just off shade that all their science just couldn't replicate their natural colors. Age was catching up with him, but from his build, the scars and memories left on his body and the sheer history of the being, he knew he could be ripped apart the moment they came across the desk at them. After a couple breaths of time, he finally spoke.

“Beak of Green. In the short time you have been my assistant, you have done nothing to wrong me or cause me to great wroth regarding your behavior. You do not need to act like you are being punished. Primus, I may be, but I am still the former Host Claws of Aquamarine you have known. No one needs to bow their head in my presence, and certainly not you.” He eased back in his chair and sighed with a flippant wave of a hand.

“Besides, I've barely even figured out how to work these levers of my position. They appear to have rusted and not been given good maintenance.” His eyes flicked over when he heard chuckling and could see the tension fleeing his assistant like a balloon.

There we go.

“Now, start over again for me, like you did before.”

Green shook himself, his feathers shuddering as his emotions ran through their cycle before settling into his professional work mode.

“Yes...of course sir. My apologies for the delay. Our information network is still growing and improving itself, with your new subsidies and recruits, into the program. We are still maximizing our network in the Gamma Quadrant, but we have also made the starting foundations in Beta and Delta, as instructed. We are still categorizing the information we are gleaning and setting up predictive models and plans to react to what we are discovering. Our network in Beta gave us some surprisingly good intelligence on an event that was going on a few months ago, which we found odd until we realized how large it was and that it was impossible to miss.”

Setting the holopad down, he initiated a connection to the Primus' console, which was automatically accepted via implant and the display changed from the desktop to the information that had been crawling before. As Beak moved through the data, a inkling of intent changing the screen as needed to add to the information being relayed. The now much enlarged screen was displaying a massive fleet of ships based around the world seen before and the gate.

“There has been a small nation in Beta, that was known as the Thrashian Empire, or at least our beginning forays into the data networks of the galaxy in the past had relayed. What we know now, having plundered them and local opinion more thoroughly since this started, is that this was a local enclave for a much larger empire, based in a completely different galaxy. We have approximations of its location to the Milky Way's own and are working on getting a way for Intelligence to that to that galaxy to find out more. They have a long and storied history of campaigns and battles both in that galaxy and in our own, with the latter being something we have obtained more files on. They are a militaristic power, having come from a 'Galactic Empire' of sorts, that was ruled by corruption, fear and intimidation. Something known as the 'Sith' and the 'Jedi' were involved, but we cannot pin anything more than fanciful rumors about what they are and their capabilities. One information called them “samurai with laser swords.”

The Primus raised an amused eyebrow at that but siad nothing as they continued.”

“There have been discussion about some kind of massive conflict that has exploded into life in this other galaxy; destroyed worlds, massive casualties, creatures and events out of nightmare and horror. Again, looking to confirm but slow going and will update as we know more. The important point is that for some reason, they have essentially emigrated what looks like their entire people into the Beta Quadrant a few months ago. That gate kicked in live, and ships started pouring out, as this file from a local trading vessel we purchased a few weeks ago. Military vessels of various configurations, all following a triangular, dagger aesthetic in design, appears to be a lot of energy weaponry and shielding from what scans have indicated. There was also commercial vessels, massive transport vessels, and just more. As we have seen, they unloaded people, tanks, troops, supplies, guns, food, even entire structures. It would appear they took everything not nailed down and transported it into Beta. And the ships just kept coming, thousands upon thousands. A relatively tiny shard of a nation has ballooned into a large power overnight and with that much material and people, it was inevitable what came next.”

Another shift, the pictures displayed a lot of the conflict reports, indicating worlds with more of the ships in orbit, destroyed craft around, others with alien craft mixing with the fleet. The Primus leaned forward at this, eyes sharp and intent on this part of the briefing.

“It was the same over and over again in the ensuing weeks; the Empire sent out diplomats, offering statehood in the Imperial zone of control, with all the benefits that came with it. Many said yes, out of fear of a force that was massively outside of their own, and integration was swiftly begun. Good portions of nations said no, hostilely or simply declining. The concerning part came next, when-”

“Every single nation that said no was swiftly conquered in efficiently planned and executed campaigns that left their military forces devastated and world's occupied.” Green started, not expecting the interruption.

“I, er, yes sir, that is an approximation of what happened.”

“So, to recap, Beak, we have a nation that left some conflict back home in another galaxy, relocating their problems here in Beta, and having moved essentially what can be argued their entire nation, they proceeded to displace countless nations and delicate relationships and conducted a swath of wars of conquest or diplomatic suggestion to form the current borders they are at now. We are staring at a group of people not used to the word 'no', and whom pose a massive security SNAFU for the Beta Quadrant in the past few months-”

“Yes sir, those are all correct if...too blunt for diplomatic discourse.”

Aquamarine rose and Green sunk into his chair, as the Primus stood up to his full height.

“And they just sent, blanket mail, invitations to nearly every nation in the damn galaxy to attend the coronation of this...”

Green shuffled the pertinent file on screen. “Empress Dheinalia Vera Nuruoda.”

A talon came up and rubbed into his brow as the leader of the Directorate fought off a headache. “While the implications of their actions are incredibly concerning, to the point I wish we could do something about the nations put under the heel of this Empire, we do not have the strength, backing, or reach to do anything about it. It represents an opportunity as well, ironically enough. Beta is a haven for fallen states, raiders, pirates, free-booters and the Vahkiran; if they can be convinced to use their strength to weaken or at least suppress these forces, it could further our goals for stabilizing things around here.”

Green perked up. “Less of them will be able to reinforce and come over to the Gamman trade lanes and hurt us here, making our job easier.”

“See, you're getting it. You'll enter the Moot at this rate.” The Primus laughed at the disgusted clucking noise his assistant. Turning away, he looked out at the window of his office, gazing over the capital, the sea of silver and white, countless cars and ships flying their routes across the massive complex that was the heart and soul of the Directorate. His hands came to rest behind his back, his beak twitching as he considered his options. Green stood, collecting his various pads and effects and storing them away into the shoulder bag he wore. After a moment, the Primus turned to face his assistant, eyes meeting without encouragement this time.

“See to it that the Diplomatic Corps sends a reply to the Thrashian Empire. We will be attending their coronation.”

Beak perked up, glad to see such a diplomatic action taken by their leader. “Fantastic, we'll need to get you a new outfit for the occasion-its necessary and you know it!” Aquamarine gave an annoyed trill and and hung his head. He had been stuck with those designers for hours and it was going to be hours more for another outfit.

“And we'll need to think of a gift.”

“No need, Beak.” Green turned, suspicious at the amused and vindictive tone of the Primus. “I already have something in mind.” A talon pressed down on the button and the display shifted. Eyes widening at the implications, he scrabbled at the desk, before finding a hand hold.

“Sir, I must advise against this. This is our first big contact with another space power, this will jeopardize it and future relations.”

With a self-satisfied click of the beak, the Primus was positively grinning. “While true, I couldn't very well make strong bonds with a nation that has resorted to the military expansion of the many other nations we have decried as a culture and as a nation. I would be ridiculed or, at worst, viewed as intending to follow suit. I have internal politics to handle, Green, in addition to foreign. My job is go to here, be polite and welcome the new Empress, while also expressing in an even mannered way that we absolutely decry their recent actions. Nothing to worry about.”

He laughed at the groan that came from Green as he planted his face on the desk and prepared to do the early steps to go to the coronation.


***********

New Bastion System, Homeworld of the New Thrashian Empire

He was modestly surprised at how efficient the event proceeded; it was extravagant and he could just count the mountains of credits being spent with every step they took. Still, it was an impressive show, albeit disturbingly militaristic, and seemed to raise the spirits of the people. The flow of conversation in the crowd seemed to confirm what Intelligence and the Corps had managed to glean, of some terrible conflict in the other galaxy. The population here seemed far removed from it; apparently while an extension of the Empire, they had been their own independent group within, as focus had shifted from Milky Way to their home galaxy. As such, details on this war was slim and the few gentle inquiries he had made were swiftly ignored in the manner of one who does not wish to speak of something horrible. A matter of interest was the guard of the new Empress, clad in red armor, they seemed to be these 'Force Users” Green had been talking about, judging from the strange devices that hung at their belts. He himself was standing out a bit from the crowd, although the interest was curious, not bigoted which was a relief. In addition to being a 'walking bird' as one child had exclaimed as his parents shooed him and on and apologized for any offense, his outfit had been masterfully made. He had succumbed to their arguments to stand out as the primary representative of their race and government and wore the results proudly, if slightly uncomfortable.

His feathers and plumage had been masterfully tended to, with bits of silver and gold metal placed through out, giving them a constant twinkle and glittering as the light hit them from various directions. They still remained faded, but color had been entered as much as possible giving a still flow of his namesake around his head like a crown, and around his crown feathers, a circlet had been placed, a simply device that emblazoned ancient sigils of the Tezekian race and the letters spelling out his title on his head. A crown, but not a crown at the same time, for he was not a monarch. He wore a fine blue shirt of silk, over which a vest of silver and white treated leather had been placed, with black leggings and white boots finished out to completely the ensemble. Black gloves covered his hands and cloak covered his shoulders. Over his eyes, a tasteful holographic visor had been placed, displaying an array of colors based on his choices via implant while also allowing him to record the occasion as he went.

The reception was polite and curious, nothing out of the ordinary and accepting, which was appreciated. Beak of Green, also done up in a similar fashion, looked completely in his element; he had been a nervous wreck up until they had finally landed, a short trip with military escort that had come to the given coordinates and the exchange handled swiftly. After the parade and accepting of the Oath, a ritual of power transfer to the ruler over the military, they had been escorted to this room. Conversation was kept over implant, to allow them some privacy while discussing the event.

