When it was first envisioned, the League of the Central-Northern Core Systems was intended to serve as something of a far lesser importance - a centralising authority under the newly appointed Moff intended at wrestling power from the Senate and healing the economy of the Heart of the Galaxy. Upon the endless tides of imperial reforms, this perhaps seemed like nothing out of the ordinary - such was, after all, the intention of Palpatine's administrative modernisation. But where the project of Aristobulus of Pahlmir differed was the sheer scale on which it was conducted. Education, economy, commerce and government, all aspects of civilian and military life slowly but surely gravitated towards the new centres of power. The Curia, meanwhile, gathered dignitaries from almost all the member-worlds of the League, aiming to create a centre of decision-making that ran parallel to the Senate on Coruscant. Just as Palpatine intended. Its Moff might never have been a soldier, but he was a statesman with over twenty years of experience.

What he created was a state within a state.

Whether it was because of the worlds' already high compliance to imperial rule, a desire to resolve their interial strife or a simple wish to turn a new page and find their way in the new system, the League quickly grew from a loose regional organisation into a body ready to execute Palpatine's directives with peerless precision. Whether it was because of the post-war economic boom, skilled economic planning or a sophisticated web of corporate-SOE alliances, the economy of the Core seemed to have thrown off the shackles of malaise that had plagued it in the days of the republic. All around the Core, infrastructure boomed and industry grew, always surrounded by media fanfare. The propaganda apparathus, after all, ran as smoothly as the economy - directed from the top. Indeed the media conglomerates of the League never failed to show the leaps and bounds which the sub-district made under the Moff's guidance - the policy of Propaganda of Success reinforced by the management of the Delaney Crisis, the citizens distracted by positive data just as much as they were by sports, events or displays of the artistic avant-garde.

With prosperity such as this, who would wish to turn their eye to the plight of the Gossams, whose very planet was nationalised? Who would care about the Skakoans, whose resources were taken to fuel the ever-growing demands of the imperial transportation projects?

Who would care for the slow erosion of democratic leadership, or the Militiamen parading on the streets in their neat, orderly columns?

A new sun was rising in the Core to replace the light of the old one. But its light was cold, precis measured in numbers, the flow of credits and the transfers of resources. The unfeeling technocracy that rose from the ashes of the old order was a well-oiled machine, devoid of much of the red tape of the Republic. Despite that, the elites that held power in the Heart of the Galaxy continued to do so still.

But why would the common man care for that? They had work and money, paid vacations and subsidized bread. They had sports and education and new monuments to look at. Compared to that, what was freedom but some vague, intangible concept?

Who needed freedom anyway?

Besides, the Moff must have been doing a really good job, since the League got expanded. The Holonet said so, after all!

The following text has spread like wildfire throughout all Outer Rim regions, regardless of district, in the form of bright orange pamphlets stapled and glued to posts, walls, and street signs in urban and suburban areas:

A BETTER GALAXY IS POSSIBLE

THE EMPIRE PROMISED US FREEDOM AND YET OUR RIGHTS ARE STRIPPED AWAY AND THE SENATE DOES NOTHING

THE EMPIRE PROMISED US SECURITY AND YET TERRORIST ACTIVITY IS FAR HIGHER THAN IT WAS PRE CLONE WARS AND WE ARE UNDER CONSTANT SURVEILLANCE

THE EMPIRE PROMISED US PROSPERITY AND YET STILL THE CHILDREN OF THE RIM STARVE WHILE THE CORE WORLDS FEAST ON THE SWEAT OF OUR LABOR

ARE WE NOT ENTITLED TO WHAT WE PRODUCE

WHEN DO THE LIES END

A BETTER FUTURE IS POSSIBLE

AND IT IS ONE WITHOUT THE EMPIRE IN IT

Sun was setting over the Ecumenopolis, and even for men such as Aristobulus of Pahlmir, there was some beauty in its final lights. How the beams flickered on the white and polished surface of the planet-city's countless spires, how they danced in the endless square kilometres of polished durasteel and glass - it was a scene like none other. And it was - for there was no other place like Coruscant. He disliked it, most of the time, the noise, the smell and the chaos of it all. But today, it all seemed... alright. He had changed much since he studied here all those years ago, but it was the first time in thirty years when the smell didn't bite him. The ships in the sky, no longer insects, were birds with polished feathers.

"They're expanding my domain. Seems I have done a good enough job with the League for now, they want the same effect with other systems. After the Delaney Crisis, could you blame them?"

The man seated beside, to whom the Moff was talking, chuckled silently.

"You always liked power, Aristo, perhaps a bit too much..."

The imperial dignitary didn't respond. There were few alive who would ever address him as such, and fewer still who would dare to say that to his face. Griff Praji was an exception. For decades now, he was an exception. And his closest friend.

It was a strange friendship. Even though they have known each other since childhood, the two couldn't be much different. While the Ruanian remained tall and stately, the Kaikielian seemed almost stooped with age, as if some terrible weight had bent his shoulders and wrinkled his brow. Ever since the death of the Republic, his friend seemed to age... faster. It was a strange paradox, for a man so devoid of ambition, so content with his peaceful life on the sidelines of galactic politics, the tides of history appeared to affect him more. Perhaps it was the matter of his son? After the Delaney Affair, when the Empire almost struck out at its own arteries, any father of a serviceman would be for their life. But Nahdonnis was skilled and well connected. Whoever his commander was, they would have likely thought twice about sending him into combat. Griff must have known that, and yet, he seemed worried.

"Where do you think all of this is headed?"

The Moff sighed.

"Somewhere better, I hope."

He paused for a moment.

"The Emperor keeps the Senate running as a courtesy towards the old order, I feel. Not much dissimilar to how I have organised the Curia. A place for them to yell out their concerns and be content with themselves. But there is nothing in our way. The senators have no real power anymore - I think now even they are beginning to understand that. Every decision they make has to go through Palpatine. And the Governors? They answer to me. The Core has finally broken free from the chains of stupid, vapid, bickering old men."

"Old men like us?"

The two smirked in unison.

"We're not old, Griff. Not yet. I have so many plans, cousin, and I keep thinking..."

