[font=Times New Roman]King Michael Orlean – His Majesty and Sovereign Lord of Xornium. Despite his near century age, the King remains as physically active and is noted for besting his son, the Prince Eness, in a bout of fencing. [/font]<O:p</O:p

[font=Times New Roman]Grand Prince Gregori – As aged as Grand Prince Mikhail, he is perhaps the most flamboyant character in Xornium. Every week a massive ball is held at his palace drawing crowds from the social hierarchy everywhere. No impropriety is present as his personal fortune funds the event, though he does not devote much time to governing. His adjutant, General Marx, does well enough that the King cares not. [/font]

[font=Times New Roman]Grand Prince Mikhail – One of the ‘Sparring partners,’ his dislike of Grand Prince of Grand Prince Gregori is legendary. His antipathy is surpassed only by his rigid adherence to the precepts of honour; as such he has been said to have Desarian blood. [/font]

[font=Times New Roman]Grand Prince Serathen – Most popular of the Grand Princes, he is rarely in his realm. Since before his elevation he has served as an officer in the Imperial Navy and is famed for his role in the Battle of Brentaal. His name is as known on Carida as it is on Sereduul.[/font]

[font=Times New Roman]Grand Prince Yulov – Youngest of the Kingdom’s Grand Princes, he is also seen as one of the most intellectual. While his past has been marred by political ambition and an ominous ruthlessness in all his dealings, he owes his elevation to raw efficiency and brilliance. He gets things done so people turn a blind eye to how.[/font]

<O:p
[font=Times New Roman]Moff Prince Eness – Eldest son of His Majesty the King and senior Imperial officer in Xornium. His official duties include administration and the effective liaising with the King’s government. As in the past, the region is unquestioningly loyal to the Empire and no problems have tainted his watch.[/font]

[font=Times New Roman]Field Marshal Friederich Wilhelm von Moltke – Chief of the Imperial General Staff and former commander, XI Army Group on Bastion. Direct descendent of Moltke the Elder – often called Moltke the Younger. A man of middle age, his mind has only sharpened with time. [/font]

[font=Times New Roman]Fleet Admiral Baron Telan Desaria – Commander of the newly formed Imperial Guards, he is more proud now than ever. With honor as his watchword, the Guards under Desaria have amassed their own glories in barely a month. [/font]

[font=Times New Roman]General Seraph – An eerily intelligent mercenary, he has ties to the region through his mother’s brother. While he is physically not capable of some of his boasts, his men have a fearsome reputation.[/font]

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[font=Times New Roman]General Seraph opened his eyes to the harsh light his surroundings provided. Had he not been partially asleep for the previous hour, the dim illumination would have been standard. Psychosomatic symptoms being that they are, the visions dancing in his head of turbolaser exchanges made the reversion from an imagined battle plane to the bridge of a star ship that much more…sudden. [/font]


[font=Times New Roman]“ Mon General,” called an aide, seeing the commander finally roused. With datapad firmly under arm, the barely decade and a half-aged boy bounded over. “ We are towed to our destination.”[/font]

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[font=Times New Roman]Seraph smiled, the thick Bourbon accent of his aide de camp always comical to him. Though the dialect was common enough on the adjutant’s Berellian homeworld, his lack of time spent there gave him a chuckle nevertheless. [/font]
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[font=Times New Roman]“ Very good. Finalize all preparations and make ready to disengage Shadow One.”[/font]
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[font=Times New Roman]The adjutant bowed deeply and relayed the General’s orders to a skulking Balmorran who captained the steelen cylinder in which they sat. Seraph turned his attention do his own datapad that sat unused on the arm of his chair. Activating it, a rough diagram of the Kourison Garrison came into being. Lines in green against a black backdrop signaled earthworks, red - weapons emplacements, blue – buildings, et al. One flick of his finger changed the schematics to an aerial holograph. Serpah ran coarse fingers over the slightly textured screen. The moment was personal, commander…[/font]

[font=Times New Roman]…to target. [/font]


[font=Times New Roman]“ Mon General! Shadow One is ready for disengagement.”[/font]


[font=Times New Roman]Seraph nodded. “ Captain Bismoll – terminate Shadow One. Execute Operational Order 10…”[/font]

Through nearby double doors stepped Lieutenant Sans Illien, placing every care save duty in a recessed portion of his mind. Promptly sauntering up to him, Lieutenant Ratis snapped an intentionally short salute. Illien gave his fast friend a feigned blow into the gut from the latter double over in mock agony. In the teenager’s acted final moments, he extended a red datacard into the air – only when Illien grabbed it with a groan did he straighten out and collapse onto the floor.


A brief applause was struck up by the dozen techs and crewmen ending their shift. Ratis jumped to his feet and bowed while Illien dismissed him with an eye roll. “ Game of shock ball?”


