Faction [ER] Daggers from the Void

[Tharn Vel]

The hum of the bridge was as steady as the heartbeat of the Empire itself. Cool and mechanical. Tharn Vel sat upon the command throne of the ISD Scion with the stillness of a man carved from marble, hands resting on the arms of the chair like a statue whose authority was unquestioned. Around him, officers moved with quiet precision, their words clipped and their tones disciplined. The Scion was a Donnager II Class Star Destroyer—streamlined, compact, lacking the theatrical mass of a dreadnought, yet sleek in its menace. A hunter's ship. Tharn had commanded vessels ten times its size, and yet something about the Scion suited him. It was not built for spectacle. It was built for purpose.

Outside the wide viewport, the planet loomed like a bruise against the void. Mud-streaked and cloud-choked, it was an Outer Rim blot that had no name worth remembering. A nest of raiders had taken root there, siphoning supplies, harassing convoys, biting at the ankles of Imperial ambitions. Fleas. And like any infestation, they required a precise extermination. No firestorms from orbit. No dramatic sieges. This was to be clean, surgical, and quiet. A proving ground not only for the squad assigned to the mission, but for the new technology so recently thrust into Tharn's hands.

Drop-pods. He allowed the word to form in his mind with something close to distaste. They were being heralded as the future of orbital warfare—armored shells launched from the heavens, capable of minor course corrections during descent, designed to strike like falling daggers at strategic targets. Shock and awe made manifest. Tharn found them wasteful. Unreliable. Dropships, older though they may be, at least provided control. Coordination. Predictability. These pods were... a gamble, and he had never been fond of games with such variables. But the Empire Reborn wanted them tested. And so, the Scion had been given its role.

He leaned slightly forward in his chair, the subtle movement drawing no comment from the crew. They knew better than to speak when the admiral's mind was turning. He studied the curves of the planet below, imagining where a pirate would choose to hide. Deep canyons, rugged hills, broken industrial shells from a mining colony long forgotten. They always nestled into the wounds of dead civilizations. Parasites did not build their own homes. They fed off the carcasses of others.

Saltare Dothon was expected to arrive any moment. The name had passed across his desk barely a day prior, and what little was available in their file had been... curious. So much redacted, so many details buried behind layers of classified access. That, in itself, intrigued Tharn more than anything written plainly. Their reputation preceded them, of course. Special forces were rarely subtle in their legacy. But this was the first time the admiral would meet them in person. He was not prone to hasty judgments. Observation always came first.

Elsewhere in the fleet, other figures moved across the board. Vice Admiral Calin Rakel , for instance, was posted among the support flotilla. Younger. Ambitious. The kind of man who spoke of naval strategy the way clergy spoke of scripture. A career officer through and through, forged by doctrine and repetition. Tharn respected that sort of discipline, even if he did not share it. His own path had not come from medals and promotions, but from navigating the shifting tides of failed empires and wounded ideologies. He had served under Sith warlords and Imperial remnants, bureaucrats and tyrants alike. Never reaching too far. Never drawing too much light. Always surviving. But now... survival was not enough.

His fingers drummed once against the armrest, a subtle rhythm that echoed a thought unspoken. He was old. He knew it. Every day now, he woke with the sense that the galaxy would soon move on without him. That, more than anything, had drawn him to the Empire Reborn. Not out of loyalty, but legacy. A final chance to carve his name into the bones of history. The Scion was a first step.

He said nothing aloud as he stared at the approaching shuttle blip on the tactical display. Saltare would be on board. The experiment was about to begin.

 

[Saltare Dothon]

"Got it?" Saltare said to Beth as the shuttle slid through the outer shields of The Scion, its landing gear slowly coming into contact with the surface of the hangar.

"I got it, Salt," Beth said begrudgingly.

"It's a tricky piece of hardware, Beth," Saltare chuckled as Beth was finally able to latch her boots shut. The clasp had broken on the ride over, and Beth had to jury rig it back together. Hopefully, it lasted until they could get back to their ship.

"We know anything about this Admiral, Salt?" Logan asked.

"A little," Saltare said, his mood turning serious, "Just a little."

Logan took the hint and stayed quiet, but not before he shot a glance at Beth.

The ramp on the shuttle dropped, and light from the hangar bay poured into the back of the ship. Saltare stood up and walked down the ramp, boots clanging on the hard surface as he stepped out into the hangar bay. Saltare looked around and took in the hangar and its occupants. It was clean, well orderly, and had a full crew complement. That was good; it meant Vel ran a tight ship. Someone who ran a tight ship most likely ran tight missions, and that's what Saltare wanted.