"No."

Even though Praji's words cut swiftly and sharply as a knife, the answer Pahlmir heard was almost to be expected. In all his fifty years, Griff never strived for office, never tried to increase his wealth, never tried to earn glory. What assets he inherited, he gave over to his brothers. Griff Praji, the eldest scion of his house and a man of such immense talent and potential was content to sit in his villa and collect art. It was something the Moff respected, but wished he could understand. Not all were cut out for greatness.

"Then let us forget about politics for a moment."

"Aye. Let us."

For a moment the two remained silent, looking into the distance, Coruscant's countless spires and birds of shining durasteel. It was a city that had lasted for tens of thousands of years, a monument to civilisation that extols the names of its founders with every glimmer and every reflection. Sitting there, the Moff wondered - what would in the end remain of him? What monuments would sing to his glory...

Praji was a weak man...

But he was his friend.

Pride. Pain. Longing. The emotions drifted, their feelings coursing through the fabric of the mind. The memories flashed, a lifetime of pain. A lifetime of resilience.

Fire. Smoke. The march of soldiers, the deaths of thousands. They flew by in an instant. A heart torn by shrapnel, lungs choked with ash.

The lunge of burning plasma. The kick of a savage boot. The crashing of bone and sinew into duracrete.

Rebuilt, Reshaped, Resilient. And returning every time.

First Moff Arjoran's eye opened for the first time since Abafar, suspended in bacta, covered in a spider web of nodes and tubes. As he looked around, he beheld his "body", though it was generous to deem it such, as he was merely half a torso, an arm, and a head suspended in bacta.

"A marvel it is, that i am still going." He thought to himself. "But I will not waste my chances."

The medical droid, noticing the awakened patient, rolled itself to the bacta tank, giving a cheery look and pressing the console in front of it.

"This unit is pleased to see you have made a full recovery, First Moff." The droid said.

"In accordance with your wishes, and as gratitude for your resilience and service, We have prepared an upgraded Cybernetics suite for you as you make your return. I am sure you are quite eager to resume your work, so I will not waste any more of your time." The droid eagerly began pressing several buttons on the console, which began detaching nodes and draining the tank.

As the tank raised and drained, the lid detached with a hiss as steam poured into the lab. Tubes unlatched with their own serpentine symphony to match. A mechanical arm lowered a bright-red optical implant and firmly set it into Arjoran's left eye socket, twisting it with a click. The optical implant shimmered before glowing bright red.

Another mechanical arm slid a durasteel jawplate into place, clamping it up into Arjoran's lower face. Another, larger arm lowered durasteel over his Bionic heart and lungs before clamping in the rest of his torso.

The machine then raised Arjoran from the tank, moving him over a pair of durasteel legs, dropping him on top. The connections on the cybernetics hissed as they clamped into place.

A final arm brought forth a cybernetic forearm, covered in various modules and systems. It seemed much more advanced than his previous systems. The modules lit up as the arm locked into place. As the machine offered the Moff his uniform, the medical droid approached.

"You will find that your new cybernetics will allow you a bit more...survivability if you find yourself in danger again. We have also given you more defensive countermeasures. The Optical implant has been modified to produce a laser, and you will find the Arm has tools for every situation, sir."

Arjoran put his hat on, fixed the collar on his uniform and straightened out his cape.

"Very Good." Arjoran's voiced rasped back, clearer, with less interference, yet somehow more dreadful than before.

"For the Empire!" The Medical Droid cheered.

"For the Empire." The moff replied, marching off with heavy metallic stomps.

First Officer Ista Tryp was an orderly man. His office aboard the Regent Flight reflected it. Orderly, clean, no frills, no excess.

In fact the only human touch was a shelf of hats and helmets he had collected over the past year.

The latest, some Captain named Visma's hat.

Visma didn't need it anymore.

Neither did the owners of the other hats and helmets.

The Hospital had been a fumble. An unforced error. She had never ordered it. And her followers would never have done it

Something was off. Azis could feel it. Perhaps the group was splintering, perhaps it was being goaded. Who were the Sons of Ambria? She would never have aligned with the Sons of Aboleth...

The holocamera came on, and she looked into it. She knew her face would be distorted in post.

"The People of Ambria speak! We seek to see an end to the monarchy, an end to the boots of oppression upon our neck. We seek a fair compact with the Empire, that respects our rights as people and citizens. There are more than 3 people on Ambria, and the empire needs to remember that!

We disown the actions of these so called "Sons of Ambria". We would never threaten innocent life. We seek change, we seek progress. We do not seek violence. If you are a member of this radical group, go crawling back to your friends in dark shadows, whoever they may be

Ambria must be free. Ambria shall be free. Ambria Rises!"

The camera cuts off and Azis got to work. She would keep pursuing peace. But this event had shaken her. Perhaps.. perhaps it was time to gain some insurance, in case Dragonheart and his jackbooted thugs decided to turn up the heat

It was a powerful ability, to stand out among others. Not only did it create for one an image recognisable at the smallest glimpse, but also, when needed, it allowed for the person to easily disappear when they discarded it, to be recognised by none. Aristobulus de Pahlmir was a very recognisable man, even among the colourful panoply of the moffs - very tall and with a jet-black beard, he struck an incredibly commanding and regal presence, even when dressed in the entirely unornamental uniform of an imperial official. Despite that, he very rarely appeared on holonet.

As such, without the imperial uniform, he was able to disappear among unknowing crowds.

For a man who had almost everything, and that which he did not was always easy to acquire, there were few things that brought any sort of excitement or joy to the Moff of the League. He did enjoy his work - standing at the helm of a machine that he himself had built and whose accuracy and perfect numbers could so easily be attributed to his own skill was nothing but pleasing to the man of Aristobulus' ego. But while the art of ruling was something he held dear, his passions lay somewhere else - in art itself. An avid collector and sponsor, he made sure that the institutions fostering the imperial artistic vanguard were well fed with credits, but more and more, it seemed as if the post-war revolution of form started to lose its tempo. It was obvious that the Empire played favourites, as much in politics as it did with students. Despite his strongest efforts, the works produced by art students were... repetetive, trying to fit the mold instituted by COMPNOR. But, there existed enclaves of seemingly independent creativity. One such was the Alderaan Academy of Fine Arts.

