Faction Missed calls (galactic alliance

[Max Akratonos]

For most beings, sleeping on star ships is harder than sleeping on planets. Strange day cycles, constant temperatures and the general background noise of a ship turn most people off. However, Fleet Captain Max Akratonos was not like most people. Everything about starship travel and existence made him sleep like a baby. Which was the cause of his current problem. Akratonos was due to begin several holo calls at 8:30 ship time. It was currently 10:35 ships time, and Max had only just arisen from his bed. The door to his quarters flings open as he rushes out, bowling over a technician in the process. With a muffled ‘Sorry!’ he continues to rush through the halls of his vessel. Slowing down slightly, he pulls his arm through his jacket, cringing at the sight of a small food stain on the left breast pocket; he'll have to worry about that later.

Several cadets, along with some jedi padawans are taking an educational tour through the vessel, and some are awed by the sight of its captain, until they realise he’s running past them at full gallop, with a ration bar in his mouth as he furiously ties his hair up into a top knot. Coming to a stop near the bridge of the ship, Max turns into his private office, closing the door behind him. Starting up his terminal, he groans at the number of missed calls. The names of higher ranking naval personnel, senators, even jedi were all staring at him from his inbox and his missed calls. Some were congratulations on the recent promotion to fleet captain, some were following up on missing reports, and some were simply berating him at his most recent ‘less than official’ engagement against pirate groups. He sighed and clicked on the most recent message. Today was going to be a long day.

 

[Ilaria Morvayne]

Opening Post – "Missed Calls"

Chapter One - A Return to the Temple
Max Akratonos

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In Transit, Ship
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​

Ilaria did not move as the blur of motion rushed past her, though she did track it with the barest flicker of her emerald gaze. The figure—disheveled, hurried, thoroughly unbecoming of his rank—cut through the corridor like a stray comet, leaving whispers and bemused expressions in his wake. Some of the cadets and younger Padawans whispered in awe, perhaps imagining the Fleet Captain as a hardened veteran, a towering presence of authority.

That illusion shattered the moment they saw him scrambling down the hall, ration bar clenched between his teeth, hands working frantically to secure his hair.

She had read about Fleet Captain Max Akratonos before boarding this vessel. A skilled officer, a formidable tactician—reckless, but effective. The kind of man that some would call "charming" in his unorthodox ways. The kind of man she found…

She paused. No, she would not finish that thought.

A Jedi does not dwell on the failures of others.

Still, as she stood silently to the side, her hands clasped neatly behind her back, she could not help but wonder how one so lacking in self-discipline had managed to rise to such a station. Did he not respect order? Routine? Precision? She had heard the Jedi speak of him with both admiration and exasperation, and though she had reserved judgment, the sight of him sprinting to his duties—duties he had clearly neglected—tested her restraint.

She was told that such judgment was unbecoming of a Jedi. That irritation at another's failings was a sign of personal weakness, an attachment to the idea of control.

So she let out a slow breath, releasing the thought. Or, at least, she tried to.

When she finally crossed into the bridge's waiting chamber, she saw him again in his office—now seated, hunched slightly over his terminal as the weight of his missed responsibilities pressed down on him. The ration bar had been discarded, his hair hastily secured, but there was no hiding the undeniable truth. He was overwhelmed.

She hesitated for only a moment before stepping into the office, hands still folded behind her back.

"Fleet Captain."

She inclined her head in polite acknowledgment, but there was no warmth in her tone. Only careful, deliberate neutrality.

"The Jedi teach that our thoughts shape our reality. That to dwell on unworthy sentiments is to invite corruption into the mind."

That, single damn word.

Corruption.

Her gaze was steady, unwavering.

"And yet, I find myself struggling to banish a certain thought."

A pause.

Her voice softened—not out of sympathy, but out of measured restraint.

"You hold a position of great authority. One that demands discipline. Precision. Duty."

Another pause.

She tilted her head ever so slightly.

"Tell me, Fleet Captain—how often do you find yourself running behind?"

Her words were not cruel, nor condescending. But they were pointed. Direct. A quiet challenge, carefully measured, carefully restrained.

And yet, beneath it all, a genuine question lingered.

Did he not see the weight of his own station? Did he not feel the burden of expectation upon his shoulders?

Or did he simply not care?

​

 

[Max Akratonos]

Max looked up at the young Padawan, his eyes sparkling despite being weighed down with an apparent lack of sleep.

