The War of Evermore

[Kuropatkin]

News of the rising factionalism in the fringe was certainly not a shock to Vadam. The Fringe peoples were always a disorganized rabble rousing lot that never held respect for the advantages of order and stable government. Back when the free 'democratic' Fringe stepped on the door of Eriadu, he had a premonition that it wouldn't last, democracy as a system of governance breeds weakness and ill-behavior; criminal behavior now exemplified by the so-called 'Black Pirates' or some such rabble. The people of Eriadu never held a great cultural connection to the Fringe, they were the outsiders, ill-disciplined conquerors spouting hair-brained idealism and 'freedom'. The people of Eriadu desire Justice, Security and Order where it is due, not freedom, they're realists with an indomitable sense of duty, honor and discipline, and when news of foreign threat and a closing of the trade lanes touched their doors they knew it was nigh time for a regime change. The ruling families-Kuropatkin amongst them-kept a tight lid on any unrest- independence was not deduced worthwhile as the city-planet was near devoid of any measurable military presence outside of mercenaries and police, the councils deduced that the best course of action was to find the best of the bad lot of choices to choose from, seeing no other option, the people of Eriadu chose [member="Jared Ovmar"] for there ruler.


Vadam Kuropatkin looked out from his penthouse, one his family's personal towers overlooking the layers of city below. All of the recent actions of the day stewed in his mind to a near consistent boil, so much had happened in the past few months it was near unfathomable to ascertain what would happen next. The vast shipyards, brimming with trade-ships rotting at the docks-the thought made him cringe-and vast Fringe machinations of war,more than likely their guns trained on the city below, stirring about made him finally realize what the new reality would. A reality where his family would finally get its due, a reality where galaxy-wide order and justice reigned-a reality of Empire under the watchful eye-'Emperor Ovmar'. Vadam looked back into the dark city-scape, in the domineering silence, Vadam knew everything would finally be set in place, he would accept it no other way. He stood up, under his breath Vadam proclaimed-


"Then Empire it shall be, but not without a Kuropatkin to pay his just dues".

The coming days were to be exciting indeed.

 

[Jared Starchaser]

Right, he was the representative of the Wing on the military side. That meant he was going down to Annaj. All while Lily Ardellian got to sit aboard the Dawn Treader in orbit and talk to his father. He really hoped his father was alright, probably busy dealing with some planetary politics or something. The chance that something was after his father was just… very bad odds, not anything the command crew of the DT would bet on, the whole team being Corellian. And no, that was not a writer thing that was several writers many years ago, creating that. At least Jared got to fly. He was heading down with William Wigefield, the Miraluka politician. He was a follower of Krath, but that didn’t matter here.

He was a controlled follower, using it only for his personal identification, not to try to change the galaxy. He was working on controlling it, same with Scall Mclean who identified as Sith. They were all under control.

Bringing the YTA-1300 down for a landing on Annaj, Starchaser and Wigefield made it to [member="Jared Ovmar"]’s office and approached the desk, they had an appointment and would wait for the leader of the Fringe Federation to see them. It was merely a time for the Dawn Treader to pledge their allegiance to the developing Imperial order ideals of the ancient Force master.

 

[Arage Bao]

[member="Zhol Kash Dinora"]

(Much later, and elsewhere)

Elsewhere was a transporter, much later was… well time was relative anyway. So it didn’t really matter all that much for the purpose of this situation, did it? There were two of them in the stealth transport that was carrying them wherever they were going to go, one of them was a… well partially vong shaped, big, beardy fella. He seemed to be grumpy about something, or maybe that frown was just permanently fixed upon his brow.

The other was the cloaked individual with the red sash, red riding hood? Maybe. Sardun’s eyes were closed, meditating? No, the soft hum and the steady rise and fall of the chest indicated that he was sleeping.

Lightly, perhaps.

It did not seem to matter to him that they were twenty minutes away from a critical mission, though critical was perhaps not the real word here. To fetch a toy, the man had literally said. Sometimes he wondered how serious his life really was in these days.

