Faction Ravelin (Revelry and Pain) [NIO/Enclave]

[Delilah Jones]

DAGGER-6
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
ANTARES HOTEL | RAVELIN
TAG: Kovacs | Sergeant Omen | Vulcan Krayt | Shai Maji | The whole damn party (I'm lazy, sue me)

A BLOODY DRESS??

SALTY DOG​

"You're right, Jones." he pursed his lips, nodding and glancing around faking helplessness before pouring the little that remained from his two beer cans over her, "You, for starters."

Del stood there for a second, arms held slightly away from her sides, cocktail still in hand, as the beer ran down her face from her head and all the way to the floor.

"OH, YOU'RE IN FOR IT NOW, KOVACS!"

Bolts had a parsec long grin on his face as he shook some beer from his arm while he looked from Jon to Del.

"You betcha!" With half a pout, half a smile, Del had just wound up her arm to throw her cocktail at Jon when one of the Mandos interjected by throwing the hotshot pilot over his shoulder as if Jon weighed nothing.

What?

It was only when the Mando passed her on the way to the pool, did she realise what was about to happen. Not on her or the rest of the 181st's watch, though. They all took the mickey out of one another, but woe to the outsider.
"Put the drunk down, Metalbrain!"
The flimsy cocktail-glass in her hand connected with Sergeant Omen 's head just before Zander dragged the hotshot pilot from the Mandalorian Clone's shoulder before Jon could be dumped in the pool. It seemed some other Mandos had the same idea as Vulcan Krayt attempted to push the party pooper Mando into the pool.

There was a second of silence.

"Get 'em." Bolts cried with a laugh before he socked a random Mandalorian next to him. The rest of the 181st present jumped on the bandwagon as well as fists were exchanged all around.

"Get up, Kovacs! Seems your tab is not appreciated!" Del laughed at Jon before she turned to fling a good-natured fist at Shai Maji and her Tevraki whiskey.

 

[Sergeant Omen]

It was only after he picked up Jon that he realized he was making a mistake. He especially realized it when Jon was taken from his shoulder and a glass filled with something hit his helmet. He didn't have time to react as he was then pushed into the pool by Vulcan. At least he knew it was better to dive deep than to face the erupting chaos.

By the time he fished himself out of the pool, a full blown brawl was going on. The Clone needed to get out of this place. He quickly snuck through the brawl and jumped onto a window cleaners platform before starting to lower himself down the building's side. Why did a brawl happen whenever he went to one of these things?

Omen sighed softly as he looked over the cityscape. Maybe this was what he always should be. Alone or better, dead in the ground where he belonged. It would be better for everyone that way....

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

5th post
OBJECTIVE 1: REVELRY IN THE QUIET
THE_WOAD

Tags: Julian Qar

APPOINTMENTS WITH THE WOAD: TO IMPROVE ON GREATNESS - PART 6

​

The Great Imperial Library, Outer Fort District,
Ravelin, Bastion (Summer of 874 ABY)

'Sorry, sir. We can't.... The cuffs stay on until we reach Sabretooth-HQ. We understand the decision, but I can't deviate from procedure. I'd be thrown in the brig myself for that, but trust me when I say we'll treat him well on the way there-'

'-Well go on then! Quicker the better, lets go!', Lord Erskine interrupted the ISF Sergeant, with rage creeping up on his mind at an alarmingly quick pace. Fortunately for both Lord Erskine and Ewan alike, the units assigned to the task would be quick to act as according to whichever of the Lord-General's orders were deemed reasonable enough at the time. Looking back to the others, Lord Erskine remarked,'Probably for the best to adjourn here for the day, but I will most certainly be happy if some of you join me for a shindig at the Antares Hotel tonight. I know a few of you could use the chance to unwind, much like myself, so make sure to attend for your own sake as much as mine.', offering a sincere fist-over-heart salute barely a moment later. Everyone who stood before him followed suit, slamming the undersides of their fists against their pectorals and holding them there with dutiful bowing-nods before returning to attention stances.

'Alright, I'll see you all soon, some tomorrow.... Diiiiiis-MISSED!!!!'​

Everyone, even the guardsmen filed out, knowing he was well protected from outside the reading room, and would be as soon as Dr. Qar stepped in for his appointment. None in their right mind would even dare strike at the Woad in such a moment, none would even dare strike out at the Woad with the good doctor close by either, though the precaution of keeping the guards stationed in the hallways and outside the library would remain in place regardless, against every last one of the Stormchaser's protestations.