'Sometimes i cant help but feel you jedi cannot see the forest for the trees.'

He slowly sat up, joints creaking in protest as if they were hinges in desperate need of oil.

'In the last cycle alone, i have been given 5 different sets of orders, 3 of which were in vastly different systems'

He paused, fists balled in apparent frustration.

'Whether it be by malice, oversight or sheer incompetence i do not know, so yes, i do have much on my plate at the moment.'

He unclenched his fists, seemingly releasing some of his anger with it.

'Yet, master Jedi, i challenge you to find one being on this ship that wouldn't trust me with their life, one chef that i have never complimented, one bridge officer that would object to an order i give, one star fighter that i have not personally inspected, even one maintenance droid i have never ensured has been properly cared for.'

He slumps back into his chair.

'Yes, i do not care for my appearance. Yes, i am stressed out. But do not take this for incompetence. Take it for what it is, high command simply not caring for a second rate fleet commanded by an officer that will not be their puppet. '

 

[Ilaria Morvayne]

Post #2 – "Missed Calls"

Chapter One - A Return to the Temple
Max Akratonos

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In Transit, Ship
???

​

Ilaria listened in silence, her expression unreadable as the Fleet Captain spoke. She had expected excuses—rushed, thoughtless justifications. What she received was something far more difficult to dismiss.

The weight in his voice was undeniable. Frustration, yes, but not without merit. The Enclave spoke often of duty, of responsibility, but they did not speak of the sheer chaos of military life. They did not teach what it meant to serve under ever-changing orders, to bear the burden of a fleet whose existence was dictated by men and women sitting comfortably behind desks, far from the consequences of their commands.

And yet…

She could not let go of her judgment.

Her hands remained clasped behind her back, tightening ever so slightly as he spoke of loyalty, of respect, of the trust his crew placed in him. It was an argument that, by all accounts, should have been enough. A leader did not need to be pristine, did not need to adhere to some rigid doctrine of discipline, so long as those under their command believed in them. That was a kind of power. Perhaps even a greater one than she was willing to admit.

And still, she could not accept it.

Her gaze flickered downward for a moment—a hesitation, brief but telling—before she finally spoke.

"I do not doubt your crew's loyalty, Fleet Captain." Her tone was even, carefully measured. "Nor do I doubt your capability. I would not presume to lecture you on leadership, nor on the burdens you bear."

She allowed a breath, slow and deliberate.

"But I wonder."

The words were soft, but there was no mistaking the edge beneath them.

"If they trust you so implicitly, if they follow you without question, if they look to you as the foundation upon which this fleet stands…" Her gaze met his, cool and contemplative. "Then why do you allow yourself to crumble beneath that weight?"

A pause.

It was not meant as an insult. Not truly. But it was a question she could not stop herself from asking.

She had seen this before. Jedi who placed the weight of the galaxy upon their shoulders, who shouldered every failure, every hardship, until they could barely stand beneath it. Some called it dedication. Others called it strength.

She had always called it weakness.

That they simply were not cut out to be Jedi.

And though she knew—knew—that such thoughts were unbecoming, that she should not allow them to take root, they did.

Her grip tightened behind her back.

"The Jedi teach that control of the self is paramount," she continued, her voice quieter now. "That our burdens do not excuse us from maintaining the discipline expected of us. That we do not let the weight of duty break us."

Her head tilted slightly.

"Would you say the same of your own station?"

​

 

[Max Akratonos]

Akratonos leaned back in his chair slightly, initially unsure how to respond, before placing his elbows on the desk to prop up his chin with his hands, his shoulders slumping.

'I would say that, as a jedi you would not hold the lives of thousands of beings in your hands. That you could not understand how that responsibility weighs upon your mind.'

The jedi, why did it always come back to the jedi? They are the ones propped up by the people and the press, they are the ones heralded as the guardians of the new republic, but were they the ones that fought cycle after cycle, year after year? Were they the ones forced to the edges of the galaxy to defend the ones they love? Or were they the ones who sat in their golden temples preaching restraint and peace while the edges of the alliance suffered.

'I may not know much of the jedi, but i know of your attitudes to attachments, how you forgo them for the sake of the galaxy. But not all of us have that privilege, some of us feel every loss, every injury, every death that occurs around us, simply because of our empathy.'

He had found his voice rising, before forcing himself to calm down. He could not afford another enemy within the establishment.