”So, Primus, thoughts? What does your diplomat eye see?”

“Clearly a nation of wealth and means, or at least one able to command the lion's share of it. That is not water in those fountains, I take it.”


A chuckle. “No, probably alcohol, juice or a mix of the two. They like extravagance, they like showing off their power like its another day for them. They are well used to having power and putting it on display, especially in a commanding manner. They were one of the powers in this other galaxy, perhaps at the top and left the others to their fate to come here. What else?”

Aquamarine's eyes wandered over the troopers and the knights guarding the room and throne.

“If the parade wasn't enough, they are definitely a militaristic culture through and through; the iconography is everywhere.”

“Agreed. We'll have to play it carefully with them in the future.”


The Primus looked over at Green.

“Assuming my gift doesn't have them ban us outright.”

“I still wished you had reconsidered, but you do have the Moot to consider.”


He straightened himself as they came close to the throne and the new Empress and entourage.

“Indeed. This is my first major action as Primus; a statement of intent has to be made by word and deed. Now, if you'll place my gift on the table and then join me, we have a royal to greet.”

The link was killed and Beak rushed over to put a large white case that was split in lines, with which glowing blue lines of energy could be seen. It was a processing unit of some sort, data storage that held unknown files within as the gift, that which had passed all the security scans on the way in here. They both approached the throne and inclined their heads as they were introduced.

“Here we have the Primus of Aquamarine and his attache, Beak of Green from the Tezekian Directorate, come to greet her Imperial Majesty!”

With a nod of acknowledgment as is between heads of state, the Primus met the Empress' eyes.

“Greetings, Empress. It would appear I am not the only one taking on the burden of responsibility of an entire state on one set of shoulders. I hope the crown doesn't weigh too heavily on you; I was quite surprised with my own. For a small piece of metal and technology, it carries more than it looks.” His eyes, golden and slitted as befitting his avian ancestry, glanced up to the trinket on his head before coming down to wait for her answer.

OOC: Edited a bit to provide context of the gift for Thrashia.
Last edited by Telros on Wed Mar 29, 2017 2:42 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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The Singers Of The Void
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Postby The Singers Of The Void » Wed Mar 29, 2017 2:27 pm

Astarte System
Beta Quadrant


The Harvester Ship El'Niath-L'Eral hovered over Astarte, the single inhabited world in the system and the latest acquisition by the Singers of the Void after its mother world of Esperanza had been turned into a psychometric nightmare by her L'yren-a as a kind of perverse mausoleum to his dead 'friends" the Rethast. The ship has only needed to act once in the Pacification of the world, when orbital support was called in by the Wrath of Tarwix force in order to subdue a deep installation. Originally used as a mine for several industrial metals, the installation had become first a strongpoint for the resistance, and now a catacomb for its defenders as the Harvester tore the essence of life from their bodies.

Resistance on the world was dropping rapidly, and ground commanders indicated that the world would be secured within the week. The last military units had been destroyed or had surrendered, and the only groups still fighting were local police units and civilian irregulars. The Wrath of Tarwix had been somewhat less brutal then usual in suppressing resistance, on orders from El'Niath's twin and one of his "Theories of Pain Level." for the subjugation of invaded worlds. They had gotten several converts from Eos, the larger of Esperanza's 2 colonies after El'Neth-L'Eral's Harvester Fleet and Ermerian Detachment had "made an example" of one continent using their psychometric weaponry. So now El'Niath-L'Eral could find on this battlefield a brief moment of relaxation.

Beloved L'yren-a... s(he) heard her bondtwin resonate to her. A message arrived at L'Eneth-Xrel from the Thrashian Empire. They are coronating a new Empress and have sent out diplomatic invitations to all polities in Beta quadrant. El'Niath-L'Eral thought for a moment. The Thrashian Empire... Galaxy Del-50/Alet? Wasn't that the galaxy you were planning on having Emporium deploy that rather creative little agent to? They are far enough away to not be of concern... A chuckle was El'Neth-L'Eral's response. Aye. Though the Incursion Event that took out the Rethast stopped that. Pity, the chaos would have been glorious and more then a bit funny... Well, in any case it seems that the Empire has moved here-to Beta Quadrant. This is needless to say a matter of concern as they seem to have transposed their entire civilization. Threat analysis must of course begin. We cannot have this level of force nearby without the proper contingency plans being made.

I'll leave that in your hands, Anais. War and Strategy was always your calling. However, we should also look at the diplomatic side of things. They respect authority, Order... they could be great allies. You say they are inviting representatives to their Empress' coronation? I will go. I at least remember the days of diplomacy and still think I am capable. All my love, L'yren-a. I know you will be with me always.

S(he) then telepathically sent a message to the commanders of two of the Singers' cruisers in the system, SVS Void Reaver, SVS Lamassa Onni. Leave the fleet and form up on my Harvester. Phase drive coordinates will follow upon achieving standard triad formation. Be on your best behavior, we are going on a diplomatic mission to a new polity in the quadrant. And by best behavior I mean it, no sarcasm this time...

The three ships broke orbit, the sullen glowing Harvester in the lead. As the squadron headed past the moon of the world they activated their phase drives and began the trip to New Bastion.

Akhenphire
Beta Quadrant Rim


As the ships headed to New Bastion to meet with the Imperials, El'Neth-L'Eral was floating in the Chapel on dread Akhenphire, speaking with Ermeriel, last of the Arkases.

So my friend... what do you make of these newcomers?

With every instrument added to an orchestra, a symphony can grow, with every stroke of a paintbrush, the masterpiece takes shape. Your L'yren-a has your competence and your will, s(he) will see this through. Regardless of what happens, our Masterpiece will grow...

We must of course be prepared for all contingencies. Abheth is working on our latest project even as we speak. The Choir of Cacophony worked impeccably in the action at Esperanza.

The Psychogenetic Imprinter? When will it be ready for opening night? And that was an excellent tribute to our fallen distant kin. A true virtuoso performance.

Within the month old friend. Genetic and Psychometric data will be sent to Ubbe-Saethrel as soon as the system parameters are finalized and we are ready to begin production. Now we just need to find the proper venue. Pity we never got any Bavins.

Great art requires high quality material, always remember that. The greatest artist's works will suffer if he has to deal with swill.

True, quite true. Well, there will be time enough for that later. For now my friend, the next Opus in our masterpiece will be sung by my L'yren-a.

New Bastion System

SVS El'Niath-L'Eral and her two escorts phased into normal space, materializing near the Oort cloud of the New Bastion system. The ships broadcasted their identification and intent to the system traffic controllers, and were told to move to a holding system orbit far from the planet. As the small squadron made its way to the given coordinates, El'Niath-L'Eral could feel the life energy on the worlds. Not as intense as some of the worlds s(he) had heard Emporium mention as existing in the Thrashian home galaxy, but a decent level nonetheless.

As the Harvester and cruisers reached the position assigned to them by System Control, a shard of crystalline material separated from the sullen glowing Harvester and moved towards the main world, accompanied by a pair of Night Talons from SVS Void Reaver. As the shuttle descended into the atmosphere, the two Night Talons banked and headed into space after communicating with the TIE pilots that came to take over final escort duty.

Imperial Throneworld

El'Niath-L'Eral took in the sights of Imperial City as Adjutant Radjen had led her and her guards to the coronation hall. Her long white hair and white satin feathered dress blew softly in the wind...even inside the starport's terminal. As she walked her eyes took in everything, they were odd glowing eyes that shifted languidly from a dark purple/black to an amber and black glow like a burning coal ember. Her guard and her attaché were two steps behind her to either side. Her attaché was a golden-skinned Lenari by the name of Meleth. Her guard an 8 legged Kalizwah in light armor, Swordsman Karan Fwari. The Kalizwah's nose, eyes, and sensors constantly on the watch for any threats. Attache Meleth meanwhile casually looked over the various delegations present.

S(he) particularly noted the red-armored guards protecting the Empress. Their essence is strong, and their weapons are interesting. Like Phoenix Blades but different. The energy patterns are most exotic. Almost like a Nightblade but the 'flavor' is different. Will need to find out more about this unit, their abilities and technology if of course security concerns allow for this.

As the event proceeded, El'Niath-L'Eral could not help but be impressed by everything seen so far. Fleets, troops, the city itself. All impressive achievements for a recent transgalactic move. They have done as good a job here as we have on L'Eneth-Xrel...in about as much time. They would indeed make great allies, s(he) thought to herself. Or potentially a great enemy, Anais... s(he) winced a little. Must you always see the negative in things, Anais? s(he) replied to her twin's resonance. Odd words my love, coming from you... Nonetheless we must keep all options open...

What is your opinion of them, Anais? S(he) resonated to her twin on distant Akhenphire.

They obviously have a strong will, and no qualms about using it to enforce their way of life. Some of them seem to have some sort of salient ability similar to our own. I think we can probably come to some sort of beneficial arrangement with them diplomatically.

I would tend to agree... but always remain wary. Remember strong wills can sometime but up against other equally strong wills. I do however believe their Empress is someone we will be able to get along with.

Hopefully on amicable terms. I know you love a bit of chaos in the galaxy, but I think we need to tone it down-at least in our immediate galactic "neighborhood". There will always be conflicts in the galaxy, which should keep you and Ermeriel very happy. But Beta quadrant needs a level of stability now.

While waiting for her delegation's turn to greet the Empress Dheinalia s(he) looked with interest at the avian species whose delegation was ahead of hers. Nice feathers... s(he) thought to herself as their delegation's head spoke to the Empress. We may wish to speak with them as well. s(he) thought to herself and her far-off twin. There is no information about them in our records. This bears further investigation. Perhaps in the course of the meetings here we can find out more. Would be nice to have more allies. After the loss of...