At least they won't see my moments of weakness, at least - they won't see what sort of man I've become.​

The Lord-General would need a moment to himself before he could proceed with his last appointment of the day, to collect his thoughts, his will to continue with the day, and the will to keep it all together for the sake of his good friend. Burying his head in his hands, Lord Erskine would find some difficulty in this for a short time, wrestling with the realisation that he almost sent a well-trained trooper to his death without even giving him so much as a chance to prove himself, and wrestling with the fact that he was dragging good people down the slippery slope to Hell with him in the process. What he had become and what he was well on the way to becoming, despite being completely unable to do anything about it any more, were both thoughts that had become almost too much to bear by then. The Galaxy seemingly had a penchant for Barran's suffering, and was more than willing to see it continue for as long as he remained a staunch scion of Imperialism, but the dream of Coruscant was still very much a realistic goal to achieve before retiring - or dying.

He never once expected any of it to be easy, not even remotely entertaining the thought of complacency in his career with the Free-State, nor would he in the one he was endeavouring with IMPAF for that matter. Despite all the reasons to abandon his post as the Empire's Lord-General, his stubborn pride for a faction he contributed so much of his life's work to, and his body, his blood and his soul to near rivalling extents, would keep the Stormchaser walking a path he knew too well to be cursed - a path he knew too well was a one-way ticket he couldn't escape from. This was the path of supreme fidelity, and though it clawed at his mind, Barran would never know that only he could be the one to walk it to the end. Fate already decided after all, and that cruel wench had nothing but the worst of the worst kept back for her favourite plaything specifically.

She always had, and always would.

<"Barran to Sabretooth Three-Seven.... I'm ready, an' do be polite when you send 'im in please.">

<"Roger... He's been here a while, so I would've been courteous anyway. Sabretooth Three-Seven out.">

APPOINTMENTS WITH THE WOAD: TO IMPROVE ON GREATNESS - PART 7

The Great Imperial Library, Outer Fort District,
Ravelin, Bastion (Summer of 874 ABY)

'Looks like ya seen better days, old man.'

Like a beacon of hope in a dark place, the good doctor's voice echoed off the walls of the old general's reading room, stirring Lord Erskine from his dark thoughts and rousing him from his head-in-hands predicament with ease, as good friends always do.

Rising to greet his friend properly, Barran would reobtain his lucidity to find Qar's hand politely outstretched, reaching out to meet the handshake in the middle almost by instinct, only to be offered a cigarette from Julian's pack moments after their hands disengaged, clearly a kindly offer of a small reprieve from work-related matters before they commenced the appointment properly. Still quite lost for words, though still very much happy that Julian was there, Lord Erskine's instincts would kick in again as he pulled out another cigar from his coat-pocket; another Faslaner Gold specifically kept back for the good doctor in particular, then snipped, given and lit before his attention finally returned to his own to relight and silently join the festivities. Struggling with the process of freeing himself of his previous thoughts, the Woad would try with all his might to verbally free himself of his self-imposed nightmare, with mind flailing and kicking itself free as the Krieger enjoyed the array of aromas, taking the Lord-General's suggestion to bite down a little on the cigar to intensify those aromas into full-blown flavours in the process.

The two quiet Imperials would remain in this smoking silence for a moment or so, both taking some time to look outside in the process - watching the bustling masses bake under the late-morning sun as the cool breeze kept the old Woad from complaining. A nice moment, though Lord Erskine couldn't help but wonder if it would be one of the last he'd ever know, a thought that would've been quite dangerous on it's own if another, harder-hitting thought hadn't been given a chance to take it's place as a result of what happened next.

'No one told me why I needed ta be here.'

Is this another one I'm dragging down t'Hell with me now? Fuck sake, Erskine.​

His voice, the seeming emptiness in it, and the broken look in the good doctor's eye that the Stormchaser saw in his own eyes in the mirror every day. It was horrible to see, and even worse to hear in one of the few friends who remained, but there was nothing Lord Erskine could do to bring back a previous, happier version of Julian by then; times had changed everyone too much, and much too harshly for anyone to be recognisable versions of the people Barran once knew, let alone two veterans of the Galaxy's wildest war-campaigns for centuries. Furrowing his brows as the futility of resisting his emotional state kept pushing back against him, the Woad continued to listen as Julian admitted,'I have my guesses as to why I'm here.', watching as the good doctor drew and exhaled a slow, weary sigh that revealed the true state of his mental wellbeing. Then, with gaze drifting off to the datapads on the window-side of the table, Qar concluded,'M'ready ta begin, Lord General.', breaking the old man's last line of defence against the rising emotions welling up from within, hitting him so hard in his soul that he didn't even know it had affected him yet.

'I- I want to renew your IMPAF contract, with terms more favourable than ever before. Op-Sec though.', Lord Erskine started, but trailing off for one last attempt to swallow down the breaking composure, something that would bring out further jaw-clenched grimaces of exerted effort in the fight to stay resolute. All for nought however, as when he said,'You needn't worry about that just yet, as I really - can't - be bothered with it. Not - not right now anyway.', Lord-General Barran's vision suddenly became blurry, kept from being able to see properly due to the shimmering liquid effect getting in the way. The droplets hitting his cheekbones and the beard beneath, warm and intense, would be more-easily understood as soon as Barran realised he was wiping tears away, losing his fight to the rising lump like his very soul was in full routing retreat - broken by his own decisions in life.

