Imperialism Unbound: The Age of Kings

[Solariel Eldara]

Imperator II-class Star Destroyer Desolace, Flagship of the Praetorian Battlegroup​

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After years in isolation JULIUS OCTAVIAN, former Grand Admiral of the Imperial Praetorian Fleet has emerged from his isolation on the outskirts of the Outer Rim. Having withdrawn from the Empire shortly after its fall from grace, the Grand Admiral withdrew his fleet to the far-reaches of known space, completely cutting himself off from the galaxy and the feuding warlords squabbling over the remains of the once proud and mighty GALACTIC EMPIRE. Assumed dead by many, the Grand Admiral waited in the solace of the shadows, biding his time until each warlord had systematically destroyed one another in the fight to carve out their own portion of the former Empire. Unsure of the fate of his beloved Empire, the Grand Admiral emerges from his solitude, broadcasting a simple signal indicating the arrival of the Praetorian Fleet in the system on a dated Imperial broadband frequency. With the remains of his small but formidable fleet, the Grand Admiral moves into a nebula, blocking out his position to incoming warships as he awaits the arrival of any Imperials familiar with his signal. . . Had his beloved Empire returned to it's former glory, or had it fallen into abysmal defeat? Only time would tell... ​

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The Desolace was, by galactic standards, an antique; an archaic Imperator II-class Star Destroyer that had seen countless battles extending as far back as the ancient First Galactic Empire under the infamous Emperor Palpatine. Many would consider such an antiquity to be unworthy of commission, let alone worthy enough to flag an entire fleet. Especially one as notorious as the Praetorian Battlegroup. The age and disrepair of the ship was painfully obvious to the naked eye. It's blue-gray durasteel hull was pock-marked with splashes and blotches of black and brown pock-marks and several of the turbo laser batteries on either side of the ship were either missing or not functional. The fighter compliment carried within was even more dated; four squadrons of TIE fighters and two squadrons of TIE bombers, most of which also bore the same battle-scars and dis-functionality that the ship did. Still, the Desolace was a formidable force compared to most ships wandering around the galaxy, and the mere sight of an Imperial Star Destroyer was still enough to make many-a-freighter duck-tail and hyper-jump in the opposite direction.

Adding insult to injury, the ship was drastically understaffed housing an estimated 10,000 men and women. A small collection of droids had been reprogrammed to run the ships auxiliary components and what remained of the infamous Praetorian Guard, once a powerful legion of Stormtroopers made up the ships ground forces. A small compliment of ground force equipment as archaic as the ship itself sat collecting dust in the ships hangers.

On the command bridge, the ships commander stood in silence with his arms neatly folded behind his back. His neatly pressed black Imperial uniform held no insignia, no medals, no pendants, and no indication of rank or title. Only the insignia of the Galactic Empire adorned his breast. His eyes danced over the endless darkness of space with his jaw tightly clenched as it usually was during his moments of deep thought. Thin white lines faded into distant white dots on the horizon as the ship reverted from hyperspace with a deadly precision and accuracy that only a well-trained Imperial crew could perform.

"Admiral Octavian," a navigational officer started. Julius clenched his jaw tighter in frustration and closed his eyes as the officer continued "initial scans indicate aren't picking up any ships, but our long-range scanners are being deflected by the nebula. The rest of the battle group should be reverting to real-space in a matter of moments, sir."

Julius turned slowly on one heel to face the navigational officer as he spoke. He was young, a new recruit freshly taken aboard at their recent stop in the outer rim and lacked the discipline that the rest of the crew had. His face appeared flushed as his eyes met with those of the Admiral.

"I'm not an Admiral." Julius corrected harshly. "This ship is not a part of the Imperial Navy. Do you understand that? The Imperial Navy no longer exists."

The navigational officer swallowed hard and nodded his head in agreement. Wise enough not to speak again, he returned his attention to the ships navigational systems and focused intensely.