But most of the days a cigar, some booze and a newspaper did the job. In his sleep Sardun was dreaming about slaying more monsters with Ordavo, now those were the good ol’ times.

 

[Nimue Stormson]

"None that any would dare try again in my lifetime." she answered, a little shaken at first by his asking about the war. "It was....harrowing. But in the end my rule is still as strong as stone. But I cannot lie and say it has not left it's scars." She sighed a little in remembering some of the acts committed by her and her en against her own people, before shaking it off. "You'll have nothing or to fear from Effekt itself, my lord. You have my word. But now about this new step you've planned for the Fringe. That is where I've grown truly interested." She looked for a moment before asking "May I sit?"​

​

[member="Jared Ovmar"]​

 

[Velok the Younger]

[member="Nui Akona"] would, perhaps, have been surprised to know that the red-cloaked figure remembered Seren Ordavo fondly too. But that had been half a century ago, by some reckonings. People changed over time frames like that, generally by getting weaker or stronger. Kash couldn't say which had applied to Seren; she lacked recent experience. Hadn't even seen the man in decades.

But Kash couldn't read Nui's mind, and so Seren Ordavo didn't come up in conversation. Instead, her eyes flicked over his more visible Vong traits. She coughed and spoke in fluent Yuuzhan Vong.

<<Your shaping, from what hands? Your biots and ascensions, they give you no regret?>>

 

[Darth Carnifex]

Oh, what intriguing times we lived in. A galaxy burning from the inside out, and the wanton factions of the fringes of the galaxy were beginning to dabble in that oh-so-droll thing the inner systems called grand politics. A coalition of autonomous states all coming together to form a centralized form of government, how expected of them, but then again this was the moment the man with the cruel emerald eyes had been waiting for ever since he wandered out here and carved out a piece of the Outer Rim for himself to enjoy.

He would've made more metaphors and similes about cake, but he was afraid it would invoke the wrath of [member="Spencer Jacobs"], whom rumor said enjoyed cake to a ridiculous degree.

So instead he pondered upon the infinite webway of possibilities that would arise the moment he lurched out of hyperspace over Annaj, the proclaimed capital of the now dying Fringe Confederacy, a world that he had not bothered to actually visit in quite a long time. That pesky war with the equally dying Republic in the Core Worlds really devoured a lot of his time and attention, and only rarely did he throw himself this deep into the politics of the Fringe. Still, perhaps it was time for him to get involved, his long pilgrimage in the world of the dead gave him a new lease on life, and as the Voice of the Dark Lord whom he so fervently served, it was his charge to involve himself in the governments that he oversaw from behind the veil.

And thus our bout of monologue must come to an end, for with a tremendous roar the massive dreadnaught, the Black Iron Tyrant, exploded from the blinding light of hyperspace to settle into reality with a sickening lurch. An ensign, young, fit, and purely Epicanthix, quickly moved in to report to the towering Sith Lord garbed in black robes and armorplast of the same coloration;

"Mesalk, vi'zi liovuik Annaj or i'ay uok vappomkik. Yayl alkilr?"

The lad spoke in the native tongue of the Epicanthix people, a language that the Sith Lord (being the undisputed Emperor of the Epicanthix people) spoke as fluently as he would Galactic Basic, and after a moment's consideration he replied in the same dialect.

"Hask naredeam miol dui ri'rdip, omk vamdovd Jared Ovmar. Id'r depi da bliid dui pom vua vaysk xi Kemb."

[member="Jared Ovmar"]

 

[Sargon Vynea]

Doubt is a terrible thing, it makes the council of the wise go unheeded and the gives life to fear in the strongest of hearts. It was doubt now that kept Sargon on Bakura even as the hour of departure had past, and unsettled his mind. The choices before him were not a simple wrong or right, some of the things he feared would not come for many years down the road. If his thoughts didn't give him pause then she did, if anyone had the right to decide the Fringe should change it was one of them.