'Fuck...'

Barran knew he would be a fool to think Qar couldn't see it, even more of a fool in the realisation that his friend's eyes were much more advanced than his own, but there was nothing he could do about it - nothing he could say or think that could hold back the sheer weight of his life's decisions.

Taking another draw from his cigar, halfway down towards the gold wraparound label by then, Erskine would exhale slowly, seemingly shuddering in the process of weighing the wording in the admission he wanted to make. One more draw, exhaling and keeping the cigar in question in hand, the Lord-General wiped away more tears with the sleeve on his right arm before revealing,'The inmate, the one in the cuffs? Considered a traitor because he couldn't bring himself to - to execute his own parents.... An' I almost let him die over a decision that should never have been his to make in the first place.', taking one more draw and exhaling it before he put it back into the ashtray. As much as it pained the Stormchaser to admit, and as much as it would test him in the process of making his admission, Lord Erskine knew that he was better served giving insight into what had been having it's way with his mind, giving Julian the truth as much as contextual clarity on what the old Woad was talking about.

'An' where he's going instead, you ask? The 313th, penal conscription. If they don't eat 'im alive, I'll be very surprised. I'd be cursing the lad either way, Julian. Better he dies with bayonet fixed than dying bound an' blindfolded - or at least that was what my logic was at the t-'

After just a small moment of control over his flooding tear-ducts, the Lord-General would find himself overrun by the tide once more, letting the second wave wash over him like a tsunami of self-loathing, being completely unable to fight back by then. Raising a halting hand for a moment to himself, Barran's attention would once more be drawn outside to the sunsoaked streets of Ravelin, it's gleaming rooftops and the crowds of distant people in transit from one place to the next, exclaiming,'What - the fuck - am I even doing, Julian?!', before making further attempts to dry his eyes for the sake of his friend, gladdened briefly in recalling that none of the guards could hear them on the other side of the closed reading-room door. None of Lord Erskine's other subordinates needed to hear their commander in his moments of weakness, and that morning was no exception, an unwittingly smart decision of the guard who announced the good doctor's arrival, one such for which the Lord-General would be grateful for the rest of his twilight years.

'Whatever you do, just keep it together - I need you alive, my young friend. Someone needs to survive this mess, even if I can't - especially if I can't.'

 

[Thane]

P A G A N
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
IMPERIAL SECURITY BUREAU
FIELD OPERATIONS GROUP
Zoraya Ives-Ayres

SERENITY
​

"You seem rather...optimistic for the one of both of us whose fate are subject to an entity we've little control over...but I can only hope much of the same."

Those crimson eyes remained fixed to her own gaze with a brief appraise of the rest of her through the trip, lavishing in that second embrace of lips before eventually he leaned back and she set a hand on his chest, arching a brow to her question.

"Were you really in the Starfighter corps or is this just for show?"

"Looks good on you."

"I was, yes. Before I was recruited into ISB, though not quite the 'ace pilot' you might've been hoping for. I was an officer in command of a combat control team unit, embedded with the Stormtrooper Corps and Special Forces to ensure the TIEs dropped the right bombs in the right places. Unsung work, but important- though, I might be biased." He remarked. He wasn't regarded as any less of a trooper than his peers in the Corps, but explaining the trade was certainly a difficult task to those ill formed of the Starfighter Corps mode of operation, a sub-branch of the Imperial Navy that required more personnel than merely TIE pilots to support its operations, Thane being one of them.

"I appreciate it though- its not often if ever I have to fish out the uniform...but I've heard a thing or two of what beautiful women think of men in uniform, thought I'd put it to the test. Seems I was on the money." He remarked, offering a playful grin before soon enough they were at their destination. A swipe of his credit chit paid off the ride and after a brief walk, they were in the seclusion of his own apartment.

It wasn't anything special, for a single man with an alphabet agent's salary- it fit the bill, but it was hardly the scenery he cared about.

That had to be the woman in front of him. Just as she wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him close so too did his hands course to her hips in a tighter embrace.

"I guess something good did come out of that assignment after all."

"Something always does..." He said, his lips moving to meet hers once more. He was more than content to ease into that sensuality when a set of binary beeps emitted from an immediate corridor, Thane arching his brow in the direction of the blacked out BB unit rolling its way toward the two.

"Not- the time...yes?" He said, clearly annoyed by the droid, the BB unit offering up another line of binary beeps to him.

"I- is it urgent? And I don't mean, it's been marked urgent I mean, is it urgent, urgent?" He asked to the droid, nodding once at its response.

"No- exactly. I'll get to it...later." He said to the droid before it rolled off into his office. The Chiss let off a sigh before looking back to Zoraya.

"Nothing that matters- do you care for a drink?" He said, reluctantly drifting from her touch as he made his way to the half kitchen to make good on his question, producing a bottle of brightly colored liquor and two glasses for the two as he began to pour.