Julius turned slowly back to the viewing ports of the ship as the ship slowly crossed into the purple haze of the nebula out of plain sight of any passing traffic. One by one the ships of the Praetorian Battlegroup reverted to real-space individually, slowly crossing into the nebula before allowing the next ship to revert. It was a simple tactic, used to disguise the fleets numbers in the event that they were being watched or scanned.

"Is the signal being transmitted?" Julius asked as he briskly strode back to the soft leather of his command chair and took a seat.

"Yes sir, on three Imperial frequencies."

Julius nodded his head, relaxing the tension in his jaw but never taking his focus off of the viewing ports.

"Now we wait."

 

[Ashin Varanin]

A man could get hungry for order. Desperate for it, even, enough to do things at odds with the dream. But that was just an ideal translating into pragmatism, and in the end, few ideals lost their shine through injudicious action. Defiantly, they often stood the taller for it. And that might tarnish them from the perspective of the civilized and introspective...while the smart and tired just took it as the necessary cost of raising a flag.

Such were Captain Adalric Brandl Vastor's thoughts as the Privateer-class frigate Lor Pelek left hyperspace at the nebula's edge. The wedge-shaped interceptor was all speed and hangar, with gravity wells and a handful of heavy guns -- a raider, a stiletto, and one he knew intimately. Tenloss-built within the decade, it still had Imperial lines, design cues from a lost age. And, perhaps more importantly, it had answered the call.

Vastor cleared his throat. "All ahead full."

The Lor Pelek slipped into the nebula, in the wake of a Star Destroyer. Its course bent around the larger and far slower ship -- a Privateer-class could move like a tramp freighter one-tenth its size -- and the haze cleared. The sensor panel lit up with the kind of ships that had served as tall flags and pragmatic fists for thousands upon thousands of years. Iconic, that was the word.

"Open a channel to the lead ship, that Imp Deuce there. Desolace, this is Captain Adalric Vastor, commanding the Lor Pelek."

[member="Julius Octavian"]

 

[Adar Bralor]

[member="Julius Octavian"]

(Won't be able to post any more tonight)

Adar was not enjoying the scenic view of dead space.

He knew he shouldn't have taken the job to protect the convoy, merchants are more backstabbing then Sith when it comes to protecting there cargo. But Adar was not to blame, oh no. He did his job, he tore the pirate scum apart with his Basilisk. Still, the convoy leader, rather then waiting for him to mop up the lowlifes, had left him to rot. The bandits all fell to him, but Adar had no way to get out of there without a hyperspace capable ship.

He thought on how far he'd fallen, a prominent Mandalorian instructor dejected to serving people as skittish as mine crabs that ran away without a thought to the person that protected them. It made his blood boil inside, but he knew he could do nothing about it, even if he survived this. He was a man without a clan, without comrades to watch his back. "A Mandalorian without brethren was not a Mandalorian," he had been fond of saying to his pupils, using past tense to illustrate that the poor sot was virtually dead. If only he had known how true those words would be...

Adar's musings were interrupted by a blip on his Basilisk's scanner. An Imperial ship of an old model. Seemed strange for such an ancient ship to be in the middle of no where. However, Adar couldn't be picky with his rescuers, if they didn't blast him as soon as they saw him.

The Basilisk whirred to life and began to make it's slow way towards the ship; Both it and its rider unaware of the things to come.

 

[Darth Ayra]

[member="Julius Octavian"]

It was the Order of Sith Lords that were ultimately responsible for the New Order- the founding document of the Galactic Empire, which paved the way for the idea of the imperials that Alva Calvarona and Julius Octavian stood for- and it was one of the successors to the ancient linage of Sith Lords that followed the Rule of Two that had heeded the call of the former Admiral.

The Annihilator-class boarding shuttle that Darth Ayra found herself on was the property of Emeritus Industries. Not that anyone would know that. Concealed by the dark side of the Force, as well as it's cloaking systems, the Sith Lord arrived at the coordinates that Octavian had sent out with his transmission. With her recent dealings with the Imperial Remnant and the creation of Imperial Arms Incorporated, Ayra had an investment in the future of the Empire in Exile.