El'Niath-L'Eral heard the Empress' herald introduce the avians as members of a Tezekian Directorate. I will need to find some time at this affair to speak with their Primus. An unexpected event, but still perhaps a fortunate one....

S(he) then waited as Primus of Aquamarine gave his greetings to the Empress, and then waited while the Empress spoke to the Tezekians. After the Tezekians, the next delegation were from the "Prole Confederation"-s(he could hear here twin laughing uproariously through their Bondlink. This 'seer' is young-at least in appearance, not that it means much. She possesses some bit of Talent though... Despite their name these people may also bear watching and even perhaps contact. After a while, the herald subtly motioned for the Singers' delegation to come forward.

Approaching the throne, El'Niath-L'Eral nodded her head in respect to the Empress as a fellow ruler of their respective peoples. "Majesty, I bring greetings to you and your Empire from the Singers of the Void, Myself, and my L'yren-a. It is to me lasting hope that our peoples and governments can come to some sort of equitable arrangement regarding both our relations diplomatically as well as the division of potential resources in the Beta quadrant."

"Space is vast, and as a natural consequence of sentient decisions and actions seethes with chaos. This quadrant in particular considering various recent events. It is my heartfelt desire to see some level of order brought to this quadrant so it's varied peoples and states can grow to achieve the potentials granted to them by their innate wills. Perhaps we can work together towards this aim and goal?"
Last edited by The Singers Of The Void on Wed Mar 29, 2017 2:54 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Thrashia
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Postby Thrashia » Thu Apr 13, 2017 10:55 am

Throne Room | Imperial Throneworld | New Bastion


Empress Dheinalia greeted each of the foreign dignitaries as they approached. She was interested in seeing which would come. After receiving a briefing earlier in the week, she knew that various old allies of the Empire might appear to give their regards. But it was these other, stranger species which garnered her full attention. Grand Moff Noventa nodded with acknowledgement toward the avian-appearing strangers, motioning for a servant to step forward and receive the gift that they had brought. Alexandros would undoubtedly have it checked by the Palace Guard and the Imperial Ubiqtorate, just for safety's sake. The creatures inclined their heads and spoke.

"“Greetings, Empress. It would appear I am not the only one taking on the burden of responsibility of an entire state on one set of shoulders. I hope the crown doesn't weigh too heavily on you; I was quite surprised with my own. For a small piece of metal and technology, it carries more than it looks.”

Dheinalia gift them with a warm smile.

"Indeed, lord Primus of Aquamarine -- and you, Beak of Green. I welcome you on behalf of my Empire and give you my thanks for attending my coronation. I am not familiar with your people, the Tezekian Directorate, but I am sure that we will be able to create another opportunity for exchange. Please receive my gift of thanks."

An attendant dressed in royal red silks, covered from head to toe, stepped forward bearing a cushion. Upon it was a small item, 25cm by 7cm and 4cm tall. It was a golden box, encrusted with filigree and precious gems. Out of reactionary curiosity the Primus opened it, revealing a handwritten letter of thanks from the Empress. The letter and its container were both given to the Primus.

"And as for the weight of a crown -- I have shouldered far heavier burdens," added Dheinalia, a momentary shadow passing across her features.

She turned and nodded to Grand Moff Noventa. Alexandros nodded then motioned for the Primus and his adjutant to step aside to a gathering area of other foreign dignitaries, allowing the next guest to appear before the throne.


* ~ * ~ * ~ *



Grand Master Antares Draco stood straight backed behind his Empress' shoulder, gazing upon all who approached. Few, if any, realized that this forbidding looking figure was staring at them not only with his eyes, but through the veil of the Force. With each approaching figure, Draco waded further into the Force. To the mind's eye the Force was an energy field that could appear in whatever manner, shape, or form that the user cared to imagine. For Draco it had always been a mighty river, rushing under him, past him, over him, and through him. The key of it's mastery was to not fight the flow of energy. Anger and joy. Hatred and love. Darkness and light. Only in Balance, could one reach a true apogee within it's power.

For the past forty or minutes though, Draco had been feeling a disturbance in the eddies of the Force. It felt as if the tide was churning in upon itself...destructive...elusive...dying. It was a buzzing in his mind. The buzzing itself remained distant, until the next foreigner approached and gave their respects. The buzzing became a roar as Draco looked upon El'Niath-L'Eral. For a bare moment he managed to gaze through the control that this being had upon itself and all that Draco could see was paradox.

He grunted, as silently as he could manage, gritting his teeth. His mouth tasted of copper and when he swallowed, he tasted blood. He glared at El'Niath-L'Eral, unsure of himself and this being. Kark me, but what the hell are you?


* ~ * ~ * ~ *



Dheinalia didn't hear her loyal bodyguard grunt. She was too focused on her guests. She smiled at the woman (?)...she wasn't sure, but then it mattered little.

"Majesty, I bring greetings to you and your Empire from the Singers of the Void, Myself, and my L'yren-a. It is to me lasting hope that our peoples and governments can come to some sort of equitable arrangement regarding both our relations diplomatically as well as the division of potential resources in the Beta quadrant."

"Space is vast, and as a natural consequence of sentient decisions and actions seethes with chaos. This quadrant in particular considering various recent events. It is my heartfelt desire to see some level of order brought to this quadrant so it's varied peoples and states can grow to achieve the potentials granted to them by their innate wills. Perhaps we can work together towards this aim and goal?"



"It is in the wisdom of friends and peace that one achieves true civilization," replied Dheinalia, trying to discern as much as she could as she gazed upon El'Niath-L'Eral. "My Empire seeks only to achieve peace, justice, and serenity within our realm -- and to share that with the rest of the quadrant, if such aid be requested. I imagine that your people, the Singers of the Void, and the Empire will be able to achieve an accord."

Grand Moff Noventa cut in. "Indeed, I have heard of your people in the past, Lady-Lord El'Niath-L'Eral. I have been settled within the Beta Quadrant, a forerunner of the Empress', for some time. If it pleases you, there will be a smaller, more private, conference later after the celebrations for those plenipotentiaries that wish to negotiate and discuss with the Empire."

"And," Dheinalia cut back in, "It will naturally be our pleasure to help the varied people and states achieve their potential granted them by their innate wills -- as you put it."

After a few more exchanges, the Singers of the Void were guided to the side with the other foreign dignitaries.


The herald cried out again. "Here then comes the newly created members of the Imperial Client States! On behalf of his people, the Vossk, is Commander Erkkt Uggut of Clan Uggut, emissary from the Vossk Emperor Kyrrk Tasst."

Client States was the newly created designation for nations and civilizations that had bent the knee to Thrashian suzerainty over their systems and planets. The Vossk Empire had occupied a dozen systems within the neighboring sector and had, from time to time, been approached by Thrashian traders in the past. Once the Imperial Fleet had arrived in it's full might, the Vossk Emperor had seen the wisdom in agreeing to become client citizens of the Empire. It had also helped that, with Thrashian assistance, a racial enemy of the Vossk, the beastial and barbaric Hunkark, had been defeated.

Erkkt Uggut came forward in his Vossk armor and fell to one knee, his head bowed, but four eyes open and looking at the feet of the throne. His speech was rasping, but clearly making the sounds and forms of Imperial Basic.

"Greetingsss and a thousand blessingsss upon thee, my Empressss. I come baring giftsss from my lord majesty, Emperor Kyrrk Tasst. He begsss me to sssay congratulationsss to you, Highnessss." Behind Erkkt came a trio of large, ornate containers. They were dropped before the foot of the throne and opened by members of the Vossk delegation. Inside each were precious stones and gleaming bars of ore that had a neon-turquoise colour to them. Dheinalia imagined that it'd be easy enough to fund the construction of at least a full Imperial-class Star Destroyer with each box. Grand Moff Noventa had more attendants come and take the boxes away.

"You have my thanks for your gifts and the words of congratulations. Please tell your lord that I look forward to seeing his people, as well as other client state citizens, become further interwoven within the fabric of the Empire. If nothing else, I learned from my husband that it is the diversity of a nation that allows for the strongest of foundations."

Erkkt bowed his head again. "Your wordsss are too kind, Empresss."

"Not at all. Please rise and be welcome in my palace. Enjoy the festivities and eat your fill." Thrashian custom for guests was that they must be treated to as sumptuous a meal as the house holding them could give - and the Imperial Palace wasn't about to be put to shame.
Last edited by Thrashia on Thu Apr 13, 2017 10:55 am, edited 1 time in total.
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"D-Damn you all...! All of you dogs whose souls are still bound to the Earth! Long live Neo Zeon!" - MSG: Unicorn

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Thrashia
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Postby Thrashia » Tue May 02, 2017 12:15 pm

Jokoto System | Sub-Sector Aule | Sector R-T of the Thrashian Empire
Ten months after the Coronation of Empress Dheinalia


The world burned. The colony's cities had been sacked, quickly and with brutality. The raiders had only been able to halfway make good their escape when the Thrashian sub-sector EART arrived. The Victory III-class Star Destroyer Seraphim launched a barrage of missiles into the ramshackle frigate-analog ships that the raiders were using, followed by pinpoint turbolaser fire. Two of the raider ships were destroyed outright, the largest crippled, and a few smaller ones managed to escape into hyperspace.

"Tractor beams to bring that rust bucket into position," ordered Captain Kasandra Nuil. The bridge was a flurry of activity. "Alert Major Stukov that his stormtroopers will be making up the boarding teams."

"Aye, Captain."

"Comscan, where's that analysis of the surface?"

"Report is coming in now, ma'am."