"Head to the war room," Saltare said to Beth and Logan as he turned to face them. "Double check gear, make sure your boot doesn't break, Beth, and wait for me there. Clear?"

"We're clear," they both said, turning and heading toward the ship's interior.

Saltare turned back and stared at the elevator that would take him to the bridge, taking a few deep breaths.

--

The elevator doors slid open quietly, well-used and maintained, and Saltare stepped onto the bridge of The Scion. The Admiral, Tharn Vel , sat on his command throne far from Saltare. Saltare looked over his aged face and saw the same familiarity he had as a boy. Tharn Vel, at the time an officer but not so high ranking, had been the man who had reinforced Shiva during its darkest hours. His ships had taken Saltare to the stairs, and his officers had overlooked Saltare's age and allowed him to join the Empire.

The old man sitting before him had breathed new life into Saltare, and Saltare knew the debt could never be repaid.

Boots striking the deck in sharp staccato, Saltare marched up to the throne and stopped before it, removing his helmet and clipping it to his belt. He saluted sharply and stated, "Saltare Dothon of Inferno Squadron. I've been tasked to aid you, Admiral, in clearing these mongrels on the world below us." He hesitated before saying, "It is good to see you again, sir."

 

[Calin Rakel]

Calin stood before the forward viewport, staring at hyperspace as his ship, Unto The Breach, made its way toward the rendevous point with Tharn Vel . The officers on the bridge around him continued their work, preparing the ship for combat if need be, double-checking sensor readings, weapons stations, and defensive capability.

Unto The Breach, a Venator Class III Star Destroyer, was Calin Rakel's command ship. It was a refined design from a long-forgotten war in the distant past that Calin had procured as a technology template. It had fared well in the battles he had commanded it in, but with the Empire on the back foot, it would be some time before he was able to convince the powers that be to put it into full production.

A slight lurch in momentum, quickly compensated by the inertia dampeners, and Unto The Breach translated back into real space. The glistening stars of the galaxy replaced the vast blue streaks common in hyperspace travel. In the distance, the Scion hung like a hunter in the cold vacuum of space. Its hull bristling with weaponry, its purpose was clear: death.

"Inform Admiral Tharn Vel we have arrived," Calin said to one of his bridge officers, "Tell him we await his orders."

Calin turned from the forward viewport and walked to the command table at the center of the bridge, where his officers made room for him. "Inform starfighter squadron leaders to prep their ships; I want all crew on standby for combat," Calin stated, issuing orders to the men and women around him. Orders began flooding out from the top down, and Calin stared intently at the command table, gaining a view of their assets and mission.

It was almost time.

 

[Marlon Sularen]

D A G G E R S_F R O M_T H E_V O I D

EMPIRE REBORN
OUTER RIM TERRITORIES

The INV Stormreaver emerged from hyperspace joining the small collection of gathered Imperial warships above the unsuspecting Outer Rim World. Onboard the Stormreaver was none other then the Warlord of the Empire, Marlon Sularen who as usual sat within his command chair, flanked by his trusted aide Colonel Rackham . It was rare for Sularen to commander warships other then his personal flagship, but he had decided to make an exception today as he wanted to give the spotlight to two rising naval commanders, Admiral Tharn Vel and Vice-Admiral Calin Rakel, eager to see how capable both individuals were.

As the INV Stormreaver parked itself at a comfortable distance from the rest of the Imperial flotilla, the Captain turned to face the Imperial Warlord seeking further instructions. "We have arrived at our destination sir. Any further orders?" the Captain asked. "Maintain our current position and remain on stand-by." Sularen ordered. "I simply wish to observe how Admirals Vel and Rakel handle this exercise." he added. Now all that was left was for the Admirals to begin their anti-piracy operation as the Warlord patiently awaited to witness how they would approach the various obstacles that would soon stand against both of them.

Tags | Tharn Vel | Saltare Dothon | Calin Rakel | Onrai ​

 

[Onrai]

Marlon Sularen Tharn Vel Saltare Dothon Calin Rakel

The Ablution

"This is going to be interesting."

The Ablution was an aging warship, far older than any of the other vessels present in this exercise. With the downsizing of the Enigma's fleet assets, vessels like the Pluton and Saturn were once more becoming frontline assets by virtue of their maintainability if nothing else. The ship's hyperdrives were primed if needed, their capacitors charged to allow for its reactors to be dedicated to other systems. The vessel had one advantage, however: to Vanessa Vantai, it fit like a glove. The super-heavy proton beam cannons were ready for action, powerful weapons that even now were not the easiest systems to handle.

"Continue observing but be wary. We're not the Empire, so if things go wrong, we can only trust ourselves."

