Private Ode to Imperial

[Resurgent Narrative]

Avalonia, Dosuun
First Order Space

Never a dull day within the First Order, and Armand Nathael "Nate" Branneth's cousins often kept him busy. Officially he was a government liaison, the first person with anything actual authority from the First Order. Who, could, actually offer those looking to join - a deal. Of course not every deal panned out for one reason or another, some were successful and some were not. Those who had served the First Order prior usually had it easier, those who didn't - well, the road wasn't as easy. However, Lucien E. Irridius came highly recommended and was well respected within the Imperial Naval circles. Well, some circles he thought to himself but as someone once said let your reputation fall where it will and outlive the bastards. Today he was set to meet with Irridius at the First Imperial Naval Foundation.​

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They could discuss the terms of the former Galactic Empire officer's integration into the First Order. The FINF was as much as a museum as it was a shrine to the past, school groups were common place here. Nate smiled as he passed them by young boys and girls who were wide-eyed at the prospect of becoming part of the navy. Let them have their dreams, he thought to himself, after all what else did they have. Nate would meet Irridius at the front of the building, a government detail would meet the man at Armitage Intergalactic Starport and get him into a private vehicle. ​

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It wouldn't too much longer, he thought to himself, before the First Order would once again dominate the void as they had in days past. A small smile appeared on his features at the thought, but until then it would take time and effort. An effort to reach out to Imperials old and new and welcome them into Her Majesty's empire and give them a place to call home. ​

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[Lucien E. Irridius]

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Tag: Resurgent Narrative ​

Perhaps the city's glowing exterior was enough to rouse loyalty in the ill-educated and unobservant, but Lucien Eland Irridius could smell the rotting foundations lying underneath. The First Order was still, as it had been during the brief spark of the Graftonian Empire, attempting to erect a house upon desolate ground. Still clawing at the infertile soils their backwards ideology provided and, all the while, chanting praise and hope to their masses. Masses who gave them nothing but half-measures in their work and half-hearted support in their minds. This sham government was no more Imperial than Tanomas Graf had been and yet they paraded themselves in the vague direction of true Galactic Imperialism.

And so perhaps they were not completely lost. Perhaps they could be guided. Perhaps he could suffer them to live.

The self-styled Grand Admiral allowed a sharp smile to peel open his face, his green eyes set on the Capital City of this self-styled Imperial Order. With a hunger he watched the shimmering skyline of construction craft and military traffic disappear beyond the high rises of the space port as his Delta-Class shuttle descended to earth. Turning away from the view port, Irridius clasped his hands firmly together and laid them on the perfect white of his uniform pants. He flexed his fingers with a creak as the form fitted gloves worked with his motions and with deep sigh of pleasure he rolled his neck and produced a chorus of baritone cracks.

When the shuttle finally landed and its ramp lowered he would step out, pearl white uniform tucked tightly against his skin and not a wrinkle to show that a man had ever lived inside it. Coal-black boots stepped in parade synchronization towards the First Order diplomatic party and as the Admiral took his first step onto solid ground a flock of black-clad figures flocked out from behind him. Death Troopers with rifles at low ready and visors scanning the horizon.

Brief introductions were made and without fuss the Admiral was ushered off towards the place of their meeting. Every step further into the city was sickening and to his own displeasure he learned of where he would be meeting this representative of the First Order.

When finally the transport came to a halt before yet another rotten floorboard of a building, Lucien was escorted from his seat by a member of his guard. Standing as presumably fake as the original detail had been was a man who met the description of a tax evading corporate mogul more so than a proper Imperial envoy.

But the snake in the uniform said nothing on the matter. It only allowed that same sharp grin to peel aside its face and provide the mogul with a ghostly white set of teeth. "Armand I presume." Irridius marched within a few paces of the man, stopping short of handshake distance and allowing the death troopers to fill the void between them, "your order's city is technically impressive - the regime must be proud of itself."

 

[Resurgent Narrative]

There was something about the man Branneth didn't care for and the first perhaps was how he was addressed. "First, you shall address me as Mr. Branneth, secondly yes I believe the capital of my nation is quite splendid." Normally, Branneth was a rather understanding fellow but for this particular man he wouldn't waste his time. "Why don't we get straight to the point then, shall we?" He was rather frank as he spoke. "What is it you wish to accomplish?" It had been a mutual meeting set by both the naval officer before him and his nation, but if the man's tone and posture were anything to go by.

He wasn't entirely sure it would be worth it, for either party. "You seem quite well off, troopers, ships, why arrive here?"