Flying the ship closer, Ayra piloted the shuttle into the nebulae and was met with a small battle force. She licked her lips in anticipation. Who was this Julius Octavian? For now, the Sith Lord decided on patience. She would wait to see what happened next, before making the decision as to whether or not to announce herself.

 

[Kenrath]

[member="Julius Octavian"] [member="Adalric Vastor"] (as a courtesy )


Wes was just taking off from another Job on another Outer Rim dust ball sending in the confirmation of another successful job when a contact of his sent him a message.

"Wes,

A mutual friend picked this up on and old Imperial frequency. Not sure how you are about working with Imperials but I am too fethin old to be galavanting across the galaxy. Thought you mite be interested."


Wes looked over the message a few times and the coordinants that were included. Honestly considering he had doen jobs for the Hutts would Imperials really be that much of a step back. Plus the location was not far away. Wes shrugged punchign the location into his navicomputer. Knowing it would take him a day or two to get to the location he sent a message back using the frequency included in the message.

"My name is Wesley "Wes" Walker." "A mutual friend sent me your message saying you are looking for Mercenaries." "I am two days out from the location provided." "I hope you have plenty of credits or work."

Wes leaned back in his seat as the message sent. He hoped at the very least it would be enough to keep him from getting blown out of space once he came out of hyper.

 

[Salaza]

Word had been reached. This signal sent out by someone called [member="Julius Octavian"] over old Imperial waves. It was an interesting sign to say the least, one that had caught the attention of Admiral Eobarda Tarkin of the Imperial Remnant. This little message seemed more an invitation, one that the admiral would answer as any civil person would. Only here she would bring a little escort with her. Not to intimidate but to show what still remained of some of the Imperial's remaning forces. Hopefully it would be enough to help rally to the call of whatever this Octavian had.​

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For so long the Imperial Remnant had looked to find and unite any and all remaining splinters of the Empire that still remained in the galaxy. The chance to mend a broken blade and turn it into the former glorious weapon that it was. They already done so in a smiliar faction when taking on Major Fayor, a traitor to the faction itself. Justice was shown to him befitting a man who tried to hurt the heads of state. She should have known not to mess with a Fel and a Pallopides at the same time. But now it was a matter of showing Octavian and whoever else would respond to this message how the Empire still lived in small fractions that, if added together, would become a truly significant force.​

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Arriving at the coordinates Admiral Tarkin arrived in a Victory II class Star Destoryer. On other occasions she'd have arrived striclty in her private Phantom Shuttle, the Apex, but these sorts of displays were something of an essential tool to helping to forge things together. Though it was currenlty docked within the ship's bay just in case. The only other ships she arrived with were two Carrack-Class cruisers, smaller but effective backup ships. With no weapons armed the chiss Admiral wanted to make it clear this was by no means an issue of attack. She only stood at the helm of her command deck, overlooking the scene before her while the crew busied themselves.​

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"Open a channel." she said, standing near the comm link of her ship. Once the private communications officer had informed her it was open Tarkin said "This is Admiral Tarkin of the Imperial Remnant. I come on behalf of our small delogation to answer your call, Admiral Octavian. I trust you've kept that impressive ship of yours in decent condition."​

 

[Tmoxin Temi]

Tmoxin Temi, Commander of the 182nd Legion and founder of the Blood Monarchs, was sitting at her favorite Officer's Club on Balmorra, drinking a Corellian whiskey and having a conversation with Pierre Roderick, a General in the Imperial Inquisition. The Commander had been recently written up for some disciplinary transgression or another - she happened to think her training methods were just "unorthodox" and not prohibited under Imperial Army policy. Anyway, she and was trying, unsuccessfully so far, to get General Roderick to remove this black mark from her record, when the Club was suddenly buzzing with information that a mysterious signal had been received on three Imperial frequencies coming from a remote part of space in the Outer Rim.