 

[Lucien Dooku]

CRYSTAL GARDENS NIGHT CLUB // RAVELIN
vibes | Jan Beroya | Drip ​

---

​

"Careful, Lucien. That almost sounds treasonous." she said with a smirk before taking another sip. "You're not going to help anyone if you're locked up or executed."​

Luc shifted his eyes momentarily, golden light casting upon the Demici woman to accompany the devilish grin on full display. It wasn't his first time being told that line, nor did he suspect it would be last, but all the same there was no apparent distraught present in his visage as he casually swirled his drink and continued to let her speak. There were plenty of matters that the woman had not simply been privy to, despite her station within Serenno's great nobility, and her rank within the Imperial Knights themselves. Lucien had been with the Empire since before its founding, back when Nirauan was nothing more than a remnant of its long and fabled past, and the greatest names of the Order once graced the galaxy with their presence.

Irveric Tavlar , Vaulkhar , Tyrell Paxxus , and even Kor Vexen to name a few of those who he once looked upon as the righteous and bold in the face of adversity. So much had changed since then; no longer was he a seventeen year old kid with something to prove, and long had it been since he'd cast aside his desire to run away from the authority he was presented. From the faux Warlord of Nirauan, to a fiefdom of two powerful worlds, and the warden of several other burgeoning ones that nominally fell under his control, Lucien had amassed power and influence, but also responsibility in greater amounts.

Ever the brazen, claims of sedition and treason had long followed him, even when all he did was speak for the betterment of an Empire that sought to see itself repeat the mistakes of its past. The word treason meant nothing to him, not when the stakes had always been so high, and now more than ever. He could've been pliant towards the will of the Empire, but such was not his way. To abandon his ideals, and the people who believed in him, would make him no better than the same Warlords and Moffs who ruled for the sake of power and influence, and nothing else.

"Times are changing. I sought out the Order to right the injustices done upon innocents, and my people, by the Sith. Now we've achieved influence and hegemony in this region of the galaxy, and with it the pendulum has begun to swing once more. We've always been flawed; the system of Warlords has never been perfect, and corruption has been ever present in no part thanks to what was necessary to achieve victory over the Sith Empire. My brother knows this, I know this, yet our answers to this problem couldn't be more different."

He held the woman in his gaze as he continued onwards and spoke freely of things that most men within the Empire could do no more than think. It was never his way to hold his tongue, and in the presence of one from his own home, Lucien would give her the truth as he saw it in front of his own eyes.

"He seeks to destroy the system entirely, and unify the Empire beneath his vision, his authority, and truly cement the legacy of the Iron Emperor by achieving Order at all costs. The Dominion of Nirauan was founded upon the principles that freedom and liberty would always be paramount, and many worlds across the Empire have their own beliefs that may very well be trampled upon in this quest to bring us back to an Age of Empire that should be left to the past."

He shrugged.

"Blood is blood, but there are millions of people on Serenno, Nirauan, and beyond, who came to the Empire to escape the tyranny and subjugation of the Sith. An Empire that puts itself into an ever-plummeting cycle of tyranny and oppression, to achieve unity and order, will inherently do wrong by the people beneath them. I refuse to submit these people to same cycle, even if that puts me at odds with my brother."
​

 

[Nuruodo'kal'brast]

REVELRY & PAIN
• • •
OBJECTIVE II | PAIN IN THE STREETS
OPPOSING | GALACTIC ALLIANCE
PINGS | COMPNOR | SIA | Jordi Massad Traden Avarice Keiran Varn

COMMITTEE FOR THE PRESERVATION OF THE NEW ORDER
SUPPORTING | SCIMITAR

<EQUIPMENT: BULLET-PROOF COAT — AP-25i 'SIMP' PARTICLE-BEAM BLASTER>
•••
<CODE NAME: PULSAR>
•••​

<THE CHISS & THE ZABRAK: WHERE'S THE NEW CHALLENGER? — PART. I>
Dokal waited for dozens of minutes in the alcove where she was, rain dripping on his face until her coat collar. She waited for Scimitar, the famous COMPNOR agent with whom she was teaming-up for this mission in the Imperial capital city. That was a trip into the unknown for her. After the forestry militiamen from Kuat that she trained a couple of months ago, she now put her second foot in the non-stormy operation. No armour. No Imperial assets or gears. No support from the HQ. Only Ravelin, a collaborator and her pistol. Nothing more. No gruff stuff, only skill — skills that she didn’t have for the moment, but skills she would learn in the future, alongside Scimitar.

People were walking through the plaza, going from a market to another, looking for something to buy or just spending time with their family, or alone. Others were just crossing the road, probably turning home after a hard day of work. She observed everyone in this place, looking for Scimitar, but also — and especially — for SIA agents, or any GA’s people that could be here, near her. She didn’t know if Alliance’s HQ had sent Warhogs on Bastion, but she was pretty sure that, if there were any of those soldiers, she would do everything to kill him. Or her, it didn’t matter.

