Private Patriots

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The call had been a brief one.

A simple instruction was given to the remaining Essonian marshals within the alliance. Find your brightest, find your best, and offer them the mission of a lifetime. The details weren't important, only the overarching purpose. If war was to be waged then it would be on their terms, not on those of their adversaries. Truthfully Cedric could have entrusted this operation to any member of the Alliance, but these were his people. Only they had gone through the same trials he'd been forged through. Only they had the tenacity required to see the homeland freed. It was little more than a blackened rock floating aimlessly through the void now, but it was still home.

That mattered.

The warehouse was located in the deeper levels of Coruscant. It was little more than a storage facility for delayed shipping; the perfect place for such a meeting. Those that had volunteered would be chauffeured by cowled men that would not speak, and those men would only seem to acknowledge their existence as they led them out of their speeders toward the building within. Each would arrive separately, so as to better dissuade any tails from thinking they had anywhere important to be.

The Essonian Jedi Master was clad in the traditional garments of the Essonian Knights. His robes were dark and short, and a cowl covered the helmet that he wore. His arms folded about his chest as he leaned back against a shipping container, patiently awaiting the arrival of his comrades.

 

[Tyris Hayes]

While not Essonian from birth, Tyris knew full well the struggles of their people. His homeland gave him his skills but Ession gave him new purpose, purpose that Tyris desperately needed. It had renewed his shattered body, focused his raw talent with a desperately needed lens of order.

While he was not Essionian by blood, he earned his place among her sons. He had given to them his body,, and his sword. If needed, he would offer them his life. He had earned their respect, not an easy thing to do. His body and mind were forever changed by The Dominion, for decades he fought with no complaints, and when their world was burned he offered his hand to help resettle them.

He was made to kill gods, ripped from the very essence they used to enforce their will. Killing mere men by comparison was a simple task. It seemed his Essionian handlers understood it. When they were asked for the best Ession had to offer, they eschewed native born and sent him. He felt that he should feel honored, at least that's what the AI embedded in his head told him. To him, it was just another way of repaying the infinite debt he owed to Ession and her people.

Tyris knew the dance when it came to covert operations. However this seemed like some kind of weird cult indoctrination.

"How long until these guys start chanting in some dead language?" She mused.

"I've seen weirder." Tyris mentally replied.

In the room which he entered, there was only one man. The man who had summoned them there. There was a familiar air to him. Inside his heart he knew it to be true. This was the former Archlord, Former Imperator. It took all that was in him not to salute, as had been drilled into him on Zenith Prime all those decades ago. This man deserved far more than a salute could ever give.

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[Erasmus Amson]

The call was completely unexpected. So unexpected in fact that Erasmus has no idea who the hell had called him.

It was slightly inconvenient on top of being unexpected. He knew the meeting was important, of course it was, it meant the fate of Essonians everwhere. However, attending this meeting meant taking time out of his day of medical philanthropy to meet whoever it was who had summoned him. Once again, incredibly inconvenient. He had to cancel any and all appointments he had during that time, possibly killing somebody who needed him in the process.

Was this even worth it? Taking revenge on the people who had wrong their people meant everything to every Essonian, and it meant no less to Erasmus, but to him, the battle was already over. There were so few of them left that even if you got every living Essonian together to fight there wasn't a guarantee of success. On top of that Erasmus didn't think that whoever had summoned him had summoned every able-bodied Essonian at the same time, so what was going to happen? Were they just going to gather a couple thousand and try and take it all back, give those slaughtering bastards the punches that were long overdue? It was safe to say Erasmus was skeptical at best.

Erasmus had gotten the warehouse by now. He was wearing a grey jumpsuit with a first aid bag on his back and a blaster at his hip. He knew this whole meeting wasn't going to be the most legitimate thing ever but he didn't expect it to be placed in such a rough neighborhood. He drew his pistol and kept it ready as he entered the building.

As he entered he saw two figures. One seemed to have just entered while the other was leaning against a shipping container. Taking a close look at the second figure he was wearing short robes, Essonian robes. Erasmus would be damned if he were seeing the man he thought he was seeing, but he knew it was real. He was looking at Cedric Grayson, probably the greatest Essonian to ever live.

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