Location: NIV Ave Imperator - Deep Space - the former Frontier of the Empire
It was often the quietest of moments that tolled the loudest...
Hardly a sound could be heard within his stateroom. The lights were off, with the sealing bulkheads drawn back to reveal the transparisteel viewport that offered the Grand Moff-
former Grand Moff rather- what many would consider to be an impressive view of the starship’s surroundings. Such a view was desirable when moored above more scenic locales, or even in the exceedingly rare instances in which the
Ave Imperator was anchored within sight of nebulae or notable clusters along hyperlanes.
It was in this moment that an all too familiar sight stretched before the gaze of the Grand Moff.
Nothing.
Of course, the ‘nothingness’ of space was relative, as there always was the glimmer of distant stars to be observed, even in the far-flung reaches of the Imperial frontier. But to a man who had spent almost his entire life amongst the stars, particularly on this day of days,
it was a considerable amount of... nothing.
Perhaps he felt that way, not because of the unremarkable view set before his weathered gaze; but rather because of the ignominious end the Empire he had once served had met. He stood still and firm in front of the viewport adorned in his white uniform which marked him by his dual role as a Grand Admiral. Several decades ago, the erstwhile Empire would be celebrating Defiance Day in earnest all along its constituent worlds. Parades would fill the streets of Bastion, marked by speeches by the Imperial Elite; Niruaun would honor the fallen heroes who died defending her people several times over; and Dantooine, as the spiritual heart of the Empire that was, would engage in its own rustic festivities in remembrance of their main claim to fame -
Irveric Tavlar
himself.
But no music would play, nor parades be observed or patriotic speeches be so uttered. Throughout the former territories of the Empire lay innumerable corpses of those who either stood in defense of their nation, or fled in the hopes of finding refuge elsewhere. The only songs uniformly sung amongst the sons and daughters of the Empire were of mourning. Ignacious Korvan, for his part, observed this day in his own way; which was with a glass of whiskey served neat. While duty officers maintained the function of the ship on this day as they would any other, at some point all of those aboard the
Imperator would observe the day in their own way. By the graces of the Grand Moff, extra rations of what liquor they possessed would be made available to them. While replenishment of their supplies was no longer as simple a matter as it once was, Ignacious recognized the efforts those under his command had expended in his service ever since the collapse.
Amidst the upheaval, the once vaunted and feared 43rd Battlegroup did what it could to maintain order in the Western Frontier. Now, some two decades later, his battlefleet was operating at just above half strength, and forced to operate in smaller task forces across multiple systems - maintaining a network of anchorages and waystations to keep their Remnant serviceable all this time. While Korvan had been lauded as a hero for saving millions of lives by his actions to preserve what he could, the fact remained that untold billions had died at the hands of both foreign invaders and opportunists from within who rose up after the death of the Lord Regent.
‘Hero...hmph...’ He took a long draft of his whiskey and turned in disgust at the thought. As he undid the collar of his uniform and sat down, he shook his head. Ignacious was no hero of the revolution. Yes, he joined the cause of the New Order early enough to avoid suspicion and facilitate his rise to prominence, but he was not of the same magnitude as Tavlar, or the house of Fel, or even Erskine Barran. Nor was he a hero now, despite his supposed efforts to preserve what he could.
He always was, both then and now, a
survivor.
********
His father never was proud of him, despite the accolades Ignacious had earned in his nascent naval career; all because he was not a ‘wielder of the force’ like his father. He had tried to kill Ignacious two times before, and the third time had forced Korvan’s hand to take refuge amongst those who could actually provide the support needed to gain the upper hand on his father. He could still see the anger on his father’s face as Ignacious stared at him from behind an energy cage. The once great ‘Lord Korvan’ was reduced to a neutered prisoner with a force suppression collar around his neck and his hands cuffed behind his back. No emotion registered upon Ignacious face back then, even as his father’s snarl carried the hint of fear behind it with the knowledge that his execution was soon at hand.
‘You’re no son of mine. You always were weak - spineless! No honor, nor loyalty to your own.’
Korvan’s piercing eyes, which were over 40 years younger back then, appraised his father coldly. ‘Perhaps honor will keep your head placed where it is.’
Those were the last words Ignacious told his father as he turned and walked out of the chamber. He half expected his father to call out, be it in anger or some form of protest - but no call would be made, nor any sound heard save the patter of Ignacious’ polished boots upon the durasteel paneling.
********
The tension was palpable; thick enough to require a lightsaber to slash through it. While Erskine had built for himself the reputation of an inspirational leader of men, the stare he had affixed to the Grand Moff was as hard as stone - enough to cause his very blood to run cold. Ignacious Korvan was not a man to be cowed lightly, given he had gone toe to toe with Carlyle Rausegeber himself in a shadow war of political maneuvering for all within the Moff Council to witness in the not too distant past. But Erskine... Erskine was a different man altogether. The legendary figure had virtually absolute authority to do whatever he pleased - an Emperor in all but name. It was fortuitous that Korvan was armed with enough substantiated fact to save his life as he entered the fortress those days ago, and explained himself as best he could.
Whether Erskine suspected the truth of it already, or Korvan was the most convincing he had ever been before; the Lord Regent had baffled Ignacious with how quickly he accepted the truth of the matter. But there would not be a way out of the incident without blood being paid. While Korvan would not be held ultimately responsible for the lives lost on Ilum, the unfortunate souls responsible for the mechanical failure would be instead. Erskine dismissed the Grand Moff with orders that, contrary to what many may think, had hung heavy within his heart. He was to execute the head engineers responsible, and do so via a live feed with the Lord Regent himself.
