Private Rise Victoria

[Derix Tirall]

P O W E R
HIGH REGENT OF THE FINAL DAWN
IMMORTAL CONSTRUCTION YARD | COMMAND DECK | COPERO SHIPYARDS

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The first shot fired had been purchased in victory. The first ground to be drenched in blood, the first worlds crushed under the jagged boot of the Mawite Brotherhood. Though the Galactic Alliance preserved, the confidence of their leadership had been irreparably broken, and their illustrious Chancellor thrown into death throes, there was little time to revel in victory, for the Bastion Pact would rebuild, and the forces of the Final Dawn would be required to meet them with equal strength.

As usual, the Final Dawn would far exceed the standards of the Bastion alliance.

The behemoth, a dreadnought soon to be christened Immortal, was the most powerful warship to ever be constructed by the growing military junta, rivaled only by the Fatalis, it's Mawite brethren. It's shining black hull mirrored that of space, floating freely within the confines of the recently captured Corpro Shipyards, far above the wreckage of countless Chiss Warships, all being repurposed for far more nefarious purposes.

In the command center of the Corpro Shipyards, the High Regent stood in waiting, both arms crossed defiantly across his chest. His uniform was, as usual, white and crisp, and without a rank plate. His return from Courscant had been complicated, only slightly, by his encounter with the new Chancellor of the Alliance, one Aerarii Tithe . Though Derix and Aerarii might forever disagree on matters of policy, the conversation they had that day had left a mark on the sadistic vizier's mind, one which he would not soon forget.

Perhaps he'd even spare the man in the oncoming onslaught, surely his experience would be helpful in reforging the galaxy. If not for his devotion to the Alliance, he'd make an excellent High Overseer, a bureaucrat at heart.

Nevertheless, the High Regent's attention was focused solely on a holomap of the Corellian System. An over-extension of existing units, within a few short months the Final Dawn would be more than capable of executing the type of campaign his adjunct desired.

"My Lord" Isabella Pavan uttered to the High Regent, nodding in respect to her superior. "The Grand Overseer will be arriving shortly"

"Excellent" He would whisper in return, stroking his chin as if in deep thought. Perhaps Sularen's operation could be the beginning of something far more...devastating.

Marlon Sularen | Halketh ​

 

[Marlon Sularen]

COPERO , MAWITE-OCCUPIED CHISS SPACE

The Predator emerged from Hyperspace arriving at the edge of the Copero in view of the Copero Shipyards which were currently undergoing repairs after the devastation suffered from Revenant Squadron's attempt to scuttle the Shipyards in addition to housing the Final Dawn's Future Flagship , the Immortal. High Regent Tirall had requested the presence of both Grand Overseer Sularen and Executor Caelitus in response to the Grand Overseer's proposals for Operation : Deathstroke , Sularen's plan to deal serious damage to the Alliance's Morale and a means to soften them up in preparation for the Mawite Conquest of the Core Worlds.

Already Sularen had taken steps to prepare for Operation Deathstroke via Project Warhawk , a major Naval Expansion Program aimed at providing the Final Dawn a newfound advantage over it's rivals in the Bastion Accords through newly developed Starfighters and Warships such as the FD-200 Carrier Corvette Prototype , the TIE/fdH Multirole Starfighter and the Chariot-Class Missile Boat which had already seen service in the early days of the Third Imperial Civil War. In addition , the Grand Overseer had deployed a large amount of Surveillance Ships to keep track on the Movements of the Alliance Navy in order to adjust his Strategy when necessary.

Soon enough Sularen's Personal T-4b Imperial Shuttle departed from the ventral hangars of the Predator and made way towards one of the Secondary Hangars of the Copero Shipyards given that the Primary Hangars had been destroyed by Revenant Squadron and were still undergoing repairs. As his Shuttle flew past the docked Immortal , Sularen wondered why the High Regent had chosen to have the Immortal constructed so close to Alliance Territory as keeping the existence of the Dreadnought a secret was critical for the success of his Plan. Nevertheless the Grand Overseer hoped that things could be properly set up through this meeting.

As the Grand Overseer's Shuttle landed , he was greeted by a Final Dawn Officer upon emerging from the Ramps leading out from the Shuttle's Entrance. "Welcome , Grand Overseer. If you would please follow me to the Command Center where the High Regent awaits your arrival." Sularen simply nodded and followed the Officer as he was brought into the Command Center where the High Regent awaited him , his attention solely focused on a Holomap of sorts.

As Sularen and the Officer arrived at the Command Center , the Latter first informed the High Regent of the Former's arrival before the Grand Overseer proceeded to enter the room. "High Regent Tirall. I assume you have requested this meeting to further about my proposed Naval Offensive against the Alliance?"

Tags : Derix Tirall | Halketh ​

 

[Halketh]

C A E L I T U S
DARK LORD OF THE SITH
The Aegis of Woe | Ace | Lightsaber
Derix Tirall Marlon Sularen

A R R I V A L
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The two men were left alone for a time, its dragging moments mounting into minutes that lapsed without word nor indication that their third attendee had even received their request for his presence. And perhaps, he hadn't. There were far greater matters which called the Dark Lord's attention, his own mortality being chief among them. His hand in the annihilation of the Jedi and the collapse of the sacred Temple on Coruscant had not gone without punishment, and though his armor had kept him alive, the debris which had buried him had left him broken and forced to mend.

How it was he had even escaped had largely remained a mystery. Whoever, or whatever, it was that had intervened, had left him be after returning him to his grand ship, and it was there he holed himself away in his meditation chamber to ruminate on his mortal shell's reconstruction. Broken bones were far better than those crushed to dust, and though his mending process was prolifically painful, he would endure just as the numerous times before. It was between these throes of mending anguish that Caelitus decided to acknowledge the summons passed his way by the High Regent, and though he held merely a sliver of the power he had amassed, he opted to join the other two.

Should he need to, he could wring the life out of them like rags, even now, though he suspected both of them were far too cunning to attempt anything untoward at him now, given his vital role in their plans to come. The Force retracted its gravity field, drawing the repaired components of his monolithic armor back to their proper places, sealing away his weakness beneath the gothic guise of apathy. It was a strain to do so, yet he rose to his boots and returned his woeful saber to its rightful throne on his hip. The command deck of the shipyard. He was familiar with it, and he knew they were not far, given his command to return to Copero for this clandestine meeting.

Yet where the others relied on their ships for transport, the Dark Lord was impatient.

Winged blackness unfurled from his flanks, wrapping about his frame to devour it entirely. With the whisper of eons, his mind's eye expanded outward and settled on the point he could construct within his fragmenting psyche. Inky smoke fizzled where he stood, the warping of space-time disturbed by a sudden inversion. Once he was sealed within his private confinement, the next, a cold wind cracked through the command deck- his form revealed by the dissipation of the same cloud that had seen him here.

The attendants present dropped their posture immediately out of respect, and for once, the Dark Lord did not acknowledge them, nor tell them to rise.

He strolled forth, his aura unwinding its black coils from his body, smothering the air with a maddening sickness. It was tolerable when he was at his best, but more prolific and hard to bear in a wounded state, where his sorcerous focus was better spent channeling energy into wounds to keep himself from demonstrating his strain. And where both men had experienced his often disarming kindness before, it was absent in its entirely. His spoken word resonated from his armor, backed by the choir of fate, and harmonized with enough intensity to freeze blood: "Speak."