"What is it about my nation that draws you here?" There were many who wanted to come back to the First Order, but most had ulterior motives and part of Branneth's position determined whether or not he let them in the gate. If the man's answer didn't satisfy Branneth then he would be sent elsewhere. As, Branneth was quite certain that there were pits of dung the man could roll himself into. Or perhaps that was the cologne he wore, either way, Branneth waited for an answer.

Lucien E. Irridius ​

 

[Lucien E. Irridius]

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Tag: Resurgent Narrative ​

Irridius cocked a brow at the man, straightened himself and folded both gloved hands to the small of his back. Despite the Admiral's own personal disdain for the Order, he had not expressed his opinions outwardly. The hostility of the business mogul of a diplomat was not surprising to him - yet it was unexpected considering the current state of matters. Pretenders, like Tanomas Graf, generally did not see to threatening and berating him so early on in their endeavors. That sort of charade was left until later in most cases.

For a moment he considered the possibility that the man was a Force Wielder.

If that were the case he would have spoiled the encounter already, but he would power through regardless. After all, statistically it was improbable that this man was force sensitive and if he wasn't then his hostility was bore out of no concrete facts. Unless the man held spite against Tanomas Graf.

"Your hostility is hardly founded, Mister Branneth." Irridius emphasized the title, "and seeing as you are in the business of negotiations, I will assume your blatant disregard for diplomatic tradition is derived only for some latent hatred you have towards me...Or perhaps Tanomas Graf."

Irridius stepped forward to close the distance between them so as to offer the man his hand, "so I will tell you this. I am not Tanomas Graf nor am I a fresh face you can simply stomp on. My goal here is to ensure the survival of Imperialism as we know it and I am offering my support to your government."

Irridius' eyes narrowed, "I assumed there would be professionalism from another Imperial, as well as understanding. Imperialism has been fractured and broken for too long. It needs consolidation. If you and your government are not in the business of providing a strong, unconquerable front for the very ideology you claim to support then I suppose we should not waste either of our time."

 

[Resurgent Narrative]

There was a name that could rot in all the levels of Chaos and Hell that existed. Branneth didn't dare speak it, "then you misunderstand my position altogether." An over simplistic term would be gatekeeper, it was up to him to determine who and who did not begin the process of integrating and becoming part of the First Order. It was a nation still growing, and so he looked the man up and down and spoke plainly. "The First Order, is its own brand of Imperialism, and if our brand of it is not to your liking you know how to find your way out."

"Now if you, as you say, have an interest in expanding the Imperialist view. Even at the expense that it is the First Order's view, then perhaps you are inclined to listen." He took a moment and gestured forward so that they might walk and talk rather than standing there like buffoons in the street. To be frank, Branneth could and would stomp on any face he felt would do or cause ill for the First Order. "The First Order is in the business of restoring this nation, my nation, the systems surrounding us once belonged to our flag and we are determined to see that they are brought back into the fold."

"Our goals are to restore peace and stability to the region. This does include security and ensuring that our borders are safe and secure, if this is unacceptable to you then you may find your leave." Once more this was to be the fastest negotiation he'd ever conduct. Branneth wasn't in the business of being anymore diplomatic than he had to be. He had read and learned enough of the man before him to understand the kind of snake he and those who had been in the Galactic Empire, were.

Lucien E. Irridius ​

 

[Lucien E. Irridius]

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Tag: Resurgent Narrative ​

This mogul was nothing if not audacious. To Irridius, his every word was sniveling and redundant. Not to mention the lengths he crossed to remind everyone how important he was...it all reminded him of another weasel he had the displeasure of working alongside in the Graftonian Empire. The director of technological advancement within Tanomas' Empire had been another such man. He did not dictate so much as he regurgitated rhetoric meant to remind his audience of his station.

As if station alone commanded respect. Commanded fear. He wondered if this man understood the importance of action anymore than that forgotten director.

After allowing the man to finish, Lucien retorted as they entered the building with the troopers in tow. "If the point of this negotiation was to remind me that a nation's goal was to thrive, then I apologize for I am already aware of reality."

Lucien had tired of attempting to conceal his growing dislike for the man, "if I had any interest in undermining The Order's security I would join your enemies. Not you. Instead iI have traveled here, in person, taking on a great personal risk so that I might assist your regime in securing order and prosperity for Imperial Space."

Lucien paused in stride, allowing the troopers to resume flanking him once again, "I did not come here to waste my own time. Nor did I come here to walk beside a man who thinks it is fit to remind an Admiral and an Imperial of what his duty is.