Dressed in a simple yet elegant suit and with dark sunglasses over his eyes, the Moff fit in the crowd of gathered onlookers almost perfectly - as some nameless aristocrat from the Core, coming to witness the creation of the students and possibly poach for talent. Were he to arrive on the planet in full regalia, he would have been immediately surrounded by endlessly prattling workers and led to the most "interesting" piece. One, naturally, perfectly fitting the directives of COMPNOR. And by the Holy Throne, he didn't want that. The Core was a safe place, Alderaan especially - he could safely go incognito.

The crowds rolled over the exposition grounds, some discussing with themselves, the others giving comments to the students, while the rest remained silent. The Moff clearly fell into the third category - he knew very few people with a true appreciation of art, and even if he had brought them here, they would likely not be able to disappear out of the spotlight. He would have to be his own company, as much as it pained him.

Today's leading motiff - landscapes.

He traversed the room, stopping piece by piece to at least try and appreciate the works displayed. Some of them were better than others, yet he somehow doubted any of the authors had the markings of greatness. When he stopped by one such painting - a skillful reproduction of work of an ancient alsakanian master, he couldn't help but utter under his nose.

"Pah! It's all wrong... Do they no longer teach about the Alsakanian Golden Ratio...?"

"...Sir?"

The voice which had brought him out of his deliberation belonged to a girl which he had somehow failed to notice standing beside the painting. Her large eyes, short stature and an uncertainty written on her face gave her a distinctly intimidated appearance.

"Can't you see? The proportions are all wrong. The cupola of the central building stands out too much, the colours used doesn't resemble the..."

"B...but sir, I made this painting."

"Oh. Then take those comments to heart. If you ever wish to emulate master Gra..."

"Sir, this is my painting. And I am Nabooian."

Strangely, there was a strange sort of pride in her voice, both in the first part and the last one of the sentence. Stranger still, it made the man fall silent adn contemplate. The lines were clear and, while the form was off, he could see the careful blend of colours the more he looked at it. Perhaps it was intentional?

Perhaps not all was lost?

In the weeks following the news of Moff Delaney's pretender's arrest, the Kuat of Kuat, of Kuat's KDY giant gas instructed the treasuries to be opened to Stabilize a Delaney which has been besieged by a vicious cycle of lost consumer confidence leading to the Banking Clan's recalling for substantial amounts of debts, while many of the largest buyers have either demanded immediate delivery of their purchases, or have torn up building contracts. Compounded with primary and secondary resource suppliers met by delays put forward by the security demands of First Moff Kuras, there has been little relief coming the way of Delaney.

Whilst Valuation has tumbled, following the events of the previous weeks, KDY has called upon their previous partial ownership into the company and dramatically increased their controlling percentage.

The Delaney Family has found itself unable to conduct business on their own, but have also overnight found themselves to be extremely wealthy.

More to come as the news develops.

General Baize of the Christophsis Republican Guard was in an unusual good mood as Colonel Avery Delannis, his second, entered. He was usually in a bad mood these past few years, getting worse with every year that the Empire stayed in power. Unusual as it was, it was nice to see.

"Today's reports, sir." Avery said as she placed her stack of datapads on his desk. He just nodded.

"Thank you, Colonel. Anything interesting?" He raised an eyebrow.

She shook her head in response. "Not really. Third Company is still behind on their drills."

He nodded again, remaining silent for a few moments. He broke the silence once he felt it had gone on long enough. "I had a visitor this morning. From COMPNOR." He spit the last word out like it tasted vile in his mouth.

That didn't sound like something to be happy about. "From COMPNOR, sir? What did they want?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "Nothing important. The usual demands that we fold ourselves into the Imperial Army's power structure."

"They sent someone in person this time?" Avery raised an eyebrow.

"Aye. A pup. A boy so young he probably wasn't even old enough to serve during the war, and yet here he was wearing an officer's badge and trying to give me orders." Baize laughed. "I told him to kriff off, of course."

Avery's eyes widened. She gasped in horror. "You didn't!"

Baize laughed again and waved her off. "Not exactly like that, no. I was polite, I promise. But I told him that the Republican Guard was here before the Galactic Republic, we were here after it fell, and we'll certainly still be here after this thousand-year-empire does as well. So we're fine without their generous offer of a merger, thank you."

"Sir... I'm not sure if they'll accept that kind of refusal. You know that people who say no to the Empire have a tendency to disappear..."

"Let them try!" Baize laughed again. "I'm halfway through my second century, Colonel. I'm old! You know this. I don't expect nor intend to make it through this decade. If the ISB wants to speed things along, so be it. I wouldn't mind." He smiled and leaned back.

"Sir. You're a war hero. A symbol. The people of Christophsis need you." Avery leaned in, placing both hands on the desk.

"No, Colonel, they don't." Baize got serious all of a sudden. "They need you. Promising young officers. Not old war dogs like me who are behind the times. I won't see the end of these dark times. I'm surprised I even lived long enough to see them in the first place!" He coughed out another laugh. "You're the one who has to live for the people, Colonel. And I don't envy you. But you're more than capable, I know that."

"Yes... yes, sir." Avery nodded.

"Good. Now, was there anything else?"

A recent tabloid article attacks Senator Maro Janrand and his friends for being so frivolous and losing large sums of money whilst gambling, the tabloid would later praise the Moffs for not imitating the carefree behavior of these Senators.

GALACTIC FINANCIAL TIMES BREAKING NEWS

After the brazen terrorist attack on the Gyndine Shipyards, Governor Anne-Laure Baobab of Manda has announced sweeping changes to ensure security throughout the region and to guarantee no further harm shall occur to Baobab personnel and assets throughout the sector.

The measures, to be enacted immediately, are as follows:

1) All vessels in the Mandanese Merchant Marine are hereby to be drafted into service. These forces will operate with imperial mandate within their assigned regions, in a manner similar to the REA's security forces. Drafted Merchant Marine vessels shall be rotated on and off duty to ensure no damage to merchant morale or economic capacity.