“ When my watch is over, you’re on.” Illien gave Ratis a wave and smiled. He could not help but shake his head while he honestly wondered why Colonel Generom kept such an undisciplined boy as one of his four watch commanders. Reviewing the report Ratis had written, the answer was obvious: Tochem Ratis was the best launch officer in the Central Sector.


“ Good evening, sir.” Master Chief Petty Officer Kenslm nodded deferentially as he took up his station across the command deck. “ How was…”


Illien looked up from his report. “ Something wrong, Chief?”


“ Gravimetric distortions one hundred-ninety kilometers off, bearing two-niner-eight.” The Chief slid into his station, the skin at the corners of his eyes tightening as he sharpened his gaze.


Illien was no scientist - indeed, he has nearly failed every one of his basic application classes during at the Academy on Yaga Minor. The next watch officer, however, was. " Note the time and location in the log and send a message to Lieutenant Air-"


“ A ship is decloaking!!!” called the tactical officer. Illien rose to his feet leered into space. Sure enough, the form of a ship of some kind, at least a half-kilometer in length, was emerging from the darkness.


“ Shields!” he called, turning quickly to the Chief.


“ Not responding – our connection to the generator has been severed. Let me re-route auxiliary…”


There was no time to act, or even react. Within bare seconds, a flurry of missiles had been loosed from the mysterious craft. Barely a second later, those projectiles had found their final resting place as they sheld metal for fire. Catwalk and landing pad were consumed by flame. Debris shot away from the violently shaking platform, considered by a poetic onlooker as trying to mimic their destroyers in form and speed.


The platform shook and sputtered until only a burning hulk remained. Before any action could be taken, the attacker had returned to the shadows.

Xornia - Palace of the King


“ Hark and Makeway – Entering: His Royal Highness Grand Prince Mikhail!”


Moff Eness turned away from the doorway, having seen the entrance ceremong twice already. He had already tired of the totally a-regal entrance bellow by the page, his lance’s banging on the marble floor, the brief trumpet fanfare. However, Eness thought to himself, the punctuated musical announcement is the most tolerable portion of the ceremony.He remember that it had been penned by Grand Prince Serathen himself as to someway apologize for his absence.


One glance to the Moff’s right revealed Grand Prince Gregori, renowned ‘playboy’ of Xornium. It was he who had orchestrated that part – thankfully only that part – of the evening’s pageantry. His tastes were likewise known to be gaudy and lavish. Eness cringed at the memory of his preparing security for a fifteen-million credit monstrosity that Grand Prince lauded as a masterpiece. Eness turned back towards the Throne and spied Grand Prince Mikhail edging closer.


Mikhail sauntered past without a word, his grey eyes and equally grey hair swaying from side to side as he walked. Eness ignored the aging fellow and was immediately accosted by the crescendo of another fanfare. This was not a newer pieces created by an apologetic amateur but an ancient processional march written many centuries ago by the master of that era’s musical realm.


All stood and turned to cheer for His Royal Majesty, King Michal Orlean, Sovereign of All Xornium. Eness took a sliver in pride, despite his various opinions of them, in the fact that every Grand Prince present was at the front of the crowd to pay his respect for the diamond jubilee of their lord and master.


When all the King beckoned the celebration recommence, the center of the hall cleared without delay. One couple then another took to the polished plane accompanied by the Consort Ensemble’s beautiful harmony. The gentlemen’s exotic uniforms and suits jostled and jingled, the ladies and their lavish dresses spun and swayed. The Imperial Moff, senior representative of His Excellency, the Regent, could not recognize the pieces other to say it was a waltz. Though before his novice’s analysis of the music could continue, Eness felt a tap on his shoulder.


“ Father!”


Eness enfolded the King in a graceful hug, then stepped back and bowed low. The elder monarch let a smile cross his weathered face as his youngest and only living son took his place aloft. Though nearly forty years separated father and son, not a being alive could dispute the familial relation: both men bore a sandy blone mane – the King’s long since having greyed; their hair was eerily straight; both bore eyes of emerald and a kindly manner.


“ Your Majesty, the Regent sends his congratulations and wishes you another half-century of prosperity. He is pleased to bestow upon you the Statue of Algeron, to arrive shortly. It is transplanted directly from his palace on Coruscant.”


“ You may thank him for me.” The King nodded, signaling an end to the official dialogue between the Regent’s spokesman and King, and the beginning of that between father and son. “ How was your trip to Bresniak?”


“ It was enjoyable. The Lady de’Winter and I met there. She also sends her congratulations.”


The King let loose a hearty chuckle as he took son in arm. “ You have been courting that poor girl for ten years. One of these days, you will ask her to marry you.”


“ I doubt it, father. She is…more than I can be.”


His Majesty shot his son a mock reproving glare. “ Don’t contradict the King.”