A strange man came from an adjacent street, walking closer and closer to her. She took two creds in her pocket. That was a sort of reflex, something she had inherited from the times shortly after the destruction of Csilla. When this happened, she wasn’t on the capital-world but on Naporar, her homeworld. She didn’t know why, but she felt that she could have prevented this event if she had been there when the Maw came to the Chiss’ capital. After this, she fled from the Chiss Space, as the Ascendancy was collapsing. The Maw and the Alliance splitted up the territories, and the Chiss incident came to an end. She knew that there were still Chiss in the galaxy, beginning with Pagan, an agent she knew from several missions, but just by name. She never met him, to be honest. Anyway, the Human she spotted a couple of seconds ago stopped his walk in the alcove next to hers. OK, keep calm. Y’know what you’ve t’do. She put a finger on the butt of her gun, waiting for a weird movement from the man to hold it and fire if there was anything wrong. But nothing came. Only words.

'Pulsar, I presume?'

Was he Scimitar? Even if he wasn’t him, it was pretty sure that he was something from the COMPNOR. Or the SIA, but no one could know her Imperial callsign, even the Warhogs. She did not turn her eyes to the man, but she answered in a whisper: “You found me, Scimitar.”

'Lead the way, I'm guessing you've probably sat through a better briefing than I have on the matter.'

“Well, my brief’s not complete as you think. Do y’know something about a potential target?” she asked, still discreet and shushing.
​

 

[Zoraya Ives-Ayres]

COMPNOR
IMPERIAL SECURITY BUREAU
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
Thane

​

She seemed intrigued as he described his previous employment for he seemed to be quite a multifaceted person, more so than herself at least. It was always interesting to hear of the experiences of others within the force and the varied lives they led whereas she had known nothing but the ISB.

It wasn't hard to agree that there were many important roles that no one paid homage to and not necessarily corresponding with superiority. Despite being someone with little regard for enlists and a largely superior attitude, she could at least recognise there were plenty of others who deserved respect - including the Chiss beside her. Though the revelation of his skilled and varied past did give her a pang of insecurity.

Still, she didn't dwell on it. Her mind was elsewhere, in the present moment.

At least he made up for his uninspired apartment through his looks and accolades, though she wasn't sure she had any ground to stand on in that regard. Perhaps he was the solitary-type. Many were. Living such a secretive and distrusted life could have its toll on some.

Even when they seemed truly alone, a small presence made themselves known when it rolled in to interrupt the pair. She couldn't help but look away to try and hide an amused smile at the situation.

No rest for the weary.

"Nothing that matters- do you care for a drink?"

"I think you know the answer to that." She replied as she sauntered over to the kitchen to join him, leaning casually with her back against the countertop and her arms folded in a naturally closed-off stance while he poured their drinks.

She gratefully accepted the drink when offered to her and took a sip, though something told her she wasn't going to finish the glass.

After a moment of silence, her gaze was already on him with a curious expression. "You know... You're not like many people I meet. You're someone who can think for himself and not just follow orders and I respect that." She observed. "I know we still want to what's right for the Empire but there is more than one way to do that." She said as though she had any authority over what he thought.

"Sometimes it's about the connections we make along the way."

​

 

[Mira Athrani]

Location: Streets before The Hotel, Ravelin, Bastion

Some might wonder why a woman tortured and twisted into a weapon of destruction would still find it so comfortably familiar to continue on that path even after escaping her leash. Those people were the kind that had lived lives of comfort and luxury in comparison to her own. Just put down the blasters, they said; find a nice, quiet place to live and work, they said. Become someone entirely different just by willing it into being.

Besides, the galaxy was burning and everyone needed someone that knew how to sculpt fire. It made credits, which got her food and shelter -- a nice quiet place to live between work.

Mira was not taken by the change in Ravelin as others were. The inhuman's piercing gaze followed those that laughed and went on about the aesthetics and great progress of their fine city. Not a care in the world. They were more concerned about having dropped their favorite earring than they were the suffering of people less fortunate than they, or those tasked with ruthlessly suppressing others to maintain the lap of luxury back home. They made Mira sick. The second an invading force showed up planetside they'd be running for cover and whining to the closest soldier to save them. Why anyone would bother...

With her mandibles twitching, Mira went still at a faint sound that tickled her ears.

Slowly her painted face was lifted up along the building before which she stood. There seemed to be a man lowering himself down the side of the hotel by himself. At this time of night? There were no window cleaners or construction people working now. Not with that racket up above where Imperial and Mandalorian alike were being so festive.

Parties. Mira didn't hate them, but she had yet to figure out how she fit in such gatherings. She'd spent so many years being an experiment with limited interaction but the next serum and test that 'parties' made no sense. It looked... fun, she supposed. How they managed to let down their guards enough to act with such disregard, however, Mira couldn't figure.