"It's the Imperial Praetorian Fleet, Commander," explained the General. "This fleet had been under the helm of Admiral Julius Octavian who went on... I suppose you could call it a furlough." He shrugged and smoked his cigarra, although his interested eyes betrayed his nonchalance. Tmoxin had certainly heard of the Admiral Octavian's name before and with it the reputation for a fearless leader, an unflinching officer wholly dedicated to the Empire's ideals. "And let's just say that he wouldn't be interested in the Inquisition in its current form as it is now controlled by the Sith," added the General. He let out a hearty laugh, and in the familiar atmosphere of the Officer's Club, slid a wandering hand onto her arm. "And he wouldn't be interested in you, Miss Temi and the way you continually cause such... inconvenience to your superior officers."

She pulled her arm away, pushed her whiskey glass towards the General, and checked her chrono. "General, I'll leave you to your drink and conversation. I'm very tired and going back base to rest. I bid you good night," she said.

The Commander swiftly left but she didn't go back to the garrison. She went straight to the Sovereign Butterfly II, her private yacht and set a course for the location of the Praetorian Fleet signal. The Hapan officer would not bring anyone with her but two of her Mirari Bodyguard Droids and her yacht pilot. She didn't even let her direct superior, Captain Vaiden know where she was going because likely he would try to talk her out of this reckless activity.

But if a powerful Admiral was coming back onto the Imperial landscape, the Commander wanted to know about it and very much wanted to meet with him. If anything, this new development was shining the spotlight light away from her own activities, and the more she would be associated with the unusual news, the more her own negative actions would fade from memory. As she lifted off from Balmorra, the coordinates programmed for the Outer Rim, she thought about what she wanted out of this. Perhaps it was naive, but at this moment, all she wanted was a private meeting with the reclusive Admiral. She hoped that wouldn't be such a huge favor to ask of him.

[member="Julius Octavian"]

 

[Solariel Eldara]

"Three, two, one....Battle sequence initiated."

A hail of heavy turbolaser fire greeted the Lor Pelek from it's forward, starboard and port sides followed by a single by-pass of TIE bombers and fighters on the ships engines, which appeared to be the primary point of target. The fighters ducked in and out of the nebula clouds with deadly precision and accuracy, using the clouds as a cloak to mask their movement as they swarmed like an angry hive of Geonosians angrily defending their hive queen. The Desolace hadn't answered the hail from the Lor Pelek, nor did it acknowledge the officer in command of the ship. The trap had been sprung, and the Lor Pelek had fallen directly into it.

Complete and utter destruction, however, was not Julius' intention. Indeed, it was quite the opposite. Disabling the ship would prove useful in a number of different ways. First, it would allow Julius' Praetorian Guard to board the ship and take the commanding officer prisoner, after which Julius would have his own private time with the commander to discover how he even knew about the Imperial transmission frequencies. Second, the dilapidated Praetorian Fleet could always use a new frigate, and this new classification of ship wasn't one that Julius was particularly familiar with.

He observed in complete silence as the transparisteel viewing ports of the Desolace lit up with each flash of turbolaser fire. Each bombing run mustered a large white-pink explosion set against the purple haze of the nebula in the background. The Desolace didn't fire, but instead was the bait that made the trap function. A wicked grin crossed his lips. It was easy. Almost too easy.

"Julius, we're picking up an incoming transmission from a Victory II-class Star Destroyer. Someone identifying themselves as an Admiral Tarkin of the Imperial Remnant."

Tactical officer Brian Steel nodded his head after the communications officer spoke. "I suppose that answers your question, Jules. The Empire is still out there... in one form or another."

Julius nodded his head and drummed his fingers on both arm rests of his command chair. his eyes never left the battle skirmish taking place before him.

"Has the Admiral noticed the Lor Pelek?

"Negative sir, the ship is just arriving in the system. Our scans indicate that it's not alone. Nothing serious, just a small escort."

Julius again nodded his head. "Order the Praetorians to board immediately. I want the commander of that ship alive. I'll deal with this.... Admiral personally."

 

[Ashin Varanin]

"Sir," said Futzchag as the Lor Pelek approached the formation, still quite some distance away, "they've... got full power to weapons. And there's whole setups of bombers and fighters inbound. Looks like the most obvious trap in history."

"Yeah, get us out of here. Jamming beams to maximum. Karking morons."