Never before had Ignacious been so thankful of his upbringing within the cutthroat world of Sith Imperial politics, for he knew well that if he had denied Lord Barran’s request, it was likely to mean his own life instead. The Grand Moff knew well the weapon was prototype in nature, but he could not - and would not challenge the demanded toll. A blood debt had been incurred, and blood would repay it.
“N-no my lord! P-p-please! I- I have a family!!”
BANG
“WE CORRECTED THE MALFUNCTION! THE WEAPON WILL BE FULLY OPERATIONAL SO--”
BANG
...
The final engineer stared coldly at the Grand Moff, who held the smoldering pistol in his hand facing the ceiling while his boots impacted harshly against the durasteel paneling of their black-site prison. There was no pleading in his eyes unlike the other two; no scrambling for an excuse. He knew what this was, and it disgusted him. Korvan paused as he appraised the condemned man. He remembered... pursing his lips, as if admiring the bravery this engineer before him had marshalled, to be able to stare death in the face. He was about to say something when the engineer spat into his face, the resulting bead of saliva spattering dead center into his features. He leveled the pistol.
BANG
That was it. That was all of them. Blood spattered and interlaced with the saliva on his face, and speckled his snow-white tunic - as if a stain had washed upon him from the actions that had transpired. Their families would never know what had happened here, only that their husbands, fathers, brothers, and sons...
Were gone.
He remembered hearing Erskine’s voice over the holofeed after the deed was done, but he did not remember the words. All he remembered was that face.
Those eyes...
The last time he had killed a man with his own hands was over two decades ago, when he had staged a mutiny aboard the cruiser he was stationed aboard, during the Age of Defiance. He had done what he had to do to survive back then, and he had done so again now.
As Korvan became evermore lost in his thoughts, he found his eyes growing all the more heavier. Erskine’s cold voice echoed in his mind, as it had many a night after Ignacious had executed those technicians for their failure at Ilum. His eyes would close and his consciousness would begin to fade - but the mindless freedom of dreamless sleep would elude him.
In its place, the cold voice of his former mentor would be replaced by one far more sinister and sickeningly sweet.
"I sense your past Korvan, your pain.. your fear."
It did not feel like a dream.
The voice sounded all too real as it rang within Korvan’s mind - and soon, the image of a very familiar figure would coalesce in his consciousness.
Instinctively, Korvan would reach for his sidearm and pull it out and leveled in one fluid motion. He pulled the trigger several times, and the sound of superheated plasma echoed through the air - but the energy dissipated almost as soon as it left the barrel; as if the bolt were shot underwater. Mere moments later, the blaster itself would disappear from his hand.
This had to be a dream, but why didn’t it feel like it?
"All your life you've been trapped in a cage."
Darth Solipsis - the Dark Voice himself, began to pace around Ignacious, akin to a caged Nexu encircling its prey.
"Forced to act and do what others shape for you.. never on your own path."
The scoff that exited Solipsis’ lips carried with it a force that took Korvan aback, but to his credit, he kept his composure even in this dream world he found himself in. Be that as it may, Ignacious was still human. Fear crept through his mind and filled his veins. He could feel himself grow cold as the chill in Solipsis’ words carried forth.
"You know the depths of my power. You've seen it on Tython. I can give you what you seek, I can bring what you've always wanted to fruition."
Korvan’s heart stopped. Was he dead? No... he didn’t think so. Even still, he could feel the fear peel itself back and give way to something... not expected. It would seem that Solipsis’ words had found purchase and struck a chord within the Grand Moff. ‘I can bring what you’ve always wanted to fruition.’
Before Ignacious could utter a word, the Dark Lord answered the unasked question.
"An Alliance burned. Your rivals dismantled, your enemies all but dead and buried."
A pregnant pause prevailed between the two men. A new... Empire? The very notion of a new Empire had seemed a distant dream for the past twenty years, for the Remnant under Korvan’s control had done well to remain operational much less expand in size. But even still... the Dark Lord was not without persuasion nor knowledge of whom he was speaking.
As Ignacious had reminded himself not so long ago... yes the Empire was lost, an Empire forged in the fires of revolution. But Korvan was no revolutionary. He had served under the very Sith they had supplanted, and even excelled in his early career. He joined the cause to escape death at the hands of his father and visit it upon him instead. But this was a different time, with a different version of Korvan, and a different man standing before him today.
Was he really entertaining the idea? Was this even real? It was widely known that Solipsis had died on the battlefield of Tython, by the very heroism of Rurik Fel himself.
“Why... should I believe anything you say?” he found himself asking.
“I am not your servant. You have every reason to play me for a fool.”
Despite the fear that had taken hold of him moments prior, or even despite himself... Korvan could feel a fire burn within him. But alongside that fire... he could feel the slightest hint of temptation poking at the back of his mind; a hesitation to fully deny the seed planted by the dark one with winsome words.
Ignacious Korvan
, Warlord of the Imperial Remnant, at least one of them. In the wake of the Empire's fall, the Maw's rival split into several splinter states with the Imperial Miliatry Protectorate reigning supreme above all others. Only Korvan's remnant held any sort of real power in opposition to them, with calculated grace, Darth Solipsis approached Korvan, his voice smooth and persuasive as he spoke of a shared vision for the future. Painting a brief, but vivid picture of revenge against the Alliance, promoting promises to crush their forces and eradicate all who dared oppose them. Solipsis's words carried weight, each syllable dripping with the promise of conquest and glory, a fresh slate after one big wipe. One from which they could build the perfect galaxy.
