Administrator
Location: The Citadel [Seated Left of Darth Metus]
Dressed: XOXO
Tags: [member="Faye Malvern"] | [member="Tsian Denira"] | [member="Arisone Irithiel"] | [member="Xazzex Xivar"] | [member="Chikako Liona"] | [member="Violet Kianar"] | [member="Vyra Silara"] | [member="Adron Malvern"] | [member="Shakti Sweet"] | [member="Credius Nargath"] | [member="Xobos Yakieer"] | [member="Ephraim"] | [member="Havoc (CT-375)"] | [member="Custani Valcho"] | [member="Voph"] | [member="Petra Cavataio"] | [member="John Locke"]
The head of Ephraim deWinter felt heavy, sweaty, and was only so much meat and fragile bones in her hands. There was a hum in the Citadel that spoke of whispers and discreet conversations. Of words too gentle, or too harsh, for the rest of the assembled Viceroyalty to hear. The Force itself rippled. Disturbed. There were too many adept individuals crammed in a relatively small space that held a high propensity for violence and a low tolerance for inaction.
Polite debate had a time, and a place, but so did common sense. When had the Confederacy forgotten that? When had the Viceroyalty, her Master, when had they forgotten that? Sometimes—An enemy simply needed to die regardless the cost. Just as the Jen’ari had required swift extermination?
So did Ephraim DeWinter.
The Exarch listened to many things while hard eyes bore down into the pathetic visage of a mercenary for hire. Silver orbs broke him down into parts that made him sub-human in her mind. He became nothing more than pieces. Individual elements that had brought him into existence. Individual elements that were necessary for most life forms to continue. Remove one? Deny the correct one? Life would cease. This thorn in her side, this blight of a man, would be little more than a memory and dust. With every passing moment her grasp on his face grew tighter.
Nails, cut short, left neat half-moon circles in his flesh. Her hands did not shake. Every movement was controlled. Deliberate. Eventually the pressure would break through the surface of his skin and the thin marks would well with the smallest amounts of blood. The smallest of pinpricks. The smallest heralds of pain, that a mercenary, would barely feel. In her eyes he would know that she intended so much more. A thousand wounds. A thousand, crippling, bloody punctures.
And that was only the beginning. For the sake of the nation of which she served—The Exarch refrained from tearing his still-beating heart from his chest. She could hear blood rushing through his veins. See his pulse hammer in his throat. Visions of leaving him exsanguinated on the floor danced in the back of her mind like the sweetest of daydreams. It would be too easy. Simple.
Then all of this unnecessary prattle could end and the real enemy could be dealt with.
The mercenary tried to crane his head around her to see [member="Adron Malvern"] and [member="Darth Metus"] and the Dread Queen snapped it back with surprising force for someone so slight of frame. He did not have permission to look at them, regardless, whom had spoken. Her blank expression remained cold as snow when he suggested they use the Force further to verify his claims. He must have wished for death. If the white lady walked his mind, she would obliterate everything in her path. There would be nothing left of him but a drooling carcass that just so happened to have neurons that kept firing into the abyss.
Again—Rather that speak, immediately, she listened.
Then came the words of the Vicelord. Her Master. [member="Darth Metus"]. While she had expected a diplomatic response from the man that had plucked her tear-streaked and vision-stricken from the streets of Coruscant; She had not expected this. Effectively, to be told, to stand down. To sit down. Betrayal roared through the silvery threads that bound their being and he would feel it crash into him with the strength of a hurricane. Her features never changed. She remained cold, beautiful, but there was something terrifying to behold in words that remained unspoken. Srina Talon screamed. Her blood boiled and her agony flowed like a river that had no end.
A woman with hair of flame [[member="Shakti Sweet"]] that she recognized from long ago left the room. Why? She would have forbidden it while her suspicion raised but her thoughts were pulled back to the discussion in the public forum. There was something there. Something that [member="Adron Malvern"] would ultimately answer for—But it would have to wait.