2) Any shipyards currently producing Baobab vessels, shall, in partnership with Rothana Security and Imperial forces, receive a garrison of Mandanese Merchant Marine vessels and forces, to better provide security to Baobab assets.

3) The Baobab Merchant fleet shall place an order for 1) Modified Lucrehulk Armed Superfreighter, 10 Chimera Class Netship Vessels, 20 Antares Class Carrack-Freighters, and 40 Syvris Class Armed Merchantmen. This fleet shall make up the standing core of the Mandanese Merchant Marine.

4) Ground Security is to be increased at all installations, in partnership with imperial forces and REA security forces

Furthermore, the Baobab family has promised full financial support to repair the damage to the Gyndine Yards, though damages are likely to take some time to repair.

More news on Imperial and Mandanese response to follow

Antares Class Carrack-Freighter

Syvris Class Armed Merchantman

All Ships (other than lucrehulk) pulled from The Sojourn

“My fellow nobles for too long have we let our past failures define us.

We have been all but forgotten in the short time of our exiles, rendered irrelevant by the civilization we once helped steward.

Perhaps some of us do not mind this degeneration,preferring to simply pass the time in mindless indulgence.

I do not want that for myself or my grandchildren.

We are citizens of the Galaxy; it is our duty to serve it.

Our ancestors colonized worlds, commanded armies, founded titans of the Galactic economy, ruled planets, cultivated the arts, and stewarded human civilization over countless generations. And though our negligence and circumstances have deprived us of our privileges, estates, and offices it has not deprived us of our sacred duty.

Those of us gathered today understand that duty and we answer its call.

We do not ask the empire to bend over backwards for us, we are asking to serve it as we once served the Republic.

The Empire has inherited a galaxy divided by disorder. Separatism, piracy, corruption, criminality, and weakness have threatened the peace of countless sectors. His Majesty has given the galaxy a new order, and it is our responsibility to serve that order.

The Society of Imperialist Nobles therefore declares the highest duty of an aristocrat is service.

Our sons and daughters shall enter into the Empire’s service, we shall honor those who serve in the Empire’s defense, invest our wealth into the Empire’s future, and provide the government with our expertise. When the calls upon the people of the Galaxy we will be the first to answer.

Some of our fellow exiles may ask us why we pledge ourselves to the Empire, an Empire that has discarded us. The answer is simple duty is in our blood.

Let Eliad cease to be known merely as a world of exiles and become instead a demonstration of what the aristocracy can accomplish under the Empire. We can rebuild our estates as centers of industry, culture, and science. Establish schools that produce Imperial officers and administrators. Construct forges and mines capable of supplying the military that defends our civilization.

Most importantly we can raise our children and grandchildren not to mourn what we have lost, but to consider what they can build.

Many critics will say we want to regain what we lost and they are correct.

We do seek restoration, but restoration will not come without us redeeming ourselves through achievement, service, and duty.

If we want our titles back then let us show that the titles have weight, if we want our estates back then let us show our stewardship brings prosperity, if we want influence then let us show that influence serves the empire.

Therefore today we establish the Society of Imperialist Nobles.

We offer our loyalty without reservation

We offer our wealth without hesitation

We offer our abilities without complaint

And we offer our children as the heroes of tomorrow

We shall regain what we have lost through service to the empire..

Long live the Empire!!!

Long live the Emperor!!!

And may the exiles of Eliad regain our place in the galaxy.”

The cold hum of the air conditioner. The orange light of the system's primary star against a light blue backdrop. The bridge felt like a pillbox in the morning.

"-The Ishanna system garrison either surrendered or perished in the struggle. Of the mentioned ARC fighter squadron, we permitted one to escape the combat zone in emulation of pirate eccentricities in allowing one man to live to 'spread the word'."

'Blood Spirit' was in the process of giving a verbal report to the Ex-Admiral regarding the recent raids on the Circarpous Sector's industrial infrastructure. Naturally to be followed by a detailed written report to the Former Admiral, when the Commander organized his notes, anyways.

"-One Gozanti-class Cruiser was captured in the skirmish. Due to the strike team's difficulties, the decision was made to subject the mines and surrounding defensive installations to select tactical bombardment. While this will not hinder Imperial resource extraction to the degree that the recommended cave-in would have in the long term, it will still have a measurable short-term impact. Material captured includes several REA infantry kits, and a LAAT/le light gunship. Additionally we have recovered stores of Duranium Ore, which are currently being stored at the Rally Point 554544 depot, alongside the LAAT/le."

"I'm reading something about a..."

Kalpa put down his holopad, and waved his left hand in a circle, pretending to be searching for the right word.

"...gas attack."

"The GLA engaged in 'Fumigation' following the tactical bombardment."

Admiral Somtaaw nodded, almost unbothered by what would be a war crime... if the Anaxes Accords hadn't been suspended by the Republic - now the Empire.
The Ex-Admiral's thoughts briefly dwelled on subject of how euphemisms such as the one 'Blood Spirit' used emotionally detaches people from atrocities, but voicing a thought such as this, given Kalpa's own deeds during the Clone Wars, would be a textbook case of the pot calling the kettle black. The Admiral leaned forward, ready to resume the recounting, cup of caf in hand.

"The GLA was provided the Gozanti in preparation for the primary target. The infantry kits have been parceled out since, hence why I will not include them in my follow-up written report."

Kalpa looked back at his holopad, reading the report from Kaesoron's frigate.
The Neo-Separatists' Electronic Warfare Frigates, which lurked around Rothana for the duration of the raid to lent weight to the threat of an attack on its shipyards, which the small coalition had used to make their feint.
Kalpa turned his eyes back up the table and over to 'Blood Spirit'.