 

[Tharn Vel]

Tags: Saltare Dothon / Calin Rakel / Marlon Sularen / Onrai

The bridge of the ISD Scion was still, save for the rhythmic tapping of systems monitors and the gentle murmurs of crewmen at their stations. Beyond the viewport hung a world undeserving of its orbit. Dry. Mottled. Scarred by the slow violence of neglect. Tharn Vel sat unmoving at the center of the command deck, his figure cast in the blue-white glow of the tactical holotable. All around him, the stars stood watch—cold, distant witnesses to yet another war, however small.

He heard the elevator doors open behind him. He didn't turn. He didn't need to. The tempo of the boots told him enough. Not the brash stride of a green officer, nor the heel-heavy stomp of someone trying too hard to impress. It was the measured walk of someone with purpose. Someone who had long ago lost their illusions and replaced them with something heavier.

Saltare Dothon stepped forward, helmet clipped at the waist, spine straight. His voice carried crisp over the hum of the bridge, and the words—so formal, so expected—almost passed Tharn without friction. Until that final line.

It is good to see you again, sir.

A pause. The kind only earned between two people who had touched the same moment in history, even if from opposite ends of the field.

Tharn slowly rose from the command throne, hands smooth against the steel arms of the chair, and turned to face the man fully. His eyes studied Saltare not with suspicion, but memory. For a time, the past sat between them, quiet but insistent.

"Shiva," Tharn said, his voice low and even, almost a breath. "You were just a boy then. Dust-covered. Thin as a stick. You refused to take the ration I handed you. Gave it to another child. I remember because it was the only time someone on that world said 'thank you.'"

He stepped closer, the distance between them shrinking to something human.

"You lost everything in that battle. The Jedi came to save your world and left it bleeding. We came after, late as always, but with what the Republic never brings—order. Continuity. Discipline."

He did not say it with pride. He said it with clarity.

"That moment shaped you. I see it. And you've turned it into something formidable."

He gestured now, a slow sweep toward the tactical holotable, where the planet below spun in lazy rotation. A grid had been placed over its northern hemisphere, marking known positions of pirate fortifications and possible dropsites. The Empire Reborn's fleet signatures surrounded the planet like knives circling a carcass. The marker for Vice Admiral Rakel's Venator had just arrived, and already system traffic confirmed the presence of Warlord Sularen's vessel parked at a prudent distance. Somewhere beyond that, the fading signal of the Ablution lingered like an echo from a forgotten war. Eyes were indeed upon them.

"I will not pretend I trust this technology," Tharn said at last, folding his hands behind his back. "Drop-pods. Tumbling coffins with minor course correction. It reeks of desperation disguised as innovation. But I am told you can make them work. That you can make anything work."

He looked back to Saltare then, and there was something harder in his expression—something earned.

"You will have full operational control over the drop. I've given clearance to your squad to coordinate with Scion's gunnery officers for timed orbital support. You know the objective. Wipe the nest clean. Quietly. Cleanly. No firestorms."

He hesitated for just a beat. Not weakness. Just calculation.

"When you return, I'd like to speak again. Not as Admiral to soldier. Just as two men who remember a dead world, and the choices made there."

Tharn Vel turned then and returned to the command throne, one hand resting on the chair's arm as he surveyed the growing constellation of Imperial ships forming above the planet.

 

[Imperius Indomitus]

Outer Rim | Planetary Orbit | Sword of Oblivion
| Tharn Vel | Saltare Dothon | Calin Rakel | Marlon Sularen | Onrai |

The large figure of Darth Imperius stood silently behind the command chair of the Captain. Different to the Admiral's vessel, this one was certainly not a throne and just a chair with worn upholstery and faded keyboard keys. The woman in it was surprisingly different to the rugged ship, young, dynamic and had a certain sternness to her. He felt how hard she tried to ignore his presence, but it was difficult to ignore a sun in your eyes and so it was difficult to ignore the presence of the Dark Lord behind you.

The Terminus-class Destroyer Sword of Oblivion was among the ships that hung above the world the pirates had chosen as their home. The spear-tip shaped ship was part of the reinforcements for the Second Fleet the Ascendant Order gave to the Dark Empire and in its subsequent collapse, still served among their ranks and aided the operations wherever possible. Now it stood ready to land troops in support of the ground operation that the Admiral had envisioned if things should not go the way they were planned. The red armored cohort of the Ascendant Legion standing ready to deploy with assault ships to exfiltrate the first wave if necessary.

Since the events on Tython, Darth Imperius had been all but a datapad presence for the remnants of the Dark Empire and the Ascendant Order. It was a costly battle that had left him not only wounded, but his body almost destroyed. It was a not acceptable state and he had worked hard to prepare for the change to happen soon. Yet he could ill afford long lasting absence and therefore had shuttled himself to join this operation. Naval and ground coordination was imperative to be mastered by these remnants and to oversee it, even if he was not alone in it, was a good way of returning to the front of the stage.

