Murith Severan had won. His gamble had paid off. The Coalition had spent its blood to win him his throne. In the end, while they all benefited in the short term from the Alliance’s arrow being blunted. None came close to the victorious Princeps. Murith was now a true force to be reckoned with in the galaxy. Possessing one of the few operational SSDs in existence. Now his minions would hunt for the other and its dockyard. But of course this was only a minor piece in a major operation. The Conquest of Kuat was also such a prize, a more strategic one.

None of these things the Princeps considered as he gazed at the landing pad outside the Despot’s palace, would make up for the lack of economic power of our state and its depleted manpower pool. The skies of this world were fitting for someone such as him. A constant layer of smog-choked out the light, coating the world in constant eternal twilight and shadow. A pleasant symbolically cloaked in the Dark Side, much like his homeworld. This made it an ideal capital due to its conditions. It was so much like home, yet more of a bureaucratic and industrial center than Umbara could ever be, and that was how it should be. Umbara would remain a pristine world, cherished for its natural beauty, while the less important worlds would bear the scars of industry and exploitation.

Barely perceptible in the smothering gases which filled the skies, as the release of steam as the landing pad's doors split apart, revealing a rapidly approaching elevation platform, the motors screaming at the quick pace. This was an industrial world, devoted to power, speed, efficiency, not elegance. Everything was functional and utilitarian, almost militarised. A fortress world.

Rising from the smoke and steam was the marvellous form of the Despot’s own Yacht, while it appeared luxurious externally, it was in fact also hyper militarised. Its form, modelled after the Hull type favoured by the late twice dead Galactic Emperor, hid its true capabilities. The beast opened its maw and a functional but elegant landing ramp gradually extended down to meet the Princeps. Murith adjusted his cape with a practiced motion and ascended the steps into the ship which would ferry him to the most important meeting of his life, after the founding of the Security Coalition.

It had been a long and difficult journey. Routing through dozens of neutral systems and hyper lanes on their way to Atrisia and Kitel Phard. Across the Trellen was smooth sailing enough and fast. From the Hydian to the Corellian run to dodge the space of those barbarians was most complex. But the most difficult part was navigating the complex maze of political challenges Fondorian space represented.

This was not to mention the grilling his poor aides had to undergo from Atrisian bureaucrats before and during the trip to even cross the border. The security measures at Illodia were tense, they were on edge after the Fondorian incidents as of late. Surprisingly once they had been escorted through the trip to the Atrisian Capital was relatively smooth. All the better as Murith examined his notes and research on the Atrisian ruler. This had to succeed. He needed their aid and he needed a new ally to counterbalance his jealous rivals. Once more Murith would roll the political dice and engage in high-level intrigue to undercut and outflank his more traditional-minded opponents.