"The Kerev Doi garrison consisted of two squadrons of TIE/ln fighters, two Imperial Customs Corvettes, and five gozanti-class cruisers on patrol. One Proclamator-class Cruiser was moored at the waypoint station. The Kerev Doi garrison, similar to the Rabaan garrison, was slow to act. Thus the decision was made to suppress the Proclamator and defensive station with the bomber squadron, while the rest of the task force turned to face the patrol forces. Though we received light losses, the patrols were routed before we coordinated a strike on the Proclamator with the MLF.
The Proclamator and a Customs Corvette were disabled in the battle. The Customs Corvette, and a small number of Gozantis were retrieved without issues, however, in order to board the Cruiser and Stations, we pressed several platoons of B-1 Droids into boarding roles."

"Knowing you, and seeing how much larger this garrison was, I'm guessing, that this time you offered them a chance to surrender only after you blew up half of them."

"Correct."

"And if they refused..."

"..."

The Ex-Admiral closed his eyes, envisioning the state of the battle, setting every piece in play gently down upon a three-dimensional board...

"The tractor beams."

'Blood Spirit' neglected to respond, instead opting to continue recounting the events of the raid.

"As the crew appears to have sealed themselves inside, the boarding teams were sent into the Heavy Cruiser's bridge, to gain control over the hyperdrive and navicomputer. The vessel was subsequently moved to a safe location to safely complete the boarding procedure.
The waypoint's crew was split on whether to fight or surrender, sparking a conflict amongst the station's crew. The station's marine garrison was defeated, and the station was looted."

Kalpa looked out of the window. Those vessels that were captured in the raids and had returned with the AALIYAH joined the CIS Apocalypse in the Indra nebula, and were in the process of receiving new liveries, new crews, and fresh repairs.
The Admiral nodded.

"So. I know we ought to expect higher losses from the primary target, but what went wrong at Gyndine that lost us thirty fighters?"

"Simply put, we're going to have to increase the quality of our pilot training.
The Gyndine operation saw the success it did see because of the GLA's efforts. While the initial strike was successful, with the garrison's Venator-class Star Destroyers being unable to leverage their large hangar capacities, and the disabling of a Vindicator-class Heavy Cruiser's engines, we lost momentum when the garrison commander was able to position one of the other three Heavy Cruisers present to protect the shipyard from our bombers, giving the Imperials enough time to launch TIEs. Distracted by our Strike Force, the Imperials failed to notice as the GLA planted charges to demolish the yards, and captured several Customs corvettes, Gozanti-class vessels, and a Chimera Class Netship moored at the yards. At this point, the retreat order was given..."

"And because Imperial training and pilot recruitment places a greater emphasis reaction times and speed, it produces better dogfighters..."

'Blood Spirit' nodded. The Admiral looked at the holopad. Gyndine was a far more populated world than the others, and news of the Gyndine raid, on account of the giant fireball created during the GLA's 'pro gamer move', was publicly known earlier and more widespread.

Imperial propaganda feeds, naturally, emphasized the successful defense. The fighters that had been claimed by their pilots - sacrificed in the escape.
The tactical acumen and skill of the garrison commander.
It wasn't wrong per se, but we were this close to greatness.

Thanks to Captain Kaesoron, Kalpa had heard what was on the internal channels.
And it painted a picture that, for the Imps, was grimmer. The shipyards' bombing, and the GLA's subsequent decision to kamikaze the Netship the shipyard had knocked out half the shipyard's operational capacity, vaporizing a small fleet of merchant vessels and escort ships - including one of the Baobab family's gargantuan Midas-class of Star Galleon.
It was not the kind of victory that swung so far into the territory of 'overwhelming' that it was almost eerie, but would make you a hero of the clone wars, but the Imperials had lost noticeably more men and material over the course of this small campaign, and not only did both deployed Starbolts make it back, but the battered and bruised Acclamator did as well.

.

The Admiral leans back into his command chair, and sets down his caf.

"Jhyar, I'm busting you back down to Lieutenant Commander."

'Blood Spirit' puts down his notepad, and looks up at Kalpa, awaiting the reason.

"You have carrier command qualifications...
but we both know that you're a devil beyond a joystick.
Runs in your nerves. Burns in your blood.
So, in the hopes of you imparting some of your edge onto a new generation...
And being a bit more merciful to your pilots again..."

"You will be the CIS Apocalypse's CAG."

(TLDR for those who don't want to read the glorious memefest that is the operation chat. Plz forgive spelling and grammar mistakes cuz it's 6:41 am, and I am hammered rn.
Special thanks to Ros for gming the op.)

The cigar smoke gathered in thick clouds at the ceiling, giving the room a strange, almost oneiric appearance. Although the chamber itself was large, having once seved as one of the previous throne rooms of the Palace of Pahlmir, every meeting of the General Bureau of Media Management was a stressful one. As such, everyone smoked - if not out of habit, then simply not to appear left out. They had to indulge while they could - the Moff would chastise them for doing so in his presence. But the Moff wasn't there. At least not yet, and not in his corporeal form.

The clock was ticking.

The smoke was rising.

When the table's central holopod lit up, a strange sort of relief washed over the gathered magnates, even though the conclusion of the meeting on the other half of the League had barely concluded. Such was their confidence in their Moff - or, for that matter, in Tagge's boundless ambition. It was a potent mixture. Despite that, the words of the barely visible man, whose figure seemed to dance in the smoke, came to their ears like honey.

"Tagge is in."

If in the previous moments the atmosphere was as thick as tar, the now a thunderbolt had struck the room and burned it all away. At once, the officials of all species moved in their droves, the electrified crowd dispersing to ships or to private communication chambers to relay the information to their bosses. Tagge is in - they needed nothing more. ULIG, already powerful, reinforced by the quintillions of credits of the Tagge Corporation... for a promise of mining opportunities and a clean slate. For that price, they were all willing to forget the clan's controversial standing with the Separatists.

And, jut as if struck with the same thunderbolt and spurned into action, the evening news on all the planets of the League relayed the same message.

"The Tagge Corporation has just announced a sweeping deal with the Galactic Empire, pertaining to the extraction of resources, ncluding rare earth minerals from the world of Xa Fel and Goluud Minor. Furthermore, the Corporation has pledged to join the United League Industrial Group in two weeks since the signing of the agreement. More on what to expect from the deal and the effects it might have on the Galactic Market from our consultant on Ruan..."