Slowly she moved around the building to where the man would lower himself once he finished staring out over the city. Mira was curious why someone would escape something so 'festive' as others put it. Not that she hadn't felt that overwhelming desire to flee every now and again at such gatherings.

Tag: Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

​

Location: Streets before The Hotel, Ravelin, Bastion

Omen was resting his back on the building, trying to catch a quick power nap before reluctantly winching his way back under the night sky back to the party, or maybe he could travel all the way down and pretend he had never come to this event. Yes, that sounded like a good idea. Just slip off into the night and pretend like this whole thing was a nightmare. A very bad nightmare.

When the ARC fully had lowered himself to the ground, he saw the alien or what others would call a monster. It definitely wasn't one of the imps anyways. Well, it was better to actually say something than just staring at it. Offering a tired wave, he calmly walked towards it on the sidewalk as his brain forced his voice to speak. "Umm... Hi... Can I help you with something?"

Tag: Mira Athrani

 

[Mira Athrani]

Location: Streets before The Hotel, Ravelin, Bastion

Mira prowled in toward the place where the ARC had neared the surface to allow its 'rider' to step free. She stopped a short ways off and simply watched the lone occupant make his appearance.

"Which Clan are you?" There was a certain flange or reverb quality to Mira's voice that was often as striking as her unique appearance. "Not Krayt. They don't know how to pass up free liquor. Vizsla? Wren?" She stood there staring at Omen with her bright, yellow eyes. "Sometimes I can't tell you apart."

At least most people had certain physical characteristics that belief their heritage, if nothing else. Mandalorians? They might wear a Clan symbol as a badge of pride if you were lucky. Otherwise ones suit of metal was as good as another and said nothing of whoever -- or whatever -- was wearing it.

If it weren't for Dima being involved with the Vizsla, Mira would probably be wandering aimlessly through the galaxy killing whoever had the largest contract on their head. The work paid well, she was good at what she did, and any moral qualms had long since been excised from her thoughts.

"Surprised you aren't still up there. This world's too comfortable pretending the wars won't reach it -- again." Multiple wars, countless skirmishes, and an endless array of pirate or criminal gangs prowling the galaxy and people lived like none of it was happening. Maddening.

Tag: Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Location: Streets before The Hotel, Ravelin, Bastion

Straight forward wasn't she? Or he hoped it was a she by the sound of her voice. In fact, it sounded a lot like that one construct that came through the roof on Panatha. Maybe they were family. Maybe...

"Mereel... And it is funny, there was someone alot like you on Panatha. They crashed through a roof with metal tentacles flying about while saying it was our friend. Family of yours?"

Omen just shrugged the monster's comments off. Both were easy enough to solve. "Just got too crowded and noisy for me but either way I got what I wanted out of it." Needless to say knowing the Quartermaster's real name and face was a boom of blackmail that he couldn't imagine sitting in his lap. One step at a time though, he didn't need the artificial cracking his skull open anytime soon. "What's your name artificial? My guess is it's not very long."

Mira Athrani

 

[Mira Athrani]

Location: Streets before The Hotel, Ravelin, Bastion

Mereel? Great. Another Clan name to remember. Everyone expected to be remembered like Mira had the mind of a droid with an easily indexed database. Well, arguably she did, but it was all about combat and war. Pick a topic related to those subjects and she'd talk all night. Ask about some Mandalorian Clan's history, however... Well, you'd need to bribe her to make that conversation worthwhile.

Metal tentacles? Panatha? Mira's mandibles twitched. "Dima. And she wouldn't need to say she was a friend if you soft things weren't so skittish." Not that they didn't have reason to be. Dima and her would happily carve a bloody swath through ranks of their kind. With the right motivation. Dima was a little less apt to need a strong reason for it, however. "She's my sister." If Omen truly cared to know. Not that they looked anything alike, but Mira wasn't about to elaborate to someone without a need or prompting to do so.

If it were possible for Mira to stand up any straighter, Omen might have just witnessed it when he dropped the last question. Mira took a sharp step forward. "Dare you to say that again, Waterskin." Artificial? The only thing artificial would be this man's face when she was through painting the ground with it if he poked where he didn't belong. "Mira. Mira Athrani. You're fortunate Dima's on your side; that makes me on your side as well." Otherwise she had no particular loyalty to anyone else in the galaxy.

"You want to take a walk?" Mira stepped back and jabbed her thumb off to the side. "Or are we going to make sure a Sith Hitsquad doesn't bust up the party above by standing here all night?"

Tag; Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen let out a chuckle as Mira let out a twitch. Looks like he had hit something on the head. "Put yourself in our shoes. You are trying to clear out a building when something collapses through the ceiling above you saying that they have "found you". Wouldn't you be a little trigger happy if that had happened to you?" When she said that Dima was her sister, the clone would only nod. It was kinda hard not to guess that the two were related. Their faces nearly matched after all.