So it was he found himself still on Bakura as the klaxons came in announcing the attack on Annaj capital of the Confederacy, or what was left of her. It was the perfect moment for Jared and he'd know it, strike now and declare his strength and give birth to his Empire in the Confederacy's greatest moment of need. Of course isn't that what they'd all sworn to do anyway? Isn't that what they'd all given their oath to? Isn't that what he'd sworn to do?

On that thought the Zabrak stood and marched towards his wardrobe removing a combat uniform, no showy medals, just business. He hadn't officially retired from his position and while he'd given Jared his legions and ships they'd not been collected yet, and if it was going to all go down one way or another, he was damned if he'd just be a spectator.

Moving out of the house and into the field he pressed a small switch on his wrist comlink, a simple beacon that would send a military shuttle to pick him up. The second switch tapped him directly into sector command. “Sector, this is Governor Vynea, set the fleet at condition red and prepare for the transport of the 121st. We're going to Annaj.”

Shutting off the channel the Zabrak watched the horizon as a shuttle roared into view, as 'remote' as his valley felt he still wasn't more then a few minutes away by shuttle from the Legion's HQ. He wouldn't be going there though, the transports would have to catch up with the rest of the fleet. Even as well trained as they were an army didn't move in seconds. In a bit more then an hour the entire Legion could be boarded and ready, but in that time the battle would be waging already, and possibly done. Instead he made one more call out to [member="Spencer Jacobs"] and boarded, until this battle was won or lost the Confederacy still existed and he'd sworn an oath to defend her, so he would.

As he boarded he sent a message to the new Emperor, [color blue]::En route with Bakuran Sector Fleet, seems the party came to us. I'll bring some sparklers::[/color]

[member="Jared Ovmar"]

 

[Inger Strömfire]

Oh how alive she felt when going into battle, that she did for the good of citizens of the planet after all they wasn't one ready for blood shed. No Annaj was her home now, she come to serve some of those people. Not always to the best but always for the good for [member="Lucien Cordel"] it means his life style isn't being smack on.

In away this wasn't to new with someone wanting to take the one or ones on top off. It was a way off life where she came from. As clan was always fighting with others. Or in her case finding themselves in the emeny bed to keep peace so their wasn't any more blood sheld. Yes that was how deals was made on her planet. Not here, she needed to be the shield of these around. Must she step up to be a shield for the Fringe. Maybe this would be the way she would make her name finding some respect with those around. Keeping that in mind knowing that now that one that called himself [member="Jared Ovmar"] . Just like in her old country when one took power there was a time to visit to show the respect and pledge of one blade that what she would do today.

Unlike being the daughter of the clan leader her own family being of a great warrior respected clan of wisdom also being the cousin of the king in power. Blood is family that stands through time. Again after this she step herself out there maybe she would be awarded maybe even her own planet to governor or at less be the one to bring protecting to after all when it comes down to she one to protect. Wasn't she?

Finding herself standing with all the others many that wanted to get into see the big ma himself to get into his good grace. It was then that she spotted Lucien would be visiting him next on her listen unless there was another calling that needed her attention. Some beeped on her commlink [member="Coren Starchaser"] if it wasn't Coren wondering if he was playing with his tin toy flying boxes her own inside joking.

 

[Sal Katarn]

Aboard the Black Iron Tyrant, a section of air began to shimmer and warp. Wind rushed into the distorted air, creating a slight draft. Frost formed on the bland metal surface of the roof and floor. From the nothingness of bent electromagnetic waves and vibrating air stepped a man, tall by most standards, though short by a Wookiee's. He looked to be Arkanian, with long white hair and clawed hands, though his eyes burned with a red malfeasance and the ashen hue of his skin marked him of some different species. His face was all pursed lips, slashing brows and austere lines. It was the sort of face that could watch atrocities with mildly cruel indifference.

The figure glanced around the bridge, dusting off what appeared to be snow from the shoulder of his black coat, beneath which glinted a durasteel breastplate - also coated in a thin sheen of ice.

