Kiskla Grayson-Matteo
Redeemer
Kiffu, Royal Palace.
A deep, resounding breath echoed from her diaphragm. This exhale was not without warrant. Kiskla was a Jedi, moulded by the structure of a benevolent being who had disappeared into the depths of space. To look after things that went bump in the night, so he said. She liked to think of him as her angel still, watching over what she did.
That was why she was feeling so guilty at times, and it’s what kept her on the road of the straight and narrow.
Days earlier, she had been approached by one of her Guardians. He had expressed the growing agitation of her men.
“Have you considered the repercussions of this. Have The Guardians? Entering into a war that has not concerned the Azurbani system yet will draw attention to Kiffu. Put the lives of your families at risk.
Have they thought of that? The blood that will be wanted? We’re in a vengeful galaxy, you know.”
“Yes.”
“Has the Sheyf?”
“His permission has been granted.” She hadn’t been surprised. Her father [member="S'het Freya"] was a bounty hunter to his core, and could not plan for anyone beyond himself. "And to be honest, Lady Freya, if you do not consent — another will.”
She’d thrown something across the room after that conversation.
They were warriors in their blood, but their purpose was to protect the prisons of Kiffex. And they were short sighted. There were rumours of a war going on; The Omega Protectorate, their overarching government, and The Fringe Confederacy were butting heads. One that this particular generation yearned to get involved in. A generation Kiskla was sworn to protect. She wouldn’t want their blood spilt just because they were thirsty for it.
But they were capable warriors.
It wasn’t a decision she could make on her own merits. She may have been a wildfire, but when it came to blood she merely did what benefitted the greater purpose. Now, she was that greater purpose. They would, essentially, be fighting for their government and representing her people. But with the amount of Guardians that were available now, The Protectorate would laugh at her offer.
Pinnacles of light didn’t organize means for an army of muscles and blood. She couldn’t. She couldn’t bring herself to make these sorts of decisions, especially when she was a high councillor, so closely tied to The Republic. Ha, The Republic. They were the eye of everyone’s vindictive affections. But she was no pinnacle. That had been confirmed three years ago by the celestials themselves.
That was the help she turned to. It was slow, and the process made her throw up twice. Still, she released her hold on the darkness that pumped through the alchemical cuff on her left wrist, and allowed it to swim through her veins. Enough to give her the nerve necessary to just want to create a little chaos.
It was the thought of this that made her throw up a third time. But, as she wiped her mouth, the heir of the Guardians had a resolve that could not be matched.
*
This appointment had been scheduled in 12 hours after her conversation with The Guardian. The Guardian’s name was Kyhon, and was indeed one of the most capable of her men. He’d been through tournaments, and exemplified an outstanding ability when confronted with opposition. It was with this confidence that he could speak to his future Kraliçe with such..abrasiveness.
The Lord Protector was as busy as the Councillor, not that Lady Freya would have any business knowing what a Jedi Councillor’s schedule was like. Therefore, she already had her points laid out on what she would touch on. She didn’t want to waste either of their time.
Her financial advisor and Kyhon accompanied her on this meeting. As did her father — should the army go well he would give up the seat of Kiffu to her, and resume full time position as General of the Guardians. Because this time, there’d be thousands of them.
It wasn’t Kiskla sitting there, in the seat that would be projected via holo to the Lord Protector, flanked by the warrior and advisor. No, it was Lady Freya, heir to the sister planets. The tattoos that covered her face were distinctly visible and her posture was taut — she was delicate in comparison to many of her tribesmen and women, blame that on her mother, but her confidence could be boasted even through a transmission. Over her distinctly recognizable lips was a slip of fabric, beneath that and out of view was a typical voice changer. It merely dropped it an octave and made it a tinge more husky. All the precautions for her identity to remain secret had been met. Now, the Lord Protector [member="Ayden Cater"] just had to answer his call.