The Lor Pelek accelerated and jinked like a ship one-twentieth its size. Modernity was good for some things after all. Heavy turbolasers' tracking speed just couldn't match the velocity and maneuverability of a modern Privateer-class. Shields dimmed, flickered, began to die-

But the Lor Pelek was already gone, vanished back into the nebula that was scrambling the battlegroup's archaic sensors. The fighter and bomber runs ran into concentrated jamming and quad-laser fire for the brief time it took the Lor Pelek to leap to hyperspace. This close to the nebula's edge, it provided no real obstacle to a hyperjump.

Big plans and big dreams and big names, Vastor reflected in hyperlight, didn't work so well when you relied on bad guesswork, preconceptions and eight-hundred-year-old technology. Nor when you set off the most obvious, basic, and easily-detected ploy in the book in the face of unknown technological capabilities. Whoever was commanding the flotilla was in for a rude awakening in the larger galaxy.

 

[Salaza]

"Admiral." one of Tarkin's officers began. "We've received no transmissions yet, ma'am. And we've been hailing them for some time now."​

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Another officer added "Just picked up signs of a ship jumping to light speed, ma'am. It was among those that arrived here only a short moment before us."​

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Given this evidence Admiral Tarkin gave a very weary eye out to the view of the Star Destroyer apparently commanded by [member="Julius Octavian"] . If that were the case. Part of her felt if it was a trap there were three to five different ways she'd be able to escape; though some involved sacrificing the transports in the process. Yet she didn't want to turn tail just yet. For all she knew the Admiral was thinking the same thing, that she and her crew were part of some trap. So many avenues yet so much that could go wrong. She had to be slow and tactical about this.​

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"Keep hailing until we receive a message." she ordered. "But have all weapons on stand-by in case. Have the transports ready to act on my word."​

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The officers nodded though seemed just as anxious as ever. The chiss merely sat back into her command chair while awaiting and response or action. She barley blinked as she just looked out towards the frigate, watching and waiting and wondering. What was the next move to be made?​

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[member="Tmoxin Temi"] [member="Shamus Walker"] [member="Darth Ayra"] [member="Adar Bralor"]​

 

[Solariel Eldara]

"It's gone, sir."

Julius nodded his head, continuing to drum his fingers on the command chair.

"Sir? The ship is gone. Virtually zero damage."

"Yes, thank you Lieutenant."

"But sir...."

Julius shot a glance at the lieutenant harshly. "Any commanding officer who stumbles into a trap as obvious as this isn't a commander, Lieutenant. This fishing strategy has been used for thousands of years throughout the galaxy. Only Rebels would be stupid enough for fall into a trap this obvious. The Lor Pelek is obviously an Imperial ship."

The lieutenant nodded his head. "And a fast ship, at that...."

Julius arose to his feet slowly and smoothed the wrinkles out of his uniform. "Take us out of the nebula. We're going to meet with this Admiral Tarkin and find out what the hell is going on."

The lieutenant nodded his head and offered a crisp Imperial salute as Julius turned on his heels and strode off of the command bridge, leaving the lieutenant to make the preparations for his meeting with the Admiral.

"Communications, send a transmission to the Victory-class. Encrypt on band one-seven-two mark four.

Admiral Tarkin, I am Lieutenant Darmok of the Desolace, Flagship of the Praetorian Fleet under the command of Grand Admiral Julius Octavian of the Imperial Navy. The Admiral would like to respectfully request a meeting of some urgency. His shuttle should be leaving our ship momentarily. Please confirm."

| [member="Eobarda Tarkin"] [member="Adalric Vastor"] |​

 

[Salaza]

Upon hearing the response finally given by the other ship many of the officers looked to Admiral Tarkin to see her reaction. Her eyes narrowed at the fact that now they'd finally responded, still thinking how odd it was for the other ship to leave so soon. Finally she stood nodding to her comms officer before leaving for the ship's port, her second-in-command following behind.​

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The comms officer answered "Roger, Desolace. You are cleared to board."​