'I shoulder the burdens, so that they do not have to, otherwise i cannot call myself a leader. If that is seen as weakness in the eyes of the jedi, well then perhaps you arent all you are cracked up to be.'

 

[Ilaria Morvayne]

Post #3 – "Missed Calls"

Chapter One - A Return to the Temple
Max Akratonos

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In Transit, Ship
???

​

Ilaria did not flinch at his words, nor at the rising frustration in his voice. She merely observed, silent and still, allowing him to spill his grievances onto the table between them.

It was always the same.

The Jedi. The ones who did not understand. The ones who had never fought, never suffered, never bled for the Republic, or now the Galactic Alliance. It was an argument she had heard many times in hushed conversations between officers, in political debates where tempers ran hot.

And it was an argument that, frankly, irritated her.

Her emerald gaze sharpened, though her tone remained neutral, composed.

"You speak of the Jedi as if they are some distant, unfeeling force. Detached. Cold." A pause. "Perhaps that is what they once were, what they ought to be."

Her hands remained clasped behind her back, her posture unwavering.

"But from what I have seen, the Jedi of Coruscant do not forgo anything. They claim to follow the Code, to reject attachments, yet they allow themselves to feel every wound, to bear every loss, to sink beneath the weight of a thousand deaths that were never theirs to grieve."

Her voice did not rise, but there was something pointed in it.

"If that is empathy, Fleet Captain, then it is a weakness."

Another pause. Deliberate. Letting the words settle.

And then, a shift.

"You assume much about what I do and do not understand," she continued, her gaze cool. "You assume that because I wear these robes, because I do not command a fleet, that I do not know what it is to bear a name that carries expectations heavier than any title."

Her head tilted slightly, her voice quiet, but firm.

"My family is of Serenno."

It was not a boast. It was a statement of fact.

"A noble house, that of the name Morvayne, with a lineage that has commanded fleets for generations. Every son, every daughter, was taught the weight of duty from the moment they could stand. The Admiralty is in my blood, Fleet Captain. I was raised with it. Trained in it."

"We are the product of a family line that merged with the Karath family from Corellia. Saul Karath should come to mind, Telos."

A slow breath. Sometimes she wondered if the Butcher of Telos ever looked upon her with favor.

However sick and twisted that favor be.

"And yet you sit there and presume to tell me what it is to lead? To bear responsibility? To know what it means to have a life depend upon your command?"

She let the silence stretch, the challenge implicit.

"I suggest, Fleet Captain, that you hold your tongue before speaking as if you know all there is to know."

​

 

[Max Akratonos]

At the end of the jedi's words there is silence. Even the usual distant murmurs from the bridge have gone quiet. Max gets up and presses a hand to the keypad, closing the door.

'And I, Jedi, would suggest you kept your voice down about your heritage'

He sighed, as if asking himself if he wanted to keep speaking.

'The other reason i trust this crew with my life, and they trust their with me, is that i was the only one who gave them chance. Many of them were like me, orphans, street rates, those in rehab. Those that the alliance wouldnt give a second chance. Many of those would resent your bloodline, as would many others in the outer rim.'

He paused, staring out the window as a corvette roared past followed by a pair of X-Wings. When he spoke again, it was in a softer tone.

'If you are correct, and the jedi truly care about the people of the galaxy, why do so many people see otherwise? Why do so many fear the jedi and so many more resent them? It doesn't matter what is true, because this is how the people see you.'

He smiled

'But perhaps you can change that.'

 

[Ilaria Morvayne]

Post #4 – "Missed Calls"

Chapter One - A Return to the Temple
Max Akratonos

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In Transit, Ship
???

​

Ilaria did not move as the door sealed shut, nor did she react to his warning. She only stood there, hands still folded behind her back, as the silence stretched between them.

Her heritage.

Of course, that was where his thoughts had gone. He did not argue against what she had said—he couldn't. But instead, he cautioned her, as if she did not already know what the people of the Outer Rim thought of her bloodline.

Saul Karath. The Butcher of Telos. The Destroyer of Taris. A name spoken with venom by historians, with quiet shame by some in her family, and with whispered reverence by others. He was a man who had understood power. Understood that control was not won through sympathy, but through decisive action.

She had spent years considering his legacy. The stain he had left on history. His betrayal of the Republic—was it truly betrayal, or simply an acknowledgment that the Republic deserved to fall? That it had been too weak to survive without fire to temper it?