The Viceroyalty had already begun to slowly agree to the terms [member="Darth Metus"] had brought forward. He asked what they had to say. Asked them to speak. So, she did.
“No.”
Just as before her voice would split the air like a storm. It didn’t matter that it was one word, that it was soft, or chilled, but simply the power that lay threaded behind it. Her gaze did not rise from the guilty. Srina did not turn to look at her Master. This…This would be the first time, the only time, she had disobeyed his wishes. Instead, when her head rose, she looked to Viceroyalty that had assembled.
“This mercenary acted of his own free will. He claims not to be a terrorist—Yet what is a man that turns against the nation in which he dwells for profit? Someone that knowingly used deadly force against representatives of your own governing body and countless civilians? Do not be fooled. Do not be blind. Regardless his employer, he is guilty of his own volition, of an act of terrorism.
Our Vicelord speaks of barbarism. Is it not barbaric to set off a thermal detonator in a Community Center that was chosen to resolve the situation diplomatically? Did we not see the half-melted faces of the men and women he left behind? The soldiers we lost in the subsequent war that ensued because of this deception? He sacrificed our people, and others, for credits. He sacrificed the life of my unborn child for credits. Why does he deserve the chance to live in our world, the chance to survive the arena, when he denied so many that option without blinking?
How can we trust that despite being banned from our systems—He won’t turn to an enemy? His words of caring for others are hollow. Even now, he has no remorse, only for whom he could lose if his misdeeds were uncovered. He will be the man that hit the Confederacy and walked away with a slap on the wrist. Is that that the message you wish to send to those that would do us harm? To those that would exploit any weakness? This is our nation, our people, are you willing to place us all at risk?
If current Confederate Law does not have room for proper action to be taken, I make a motion to amend the existing standpoint of our punitive structure. Petranaki Arena might be enough to scare a Slaver straight but it clearly falls short in this. The probability is too high that he will survive and walk free. This man will walk free. My child, will never walk, will never breath, and never even had a name to be mourned. How is this justice? How is this safe?
Speaking for myself, plainly to you all, I do not want the death or blood of this man within our borders, nor, within our plane of existence. The fact that he still breathes air disgusts me. With that in mind I recommend that the Knight Obsidian’s continue with interrogation until he has nothing left to give.
Then, exile.
Immediate and permanent exile to the Netherworld.”
Srina stopped speaking all at once and let the filthy creature go. She straightened fully and turned back to return to the seat that [member="Darth Metus"] had deemed where she belonged. The air quaked with every step, every effort, she held not to lose control of the Darkness that welled within. Her wintry voice began to sing again from within her chest as she closed out her statements. “In regards to the Eternal Empire—As I stated before. Memories can be altered. Changed. In is my opinion that our Ministry of Secrets and Knights Obsidian should work in tandem to authenticate each and every claim that has spilled from the loose tongue of a traitor. Every party involved should be identified and questioned. Blockade Nelvaan. If tangible evidence proves that the Emperor of the Eternal Empire had any hand in this we can proceed from there.”
“We offered our faith to the Shrouded Republic years ago, just as we offered any autonomous world within the Confederacy, despite distinct differences. They were not an Empire then. Merely refugees seeking a place to start over. They seemingly humbled their stance to adhere to the expectations of our nation. Their sudden move from Nelvaan and gradual evolution to a full blown Empire has added clarity. Due to this, as stated with the Galatic Empire, and the Jen’ari, our stance should once again solidify. We will not suffer an Empire to live.”
Silence. If the Viceroyalty deemed her words to be nothing but the impassioned plight of a woman that had been motherhood—So be it. The Dread Queen would make it her mission to rid corruption from their ranks. She would rip it out, one by one, root and stem, until she was satisfied that the younglings within the Confederacy could sleep with relative ease. War happened. Lives were lost. But if she could prevent others from knowing the hell she had suffered?
It was worth it.