With Mira's hissing step forward, Omen would only remove his helmet and stare at what others would call a manufactured beast. "I know more about being artificial than you could ever guess... Would you rather me nickname you slitmouth instead? I'm guessing not..." The Clone gave off a faint smile when she actually told her name. "Even your name's similar to your sister but I'm guessing that's where the similarities stop." She was much more combative than Dima. A lot more... realistic.

To Mira's request to take a walk with him, he would only nod. As they would walk down the sidewalk silently and into a public park with only the street lights covering their path. He would finally respond to her last comment. "Oh come on, we both know just bombing the building supports would send more of a message than just sending in a hit squad." He then spied something out of his eyes that might make the construct alittle happier. "Wait here." With that he would head off down a side path and come back with a bowl of noodles draped with reek meat and a special sauce. "It's not a raging battle but I hope it will do."

Mira Athrani

 

[Julian Qar]

MEDICAL REPORT
Protected Document: █ █ X-2292701 █ █
█ █ ad_astra █

---

AX - 919
✚ A R E S ✚

Appointment w. // DECEASED Erskine Barran \\
The Great Imperial Library, Outer Fort District
[[ Ravelin, Bastion (Summer of 874 ABY) ]]

//[-^-^-^----]\\​

Time passes through them in slow motion, dragging out their current timeline in its sluggish moving pendulum swing. He'd been granted entry into his soul, vulnerability no longer hidden behind a mask of prestige and poise. It was all left out in the open and yet the doctor held onto some reservation on just how much of himself he should grant the same exposure.

The cigar clung loosely to his scarred lips, how a symbol of celebration became nothing more than a tool to satiate mounting anxiety. They would honor this silence and the teetering scales that seem to give them permission to allow their emotions to overflow. For once. For once it seemed this motion of full body breathing had done nothing more than left them exhausted. How long they had waited to fill their lungs, until today.

Julian had noticed his tears from where he sat, his mind triggering the nerve synapses that made his hollow chest physically ache for his friend. There was no shame in this for it was just what had become of a boiling pot spilling from overwhelming heat, water had no place else to go but out. He'd known Erskine for many years, throughout different phases of their lives and to see him in this state meant his foundation was starting to wear, and that he understood with such heaviness was blooming in his chest. They would all get to this point, they were not built to withstand so much tension, finally breaking.

'What - the fuck - am I even doing, Julian?!'

Those words bit him hard, drawing once stale blood that lay dormant within him for so long. He had asked himself that same question, each time the man in the mirror gave him a new answer, new meaning, new purpose. Years ago, he was bright eyed, hopeful, and naive and now…now he felt more like a factory than a doctor.

patch them up​

throw them out​

rinse​

repeat​

the cycle never ending​

Victory lost its sweet taste after being force fed mouthfuls of bitterness and anguish. To stomach a banquet of sorrow seemed to be their daily diet. And so they ate, to fill their bellies because they had nothing else to nourish their dwindling spirits.

"Yer doin' the bes' you can with what you have…." His words seem to pour from his lips tasting of lies and vitriol. It was all bullshit, the faux optimism he implored for much of his life seemed to be worn around him, like a brittle cloak with moths flying out of the patchwork fabric. He shook his head, Erskine didn't deserve that…he didn't deserve robotic responses and dishonesty…he didn't need to feel better…he just needed to feel it, completely, without reservation.

"I…fuck what I said before…I uh..I ask myself the same fucken question Erskine..what the fuck am I doin' anymore? Feels like our lives are in this endless loop of madness…an we're jus chasin' after that one moment that's goin' to change it all…write a new..hopeful chapter in this shit story we've found ourselves in….but it ain't happen yet…so when?"

Julian carefully removed the cigar from his lips, watching the cloud of smoke before him. How that flowing element seemed to embody what it meant to hope. Hope, just like that dense cloud, now found itself dissipating, dissolving into the aether with every drop.

'Whatever you do, just keep it together - I need you alive, my young friend. Someone needs to survive this mess, even if I can't - especially if I can't.'

Julian closed his eyes, huffing out the breath he held. Out of habit, he wiped his face, shifting his stance to put pressure against the socket of his eye. Once removed it allowed him to feel the dark, the hud was gone, the notifications, the messages, all left the moment the orb found refuge within the center of his palm. "Thas all I've been doin…keeping it together and boy what a shit job I've done thus far…" He pushed around the spherical HUD and then stored it into the leather pouch at his side. "Erskine…feels like I left a long time ago. Right now… m'just breathing, walking around in a body that feels like the corpse of who I used to be…I ain't the same man anymore…frankly...I dunno who that is."

That single golden lens traced back to the window, focusing on the same dimming glow of the sunkissed world outdoors. A command line crashed through him, firing off his faux human reflexes; discomfort in his belly and the shiver upon his metal shell. He flexed his fingers, actuating his joints only to once again nervously wipe away his face once honesty settled in.

