Star Wars Episode VII:
Empire Rising
Twenty years after the end of the War between the Empire and the Republic in the Battle of Bakura, the Galaxy is healing from the weight of the chaos the rise of the Empire and the Civil War left it. The new and still-fragile New Republic, under Chief of State Leia Organa-Solo is rebuilding its legitimacy in fringe systems and re-establishing democracy in a Galaxy that hasn't known it in a generation.
The New Jedi Order, under Grand Master Luke Skywalker, is reviving the ancient order of the Jedi Knights, but the task is a grave one. With the loss of so much lore, the New Order is a creation of its own right and its own times, and its very differences add to the challenges the Grand Master and his Order face.
Yet the end of the war hasn't ended all strife. On the far fringes of space, old enemies gather, and a Galaxy still healing its wounds from one war shall soon burst into the fires and sorrows of war again.
Prologue:
It was an old ship that moved over its smaller kin here in the wilder reaches of space. The ship was scarred, too. So too the man who stood on its bridge watching the fleet with pride and confidence. The ship's scars reflected the heroic efforts of its crew to salvage it and bring it through five years of bitter fighting with the Rebellion and their arrogant New Republic. Five years. Five long, bitter years of terrifying battles and the deaths and surrenders of Grand Admirals and Moffs.
Only one of them left now, to command the remnants of the Empire, those who believed in the ideals of a monarchy. Grand Admiral and Regent both, his scars, unlike the ship were concealed in a towering suit of armor. He still remembered the day he'd found it. And where. Moraband/Korriban, an ancient Dark Side world. Rumor had it that it was the homeworld of the fearsome Sith sect, and it had been a very strange place. Marooned there after his shuttle was shot down by a lucky shot, he'd found it at a tomb in what he learned later was called the Valley of the Dark Lords.
He had no clue, really, what function it had served for those ancient and vengeful Emperors beyond the point of history, the legends of terror and fire. All he knew for him was that within it he was four feet taller and built with a bulk that made him either a very large monster or a very small tank, depending on how one categorized it. The armor was silent, too. In it he felt the peacefulness and serenity of rage and destruction, his stuttering voice and voice box enhanced to a voice that could and did hold his troops and everything with them spellbound.
He turned, looking down in his armor at the wizened figure next to him. He didn't know the true name of this figure, or the nature of how he'd existed and seemed to endure the Jedi Purge. The figure would have been a massive man, once, but he'd aged seemingly unnaturally, his cheekbones hollow and angular, his hair and beard slightly belying this by being white but thick. An eyepatch concealed what looked like severe and rugged scars.
Too, the impression of fragility was belied by the blend of deliberateness and speed and tension in his movements. He called himself Setvar Alghul, the only name he'd been given. Yet he'd built himself a lightsaber and the Grand Admiral had seen what his compatriot could do with it. Seen him tear apart Stormtroopers and Deathtroopers, moving in a blurring speed and commanding the Force in a way that made him literally awed.
He had hewn them apart and come to the towering figure who easily outmatched him in height, mass, and (as the Grand Admiral remembered with the speed with which he'd dodged the lightsaber strike) and speed. And there, at last, some strange trance broke and the two had built a very fruitful partnership. It was with a smile of friendship with a sardonic and almost cryptic aspect that he'd heard the Force user say:
"Grand Admiral Ahriman."
"Setvar," the two of them exchanging friendly bows.
"A grand fleet, old friend." The body looked cadaverous and old, yes. The voice echoed with an almost supernatural depth to it and was a powerful one, one that indicated the raw majesty of the Force that seemed almost tangible.
Ahriman straightened, banging his clenched fists in the armor together. "So few of us left in the end." He sighed.
"But we will have vengeance."
Setvar Alghul smiled. His sonorous voice echoed "On all who hurt us." There was a slight emphasis on all and his eyes flared yellow for a moment but the flare vanished.
The holo-form of one of the Moffs appeared.
"Grand Admiral, the Council is ready."
The mechanized form bowed again with that immense form's silence and almost unnatural-seeming speed and grace.
"Come, Setvar, let us go to meet them. It's time old friend. Between the two of us, the Galaxy shall burn and we shall restore the Empire over the thrashing corpse of the Republic."