Captain Nuil stalked over to the Comscan station, furious. As part of an Enemy Action Response Team, it was their job to get places and stop an enemy from doing just what these raiders had achieved. The fact that their local deep space station had only received the SOS-call an hour before, nearly half a day after the raiders had actually attacked, meant nothing to stem her fury. The Imperial Fleet needed to be faster.

Better.

Stronger.

The young ensign manning the station looked up, his shaved face smooth as a child's. Fresh out of the Academy most likely, Nuil thought.

"Report is coming now," he repeated, indicating his holoscreen display. Nuil leaned forward and looked across the data scrolling down.

A voice popped up in Nuil's ear, coming through her com piece. "If I may be so bold as to interject your thoughts, Captain Nuil, allow me to sparse the information coming through my systems."

A small six-inch tall holographic figure appeared next to the display. The form was that of a young woman wearing a typical Imperial uniform - with some very liberal adjustments made to it's cut.

"Go ahead, Sera," said Nuil. Sera was a new piece of technology that had been integrated into all newly developed Thrashian ships: an artificial intelligence system designed for aiding ship activity and crew support. Each AI took the name of it's respective ship as it's own. Nuil had taken the change in stride, accepting that such changes were likely to be more frequent now that the Empire was in a new galaxy.

The cute looking figure gave a salute.

"Power fluctuations are being detected in all four of the colony's major cities. Their central power networks were apparently damaged...I calculate that three of them will overload within the next four hours. The last is stable, though failing."

"Life signs?"

"Endrograd, Lykia, and Phomos are bereft of life signs. It would seem that their populations have either fled, perished, or were taken captive by the raiders. Some life signs have been detected in the surrounding highlands. The settlement of Lucipher has roughly six hundred and fifty-three life signs. However, many appear to be dying...as I am now seeing a reduction in this number. Many must be wounded."

"Alright, thanks Sera," Nuil leaned up. She looked down at the ensign. "Make sure you can start giving out such updates as fast as Sera can in the future."

"Uh...yes, ma'am?" the ensign looked flabbergasted at such a concept. Nuil grinned to herself for the moment's levity, then turned back to her own duty station. Just like sending FNGs to go to Maintenance and ask for ion fluid for the TIEs.

"Lieutenant Khasara."

The Vossk being turned, at it's name. "Yesss, Captain?" The Vossk were a client state of the Empire and as such it's people were allowed to join the Imperial military. Some races, such as the Vossk, were highly aggressive and militant; having the chance to find an outlet for that built up aggression was important for harmony within the Empire. Khasara was one of four thousand newly inducted Vossk personnel.

"Have emergency response and medical teams prepare for landing at Lucipher. Have the landing commander get in touch with Sera about the details," she ordered.

Khasara placed his right hand, which had only four fingers and ended in slight claws, over his chest and bowed in the Vossk form of salute. "Asss you command, Captain."


* * * * *



The atmospheric entry had been a bit rougher than expected. Lieutenant Schrell adjusted his earpiece for what felt like the sixth time in the last five minutes.

"Your earpiece seems to be a problem, Lieutenant," a disembodied voice came through the earpiece.

"Yeah, Sera, I'm aware. It annoys me sometimes. I'm on the waiting list for one of the sub-dermal ones," Schrell replied, irritably.

"That may indeed fix your problem." Sera wasn't capable, according to its core programming, of being sassy. But that didn't appear to be a problem in terms of its learning curve.

"What's our ETA?" asked Schrell.

"Lambda Shuttle Tydirium will arrive at point delta in six hundred seconds. Atmospherics are apparently keeping the pilot from being able to have a more direct route."

"Yeah, well, whenever it is that AI can control the weather, get back to me," said Schrell. "What's the update on the colonists?"

"Life signs have remained steady at about five hundred...processing...yes, five hundred. One hundred and twenty-three life signs have been lost in the last fifteen minutes."

Schrell gritted his teeth. "Kark me! Those bastards must have left some of their raiding party behind when they ran off to orbit." He switched a channel to the pilot. "Sergeant Qallus, get us there faster! Those Sith spawn are killing our colonists!"

"Give me another minute to get through the ionosphere and I'll boost speed," the pilot replied, his voice strained.

The shuttle shook like the fist of an angry god was shaking it, before finally returning to a more normal vibration of it's engines. Several of the stormtroopers in the back made the sign of the Goddess, apparently thankful for making it through whatever atmospheric storm was affecting them. The medical team next to them looked thankful, their faces not obscured by helmets. Instead they'd donned rebreather masks, just in case there were localized toxins or lethal agents in the air.

Everyone was thrown back into their seats, belts cutting a bit deep, as the engines whined loudly like a banshee's roar and the shuttle thrust forward.

"Sit tight, folks. This is going to be a rough one," Sergeant Qallus' voice came over the intercom.

"ETA updated to less than two hundred and seventy seconds...your pilot is good, Lieutenant."

"I'll be sure to pass on your compliments," gritted Schrell.



The shuttle came to a hard landing three minutes later on the outskirts of a burning Imperial town. The settlement had been originally constructed out of prefabricated buildings. As he stepped off the shuttle and assessed the area, Schrell could see where more natural buildings, built from local materials, had begun to surround the more rigid and less architecturally pleasing prefab units. Several of the buildings were half-destroyed, their walls torn down and roofs destroyed. A few unmoving bodies lay among the rubble.

Three squads of stormtroopers fanned out around the landing site. Schrell turned to his platoon sergeant, ST-9983, Frenk.

"Sergeant, I'm leaving 3rd Squad with you here to secure our landing zone. Have the medics set up a triage station here and expand the perimeter at your discretion."

"Yes sir, Lieutenant."

Schrell turned to his other men and switched to the platoon com line. "First and Second Squads on me. Advance marching order, hostiles expected. Sera will advise on position of civilians."

A series of com clicks was all the confirmation he needed. First squad moved forward into the settlement. A single trooper advancing forward, followed a few dozen meters from behind by two more, and thence forward by pairs -- leapfrogging from cover point to cover point. DC-20 blaster carbines swept the areas as they passed.

Schrell led 2nd Squad, following behind 1st. He wore body armor, but not the full environmental suite that his stormtroopers enjoyed. The smells of burning plastic, plasteel, and even the sickening scent of charred flesh filled his nostrils. It only served to make him angrier, which he used to fuel his focus.

A com click sounded. "Hostiles at 2 o'clock from lead. Thirty-five meters."

"Confirm presence of civilians," ordered Schrell, giving the hand signal for his second squad to speed up movement.

"Two dozen civilians confirmed. They're being lined up against the outer wall of the central gymnasium."

All Thrashian settlements, as part of their prefabricated design, included a sports center and stadium, often called a gymnasium. It seemed natural that civilians would have fled there in the event of a crisis. It's high walls and sturdy construction would have seemed like a safe bet.

First squad had reached their forward scout. As they approached closer, Schrell was glad to see that all of them had activated their adaptive camouflage -- their normal pristine white armor changing to match their surroundings. The unit had taken up position around a burnt out shell of a public transport.

Using hand signs, Schrell sent his second squad to flank around to the right and gain a second firing angle. He then carefully looked over the edge of the broken window he was by to see what was happening.

A group of mixed aliens, all wearing a mix-match of body armor done in colorful paint schemes, was shuffling along a bunch of unarmed civilians. The majority were human, but a few Duros and a Zabrak could be seen among them. They all appeared to be female and half were children.

A mound of dead women and children was already lying on the ground, blaster holes burnt into them and into the wall behind where they had stood.

"Pick your targets, start with the larger ones. On my signal only, open fire. Confirm order," ordered Schrell.

A series of com clicks confirmed.
Last edited by Thrashia on Tue May 02, 2017 2:18 pm, edited 3 times in total.
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Intersteller Terra
Spokesperson
 
Posts: 107
Founded: Nov 16, 2014
Ex-Nation

Postby Intersteller Terra » Sat May 13, 2017 10:16 am

New Bastion
Imperial Palace - Throne Room
Mr David Triggerman - Accords Lead Delegate
Mr Sebastian Ko - Chairman of the World Council - United Star Commonwealth


"So explain to me why the world council decided it would be a good idea to get into bed with these people?" David stood looking about the grandiose room and the display they were putting on for the benefit of the dignitaries in attendance. Usually he wouldn't have minded all of it, in fact he probably would have enjoyed it if he hadn't known what he had known. The Thrashian Empire, since migrating to the Milkyway galaxy had expanded in most cases violently outward from their enclave.

David looked to the older man next to him, Sebastian Ko was the outward bound Commonwealth head of state. He had a short cut head of grey hair with a few flecks of black still clinging on. His green eyes still had a shine about them that told anyone that he still had an energy about him and a warm infectious smile that could endear almost anyone to him. He had chaired the Commonwealth world council for 12 years, he had seen his fair share of trials and tribulations and seen the Commonwealth through them all.

"You of all people must know the importance of working with others in the galaxy?" Sebastian replied through their neural network link.

"I think what the chairman means David, is that we should not be seeking to make enemies out of these people when they could help us in achieving our own goals" The third of their party replied, ASTRA was not like the others. She was an A.I inhabiting a physical android body. She stood there next to David hands clasped in front of her as he bright glowing blue eyes scanned the room taking everything in. He own raven black hair was tied into a neat bun as the lines that flowed across her whole body pulsed with data like veins in a human body. ASTRA was Davids A.I, the two had been together since David first joined the Authority for foreign affairs.

"I know what he means ASTRA, these people just wouldn't have been my next choice for the Accords is what im trying to say." David replied over their connected Neural link whilst making pleasentaries with dignitaries and the likes.

