Private Eviction of Principal

[Biala Prahl]

Location: Den Velmor, Capitol City of Velmor. Neo-Crusader Space.
Valery Noble
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Longevity was a word favored by her Alor, a notion most elders shared in fact-much to disinterest of the youth. Biala was amongst that thought crowd, her person trailing farther behind the procession through the city’s Royal Quarter. The greater part of the city was in..celebration? It was difficult to say, even as the air was filled with banners and native flowers rained from municipal ships. There were many Neo-Crusader that had flocked to the cause, and those who answered the call of their Clan amidst the building war machine. The common man first and foremost, the tradesman, the craftsman. In a culture of literature and art, perhaps Velmor’s surprising appointment was the best for the Three Hammers.

The Royals were in a predicament however, one that Biala had snorted loudly over to the dismay of her kin-they answered to a Governor now. And how the verd had swarmed, with three moons to colonize, terraforming projects, and a tall order for the growing legions of the Neo-Crusade. She knew her aunt was vexed to leave the Great Forge for this ceremony. It would be a long fortnight, one of hunts, feasts, and business.

The young warrior strode with a blaster rifle in her arms cradled as they moved with a purpose amongst the throng of nobles and chiefly their Alor, brothers and sisters arms length away-visors swiveling for disruptions in this promenade. Biala’s sights glued to the slow form of the elder who, with the faint assistance of a hammer handled cane lead the way. The planetary’s royal entourage was in the throes of deep conversation with her ba'vodu on conservation and reclamation beyond its white spires and statutes.

At this level of the capitol Den Velmor, it’s long platforms were more a memorial and filled with wealthier districts of gardens and select city services than anything. The Imperial and Sith Era’s had left it’s marks if one looked hard enough, how many military standards had to have been torn down from its reaches, and iconography blasted from it’s stonework?

The heavy ting of the cane resounded, and drew the younger woman’s attention again. Few times had her aunt ever risen her voice, ever committed to something so drastic.

“The embassy or whatever you wish to call it was not up for negotiation, your majesty. I requested the conversion to a center of the resol’nare’s teachings, the Crusade will not tolerate ineffective use of their time…Is the building still occupied, even now after my warnings?”

“Governor Prahl, truly the Alderaanian history is so deeply intertwined with Velmor now. We thought to discuss the construction of a grandeur hall for the Mandalorians, and that you might survey the embassy in person in fact later today, the Galatic Alliance-”

“No.” It was cold and final. The golden helm of her aunt fell to her, speaking up, “Biala.”

The younger woman surged forward in a few heavy steps. Her visor dipped in silent greeting as she waited, the tension was palatable.

“Take some verd and see the removal of staff or representatives,” Caeos spoke coolly, her hand waved dismissively, “they’ll be seen to the starport at once, as they should have been weeks ago.”

Eyes, many in fact, fell to her-the worry and fear of the royals wasn’t something to revel in but had it been @Hakon or her other kin amongst Clan Fett...The woman exhaled, they should have listened. Biala’s visor dipped to her elder as she slung her rifle aside. There was dissent behind her, and with meager confidence Biala’s hand swooped up summoning a handful of the warriors to her. The rest would remain behind.

<“Sen’tras, gayi’kaab birov vod,”> Biala’s comms flared to life as she gave out the order, peeling away from the escort. Approaching the platform’s rail, Biala was the first to put a boot on the ledge, throwing herself from the height. They fell from the upper tier’s railing like a shadow, jetpacks erupting as they descended into the lower city plazas.

The city itself blurred as the collected reinforcement, descending in force upon the foreign office-the crowd was telling. Someone had warned them and the media itself loud, present, and Biala grimaced from behind her visor. Jetpacks hissed loudly, as the group of warriors flew past, circling to drop down on the stairs, a holo feed recording them notably. Biala groaned, unsure, violence was not the choice of her aunt but with the shouting accusations from the civilians…it was turning into more a media stunt than anything. The young woman turned toward the doors. Alderaanian honor guard stood at either side, though not as menacing as they might hoped despite the blasters drawn.

“Stand down!” Biala’s voice module warping her words, the flash of film at her back striking a nerve. She knew very well how this would look on a tabloid headline, worse was the first piece of trash thrown from the growing...mob.