A far cry from an ideal venue to meet with a fellow transient who had strayed from the light of the Iron Sun long snuffed out. The Alliance. The Core. Ever the gilded foundations of a morally bankrupt society. They lived in reverence abiding by a cult of hero worship dedicated to the Jedi, a sick band of freaks and religious sycophants as far as Kroeger was ever concerned. In spite of the man now taking up the banner as a soldier of fortune, specializing in the executive outcomes for one of the Galaxy's most ruthless magnates- he was Imperial. Utterly so. What could be derived from Mostarr's contacts was one of the last of a dying breed of Old Guard.
Whilst he hadn't stormed Fortress Carnifex in the Third Civil War, he was a high ranking officer in the New Imperial Order's 1st Armored Assault Division, a unit which was a mainstay in the New Imperial Order's war effort to the last days of the Zambrano Rump State into the Second Hyperspace War, both conflicts of which Kroeger led formations of troopers into the hellish ablaze against the Sith Empire and Brotherhood of the Maw, earning medals, accolades and damning of which, detailed records of crimes against the established etiquette and decency of war. Killing of civilians, mistreatment of prisoners by use of slave labor and mass execution, desecrating Sith and Jedi holy sites and galactic heritage zones as well as the illegal use of incendiary, disruptor, chemical and biological weapons.
He was a cleric at the altar of the cult of 'total war'. The belief that war was an existential struggle of identity and not that of politics. Ironic given his alignment now but it reflected in his recorded actions. He would do battle, claim victory and leave absolutely nothing left for the enemy to cling to. But even so, he was undoubtedly Imperial and his services were for hire. Despite his undoubted status as a war criminal wanted on trial before a Galactic Alliance tribunal, he ventured into the Core himself. His Legion, stationed aboard their wayward vessel
The Long Night of Solace stood at port in a Trade Federation hub from which he was transported under Federation authorization codes into the Core.
When he arrived...there would be no one waiting for him. His contact was late.
He approached the venue with a disguise covering his marred, cybernetically strung together features which by now had been confined to a weaving pattern of bandages less to hide his identity and more to situate his facial structure between the severe wounds he took in the Dark Empire's invasion of Coruscant in tandem with prior cybernetics. He covered it all with a complex respirator, masquerading as a methane breathing xeno, great coat strewn over what was soon to confirm his identity. He entered the room, his presence quiet, cold and ominous and gloved hands lifted to the respirator, pulling it off to reveal the facade for what it was, showing his true features, gloves pulled apart to reveal one hand was cybernetic in nature and then lifted the great coat, revealing an attire that held the symbolism of the once Imperial military.
The symbol of his own Iron Legion stitched into the left shoulder with the unit emblem of the 1st Armored Assault Division stitched into the right, an old Imperial military tradition displaying his current assignment on his left and a unit he'd been to proper combat with on the right all on a black coat, padded and insulated to be more of a pragmatic garment, one familiar to armored crewmen to wear inside of their vehicles to replace the bulkiness of the otherwise regulation tanker armor for comfort, neglecting the meticulously prepared safety standards with a handwaive of the vehicle's armor as safety measure enough.
He approached with heavy, measured bootclad steps and before speaking, he produced a thin cigara, wrapped in white rolling paper, sparking it alight before he took a draw. He studied the man with narrowed eyes, one organic, another a gleaming, sharp crimson cybernetic. To the force master before him, he could not sense it in Kroeger...but quite the opposite. Where the force weaved and touched through all living matter in the universe, Kroeger was a void.
A treatment implanted into much of the Empire's high command to render them 'dead' to the force. Unable to be read or manipulated by its sorcerous touch.
Another sign of his veterancy from the New Imperial Order.
"And you are?" He asked, his voice deep, thrumming with cybernetic manipulation of his vocal cords.