Dressed: XOXO
Tags: [member="Faye Malvern"] | [member="Tsian Denira"] | [member="Arisone Irithiel"] | [member="Xazzex Xivar"] | [member="Chikako Liona"] | [member="Violet Kianar"] | [member="Vyra Silara"] | [member="Adron Malvern"] | [member="Shakti Sweet"] | [member="Credius Nargath"] | [member="Xobos Yakieer"] | [member="Ephraim"] | [member="Havoc (CT-375)"] | [member="Custani Valcho"] | [member="Voph"] | [member="Petra Cavataio"] | [member="John Locke"]
"If you can't wake up from the nightmare; Maybe you aren't asleep."
The head of Ephraim deWinter felt heavy, sweaty, and was only so much meat and fragile bones in her hands. There was a hum in the Citadel that spoke of whispers and discreet conversations. Of words too gentle, or too harsh, for the rest of the assembled Viceroyalty to hear. The Force itself rippled. Disturbed. There were too many adept individuals crammed in a relatively small space that held a high propensity for violence and a low tolerance for inaction.
Polite debate had a time, and a place, but so did common sense. When had the Confederacy forgotten that? When had the Viceroyalty, her Master, when had they forgotten that? Sometimes—An enemy simply needed to die regardless the cost. Just as the Jen’ari had required swift extermination?
So did Ephraim DeWinter.
The Exarch listened to many things while hard eyes bore down into the pathetic visage of a mercenary for hire. Silver orbs broke him down into parts that made him sub-human in her mind. He became nothing more than pieces. Individual elements that had brought him into existence. Individual elements that were necessary for most life forms to continue. Remove one? Deny the correct one? Life would cease. This thorn in her side, this blight of a man, would be little more than a memory and dust. With every passing moment her grasp on his face grew tighter.
Nails, cut short, left neat half-moon circles in his flesh. Her hands did not shake. Every movement was controlled. Deliberate. Eventually the pressure would break through the surface of his skin and the thin marks would well with the smallest amounts of blood. The smallest of pinpricks. The smallest heralds of pain, that a mercenary, would barely feel. In her eyes he would know that she intended so much more. A thousand wounds. A thousand, crippling, bloody punctures.
And that was only the beginning. For the sake of the nation of which she served—The Exarch refrained from tearing his still-beating heart from his chest. She could hear blood rushing through his veins. See his pulse hammer in his throat. Visions of leaving him exsanguinated on the floor danced in the back of her mind like the sweetest of daydreams. It would be too easy. Simple.
Then all of this unnecessary prattle could end and the real enemy could be dealt with.
The mercenary tried to crane his head around her to see [member="Adron Malvern"] and [member="Darth Metus"] and the Dread Queen snapped it back with surprising force for someone so slight of frame. He did not have permission to look at them, regardless, whom had spoken. Her blank expression remained cold as snow when he suggested they use the Force further to verify his claims. He must have wished for death. If the white lady walked his mind, she would obliterate everything in her path. There would be nothing left of him but a drooling carcass that just so happened to have neurons that kept firing into the abyss.
Again—Rather that speak, immediately, she listened.
Then came the words of the Vicelord. Her Master. [member="Darth Metus"]. While she had expected a diplomatic response from the man that had plucked her tear-streaked and vision-stricken from the streets of Coruscant; She had not expected this. Effectively, to be told, to stand down. To sit down. Betrayal roared through the silvery threads that bound their being and he would feel it crash into him with the strength of a hurricane. Her features never changed. She remained cold, beautiful, but there was something terrifying to behold in words that remained unspoken. Srina Talon screamed. Her blood boiled and her agony flowed like a river that had no end.
A woman with hair of flame [[member="Shakti Sweet"]] that she recognized from long ago left the room. Why? She would have forbidden it while her suspicion raised but her thoughts were pulled back to the discussion in the public forum. There was something there. Something that [member="Adron Malvern"] would ultimately answer for—But it would have to wait.