"They would not have been mine either" Sebastian replied his mental voice stern but forgiving at the same time. "However given their behaviour already upon coming to the galaxy it probably would have come to war at some point, maybe not now or in the next few years but it would come to war that much i can tell you. So for the sake of the quadrant the commonwealth will smile and play nice"

With that Sebastian moved off into the queue of foreign dignitaries that were lining up to greet the new empress of the Thrashian Empire. David and ASTRA followed closely behind, complain was the only thing David could really do, pretty much everything had already been signed off... The Thrashian Empire and the Commonwealth had been in discussions for some time now and everything barring the official signing of the Nassau Accords charter had been signed off and accepted by both sides. So this and the next meeting in a few weeks time where pretty much just formalities.

David decided to take his mind off of the fact by looking at some of the other dignitaries, his augmentations super imposing more information upon his perception to allow him to make more informed decisions on the fly. He had a special neural package installed into his wetware implants that allowed for real time assessment of alien beings and his surroundings allowing him to at least tell if someone was flustered, confident or scared. He watched the avian delegation with some interest, as far as David knew the most none human like species the Commonwealth had come across was the Rhustarim and the Sarians. He made a mental note to introduce himself to the Avian Delegation and find out a little more about them. As they shuffled forward a little more edging closer to the Empress Davids gaze fell onto an altogether interesting delegation. Singers of the void or something like that he had thought he had heard them say but he couldn't be sure. There was nothing on these people in the commonwealth database, and something about them made him a little uneasy. He would have to ask the Thrashians for any information they had on them to pass onto the Authority.

It was eventually their turn to meet with the Empress, All three of the Commonwealth party gave a respectful bow before Sebastian spoke for them and he supposed the commonwealth. "Empress Dheinalia so wonderful to see you again, you are a beauty the whole galaxy should bare witness to" Sebastian spoke with a twinkle in his eye and a subtle hint of jovial sarcasm "I must thank you for the invitation to your coronation, it is sadly my final official state visit as Leader of the Commonwealth World Council and i regret that I will not be able to get to know you and the Grand Moff more, but im sure my predecessor and David here will do a fine job of cementing ties between yourselves and the Commonwealth."

David gave another shorter bow, "Indeed your highness i look forward to receiving you at Center Point station for the official Accords Signing ceremony"

"Your hospitality has been most gracious" Sebastian continued after David "This is certainly an event i will class as a highlight during my term in office. As a thank you i have instructed the Cirius Craftworks and shipyards back on Thompson to begin construction of a luxury space yacht for you to use as you wish." Sebastians eyes flicked to both the grand moff and her red knight for a split second before returning to the empress's gaze "You people are free to inspect the vessel and install any electronic software and additional hardware they deem fit to protect you and your family of course, think of it as a token of good will and my a sign that i am committed to the safety of your person and to the cooperation between our two nations."

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Thrashia
Minister
 
Posts: 2232
Founded: Aug 31, 2004
Compulsory Consumerist State

Postby Thrashia » Mon May 22, 2017 8:38 am

Throne Room | Imperial Throneworld | New Bastion

The delegation from the United Star Commonwealth was as flattering in their speech as ever, thought Dheinalia. Pretty words are pretty, but of little use and even lesser substanace, her father once said. She missed her father. Ardus Kaine had been a strong and gifted leader, one which had led the Empire through the disparaging events surrounding the assassination of Emperor Treize Kushrenada. It had been under her father's guidance that had seen the Empire achieve heights of power and influence that it had seldom seen before. And now...all that responsibility was hers - and more.

I am not a regent. I am Empress.

Dheinalia smiled, her eyes twinkling; her expression unchanged throughout.

"Honorable Chairman Ko, it is a pleasure to have you here on this auspicious day. I accept your gift and will be sure to send a representative of my personal household to oversee the details of the craft's construction," replied Dheinalia.

"In the mean time, it is a pleasure to meet the acquaintance of the Commonwealth's delegate leader to the Accords. As my first diplomatic act as Empress, I hereby confirm the Empire of Thrashia as a signatory of the Nassau Accords and shall see to it that all it's requisite responsibilities and duties are followed by the Empire."

Grand Moff Noventa coughed slightly, covering his mouth with a white-gloved hand.

"Pardon," Noventa said. "I also, as Head of the Imperial Moff Council, confirm and approve of this decision."

The Commonwealth delegation bowed in appreciation and acceptance.

Noventa continued, "In the mean time, gentlemen, please feel free to enjoy the festivities and food provided herein. I shall have an attendant retrieve you for a special meeting to be held later."

Dheinalia's majordomo escorted the Commonwealth duo out of the way, making room for the next delegation to arrive.

The reception went on for an hour longer. Music and entertainment was provided, alongside various unique courses of foodstuffs -- both from local systems and from deep storage, items brought from their old galaxy.


Imperial Palace | Private Conference Room
Three Hours Later



The conference room was guarded by two Imperial Knights outside it's doors. Inside was an oval table, at one end of which stood Grand Moff Noventa. As each delegation arrived, a servant would bring them to sit at an appointed location. The table and room were sumptuous in their extravagance, well made and polished. Around the room hung rich tapestries, detailing stories of Thrashia's past. Standing sentinel between each hanging tapestry was a red-armored clonetrooper; the Imperial capitol's Imperial Guard.

Once all had been brought into the room, Noventa smiled and introduced each.

"United Star Commonwealth, the Singers of the Void, the Tezekian Directorate," Noventa nodded to each in turn.

"You are welcomed here to this meeting because it has been deemed necessary to make clear the intentions of the Empire. To the USC, this is imparative due to our close relationship within the Nassau Accords. To the Tezekians, we wish to enter into diplomatic relations and perhaps extend our knowledge of this new universe to quadrants beyond. And last, but not least, to the entity? Entities? The group known as the Singers of the Void, with whom we share a common home quadrant and desire friendly relations."

Noventa turned on a holo-projector and the Beta Quadrant was shown, turning slowly through the air.

"As you said, Lady-Lord El'Niath-L'Eral, these are times when stability is desired above all else. As the USC may know, I was the lead potentate of the Empire within the Beta Quadrant for the past thirty years. Before this year the presence of the Empire had been minimal, only a dozen systems. I commanded an outpost, to put it in real terms."

An outpost on the edge of a galaxy was one thing, but an outpost in another galaxy altogether was something else. Noventa would be lying if, at the beginning of his career, he'd not thought that Regent Kaine had hated him and his family. Why else explain the exile-in-all-but-name that such an assignment seemed?

"I took to my task and created a strong core of Imperial life within the Beta Quadrant. It is with no little disquiet that I watched the rising tide of chaotic displacement that seems to have become the natural state of affairs in recent times. Or other such threats, like the Sarians.

"Now, though, things will be different. I now stand before you with the full might of the Empire behind me. We have settled and claim suzerainty over a dozen sectors within the heartland areas of the Beta Quadrant. As you no doubt saw, and met, a few of the client states with which we now oversee. We are an empire, but we are not tyrants. We outlaw slavery and do not abide the abuse of the innocent. Though some of you may not be familiar with us as a nation, our actions in the coming years will show you clearly that we stand to create order and preserve that order."

Noventa looked around at his audience.

"Any questions?"
Last edited by Thrashia on Mon May 22, 2017 9:49 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Lotrabme
Minister
 
Posts: 2443
Founded: Sep 03, 2010
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Lotrabme » Wed May 31, 2017 4:13 pm

Prince Admiral Paul, Naquaiel Hiawatha, William Abysson, Rex Qornamee: http://imgur.com/DDFBPSD
The Hive Queen and Speaker-Baron: http://imgur.com/cUK5QSy
Leviathan II class Galleon: http://imgur.com/NKrhvIk

THE MIND IMPERIAL DELEGATION



It was Standard Year 3890 in Mind Imperial reckoning. The people and more specifically the government of the Mind Empire had been receiving reports of a mass migration into the quadrant of a foreign empire. They had by all accounts been described by those stragglers left from Ombroj raids and various merchants as a militaristic nation which had brought under its fold a number of client species and states. This had not gained them the best reputation abroad but the Mind Empire had held back on judgements, preferring to remain as they have for the past century: a neutral and unassuming state in the sea of stars. Now however, there was a broadcasted invitation to the coronation of the Thrashian Empress. This piqued the interest of many Mind Imperial members of the Sage Council and the Nobility. Empress implied nobility, and seeing as this was a Human/near human majority power there was the potential for matrimonial alliances with either the Imperial Family or the Apostolic Houses. Since this nation by all accounts had a prevalence of force users this notion was doubly attractive. However, such ambitions on the part of the Mind Empire often do not come to fruition in the part of skewed reports. To investigate further into this matter, but likewise simply to extend a hand of friendship and non-aggression to a new neighbor, the Leviathan-2 class Galleon had passed through an outlying star system on the safe route into the Thrashian Empire to attend the Empress’s coronation.

This ship, the Hippogriff, was the personal flagship of the Prince-Admiral Paulos Vulcon. Paul as he was called by his friends and family was a commanding officer of the First Order, and the eldest son of the Chief of the Sage Council (and therefore the head Executive and Judicial leader of the Mind Empire and one of the most powerful psychics) Emmanuel Vulcon. He was born first of his siblings not long after Emmanuel’s ascension to the throne in 3766, yet despite being in late middle age for the Haman nobility he felt still in the prime of his life. He was a deep calculator and largely stoic, though he was fond of the usual quip to his trusted crew and advisors. Two such advisors who accompanied him on this diplomatic mission was the Sage Council’s Minister of Foreign Affairs Naquaiel Hiawatha, and Paul’s Ministry Secretariat William Abysson. These men were not of the Apostolic Houses but of common-born Haman lineages that had risen by skill into the service of the highborn, and like the Prince-Admiral, Hiawatha and Abysson both possessed immense psychic abilities.