And now, here was Akratonos, warning her to keep her voice down. As if she did not already know the weight her name carried. As if she had not spent her entire life walking the line between revulsion and legacy.

A small, nearly imperceptible breath left her nose.

"You assume I care for their resentment," she said at last.

Her voice was quiet, smooth, unshaken.

She stepped forward, just enough for the artificial light of the terminal to catch in her emerald eyes, sharpening them against the dim surroundings.

"You speak of the outer worlds, of those abandoned by the Republic, by the Alliance, by the Jedi. And you believe that I should temper myself to spare their feelings?"

A pause.

"Public perception is irrelevant."

It was a truth she had carried since childhood. The hatred of the masses, the condemnation of historians, the whispers of the weak—it meant nothing.

"I have seen the Jedi of Coruscant." Her voice was measured, contemplative. "I have watched them wallow in their emotions, in their so-called empathy. That friendship and love conquer all, that they can't even agree on what a Jedi is."

She exhaled, a slow, deliberate breath.

"If the galaxy fears them, fears that—"

A soft, humorless laugh escaped her lips.

"Then what will they do when they see something truly worthy of fear?"

Her fingers uncurled behind her back, but she did not move from where she stood.

"You concern yourself with how the people perceive the Jedi. I concern myself with what must be done. Power is not dictated by the approval of the masses, nor by their misconceptions, because I would remind you that Jutrand, the capital of the Sith Empire is more populated than your own ship, and if public perception was everything..."

She met his gaze, unflinching, letting him fill in the blanks.

"The galaxy is broken, Fleet Captain. Shattered by weak hands that cling to old ideas, to false peace, to illusions of freedom that cannot be sustained. Before I can fix it, before I can shape it into something better, I must first master myself."

And when she did, she would send the galaxy trembling.

"You see me as a just another Jedi from Coruscant, Akratonos. That is your first mistake."

She turned, stepping back toward the entrance, her movements precise, deliberate. But just before the door opened, she cast one final glance over her shoulder.

"You fear what the people think. I do not. And that is why, in the end…"

A pause.

"I will succeed where you have already failed."

​

 

[Max Akratonos]

Just before she leaves, Max cannot help but sneak in one more comment.

'Then you are no jedi.'

 

[Ilaria Morvayne]

Post #5 – "Missed Calls"

Chapter One - A Return to the Temple
Max Akratonos

---

In Transit, Ship
???

​

Ilaria paused, her back still turned to him, as his words settled into the air like the final note of a fading melody.

"Then you are no Jedi."

She did not react at first. Did not stiffen, did not whirl to face him in outrage. Instead, she let the silence stretch, let the moment hang, drawing it taut like a bowstring before finally cutting it loose.

Her voice, when it came, was quieter than before—but cold. Measured. The kind of quiet that warned of a storm just beyond the horizon.

"You misunderstand, Fleet Captain."

She turned just enough for her profile to be visible, the dim glow of the console catching against the sharp line of her cheekbone. Her emerald eyes, cool and unreadable, locked onto his with a gaze that carried no warmth.

"I am not a Jedi of Coruscant."

A pause.

"I uphold the true teachings of the Enclave. I walk the path of discipline, of mastery, of restraint—not the indulgence of emotion and hesitation that festers within the Temple. I am Jedi in ways they have long since abandoned."

Her hands slowly unclasped from behind her back, her posture still composed, but the shift was deliberate. A subtle, unspoken warning.

"But I will give you one warning, and I will only give it once."

Her voice did not rise. It did not need to.

"You will keep Saul Karath's name out of your mouth."

The words carried weight—finality. There was no threat, no need for one. Only certainty.

"Whatever you may think of my heritage, of my bloodline, of history itself—it is not yours to speak of."

She let the words settle. Let them take root.

And then, without another glance, she stepped forward, and the door hissed open before her.

She did not slam it shut behind her.

She did not need to.

-EXIT-​

 

[Max Akratonos]

Max might not be a jedi, but he understood what emotions meant to people. While on the streets of Corellia he had witnessed so many being devolve into anger, and violence, those who fought and stole. Then there were those who gave way to despair, many of whom turned to spice.

However, the ones that scared him the most were those who cut themselves off from everything, those were the true killers. They had nothing left behind their eyes.

Iliara's eyes nearly reminded him of them.