"Feels like...feels like I…lost everything," he admitted somberly, peering over at his friend and then back towards his fingers.

"I have heard what others say… 'oh sad Julian, fucked up his life, betrayed his people…is a coward'. And yet…I just keep putting on this fucking uniform to throw it all on the frontlines without a word…because…I..feel so much guilt…. I let down the Empire…I…couldn't save Tavlar…I let down Carlac…and I let down the only person I have ever loved…because I couldn't…ruin her life…like I had ruined my own…" And just the same, his tears streamed down his patchwork cheeks, rattling his center. "So you ask me…what are you doin? Erskine …I don't know…because I don't know what I'm doin' anymore either…I don't know what I'm fighting for anymore….I'm jus...jus gunna keep doin' it till I ain't got nothin left..."

⛨

Our nights have grown so long
Now we beg for sound advice
"Let the brokenness be felt
'Til you reach the other side"

​

█ █ █

​

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

6th post
OBJECTIVE 1: REVELRY IN THE QUIET
THE_WOAD
​

Tags: Julian Qar Annor E-059

APPOINTMENTS WITH THE WOAD: TO IMPROVE ON GREATNESS - PART 8

​

The Great Imperial Library, Outer Fort District,
Ravelin, Bastion (Summer of 874 ABY)

'What - the fuck - am I even doing, Julian?!'​

Whether an answer was wanted or not, the question had been posed and left out in the open for Julian to decipher and answer as according to what seemed pertinent to respond with at the time, and though Lord Erskine was never the sharing, therapeutic venting type, it was obvious that this was something Barran had been internalising with the utmost prejudice, clearly repressing what he'd been asking himself for quite some time before that day. Never before had the Stormchaser questioned himself openly, and by the epithet's very definition, it went against everything his very aura represented, going against the very fabric of what people knew was definitively the Lord-General they knew, feared or respected well, but the pressure had eventually proven too much. After all he had been through, all he'd survived in order to make it that far as a wartime General who led from the frontlines, would have brought many a lesser exemplary to their knees in bloodied resignation; and in all fairness, would have brought many to their knees long before then, staying down in moments when the Lord-General stood back up again.

Nothing could've held it back by then, not even an instantaneous change of circumstances, for better or for worse, would've made any difference in the slightest; too much had been seen, too much had been done since the Woad was first exiled decades before that day, too much had been inflicted upon old Barran to really have it all together in the end.

'Yer doin' the bes' you can with what you have….'

Once upon a time I might've been, but now? I'm really not so sure about-​

Both with thoughts, one kept firmly in mind, one on the verge of slipping, both unwilling to continue with the outright-unhealthy trains of thought, though both for entirely different reasons. However, ceasing in what wasn't right in the minds of the veterans in the reading-room that day, in all their reasoning to trail off, would give rise to something they appreciated more than what had been thought and verbalised in those moments, something altogether more real than the broken hazes they had been wandering around in until the moment they dropped their guards - for the first time in over ten years.

'I…fuck what I said before…I uh..I ask myself the same fucken question Erskine..what the fuck am I doin' anymore? Feels like our lives are in this endless loop of madness…an we're jus chasin' after that one moment that's goin' to change it all…write a new..hopeful chapter in this shit story we've found ourselves in….but it ain't happen yet…so when?'

Letting that hang in the air, and not even remotely looking close to requiring input on the matter, rhetorical for the sake of what else he was thinking on, Julian would enjoy smoking for a while. It wasn't easy for men like Dr. Qar to reveal so much about his mind's darkest avenues of thought, and even more difficult to consider what it was doing to him, but talking it out with an old friend was enough that venting aided in unburdening his mind of the worst of it, no matter how much difficulty Julian was having in doing so at the time. And yet, the biggest surprise in all of it was Lord Erskine's head-bowed understanding of Julian's honesty in his moment of weakness, a weakness that Barran usually detested seeing in others as much as himself, but the Lord-General himself was trapped in something of a moment of weakness, seeing a man broken by the same wars that had broken him in turn.

'Whatever you do, just keep it together - I need you alive, my young friend. Someone needs to survive this mess, even if I can't - especially if I can't.'

That same aeons-old urge of the elderly, the need for the normality of the Galaxy's death cycles was present for Dr. Qar to see plainly, the will to depart from life in a way that was meaningful, perhaps enough that the old died before the young again - at least for a while.

Erskine would then calmly look down at Misha, lying with absolute comfort with head in his lap offering her own kind of simplistic emotional support, bringing a smirk out through the tears as the Woad kindly gave the doting tigress a little scratch behind her ear, then letting her playfully chew on his cybernetic arm a little as his gaze returned to Julian. Considering his honesties with eyes closed, every part as affected by the years they'd endured, perhaps even more so in consideration of all the good doctor had gone through getting to the point of joining the Third Imperial Civil War, Julian would weigh his words with huffed breath as Erskine remained silent for his sake. Then, opening his eyes, with a little wipe at his own face, