Prelude
NSD Invicta
“I don’t see why they took a whole ISD for a little meeting”
“It’s about a show of force. Whacking the proverbial onto the table, as it were. We must not deny our leaders to play with the arts politick.”
Two titans walked down the spinal walkway of the Invicta. One was small, old eyes trapped in a young face, whilst the other loomed over everything, eyes permanently down his nose. The Quaestors of Arcona, normally so at odds, working together, talking civilly.
“Well, while the cats are away, the mice may as well get some work done. War games will do the Clan well, Entar.” Valtiere didn’t look down to the diminutive Quaestor. He didn’t want neck ache. He knew Cethgus wouldn’t appreciate a joke, no matter how dry and deadpan it was delivered, so Valtiere kept his mouth shut and kept walking.
The walkway opened out into a colossal hanger bay, cleared for addressing the Clan. Most were present, but some had the flickering forms of holograms. They all still had work to do, not even the egos of Quaestors could get in the way of that. They moved through the crowd, ignoring those around them, stepping up to the plinth that had been erected for them. Cethgus spoke first, as seniority dictated.
“Arconans. Our Consul and Proconsul are away with the Dark Council, leaving us to hear the decrees of the Grand Master. The other Houses and Clans will be without their leaders as well. They may see this as an opportunity for rest. But we will not! We are going to keep working, to make ourselves better. Arcona succeeds because it never stops fighting!”
“Would you call the rise of Plagueis a success? The shaming of Arcona in the Crusade a success?!” A voice called out from the crowd. They parted to show an unknown, a man Cethgus did not recognise, a hulking brute of a man, made for brawling in the darkest hives in the Galaxy. His brow furrowed and face twisted into a snarl of rage. Arcona wouldn’t be besmirched by scum like him. He drew a pair of lightsabers, charging at the man.
Before he reached the brute, a colossal wave of telekinetic energy threw him into a far wall, where a youth stood, smirk on his face. That was a face both of them knew… The former Captain of Nighthawk.
“Arconae…” Valtiere spat, the words dripping with contempt. He drew his own weapon, silver blade snapping into life.
The brute from the crowd barrelled into him, knocking the Sith to the floor and sending his lightsaber skittering away. He looked up as a foot pressed onto his chest, driving the air from his lungs. Confusion swirled through Nikola’s mind. How had he not predicted the attack, his preternatural senses were honed to a knife’s edge. He should have been able to dodge the man with room to spare.
A flicker of movement caught his eye as a hooded figure stepped from the crowd, just finishing putting a mask over his face so as to hide his features. He had been there all along, hidden in the crowd, revealing himself at the last moment. As Nadrin Erinos Arconae stepped into the light, the man pinning Nikola to the floor shuddered, eyes rolling back before momentary confusion caused him to look around, then smile at the man pinned under his foot. He twisted a boot sadistically.
“You’ve improved your mind games then, Master.” Valtiere gasped through clenched teeth, words ragged. Though he couldn’t see it, Valtiere knew his Master would be smiling under the death mask. He looked over the Cethgus, finding him locked in battle with Teroch Erinos Arconae. The pair were a blur of motion, though he could see the fight leaning towards the Erinos. He was faster than the Quaestor could ever hope to be. Eventually, the orange blade of Teroch licked out, knocking Cethgus to the ground. Before he could rise, Teroch’s boot slammed into his head, throwing it into a bulkhead, knocking him unconscious.
With the Quaestors subdued, a wave of fear spread through the crowd, bouncing off itself and amplifying. Through it all strode a man whose presence caused him to tower over the others, terror flowing from him in cold waves. His face was phlegmatic as he turned to address the crowd.
“We, the Arconae, have deliberated over the path of our beloved Clan. The members we are made of. The leaders who shepherd them.” At that he turned to cast eyes brimming with disappointment at the pair of Quaestors on the floor.
“And we have found them wanting. Arcona’s shaming was the final straw. How can we stand behind leaders who push us forward, ignoring the lessons of the past? Ignoring what made us great, thinking only of their own gain, making something new from something that worked.” The words were delivered with the iron foundation of one who believed in them.
Valtiere struggled under the boot. This was what he despised the most. The veneration of the old without reason. The thought that because it was done first, it was done best.
“Why follow the relics of a bygone age?” He yelled, composure slipping for a moment, the rage always burning at his core bubbling forth for a second.
Timeros turned to stare flatly at him, letting the silence draw out to make his point, before turning back to the crowd.
“Why follow the failures of the present?” He asked quietly, sadness colouring his tone. He looked up, raising his hands.
“Who will follow the Arconae, and purge this Clan, this once great Clan, of its weakness?!” He yelled.
Event Details
Week 1 Events