The Viceroyalty had already begun to slowly agree to the terms [member="Darth Metus"] had brought forward. He asked what they had to say. Asked them to speak. So, she did.
“No.”
Just as before her voice would split the air like a storm. It didn’t matter that it was one word, that it was soft, or chilled, but simply the power that lay threaded behind it. Her gaze did not rise from the guilty. Srina did not turn to look at her Master. This…This would be the first time, the only time, she had disobeyed his wishes. Instead, when her head rose, she looked to Viceroyalty that had assembled.
“This mercenary acted of his own free will. He claims not to be a terrorist—Yet what is a man that turns against the nation in which he dwells for profit? Someone that knowingly used deadly force against representatives of your own governing body and countless civilians? Do not be fooled. Do not be blind. Regardless his employer, he is guilty of his own volition, of an act of terrorism.
Our Vicelord speaks of barbarism. Is it not barbaric to set off a thermal detonator in a Community Center that was chosen to resolve the situation diplomatically? Did we not see the half-melted faces of the men and women he left behind? The soldiers we lost in the subsequent war that ensued because of this deception? He sacrificed our people, and others, for credits. He sacrificed the life of my unborn child for credits. Why does he deserve the chance to live in our world, the chance to survive the arena, when he denied so many that option without blinking?
How can we trust that despite being banned from our systems—He won’t turn to an enemy? His words of caring for others are hollow. Even now, he has no remorse, only for whom he could lose if his misdeeds were uncovered. He will be the man that hit the Confederacy and walked away with a slap on the wrist. Is that that the message you wish to send to those that would do us harm? To those that would exploit any weakness? This is our nation, our people, are you willing to place us all at risk?
If current Confederate Law does not have room for proper action to be taken, I make a motion to amend the existing standpoint of our punitive structure. Petranaki Arena might be enough to scare a Slaver straight but it clearly falls short in this. The probability is too high that he will survive and walk free. This man will walk free. My child, will never walk, will never breath, and never even had a name to be mourned. How is this justice? How is this safe?
Speaking for myself, plainly to you all, I do not want the death or blood of this man within our borders, nor, within our plane of existence. The fact that he still breathes air disgusts me. With that in mind I recommend that the Knight Obsidian’s continue with interrogation until he has nothing left to give.
Then, exile.
Immediate and permanent exile to the Netherworld.”
Srina stopped speaking all at once and let the filthy creature go. She straightened fully and turned back to return to the seat that [member="Darth Metus"] had deemed where she belonged. The air quaked with every step, every effort, she held not to lose control of the Darkness that welled within. Her wintry voice began to sing again from within her chest as she closed out her statements. “In regards to the Eternal Empire—As I stated before. Memories can be altered. Changed. In is my opinion that our Ministry of Secrets and Knights Obsidian should work in tandem to authenticate each and every claim that has spilled from the loose tongue of a traitor. Every party involved should be identified and questioned. Blockade Nelvaan. If tangible evidence proves that the Emperor of the Eternal Empire had any hand in this we can proceed from there.”
“We offered our faith to the Shrouded Republic years ago, just as we offered any autonomous world within the Confederacy, despite distinct differences. They were not an Empire then. Merely refugees seeking a place to start over. They seemingly humbled their stance to adhere to the expectations of our nation. Their sudden move from Nelvaan and gradual evolution to a full blown Empire has added clarity. Due to this, as stated with the Galatic Empire, and the Jen’ari, our stance should once again solidify. We will not suffer an Empire to live.”
Silence. If the Viceroyalty deemed her words to be nothing but the impassioned plight of a woman that had been motherhood—So be it. The Dread Queen would make it her mission to rid corruption from their ranks. She would rip it out, one by one, root and stem, until she was satisfied that the younglings within the Confederacy could sleep with relative ease. War happened. Lives were lost. But if she could prevent others from knowing the hell she had suffered?
It was worth it.