These were the Haman members of the delegation to Thrashia, though they were not alone in the party. Leading the guardian squad of Haman and Malluman marines, but also representing his people was Paul’s dear friend Rex Upitar Qornamee, a Reo clan-chief of one of the most loyal and dedicated Malluman clans to serve the Mind Imperial Armada. The Mallumans were a Saurian race adapted from primitive form to serve the Hamans in the early days of the Empire, since their war for independence they continue to serve yet more on their own terms. Another xeno party was that of the Nebulan Hive Queen and her Baron-Speaker. The Nebulans (which is the Haman name for their race) are a eusocial species of insectoids who engage in major manufacturing and trade throughout the Empire, and who’s Queens are psychically in communique with the Sages and the College of High Clerics. In exchange for general defense and protection, the Nebulans engage in open exchange of resources. The Queen present was Ardashara of Hive Alryl, whose main industry was general ship parts and more conspicuous commissions from the Armada. Her favored mate who led her short train was Baron-Speaker Alrylolm Prime (the designation to specify him among the other Alrylolms and Alryloam males who all have the same name). Another Alrylolm and two of her daughter servants would accompany her at all times during this trip. There were others of her hive on the Hippogriff, but as for her away team, it would be small so as not to distract or overwhelm the outsiders they would be meeting.

This delegation was not entirely representative of course, the Empires other two constituent sentient species not being represented, however due to the Yorms’ primitive state and the disunited nature of the Ombroj Tribes, Hamans, Mallumans, and Nebulans were the major players and showers in domestic and international politics.

Prior to arrival planetside on New Bastion, the Prince Admiral had called his fellow delegates to his observation lounge which was situated above the bridge. It was a spacious sitting room like environment, fit for the Prince-Admiral but not so opulent as to warrant a sense of waste. It was in a word: comfortable. Each of the delegates who had arrived in the room would be able to find themselves seats. The Hive Queen Ardashara did not herself attend, but Alrylolm would auto-transmit his thoughts to her so she kept informed, and would speak for her if needed. So with the Baron-Speaker came Rex Qornamee, Minister Hiawatha, and Secretary Abysson. The Minister and the Secretary both sat down in armchairs, Qornamee stood leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, while Alrylom sat cross-legged on an ottoman with his forelimbs hanging outstretched to the floor. The Prince-Admiral would appear from his private quarters thence. It was clear to all he had been curling his long hair to make their natural locks appear more baroque. He was wearing a leisure suit like outfit currently but had his wardrobe for the coronation hung up in his quarters. Brushing his hair behind his shoulders he spoke to his comrades “Good afternoon everyone. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

Pointing out the window, really a part of the wall projecting the view of outside space meant to look like a window; he motioned to the passing lights as they continued to warp to New Bastion. “It will not be long before we hang above the Capital of a potential long-term ally. I mean to act in my father and the Sage Council’s wishes and establish at least some form of dialogue with these people. And even if that means paying flattery to this new Empress of theirs that’s what we shall do.”

“By all accounts from our foreign office” said Minister Hiawatha “I think it would be wise to do more than that. Securing military allies among our neighbors is a long term strategy the Sages have spoken to the Senate about on multiple occasions, especially given the tenuous situations of our more distant colonial systems.”

“That too is something to keep in mind, especially since the non-allied Ombroj, the Slugs, and the Gremlins have all picked up on this growing trend of piracy throughout the quadrant, they may become bolder. I do not wish to leave the Empire my great-grandfather founded and my father reinvigorated in the hands of scavengers. But I also do not wish to sacrifice our independence to any foreign interlopers who object to our ways of life, or seek to profit by our wealth.”

“Such has always been the arguments of the self-sufficient members of the Senate” William Abysson added, “even those in our Empire who ask for greater autonomy.” At this the Prince-Admiral sighed. Paul was a calculator, a considerer. He did not act rashly, in part because he saw the logic in what most people said. When people like Hiawatha and Abysson (fellow intellectuals) spoke it gave him pause to consider all the weight of their arguments.

His long term friend Qornamee spoke with more brevity and always chose to speak last, for he knew his friend Paul would need guidance. “Consider, Ministers. You speak of an Empress and her Empire which we know almost nothing of save through rumor and that through our always so reliable friends the Ombroj and their associate traders. Ever hear of Fish stories?” The Malluman Rex snarled a toothy grin and chuckle at the ministers before walking over to the Prince-Admiral. Speaking matter-of-factly he said “Paul, we have an opportunity here to learn more than anything. Let’s not go in with presumptions of strategy for a Monarch, a government, and a society we know so little about. Rather, let us observe as we do. Pay this Empress respect of course, but” the great dinosaur hissed “let us remember who the 500 year old Empire is, and let that fact be impressed upon her.”
“You make a fair point Upitar” Paul said nodding in agreement. His friends mind was ever on respect and honor, and compared to these new arrivals from a galaxy far far away, the Mind Empire had ever been seated in its place. And though it had often been a hermit in the galactic political scene Paul hoped they commanded yet some respect still. The Empress needed the aid of the Mind Empire as much, if not more, as they needed hers. The Ministers and the Baron-Speaker who clicked his mandibles in agreement all saw the logic in this as well. Alrylolm would speak in his click and whistle language to they who could understand some but mainly through psionic projection. “Ardashara and I take pleasure in these plans. We shall meet the Empress on friendly though sovereign terms.”

Just as this was agreed the Hippogriff fell out of warp, appearing some 1.5 million miles out from New Bastion. The orb of the planet could be seen from the observation lounge. Paul would turn to enhance the view of the world. All the delegates therein beheld the jewel of a world, shining in its metropolii and its space traffic, likely high for the coronation and the migration of late. Paul looked at the planet and thought to himself: “Every world is a jewel of sorts, a jewel with a unique chemical and atomic structure built from the lifeforms who inhabit it. I wonder what structure yours is, New Bastion, ye new seat of the Thrashian Empire?”

It was not long before the party had descended by way of Aerospace Yacht to the planet’s surface. The Queen and her retinue wore their semi-protective ceremonial suits, which accommodated their atmospheric requirements, whilst the Hamans and Mallumans found the air to be of good quality and thus wore their dress attire. While the small squad of marines who accompanied them wore their ceremonial armor, Rex Qornamee wore simply his black and scaly dress uniform, which displayed his clan Qornam’s symbol proudly in a pendant on his chest. The attire of the Prince-Admiral and the Ministers was more semi-sacred. The dress robes of the Haman people were always flowing and rich in color. Paul wore attire of deep navy blue and silver treelike designs, with grey and black undergarments. The robes of William Abysson were black with trim of gold and evergreen, whilst the robes of Naquaiel Hiawatha were an array of more muted shades of pale blue and seafoam green, inlaid with geometric patterns of red and purple. The Hamans stood on average around six feet tall, with the Prince Admiral being six foot six inches, Abysson being six foot four inches, and Hiawatha being five foot nine inches in height. The eight foot Qornamee towered in height and bulk above them, yet the Baron Speaker seemed diminutive at only four foot five inches.

This party would arrange themselves with the other foreign delegates on the planet in an area behind the great marble dais which was set up for the coronation procession and ceremony. The pomp of the event was dazzling and the turnout gargantuan. The migration had done little it seemed to stem either the general population or their attitudes toward their leaders. It was clear this Empress was loved by her people.

One aspect which caught the eye of the Malluman Reo and his Prince-Admiral friend was the role of the military and the oath which was taken before the Empress by a Colonel of their armed forces. “A fine martial tradition clearly exists in this society” Qornamee whispered with a toothy grin. Paul nodded at him and replied “better assure they’re on our side rather than against us.”
“Oh I think we could probably beat them if we have to” Qornamee whispered brushing it off. Paul said nothing to this; he knew not whether his friend meant that in jest or in earnest. And for some reason he didn’t want to find out. He turned his mind to another matter. Speaking psychically to the Hive Queen who rested behind him on her mechanical spider-like litter, he asked “You did bring the gift down did you not?”
Ardashara replied in her motherly aura “my children have brought it, in the box you requested.” Glancing back Paul could see one of her daughter-servants holding a familiar red and brown capsule-box which held the gift of good value which Paul had thought, based on the reports of these people, would be an appropriate gift for a new Empress he sought to befriend. Paul thanked the hive queen and turned back to the crowd’s thunderous applause and cheers for their new Empress. Dheinalia Vera Nuruodo.

Coming into the Reception Hall which was grandiose in a similar way to the ceremony which took place earlier in the day, the Mind Empire delegation found itself surrounded not just by the other foreign dignitaries who had appeared to make entreaties to the new Empress but also by the court of the Thrashian Empire. Any court was the same, the Mind Imperials knew this well, and they spotted two figures who had the Empress’s ear, the Grand Moff Noventa, who appeared to be her Prime Minister, and the Red Armored guard who kept to her side.
When it came time to present themselves, the Prince Admiral lead the way, followed closely behind by the Ministers and the Malluman Rex, and trailing behind was the Hive Queen and her Baron-Speaker. Their small entourage of Marines and other Nebulans stood to the side.

Paul would introduce the group with a reverential bow they all would copy in their own form.

“My dear Dheinalia Vera Nuruodo, Empress of the Thrashian people. Salutations and congratulations from the Mind Empire of Hame, in concordance with the Queens Alliance and the Imperator of San, this being our nations full title, expressed by the delegation brought before you.”

