The Monolith

SERAPH

CAPERION SYSTEM

Progress had come along quickly on the new seat of power for the Clan. The building, he admitted, was imposing, yet beautiful. Set off the shores of the Elayan continent, placed firmly between the formerly warring nations Elaya and Namaya, the Monolith served as equal parts headquarters and symbol of Imperial authority over the now united Caperion System. Just the day before, Kamjin had spent an entire afternoon attending to the pomp and frivolities associated with the cap stone placement ceremony. Today had been filled with audiences with the territorial Governors, review of budgetary reports, and an address for the Imperial Mission.

He was tired now. He set to retire to his corner office for a bit of evening work. Administrating an entire planetary system was exhausting and seemingly endless. There is no rest for the wicked. he thought to himself as he passed through the ornate threshold into the relative security of the office block.

A year without rest. A year cultivating growth. A year responding to catastrophe. And heavy is the head that wears that wears that twisted crown. His thoughts drifted away from administration for a fraction of moment. Idealized visions of his daughter, his sons, and a long-lost love danced from his memory to the forefront of his mind. They were met in silent waltz by the hopes of reunion and dreams of a united future. The weighty worries of an Emperor paled in comparison to the guilt of an estranged father. Kamjin dwelt on it for a moment.

The office was devoid of life. Here he could be alone with his thoughts and the mountain of paperwork before him. He settled into the comfortable, high-backed office chair, spinning it around to take in the view. What a sight it was. From this space he could see clearly over the sea, over the lands he ruled, and over the people that inhabited it.

Long over the horizon, the moon of Ragnath began its nightly ascent into the sky. The flickering lights on its surface had diminished greatly from the year before, but those that remained served as a reminder that the lives of an entire population of Imperial citizens rested upon his judgment. Speckles of starlight poked through the field of violet, red, and burning orange. In the distance, the lights of Azatra twinkled on the horizon. Night was upon him, but that did not free Kamjin of his responsibilities. He turned back to his desk and picked up a datapad; Expense reports from the Imperial Mission. His eyes scanned the report, picking out the crucial details. He sighed. Once again, the Mission’s expenses were far over budget. Lap’lamiz tapped the hard transpariplast screen, summoning up the detailed breakdown of the costs.

“Two hundred thousand six-hundred and fourteen credits for...” his finger traced over to the line item “Party favors and gift bags? Crikkin’ hell, Thran...”

A further short review had unveiled a laundry list of questionable expenses and vast overspending. The Alderaanian reviewed all the frivolous line items, tabulating their total value. He compared it to the previous month and noted the expenditure growth. Kamjin buried himself in the numbers. The tedium of expense reports had an unmatched ability to consume the entirety of his focus. In time, he’d earmarked those items which merited further discussion with the Vizier. Kamjin placed the datapad to his left and grabbed another from the stack on his right. Time and the world around him blurred as he moved through each of the briefings and reports.

“Burning the midnight oil again, are we?”

Kamjin looked up sharply, flinching. He had not sensed the man enter the room and the sudden sound had given him a slight startle. The hint of fear did not wane when his tired eyes leveled on the Proconsul. He turned over the datapad and placed it face down on the desk. Kamjin’s hand drifted to his lightsaber.

“Thran...Some nerve you have to show up after these expense reports.”

“Whatever it is that you’re looking at, it can wait. Come with me. The Alium is waiting. We don’t have much time.” Kamjin paused. The Vizier’s tone was stern, lacking the taunting joy that would have been present in normal circumstances.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“It’s serious. What do you know of Clan Tiure?”

Kamjin’s eyes narrowed and he rose from his seat. He knew that name and more importantly he knew the implications of it being spoken. He followed Thran, albeit reluctantly. Whatever the Proconsul had in store for him this evening, it was certainly cause for alarm.

Read the entire fiction here: The Coming Storm

What can I say about Kam that he hasn't already said himself? He's old. He rolls dice bad. So on and so on.

Jokes aside, since his return to Clan Scholae Palatinae, Kamjin has been an absolute staple part of the Clan. His steadfast dedication to improving our community is unmatched. As his Proconsul, it is really an honor to be able to witness the passion he puts into everything he does for the Empire. I am proud to be his right hand and I count myself fortunate to call him a friend. Kamjin's attitude is infectious (It's viral). CSP would not be the same without him. Accordingly, taking into consideration his contributuions to Scholae Palatinae as a founder, as current Consul, and as a valued member of our community, the Palpatines have nominated, voted, and approved Kamjin "REDACTED" Lap'lamiz to hold the Clan title and welcome him to the Palpatine Family.

Congratulations Kam!

As is tradition, Drinks are on you!

DA Thran Occasus-Palpatine