The silvery right hand of the Vicelord passively listened to the response provided by the all-too-easily-bothered
Son of Verd. She could hear the inclination to fight her statements as willfully as a youngling disobeyed their betters in order to find their freedoms. Man-child.
Accurate. She had said her peace to the masses while they readied themselves, however, she had yet to continue dialogue with the dark-haired Lord of Rannon that seemed to be trying to convince her of something.
Her—
Or himself.
She had taken note of the way he allowed her to pass through. As an Exarch it was well within her purview to call him to act, though, she had little desire to interfere with the plan that the Ministry had devised. The Dread Queen took no pleasure in passing unnecessary orders and did not pull rank without the presence of a dire event. She had not survived this long on hubris, nor, did she let the titles she held within the Confederacy define her.
This boy would be blissfully unaware of her nature. It suited her.
“Your mother copulated with the Vicelord. Likely, more than once.”
Such words were issued with the commonality of one relaying the status of navigational data. Her feminine tone was even enough, though it held no true sentiment. She was cold, true winter, in every sense of the word. Her visage could be likened with a statue or a painting, only, something wasn’t quite right. If she were a painting it would appear as if all the color had been stolen.
Lifeless. Were it not for the fact that she was dressed in
Obsidian Strike armor it would be hard to believe that she intended to go to war at all. When mercurial eyes turned back toward
Rann Thress
they fell through him.
As if the black of her pupil was made for drowning. A hole in the world.
“Isley Verd is your father. I feel his essence within you. No amount of wishful thinking will change that.”, she began, reaching up, to bring the hood up over her hair. It was too bright. It stood out too much against the dark and dreary shanty towns. Her armor was pattered with the deep violet hexes that the Confederacy was known for.
“Nor will the vile horde knowing your chosen name make a difference.”
He didn’t know. How could he?
Lady Lunara had begun. Srina felt her focus shift, swiftly, when a chill nipped at the air. Her family held an affinity for ice that was unmatched on Eshan. It almost brought a sense of familiarity while the Force Master ushered in a cold front that would have the teeth of their enemy chattering in misery. Civilians were fleeing, being ushered to a safe distance, or, closing the windows and doors to run down dwellings. Hiding while their brutal overseers had decided to take up arms. They did not want to lose their livelihood. It broke not their backs—But those beneath them.
Lunara Azure
&
Bron Vaashe seemed to be giving them time to declare. To fight—Or surrender.
Srina did not have that patience. If they attacked, if they dared, their choice was made. It was done. The slender creature darted forward as if her feet held wings and her form bent slightly to the left so that her fingers would sweep the ground. A wave of ice grew from nothing, coupled, by the cold that Lunara brought forward and smacked headlong into a member of the LOBOS syndicate that didn’t see it coming. He bounced off and Srina tossed that same hand to the side and sent his body careening toward the Son of Verd.
<Catch.>, her mind whispered to his, a subtle warning, while her own fight continued.
It was a test.
A moment of dueling, swiftly, drew a frown to her features. She did not breathe heavily nor did she seem to have exerted herself. She did not waste energy needless in movement.
“They are untrained.”, words for Rann, while, the man she was fighting seemed to take offense.
“Hey!”
Srina spun once and stole his legs out from under him with a sweeping kick that led her back to her feet. Her lightsaber carried through and moved in a downward arc that liberated the mongrels head from his shoulders. She did not stop. Merely, moved to the next soldier.
“It makes them dangerous. No matter how skilled you are—Wild and unpredictable will always have an edge. Never go for the simple kill. They will expect it.”
The Echani fought like her mother and every other ancestor of her line. It was sleek, smooth, and left her foes dealing with little more than a whirling dervish of white skin and dark armor. As her sector began to clear she took silent note of the way the hierarchy seemed to be structured. These men were just grunts. The real problem, the real leaders, would lay within the castle itself.
They simply needed to crush the meager opposition for a proper breach.
The Exarch waited with watchful eyes for the
Son of Verd to catch up, though, the battle had given her time to consider his claims.
“You appear to have reached maturity, which means, that your name is whatever you will it to be. John. Leo. Antilles. It matters not. Will your skills become less if I call you something new? Will you fight poorly? Will you suddenly forget who you are?”
“You are still you regardless the word. The perception of the galaxy is a vapid—Flighty thing. It changes with the seasons. Do not debase yourself in order to make yourself known to them. Achieve, conquer, and become because it is what you are destined to do. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Srina turned and began to head toward the exterior wall. Already, a new plan was forming. Lunara had already blown away known weak points and strongholds. Why bother going through the gates or bothering with security stations at all when they could simply go through it. This mess would end a lot sooner once their enemies knew their defenses were insufficient. The easiest way, was to claim the one in charge. Force them to tell the rest of their troops to stand down.
A quick glance over her shoulder sized up her new companion.
“I will allow you to take in the sights later, First of Thress. Coming?”
Thress. Verd. Interchangeable. He would
always be his father’s son.
--
Gerwald Lechner
Meili Feng