Presenting himself he said “I am Admiral Paulos Vulcon, eldest son of the Chief Sage Emmanuel Vulcon, who is the ruler of the Haman people. I have brought two ministers with me, one our head of foreign affairs Naquaiel Hiawatha, another is my secretariat William Abysson. Beside me stands a subordinate of the Imperator of San, my Malluman friend Rex Upitar Qornamee, the chief of his ever loyal clan, progenitor of his mighty brood.”

Turning to the great insectoid behind him “And here is the Hive-queen Ardashara of one of our Nebulan Hive-Manufactorums, the Hive Alryl. Her Baron-Speaker here before you is Alrylolm.”
One of the daughter-servants then brought forth the box. Paul took it in hand and carried it forward to the Empress. “Your majesty, with the express commands of my father Lord Emmanuel and his fellow Lords Betelgeuse and Nathaniel, I here present you a token of what I hope to be a lasting friendship and cooperation.” Opening the box a great gemstone shone by its own light, it was nearly the size of a football, and any force-user could detect that it was radiant of its own force-aura.

“We had heard, your majesty, that among your people you have force practitioners. Such is the same in our Empire Madame, though we practice our traditions differently. This stone for instance, mined from one of our Capital system’s gas giants, has been inscribed and imbued with psychic energy. It is meant for you, your heirs, or your agents whoever you see fit, to use as a honing device through which to channel a greater connection with the Holy Spirit, what we call the Force.”

Closing the box he said “I hope this is something you find acceptable. If however this is not to your liking, we shall in addition grant you some alloy composite ingredients from Hive Alryl’s catalogue, and a gift of rare spices from our agricultural producers.” Paul could only hope such things were acceptable to this Empress. Knowing nothing of their internal economy or for that matter their attitudes toward the Force and its users, it’s hard to pick out gifts.
Last edited by Lotrabme on Wed May 31, 2017 8:32 pm, edited 3 times in total.

User avatar
Thrashia
Minister
 
Posts: 2232
Founded: Aug 31, 2004
Compulsory Consumerist State

Postby Thrashia » Wed Jun 07, 2017 10:05 am

Throne Room | Imperial Throneworld | New Bastion

Empress Dheinalia nodded in greetings to the latest delegation to step forward. They were an interesting collection of beings. She noticed absently the knowing looks that a few of the Empire's client state peoples were making towards the latest arrivals. None of them were outright hostile, but wary. She turned back as the lead figure stepped forward and introduced himself.

She smiled diplomatically as Admiral Vulcon introduced each of his party, and again when he presented the Mind Empire's gift. It was a gem to match some of the best within the Thrashian Imperial treasury. She imagined that it would easily enough pay for the construction of at least one Imperial-class Star Destroyer. The fact that she was comparing it's appreciation in comparison to the cost of a warship made her smile, ruefully; reminiscing. I miss my dear husband. He would likewise be thinking about what it could be used to purchase, in terms of warships.

She allowed her mirth to show and she looked at each of the Mind Empire delegation's party.

"You are welcome herein, Admiral Vulcon. It is a pleasure to meet you and your empire's peoples. On behalf of the Empire of Thrashia, I thank you for the gift. It is beautiful. I am not Force-sensitive myself, but I'm sure that Grand Master Draco here may be able to find a use for it," she said.

Draco stepped forward. "By your leave, Highness?" She nodded.

He stretched out his hand and harnessed the Force to grasp the gem and float it through the air to his hand. It fell heavily into his armored hand. He sensed a condensed amount of crystals within the stone's matrix, similar to Kyber crystals. He looked up at Admiral Vulcon.

"A mighty gift," he said. He turned to Dheinalia. "I will see it is taken in for analysis by the order. Once finished I'll see to it that it's deposited within the palace vaults."

"Thank you, Grand Master."

Dheinalia turned to her guests. "With your gift given and yourselves introduced, please feel free to avail yourselves of the food and drink provided. At a later time, I believe one of my attendants will be in contact with you concerning the Imperial Foreign Ministry. I'm sure there is much that may be learned from each other."
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"D-Damn you all...! All of you dogs whose souls are still bound to the Earth! Long live Neo Zeon!" - MSG: Unicorn

User avatar
Thrashia
Minister
 
Posts: 2232
Founded: Aug 31, 2004
Compulsory Consumerist State

Postby Thrashia » Sun Jun 25, 2017 9:57 am

Elêníor System | Praesidium Sector (R,V) | Empire of Thrashia
Six Months After the Coronation



The Empress' ship came out of hyperspace into the Elêníor System. Unremarkable, perhaps even plain, the system did not look especially suited to the purpose to which it had been put. Six outer system planetoids were constantly being mined now, quickly claimed by a local mining magnate who's survey vessels had been responsible for discovering the system in the first place. Cygnarix Mining Co. were less than pleased when the one habitable world within the system was declared off-limits to them, by Imperial decree. Guided by a Force unseen by living beings, this particular world was deemed special. Unique. The high priestess of the Motherhood had had a vision and sought the intercession of the new Empress of Thrashia. Dheinalia had been more than happy to grant that wish, and so was invited to the unveiling of the new head temple that had been constructed on Elêníor.

The planet was pristine. It's surface was a patchwork of verdant green plains, sparkling sapphire seas, and bright mountains of marble and limestone. The great shrine and shrine-city that surrounded it had been constructed with the utmost care. Kyber crystals, some as large as a man, were set within special sconces within parks and around the main, great shrine. Therein were statues carved from a substance known as 'milkstone' due to it's pale white form -- more pure than marble or limestone -- and the coolness that seemed to resist even the warming heat of the local star. They were formed in the shape of a loving, caring mother -- arms stretched outwards in welcome. She was known by many names, but most often simply as 'the Goddess' or 'the Mother'. It was to her that veneration was given.

Dheinalia considered all these things as she was escorted through the halls of the temple. She had never been religious, nor were the majority of Thrashian citizens. The encounter with the Chaos Gods and the events of the Chaos War, however, had a way of converting people. Fear is such a strong motivator. So irrational, so undisciplined. A white-robed priestess was pointing out some of the architecture. They stepped out onto a balcony overlooking the main entry of the temple.

Towering statues of faceless guardians stood sentinel above an open courtyard of white. Arching, fluid porticoes wrapped the area, filled to the brim with pilgrims and worshipers. At the very center of the area, the focal point of attention, was a trio of statues. Each was carved into a particular likeness:

The Father.

The Daughter.

The Mother.

Each was beautiful in its own right, but to the Mother was given the most extravagant detail. The Mother was the one who stood taller and was centered. Above the statue's head, as if waiting at her beck and call, was the single largest kyber crystal Dheinalia had ever seen. The temple was beautiful.

People were gently swaying together, hands clasped with one another, and a soft chanting thrummed through the air.

"In life, there is the Force."

"In the Force, there is life."

"And the Force is eternal."

"May the Force of Others be with you."

"For we are One with the Force and the Force is with us."


As the chanting subsided, a new person emerged from a high balcony overlooking the central nave that led through the crowd to the central altar of kyber. She was breathtaking in her beauty. Dheinalia was herself considered attractive and a great beauty - but even she couldn't deny the etherealness of the woman. She wore a white robe with a green belt about her waste. Hung from her shoulders were silver wires enmeshed with kyber crystals, designed to model the silver crown atop her head. She bore a silver staff capped with a well-cut kyber crystal. The light of the sun shone upon her as she stepped fully into view, the silver and ruby-color of the kyber enhancing her own natural look.

"I suppose that I should have known," commented Dheinalia, a wry tone filling her voice.

Her lady-in-waiting at her side looked confused. "What do you mean, Highness?"

"The High Priestess," Dheinalia nodded toward the woman who was now addressing the crowd. "Her name, at least the one she gave when she became a priestess, is Gelwenil. It's Menelmacari, originally."

"If I'm not mistaken, Highness, the ISB did run a background check on her when she became a naturalized Thrashian citizen. I believe she lived on Bastion. Would you like to look at the file?"

"No. I shall learn of her from the source itself."



The crowd cried out in joy as the High Priestess Gelwenil raised her hand and staff together, another prayer upon her lips. "I am one with the Force and the Force is with me!"

"I am one with the Force and the Force is with me!" a thousand thousand voices cried back.

"Go forth now and know peace. To live is to know the Force. To know the Force is to enjoy life and it's peaceful heart." She ended the sermon with a simple blessing. "May the Force of Others be with you."

It was answered back by the multitude.

Dheinalia watched as the crowd of worshipers dispersed. Many would step before the statue-altar at the center and bow low before it. When they would stand up, they would reach forth with their hands and touch the feet of the statue of the Mother, whispering and speaking to it. Some of the most devout went so far as to kiss the statue's feet. Four figures, dressed in white and green ceremonial armor, were revealed as the press of the crowd slackened. They stood sentinel before the altar, much as the great statues above them did. The Guardians of the Whills, as they were known, received as much attention as the statues that they guarded. Here and there a worshiper would stop and nod their head in respect to them, perhaps saying a friendly word or exchanging a platitude or prayer. The Guardians simply remained as they were, proud and tall.

An old saying echoed at the edge of Dheinalia's memory as she walked away from her side balcony and entered the temple, seeking out the chamber where she would meet with the High Priestess Gelwenil:

"The strongest stars have hearts of kyber."
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"D-Damn you all...! All of you dogs whose souls are still bound to the Earth! Long live Neo Zeon!" - MSG: Unicorn

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Compulsory Consumerist State

Postby Thrashia » Mon Aug 07, 2017 5:27 am

Thrashian Space
Eight Months After the Coronation

One by one, they rose. Built by robotic hands, commanded by flesh ones; they rose. ‘Stepping Stones,’ some called them. To the Kuat Transport Inc. that had been given the contract for their creation and management they were simply known as gate stations. Each one was developed at a point roughly in the center of each of the ten sectors of space within the Thrashian Empire. KTI security forces, reinforced by order of Imperial High Command, had overseen the creation of this new network of faster-than-light trade hubs. The stations, positioned at the edge of various systems, usually an industrial focused system, were massive in size. The standard template for their design had been modeled on those from the United Star Commonwealth. A vast ring-gate through which even the largest of ships, such as an Executor-class, could fit through. The cost of construction hadn’t been light, but subsidies from the Accords had helped to offset the cost to the Imperial Throne.