As the two strode, Setvar for a moment, imperceptible by any except perhaps a droid mouthed the phrase: "Through victory my chains are broken. The Force shall set me free."
It was a very unlucky day for Ye'thras'vakan. The Chiss had taken up with a fleet of pirates and smugglers, and they'd been ambushed by a New Jedi Order patrol that was itself searching for a renegade Darksider tied to a cult that strove to emulate the dead Darth Vader. They'd been required to ditch a lot of their cargo and now here they were in Wild Space.
"Do you have any idea where we are right now?" It was all he could do to not grit his teeth and roll his eyes. The injured former Stormtrooper who captained their crew had taken a direct hit from a Darksider's random blasts of lightning. Parts of him were burned and he gritted his teeth in pain.
"No captain, no idea."
It was in the midst of the argument that followed that another of the crew, a Rodian, started saying "Fellas, fellas, you might want to take a look at this." It was when they realized the ship had gone unnaturally dark that they did.
"Force preserve us," Arik Sejanus whispered in awe. "An Executor-class. I didn't believe there were any of them left."
Then they were buzzed by four TIE fighters and a shuttle.
"Smuggler ship, stand to and permit boarding."
"Well fellas, not like we have a choice."
In fear, the crew did permit the Executor-class ship to draw their ship and the TIE fighters in a tractor beam. Afterward, as they all stepped out in amazement, staring at what seemed a museum piece of the old Empire, the Stormtrooper's eyes widened. He was looking at an old-style relic, one of the Emperor's Guards.
"I didn't think any of you were still living."
The guard sighed. "We are very few. Wait here, Trooper VKH1138. The Grand Admiral has questions for you."
His eyes widened. Then, Arik Sejanus, former Stormtrooper and commander of an entire battalion of the Emperor's own 501st, one of the very few survivors of the Second Death Star, dropped to his knees in shock on first seeing the appearance of a conclave of Admirals, Moffs, a bizarre-seemingly elderly man with long flowing white hair and a sorcerer's beard and a hood. But above them all a massive suit of armor that seemed more droid than man, until he heard the voice speak:
"VKH1138?"
"Grand Admiral Ahriman," he whispered in shock.
Then the armor seemed to tilt forward, the helmet and shoulders raising up with a whiff of strange-scented smoke and from its chest a ramp extended forward. Out of it stepped a heavily scarred man, bald, half of his face metal. Half his face, one of his legs, one of his arms and the other beneath the elbow. It could be none other.
"VKH1138, my old friend." Then the Grand Admiral embraced him, something that left the rest of the Council uneasy, save the imperturbable expression of the elderly man.
"You are the only other of the Lost Ones I have found." His voice was strange, half of it breathy, half of it with the sonorous speaking apparatus that left more than a hint of Darth Vader to it.
He was then horrified but not surprised when the Grand Admiral turned to the Council. Expecting that the passage of time had deranged the Grand Admiral, he was unprepared for the next order.
"No detection of our presence until I will it." The salt and pepper-haired Stormtrooper then backed away when of the council it was the elderly man who strode forward, a snap-hiss following with a red glowing blade of plasma forming. Then he seemed to blur and inside two minutes, the entire crew he'd soldiered and lived with for years was dead to the last man, the cadaver-thin figure rising from the corpse of the Chiss with a satisfied grin.
"Welcome back to the Empire, Battalion Commander." The Grand Admiral's mechanized hand on his shoulder felt strange. How informal.
Then the next phrase made him both eager and terrified at the same time.
"My Council and I are agreed. The time is ripe. The New Republic is starting a new election to determine if Princess Leia shall retain her seat of power or not. They are divided now more than ever before."
Striding back into his armor, into the ramp, and then as it closed and the shoulder and helmet-like parts of the armor did likewise, the voice returned to the deep power that had originally spoken.
"Democracy is an ideology of weakness and division. And when we cast down the last stone of the last Senate chamber on the last politician, I, the Regent, shall establish with an iron fist a new order."
He laughed, a sound that was impressive for how instead of terrifying him, Arik found himself saluting.
"I want to hear about your journey, VKH1138."
The armored being's voice rumbled with an almost amused aspect.
"And afterward, we shall begin to move into Republic face. Let us fall upon them as a spearhead from the stars, and we shall have vengeance."
The Council saluted. War was coming.