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It had taken some time before the chiss Admiral arrived at the docking port, her commander following behind and keeping as proper and prim a posture as possible next to her. As they arrived the port already had a small contingent of stormtroopers awaiting. They stood at attention as the admiral arrived before awaiting the shuttle arrival of [member="Julius Octavian"] . Her red eyes continued to peer with an underlining intellect that showed the wheels in her head constantly spinning.​

 

[Tmoxin Temi]

When Tmoxin jolted out of hyperspace she assumed that she would be one of the only ships near to the Praetorian Guard. She was mistaken as she noticed another ISD-II in the vicinity along with two Carrack-Class cruisers the area, but she wasn’t surprised. It wouldn't be long before Admiral Octavian would either be welcomed back into the Imperial fold or else banished, exiled and/or executed for disappearing. When a high ranking officer went MIA for so many months, it was normally assumed they had been captured or willingly turned themselves over to the Republic making them an executable target, especially if sensitive information had been compromised.

She hailed both ISD-IIs to make sure her small Baudo-class yacht wouldn’t be fired upon as it flew in closer to the ships but not close enough to be target-practice. “Praetorian Guard and surrounding Imperial fleets, this is Commander Tmoxin Temi from the 182nd Legion requesting approval to board.”

[member="Julius Octavian"] [member="Eobarda Tarkin"]

 

[Adar Bralor]

The battle gave Adar pause, and for a brief moment he considered joining in it. But he knew that he had very little power left and his Basilisk had been battered in the battle with the pirates. Going in would be a death sentence. In fact, the Imperials would probably blast him out of the sky even if they weren't in a battle. It was luck that the Destroyer was distracted, or perhaps it was Fate giving an old friend just a few more moments of life for old time's sake.

It didn't matter, the skirmish was already over. The smaller ship fled and the Star Destroyer was sending out a shuttle for a purpose unknown to him. Adar watched this without interest. He was regretting not joining the battle, common sense be damned. He was Mandalorian, he should have taken up the chance to die in combat, now, if he wanted a small semblance of a honorable death the only thing he could do was charge the stray TIEs, which would result in an immediate death. Nevertheless, such is better then being killed without struggle.

Adar eased his way towards the TIEs, firing off the Basilisk's engine at intervals to make the most of the momentum and the almost depleted energy reserves. This attracted the attention of an Interceptor, that upon noticing the far-off engine discharges, sped towards the Basilisk and its Mandalorian rider. Adar smiled to himself, and increased his vessels speed to meet the ship head on. Adar knew he couldn't get the TIE from afar, the basilisk had too little energy to fire its cannons and his blaster's ammo was exhausted during the battle. He would have to get in close, crushing the shieldless ship with the Basilisk's mighty arms.

All his planning came to naught however, the Basilisk expended its last reserve of energy and slowed to the speed of mere space debris.

"No..." he said in a sullen tone. Realizing that after all he'd been through, after all the battles he'd fought, his death amounted to nothing; No glory, no grandiose battle, not even the satisfaction of bringing an opponent with him to whatever hell that Adar would end up in. As the TIE came screaming towards the inert Basilisk, Adar left go of his weapons, letting them float away to either side of him. Sitting, arms outstretched as if to welcome oblivion, Adar waited for death.

If he was to die honorless and clanless, then so be it.

[member="Julius Octavian"]

 

[Kenrath]

Wes sat in the Pilot's seat of his ship. He was still a day out form the coordinates he had been provided and yet he still hadn't received a response from the origin of the message. Wes scratched his chin thoughtfully. It could mean one of two things. Either the signal was bogus or some major bad knews was going on. Already in Hyper there was nothing he could do about it now. He would just have to hope he was not dropping out of hyper into the middle of a pirate raid or something. Originally Wes had intended to take the meeting in casual attire but something just didn't seem right to him. He quickly grabbed his Kit bag pulling out the armor and weapons out checking them to make sure they were in top shape in case things got hot.

[member="Julius Octavian"] [member="Adar Bralor"] [member="Tmoxin Temi"] [member="Eobarda Tarkin"] [member="Adalric Vastor"]