Standing on the bridge of his personal yacht, Jean van Kuat looked on with a smug smile. KTI was one of the KDY subsidiaries that he had control of as CEO. His stock had more than tripled in the last quarter thanks to the investment made by the Accord and Imperial Throne. Once this last trade hub station was complete, he’d be sure to rake in an even larger return. The costs of running the stations would be chump-change next to the amount he’d be making via trade transactions, station fees, repair fees, shopping fees, etc. It was enough to make anyone happy.

“Pilot,” Jean turned his head, “Take us back to New Kuat. I need to speak with my father.”

“Aye, sir.” The pilot turned the ship about and plotted a course into the navicomputer.

Jean headed back to his main compartment and relaxed into a sedan chair covered in silk cushions. A servant droid appeared at his shoulder and presented him with a glass of wine.

“Thank you, CP-9. Make sure to have my evening suit ready. We’ll be arriving back home in time for dinner at my father’s.”

CP-9 beeped. “As you wish, Master Jean.”


New Kuat

The new demesne given to the Kuat family in return for their services in facilitating the massive immigration from the old galaxy to the new Milky Way one had been a treasure. A system that contained enough mineable asteroids and lifeless planetoids to last half a century, at least. It also contained the planet, New Kuat, itself. A blue-green globe that was untarnished by major industrial habitation. Dorn van Kuat had ordered that no major industry would be allowed to take root on the surface itself.

Because Kuat Drive Yards worked predominantly in outer space, upon orbital docks or in deep space, this wasn’t a large issue.

The infamous dock ring of Kuat Drive Yards was set in place above its new home. It had taken over five thousand ships and the careful coordination of all the best astro-engineers in the company to set things in place. Piece by piece, tied back together by every means possible, the KDY construction ring was back in orbit and ready for work in under five months.

Because KDY was now the sole source of ships for the Empire (Dorn had chuckled long and hard over the fact that SoroSuub could no longer undercut him), more production was going to be needed.
A second orbital ring was already under construction.

Jean’s yacht sped past the security cordons and gravity well generator platforms, the security codes being broadcast in its transponder enough to dissuade any captain from trying to interdict the company’s son from going where he wished.

He walked down the ramp of his yacht and onto the palatial grounds of his family’s home. The estate stretched in all directions for one hundred square kilometers. Fields of floral decorations, vineyards, and other accoutrements to feed even the most ravenous and greedy of potentates’ appetites. A couple of Kuati retainers were waiting for him. They bowed smartly at the waist.

“Welcome home, young master.”

“My father is home?”

“He will soon be, young master. He wished you to be informed that dinner would be delayed by half an hour, but that you may relax herein. To what leisure may we lead you?”

Jean sighed. His father never seemed to keep his family plans on time.

“I’ll wait in his study. Some wine would be a nice distraction.”

The servant bowed again and stretched out his arm toward the house.

“After you, young master.”
FT Factbook | Thrashian HoloNet News | Newbies Need to Read This | Thrashia IIwiki


"D-Damn you all...! All of you dogs whose souls are still bound to the Earth! Long live Neo Zeon!" - MSG: Unicorn

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Compulsory Consumerist State

Postby Thrashia » Thu Oct 19, 2017 11:23 am

Imperial Bureau of Colonial Management | New Bastion System


Voices rose higher in volume and pitch as the conversation took on a much more heated tone. Clerks and workers outside the Bureau Chief's office did their best to simultaneously listen and appear as best as possible to not be listening; something which they'd grown quite adept at in recent times. Within the past year the bureau had been increased by a factor of ten. Veteran members recalled fondly the days when they'd felt swamped by having only a dozen cases of colonial affairs open at any one time -- not knowing how good they had it until now. Once the Empire made the full adjustment, from the Beta Quadrant simply being a small extra-galactic colony sector to a full migration and resettlement, the IBCM had become regularly overworked. Problems varied from the minute -- one colony on Phorkis VII in the R-T Sector was sending a number of complaints about the latest shipment of crop seeds somehow reacting strangely with the chemistry of the local soil, resulting in vibrant blue produce -- to the far more severe.

"I don't care if you have friends on Nozomu! I don't answer to whatever backwater-kriffing-pen-pushing minor functionary you just happen to be best friends with," roared the voice of the Bureau Chief. "Your colony will receive it's shipment after the others in your sub-sector have had theirs."

A pause in the storm came. The sound of fingers tapping on glass outlays, blue-tinted holographic light filling the work room, resumed. Jezika Moran, senior secretary, cocked her head to one side, trying to angle her ear just enough to hear the muffled reply of the colony leader that her boss was speaking with.

"Sith me, but you're not listening! Do you have shit in your ears? Your paperwork was the last to be received -- you're lucky that you're getting anything at this point. I have ELEVEN WHOLE SECTORS to deal with -- not just your dirtball of a world! You'll get your shipment on schedule, yes, the very schedule you hate, and you'll sit there and deal with that. If I find out you tried to approach the local IBCM branch with this issue...I will bring your truculence to the attention of Moff Munnos. I'm sure he'll be happy to set you straight."

A loud bang, muffled slightly by the office door, was heard. Bureau Chief Edmund Alvarue had a bad, growing, habit of smashing his hand against his desk in the place where the holographic button to cut a transmission was; seemingly forgetting that he didn't need to actually touch, or slam, anything.

"Jezika!" whispered a voice to her left.

She turned to see her coworker, Jon, sitting at his cluttered desk. He was holding up a datapad with a projected claimants form. "What am I suppose to be looking at and why should I care, Jon?"

"It's part of that pending investigation into the local industrial fund managed by the Creed Foundation, in the Praelium Sector."

"Sector Q-U. Use the standard classifications, please. And continue."

Jon rolled his eyes, but smiled and continued. He leaned forward in his chair. "I've found a backtrack of damage claims, seeking reimbursement of faulty colonial equipment, all of them signed by the same person - an Adjutant Milo Tremal. We're talking heavy equipment: mass conveyors, mine diggers, construction cranes, and even top-of-the-line KDY nanobot deconstructors."

Jezika raised her eyebrow. "So?"

"So?" Jon laughed. "So I looked into the Prae-- that is, Q-U Sector local government employee list and there *is* no Milo Tremal in their records. When I backtracked it to the local colonies that the Adjutant," he raised his hand and did air quotes while saying the title sarcastically, "Is supposedly representing, I found that half of them don't exist and the other half haven't actually even been started yet."

Jezika leaned over and snatched the datapad out of Jon's hand. She skimmed through the documents, seeing the numbers add up. The amount of credits would not have been too substantial had it been one or two reimbursement claims, but this was over a dozen. The amount totaled over ten billion credits; the kind of money that any single colony would kill to have.

Jon smiled, knowingly. "Told you!"

"Don't be cocky," reprimanded Jezika, putting on her serious face. "It's unbecoming. On you. I can pull it off, but not you."

"You better be nice to me," replied Jon, holding up another datapad, "Because I know where Adjutant Milo lives."

"How the kriffing hell did you get that?" Jezika snatched that datapad out of his hand too.

"I've got a friend in the local ISB branch office on Tatakai," replied Jon, smiling like a Cheshire cat. "Well, a brother-in-law, really. When I mentioned the case to him he happened to be chasing a similar lead regarding other types of embezzlement and false claims. We simply need to collate all the claims, which I've done, and have them red lined. The Bureau will save a nifty credit or more and I get to be a hero."

"You mean I do," grinned Jezika.

Jon cocked an eyebrow.

"Fine. We both get to," replied Jezika. "Seeing as how only I and the boss have authorization to red line claims."

"Buy me dinner and I might be OK with that settlement," said Jon, boldly.

Jezika looked at him. Jon was an early 30's, single man with blue-tinted hair that matched his eyes. He was neither thin, nor thick. Average body overall. He had a nice smile, though.

"I'll think about it. I'll take this into the boss and you can get back to work." Jon nodded, conceding that his charge up the valley had suffered heavy losses, but taken the objective none the less.

Jezika got up and walked over to the door, pressing the alert chime, of her boss's office. She opened the door a second later and entered. The office was lit by the natural light filtering in from the New Bastion system's star. Her boss, Juren Haqar, stood behind his desk looking out over the sprawling silver-green city. Parks and plant covered recreational areas lay all about, with white and silver towers growing in between, reaching into the blue sky above. The weather management system was keeping the week sunny and cool, though Jezika made a mental note to not forget her prumbella when it next rained at eight on the weekend.

"Sir, I hope I'm not disturbing you," she said.

"No, not at all, Ms. Moran. I'm just imagining how things would be if I were still living in the Transitory Mists among my old people. In that culture it'd be perfectly fine for me to have an annoying little nerf-shit like that assassinated." The call must have really gotten under her bosses nerves for him to be reminiscing about the Hapes Consortium. "I don't care if he isn't happy about not getting a DSS-02 within the next month or not."

The heat could be felt from the door.

"Well, I do have some good news for you..."
FT Factbook | Thrashian HoloNet News | Newbies Need to Read This | Thrashia IIwiki


"D-Damn you all...! All of you dogs whose souls are still bound to the Earth! Long live Neo Zeon!" - MSG: Unicorn


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