So much was happening in the last few weeks that there was little time to talk about politics in the hells of power and noble salons. And even less time to talk about impostor moffs.

Holonet News, Coruscant.

First Moff Kuras spoke briefly to the news outlets while on the exit from Coruscant for assignment. For a few days, the First Moff had been rarely seen outside of the Senate Ground as he was reported to have been in deep consultants with various Moffs who are noted to be powerplayers in the chambers.

Speaking to the outlets, First Moff Kuras offered the following statement.

"It is a terrible thing that we have seen these last few days. It is terrible to have seen one of the brightest sons of the Core be treated this way, dragged through the mud even as his family mourns his death, which was by all accounts a heroic stand on distant Abafar. I may well have been one of the last people to see Moff Delaney alive during our operation to resolve an infestation which had plague the world for centuries, and Moff Delaney was settled in his mind and spirit, eager to face the dangers to the Empire and do so with bravado and a mind of duty."

"Whilst First Moff Chonaire had engaged the hostile actor in a controlled setting, we had already engaged in an operation to ascertain the nature of this infiltrator in parallel. It must be said with some respect how quickly the ISB responded to apparent danger. It must be said with genuine praise those fellow Moffs who quickly followed my lead an formed a unified front to fence off any potential significant danger which this actor could have brought upon with their authority."

"The details of the discussion I had with the actor cannot be revealed as it touched on state secrets, however the reports are true. I had a hand in having the actor reveal their duplicity."

"When I have had a chance to speak with the Director of ISB and the Emperor, I will understand better what it is I can inform the public of what has come to pass, however there is message that I can pass on, and the events of the past have shown this."

"The Chamber of Moffs are often seen and depicted as some sort of boogeyman figure. That depiction could not be further from the truth. The Moffs are at the forefront of operations against the enemies within and out. The Moffs are at the background of negotiations which bring stability, safety and sense to a galaxy that threatens to spill into the Empire chaos and disorder. The Moffs, alongside the brave men and women who serve on the frontlines, bleed the same, cry the same, and die the same."

"This is all I have to say for now, as there is still work to be done and those of use who remain carry the expectations and dreams of those who can no longer do so in life. Long Live the Empire."

One of the greatest strengths of the Core is how diverse it was. While inhabited mostly by humans, it was home to all possible forms of government, every possible societal outlook and every possible sense of learning and beauty. It was a garden of maany trees and countless flowers, yet just like a garden, if left without a guiding hand, the plants there would go wild. The larger ones would steal light from the smaller ones, and then compete among themselves for what little nutrients remained in the soil. Most would die for nothing, for no reason rather than the negligence of the gardener. Aristobulus of Pahlmir was many things, but negligent he was not.

The Tagges of Tepassi were an ancient family which could claim unbroken descent from the earliest founders of the Galactic Republic. They were an ever enterpreneurial line, carving out their small barony within the Galactic Core which still persisted as a member state of the League, as well as - roughly 200 years ago, the Tagge Corporation, which they swiftly turned into one of the galaxy's largest. There were, obviously other things about them that a cautious observer would note, such as the ancient bath complex still nestled somewhere within the urban depths of Coruscant, but two of them transpired above all - their boundless ambition and their eye for opportunity. And although often grasping too far, their efforts rarely resulted in failure.

Yet they remained eccentric.

They shunned that which they deemed inefficient, with no taste for fineries or luxury. Stranger still, they indulged in labour - often playing an active part in the creation of their numerous technologies. No one exemplified that strangeness, ambition and opportunism more than their current baron - the prodigy, Orman Tagge. A brilliant engineer himself, it was said that he had a contact in every court and eyes on every piece of legislature... which was ironic to say the least, given his tragic loss of vision in some unknown accident. By the age of no more than twenty, he had overseen the creation of the Corporate Sector Authority, somehow convincing the Emperor to hand him and his friends the control of over thirty thousand worlds in the Outer Rim. Such man was no longer an asset - he was a player. And his likes desired nothing more but to be seated at the table.

When the two men sat at the table, the Ruanian Moff did his best to avoid looking beyond the Baron's strangely shaped glasses, which hid the charred remains of his eye sockets. On Ruan, such a tragic deformity would have made him ineligible to inherit anything but the clothes on his back, he couldn't help but consider him something of a kindred spirit in the matter of business. Perhaps without the dignitas so often associated with the Core, but with his undeniable "self". Naturally, as customary with meetings of such importance, no wine was served, to keep the minds of the guests clear for the ensuing negotiations. Cold water would have to make do - sharp and clear like the lines of the Tagge office.

"Moff de Pahlmir."

"Baron de Tagge, it is a pleasure to meet you, as always."

"Likewise."

The Moff thought for a moment. It was difficult to learn from the expression of a man whose eyes were destroyed. Eyes were the key to the soul, and within them hid the subject's deepest desires. Decades in the business have taught him to judge the mettle of a man from his eyes. He would have to make do with what he had now.

"The prosperity of the Tagge Corporation has brought a great deal of joy to the League, Your Highness. I must inform you that the Emperor is greatly pleased."

At the sound of his sovereign's mention, the young aristocrat became somewhat more lively - as was to be expected, given his connections.

"We of the Tagge aim to please His Majesty. He will find few more loyal and better suited."

"Of that I am sure, Baron. Since the inceptioon of the Republic, the house of Tagge has served faithfully, loyally and competently. Under your tutelage, there is no doubt this state will continue."

In response to that, the Baron simply smirked, before offering a curt response.

"We're here on business, are we not? What does the Core want?"

"Participation in a project of the League. Since the fall of the Delaneys, a place within the ULIG has freed up. Tell me, Baron, does Tagge still participate in minig operations?"

The Baron leaned forward, listening. That was all the hints Pahlmir could ever need.

(^ See above for the first half of this storyline)

After First Moff Chonaire's stint working as a member of Rothana's shipyard staff, she was cleaned up and brought to a stage overlooking a massive vessel.

She was flanked by twin banners depicting "Ros the Riveter", the freshly completed industrial campaign posters highlighting her working spirit, as well as the spirit of Rothana and the district as a whole. The vessel she overlooked, which she had quite literally helped to build, was to be her new flagship.