"Hmm," he narrowed his eyes, "This isn't- ah."

[member="Darth Vornskr"] cut an imposing figure on the bridge, one that could hardly be missed.

His resonating bass became almost monotone. "Oh dear."

 

[Coren Starchaser]

The feth was after him now? Coren escaped one… what may have been a rabid mutant space mynock for the plague of the Unknown Regions, the Children of Darzu? He was on his way back to Fringe space, especially when the call of the Dawn Treader came. Annaj called for aid, and that meant the Starchasers were going to answer. The Dark Jedi was ready to defend the world, and the cause of Imperailization, but he was pulled from hyperspace in the Tachyon Rising by something.

Rolling the freighter and activating the slave protocol on the weapons, he was firing back and the enemy was adjusting just too… well. Feth. Darzu, he was right. Why did he find trouble like this? Activating the emergency beacon, less for reinforcements as Darzu washed over everything they got their fingers in, infecting machines and taking them over, as long as the message was read it was a ‘stay away.’

Working with half his attention on the battle and the Force to his navicomputer, Cren was trying to find the best way out of here and to a port that had something big enough to attack this target on site. And destroy it.


"Go to the Unknown Regions, you know it, it'll be fun." Coren muttered under his breath as another hit shook his ship.

[member="Shane Byrnes"]
[member="Jared Ovmar"]

 

[Shane Byrnes]

"Go to the Unknown Regions, you know it'll be fun," Shane echoed the words his friend Patrick back home had spoken. Home, Annaj, it was far more interesting then the work found out here, and less terrifying. The irony of Shane's existence as an astro-engineer was that his career required his attention in space, a void of an all-consuming darkness blemished by the dots of countless bright stars, and he suffered from an irrational fear of darkness. He was always looking over his shoulder whenever he worked alone, such as now.

He floated away from his G9 Rigger, connected to it only by a flimsy metallic cord to prevent him from drifting away forever. He held the welding torch up against the malfunctioning early-warning system beacon. A cloud of asteroids had drifted past, damaged the deflector shields enough that they dropped and banged up the beacon. By the time Shane found it, the beacon was 2,000 kilometers off its designated trajectory. He hit the ignition and sparks exploded in his face as intense heat fused a new exterior plating to the beacon.

An insistent and irritable noise came through his com-link. It was a beep that came through every 2.5 seconds. He knew for what it was, and when he had counted the wait between the beeps, he yanked onto the cord tying him to his freighter and began launching himself back. It was a distress beacon, but his outdated modules didn't allow him to receive text-based messages. He just heard the message, and the number one rule of spacefaring in the Unknown Regions was that if you heard a distress, you came to help.

Shane cursed him as he hurled through the darkness, and felt his stomach sink at the sensation. He tried to tell himself the only reason he feared the darkness out here was that this was unknown space, but he knew that wasn't true. He would be just as terrified out here as he would be back in the Core. He didn't trust this distress beacon, as he didn't trust most things, but he wasn't going to smear a stain on the honor code of star pilots. He pried himself back into the freighter, pressurized the hull and quickly shed his enviro-suit.

Sitting uncomfortably in his worn-out cockpit seat, he strapped himself in, gripped the yoke and hit the engines. Once he was moving he warmed up the hyperdrive for a short-jump. The distress call wasn't far, and in a flash he seemingly vanished into a star-streaked void and reappeared thousands of kilometers away. That is when he saw the Tachyon Rising in a pitched dog-fight with Force-knows-what, because Shane certainly had no idea. "Kark!" he roared, jumping the guns on his freighter. He hit his communications and sent out a transmission to the origin of the distress beacon, "This is Shane Byrnes, Captain of the G9 Rigger 4953-LL responding to the distress call." He wasn't one-hundred percent what else to say, stuck between a rock and a hard place. He hovered his thumb over the trigger of his cannons. He was metaphorically, and possibly in a few minutes literally, defecating in his pants in utter fear.


[member="Coren Starchaser"]