Security is a paramount concern for any true Imperial and I came here to negotiate my assistance. Either you wish to have a serious discussion regarding this or my fleets will find somewhere else to rest its engines"

 

[Resurgent Narrative]

"Then it seems we are at an impasse, perhaps a failure to understand one another." Mr. Branneth would then make it very clear. For if the conversation was an assumption on redundancy built on the idea that either one was better or lesser than then it was a conversation that was never going to go anywhere. For Branneth, the First Order was Imperialism, it was Imperialism drawn from the very grounds of Dosuun built by his family. Their empire would be secure, it would be done through diplomacy - speak softly and carry a big stick. The man speaks of the assets he brought with him. Then either he wishes to assist out of the goodness of his heart, or there is an ulterior motive and one that reeks of a power-hungry man.

"You say you are here to help my nation, to see this view of yours to fruition. Your view of what did you say? An unconquerable front? It's never existed, anywhere." Branneth smirked, even the finest ships, and the finest men could not stop the Ssi-Ruu. There was no such thing as an unconquerable front. Nor was this version of Imperialism one that existed, and if it did - it did so in the blackest of hearts. "There are no unconquerable fronts, for where there are wins there are losses, insurmountably so."

"You come a long way with your fleets and your troopers, simply to help secure our borders?"

He found it hard to believe.

Ensure the survival of Imperialism. It was a phrase that made Branneth's stomach turn, for Imperialism was everywhere. It rested with the man before him, with this nation, and with the New Imperial Order in the north. Imperialism was more than surviving, it was thriving. "You also mentioned that you wished to see Imperialism survive, and I wonder just then what you see as Imperialism, for as I can see it. Imperialism here in the First Order, and out in the North with the New Imperial Order."

"Then there is you, and your fleets. Imperialism is thriving, so, I give you a choice."

"If you are so keen on assisting the First Order, then your choices are two. You and your men will be part of an auxiliary fleet to prove your worth to our Ministry of Defense until such time they feel as if you and the First Order are a good fit for one another. You will do so at the rank of Commodore." He paused and waited a moment before proceeding. "If the First Order feels you are a good fit then you will be integrated permanently into the navy, your ships' designs will be taken into account but will be scrapped so that more First Order vessels can be produced."

"Your second choice, will be simply thus, should we need or acquire your services we will contact you and pay you handsomely for your work."

Another pause.

"It is not a decision to make lightly but seeing as you've already come all this way, then I assume you may come to one or the other rather quickly."

Lucien E. Irridius ​

 

[Lucien E. Irridius]

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Tag: Resurgent Narrative ​

Lucien pretended to consider the offer. Perhaps it was a waste of time to attempt to right a sinking ship - this had been less a negotiation and more a game. One he was no longer partial to playing. In the end not all was lost, he had been allowed an insight into the state of mind this pretender order held upon itself and that was enough to make evident the truth. This regime represented neither a first-rate Imperialism nor did it represent imperial order. For Lucien it represented much the same as many governments before it...to him it represented very little.

After giving the offer enough time in the air, Lucien bowed his head.

"perhaps it is in our mutual interests that I work outside the bounds of your order - it can be useful for a government to hold cards that do not relate directly back to itself."

A lie. He had no intention of ever speaking to this man again - nor the First Order. But he would not betray this, he would slip quietly into the darkness and await another moment. Another time. As any good strategist would.

"have your state departments record my communications code for when my services are needed. With that our meeting seems to have concluded itself. Perhaps I will speak to you on better terms one day, Armond"

And with that Irridius would take his leave with his guard, returning to his shuttle and ship unless otherwise stopped by Armond. Once back aboard the Shadow of Regret the comm code used to contact him would be terminated and the ex-Grand Admiral would return to darkspace with his men - awaiting another opportunity.

 

[Resurgent Narrative]

The feeling was mutual. Branneth had no intention of providing his government with anything other than a report, and that the signatures and records of the man's fleet be recorded and forwarded to other Imperial governments. Irridius was about as foul as any of the snakes from the Galactic Empire, it was a wonder he was considered as he was. A man who seemed to only be an elevated form of the Directorate or other self-absorbed and self-concerning concentrations. Their goal was no more to help others than it was only to help themselves. The First Order worked to serve its people, to rebuild itself, the Empires who sought to conquer all that they could now lay rotting in the annals of history if any cared to remember their names. There would be other individuals, those who shared the First Order's views who would come along, and those Branneth would more than welcome.

- F I N -