------------------

The vessel, named Palmyrene, was based off of the Republic era Maelstrom design, but scaled up for the imperial age. Equipped with 40 Quad Assault Concussion Missile Launchers and a veritable swarm of fighters, the vessel would serve as the beating heart of District IV's fleets. She spanned a vast length, and was as capable of launching a planetary siege as she was commanding a sector fleet operation.

-----------------------

Ros ascended the stage, the view specifically arranged by Voice of the Rim to frame her directly above the Palmyrene, with both her and the vessel in frame. After the imperial anthem swelled to its conclusion, she began her speech.

"People of Rothana, people of District IV. I stand before you today humbled. Though I may be taking command of one of the finest vessels the Galaxy has ever seen, a ship crafted by my friends and countrymen on this planet, I am nothing but grateful and in awe of what the average imperial citizen can create. Without the men and women i spent the last few weeks working with on this vessel, without the men and women of Manda, Rothana, Naboo, Pantora, and of this district at large, a feat like the Palmyrene would never have been possible.

The empire has faced challenges of late. I have faced them, as have many of the men and women under my command. Mon Cala, Zygerria, and more. Forces that sought to divide us, to shred this tapestry we have so carefully weaved together. These attacks by seperatist sympathizers and slavers upon our way of life can not be left to stand uncontested. The foundation of the empire must be maintaned, its people must be protected.

There have been fears, whispers spread by dissidents and ne'er-do-wells that the Moff Council, and myself in particular are not up to the task of this defense. That we are divided, bickering, and incapable. I would like to set these fears aside.

As she spoke, the lights aboard the Palmyrene began to cinematically turn on, a new block with each talking point

The liberation of Mon Cala serves as an excellent example to dissuade the fears of the people of this District as to the effectiveness of its leadership. Many of you, of course, know of my role in that battle, leading the forces of the Empire to victory over the seperatist elements that wished to enslave the populace of Mon Cala. Aside from myself, Moff Wynn, my 2nd in command, was there as well. She risked life and limb leading troops in the roughest part of the fighting, on the streets of Dac City itself. Moff Parnelli also sent his own forces to aid in the defense of Mon Cala's people against the separatist threat.

Time and again, District IV's leadership has gone above and beyond in moments of crisis. Both issues of succession on Naboo. Zygerria. Mon Cala. The list goes on. At each of these flashpoints, District IV has lead the way. Its Moffs have come together to protect this district, and the empire as a whole. We have marched to aid our fellow Moffs when the needs arose within their borders. And I expect the exemplary leadership of our Moffs to continue to do so going forward, providing an example the entire council may look upon with pride.

As to the specifics of my behaviour during the period that has drawn the ire of the tabloids within the Core, I wish to again set the record straight so that all may know that I am here for each and every citizen of this district. Now that the investigation has proceeded to a somewhat conclusive place, I can break my silence on the matter. Reports of an altercation are true, but with good merit. No "Bar room brawl" as the press attempted to describe it, occurred.

Instead, what happened within the chambers of power was a grim necessity. During an exercise in District III, Moff Delaney unfortunately passed away. The loss was tragic, and its ripples will be felt for some time going forward. Moff Wynn and myself were part of the team that recovered Moff Delaney's remains from the field.

As such, when an imposter attempted to enter the midst of the Moff Council claiming to be Moff Delaney, I had to act, out of respect for his memory. After alerting the Imperial Security Bureau of the breach and handing over key evidence supplied by myself and Moff Wynn, I was confronted by the imposter and defended myself before placing him under arrest.

While it is unfortunate that such a breach occurred within the ranks of District I, Under the leadership of First Moff Kuras the core rallied to cauterize the wound with impressive solidarity. District IV stands by their actions, and have followed suit, seizing and securing any assets that may have been breached by the imposter to protect our populace.

Now that the truth of the affair on Coruscant lays bare for the population of District IV to understand, I hope that we can all move forward, together. The vessel before me, the Palmyrene, stands as a testament to all of us. It shall sail forth and protect each citizen of our district from any threats the empire may face. And it is not a testament to the greatness of myself, or of the Moffs of the district. It stands as a monument to its people. To the hands that constructed it, the hands that shall crew it, and the hearts of those it watches over.

As Ros' speech wraps up, the camera angle flew up from her podium to capture the Palmyrene in its full splendor. Upon the First Moff's final words, the engines of the great vessel roared to life, and the new Flagship of District IV was born.

As the broadcast of Moff Chonaire's speech wrapped, Lt. Adeyla quickly queued up the next block of programming for Voice of the Rim. Each news beat was key in these trying times, with so much negativity pouring from the senate and the Core.

First was a quick rebroadcast of the anti-commission senators speech outside of the Senate dome. That had been playing well, and was easy to holobyte. Next was a followup on Senator Awmetths corruption charges, and an expansion of that investigation to Senator Ech'zell.

More details on the Palmyrene, in the style of the ancient Modern Marvels series, were aired next. Talking about the vessels production, and non-classified specifications, complete with fancy holomodels and hangar walk throughs.

On a rather dull note, the crop reports from Ukio as well as the Mining Reports from Shola were both released. Both planets productions were trending upward, which was a good sign for the overal economic productivity of the district. This content filled out Voice of the Rim's business hour for the day.

Finally, a special report on the upcoming opening of the Mon Cala memorial was released. Special attention was given to Moff Wynn's bravery during the battle, and the combat patterns of the forces she led on the ground. The Memorial was to be opened within the next few days, with First Moff Chonaire and Governor Baobab in attendance.

After the discussion of the memorial, a trailer played featuring scholastic-utopian music produced in one of the best band-halls on Bith. The trailer detailed Dr. Aphra's upcoming expedition to Roon, with flashy graphics, educational quotes, and far more action depicted than the actual event ideally would have

With that, Lt. Adeyla wrapped the day's content package. The news was safely guided away from the negativity of the tabloids, and served to properly highlight the glories of the Rim for which he and his station spoke.