Hence why, in case Saltare Dothon would need it, he and five hundred of his Legionaries would make planetfall to support Inferno Squadron. An insurance policy.

 

[Saltare Dothon]

Tharn Vel | Onrai | Marlon Sularen​

Saltare watched as Vel rose from the command chair and turned to face him, his eyes boring holes in Saltare. Saltare began to nod as Vel said his piece, notating Shiva as where they had first encountered each other.

"Aye, sir," Saltare replied as Vel paused between his words, "Discipline has made me who I am. The Empire and, by extension, you have made me who I am."

Saltare saw Vel gesture toward the holotable, and he followed in the Admiral's footsteps toward it, noting the formidable assets appearing in the system. Warlord Sularen, Vice Admrial Rakel, the Ablution, and many more were populating and translating back into real space.

"I believe you and I are of the old breed, sir," Saltare replied to Vel regarding the drop pods, "They're a tricky technology. They'll never be anything but a stop-gap measure, but I have my ways. I'll be accurate; we'll make it work."

Saltare listened to the last of the Admiral's speech and his request at the end. Saltare stared hard into the Admiral's eyes before nodding, acknowledging the request, and conveying that he would see it done.

--

"I'll need a probe droid carrying this," Saltare held up a small black beacon, "Sent to these coordinates planetside. Now."

The Chief of the hangar deck took the beacon and nodded, "Admiral Tharn has given you leave to use anything you need, sir; it will be done."

Saltare nodded before turning away and heading back to the war room where Beth, Logan, and the rest of Inferno squad were waiting. It had been some time since he had seen Admiral Vel, but it was a good reunion. The man had breathed new life into Saltare as a boy, and now Saltare walked the corridors of his ship as a response to those actions.

The door to the war room slid open, and his troopers turned to face him, fully armed and armored, awaiting his orders.

"Our target," Saltare stated, "Is a pirate base on the planet below us. Unknown numbers of enemy personnel, but expect heavy resistance." Saltare stabbed a finger into the holotable in the war room, bringing up a diagram of the pirate base below. He zoomed out, and it showed the valleys and hills surrounding the base, as well as a red beacon blinking nearby.

"Our insertion point," Saltare pointed a finger at the beacon, "Will be about a click outside the enemy base. A sandstorm is raging in the area and is expected to continue for the next few hours, giving us the perfect cover. Drop pods are our insertion method. We'll land, link up here," Saltare pointed to another point approximately 500 meters outside the base, "And continue forward."

Saltare glanced around at the members of his squad: his two veteran team leaders, Beth and Logan, and the other individuals, both new and old. "Our goal is simple. Engage and execute enemy personnel. Do not expect reinforcements from the fleet; this is a test of Inferno's ability to handle a mission like this without support. As such," he glanced around as he spoke, "We can expect no one. You rely on your brothers and sisters standing next to you, just like you always have."

Saltare stepped back from the holotable and met the eyes of each of his troopers, "Remember why we do this. It's not for some vain notion of glory; it's to bring order to the chaos. To bring peace to the galaxy. These scum beneath our feet are nothing to us but show those who stand at the helm of this Empire that Inferno is ready to fight, and they will unleash us on those who have taken everything from us. We will crush the Alliance beneath our boots, drag the Mandalorians screaming from their armor, make the Jedi weep as we show them our strength, and take back what is ours! For the Empire!"

Fists crashed against chest plates as Saltare finished, his eyes roving across his squad.

"Mount up. Final gear checks en route," Saltare snapped as he forcefully placed his helmet on his head, the seal hissing as it locked him within his armor. With a purposeful stride, he led his squad outside the war room and to the drop pods of the ship.

--

The pod danced back and forth in the wind of the upper atmosphere as it descended toward the surface. The beacon from the probe droid called for them, and their pods did their best to home in on the target. Screaming across the sky with fire and smoke, the drop pods plunged toward the surface with fury.

The impact was jarring, and the pod was barely slowed down by the rockets the pod activated before the impact. The door blew off, and Saltare stepped out of the pod, weapon up and scanning the environment. He cycled through his HUD's visible spectrums until he found one that cut through the sand well enough to see where he was going. He checked for other IFF tags from Inferno, but none were nearby. His next checkpoint was the rendevous point.

Sand impacted his armor, scraping against it and causing havoc with his comms and HUD. His HUD directed him to the rendevous location, and he started walking, his identifier pinging in small intervals, letting his squad know he was nearby.

Soon, they would link up and assault the pirate base and bring justice to their enemies.