OFFICIAL ORDERS

HIGHLY CLASSIFIED

YOUR EYES ONLY

"Base Commander" CT-8142

• Commence prospecting five(5) tactically maximally defensible locations with appropriate ratio of distance between said locations on Daluuj.

• Establish a staging ground for construction materials in orbit to complete three(3) construction projects.

• Draw up expansion plans for the orbital medical facility over Daluuj to account for tens of thousands of beds.

• Draw up plans for an orbital shipyard for refit/repair to accommodate ten(10) standard Imperial fleets.

• Draw up plans for fortifications, living facilities, bunkers, etc. for each of the five(5) established defensible locations. Each location will be outfitted to the discretion of the Base Commander.

• Identify Special Training Regions and mark them out for separation from the planetary gamefield.

• Establish C&C of Daluuj hyperspace beacons for traffic control.

This is to be commenced immediately without delay.

By order of Imperial Moff Amalia Wynn.

"Fuck you Kuras." Val Delaney spat. "You'll burn one day, Kuras. And I just hope that if I can't see it, one of my brothers will."

Kuras watched the ISB start to take Val Delaney away, but he said to him anyway. "I know I will, Val. This is what the Empire demands of me. And I give it freely."

When Val was gone down the corridor, he took back from Katrin the glass and threw it in the trash.

"There was no test. There was no radiation damage to our DNA from Abafar."

-

Though it has largely escaped public notice, it appears that relations between the world of Rendili and Delaney Industries have been strained considerably since the ancient Corporation's entry, following the instatement of Moff Delaney as regionary governor.

Though observers believe that the expulsion and repossession notice - which covers all property loaned to Moff Delaney and Delaney Industries, including any assets which have been subcontracted to other corporations by the Moff - was given some time prior, in the context of a currently unconfirmed dispute which many suspect to be in regards to the handling of worker unions, the scandal which now embroils Valentin Delaney has most certainly not boosted confidence...

The sun of Abafar burned in the sky, casting radiant rays of flame which reflected off what had, just two weeks ago, been the featureless surface of an endless and flat desert.
Now, as far as the eye could see, in every cardinal direction, stood smoldering craters and beastly bodies.

The Moffs had made a mess of things, and now, in the middle of carnage, stood what was once their base of operations. Its smoldering ruins were a prime monument to the efficiency and capacity for discretion that the Empire's secular half possessed.
The smell of steel and blood hung in the air, thick enough that one could cut it with a plasma torch.

The guide laughs. With a twist of a parasol, and with a skip in a step, the guide sped into the ruined camp, before coming to a screeching halt. Not because the guide was horrified by the sight, but because the Leech was here.

The guide frowns while Leech's hands reach down to the ground, towards the top-left sector of a trooper's torso. Squelching and squishing, the hand reached into the trooper's bifurcated head before squirming for half a second. The Leech pulls its hand out of the trooper's brain.

Slowly, disgustingly, the Leech's hand pulled up and up, before coming to a stop in front of its mouth. The Leech's prison of a mouth - which was marked at the corners not by canines, but fangs - opens, revealing a long, knife-like tongue.
From bottom to top, the Leech licks the thick brew of blood and cerebral fluid on its fingers.

The guide scoffs.
What an unelegant way to claim the memories of the dead. The guide was marked by a slight hint of jealousy, having witnessed a demonstration of another sect's technique.

The leech wiped their hand with a bloodied white cloth, upon which was embroidered the visage of a wilting bush, crowned by a swarm of blooming black roses.

The Leech's red eyes did not glow here, in the sun, as they did in the darkened halls they usually encountered one another.
The guide was nearly surprised that the tall, gaunt Leech did not turn to dust in the sunlight, but a prophet can dream.

"Can always see, but never there, will you be."

"You devour rotten corpses."

"I have located that which is to be the subject of my next project.
I do not care enough to deal with you."

The Leech turns to exit the camp, dismissing the Guide with a wave of its arm.
The Guide could not help but turn around as well.
With the speed of a rocket, the guide's arm soared halfway up, their left index finger outstretched and pointing dead-center at the Leech's back.

Sneering, the Guide - who somewhat shared the Leech's sentiment - decided not to attack, and slowly lowers their arm. The Guide knows not only where their own quarry is, but that they could take all the time in the world...
Before the Imperial Biological Warfare Division arrived, anyways.

.

The next few hours went by slowly. Even the occasional encounter with the Leech, while it dug up the corpses of some of those Lizards that one of the Moffs had dropped on the planet for some unknown purpose, went without event as the two simply elected to ignore each other.

After a brief encounter with Vince - who, to the mild amusement of the Guide, was playing catch with his two dogs with both human and mystery bones, the Guide returned to the base...

.

Recovered from a crash site, before being dragged to the base, (and then abandoned as, when danger reared, the Moffs bravely turned tail and fled) was a set of ruined purple armor.
Even in death, the Guide could feel the pervasive and arrogant narcissism that emanates from the ornate armor. Almost certainly this trait was inherited from its late owner.

Regardless, it was this armor, that the Guide had come for.
Not out of interest in the shenaniganry that surrounded its owner, but for the material from which it was made...

"Hello my friends, welcome back to the show where we tell you the truth and nothing but the Truth. I am Doctor Chomar Vyn Hazali. And I am positioned uniquely to tell you the truth, as the claws of the Empire, cannot reach me, unlike the other news Media who live in Fear of the Empire, I am already hunted so no matter what I say, they cannot take my life more."

He pauses as the Logo fills the screen.

“The Empire moves with the subtlety of a moon, and the restraint of an undisciplined child. We see in the skies the move to destroy the Moff Delaney, with his arrest and the seizure of his family’s companies. A Moff. The oh so necessary paragons of the Empire facing arrest. My friends, my viewers, the moisture I shed for the man and family is spit, not tears. The monster’s crimes are numerous and his reputation barbaric. But consider, this man was appointed by the despotic and illegitimate Empire Sheev Palpatine.

For such a man to be in power, he, the Emperor, signed off on his promotion. Therefore we know that whatever Moff Delaney was doing, it was either sanctioned by the Emperor or the emperor has poor judgement in regards to his choices in lackees. More to come as we dig into the truth of this continued story.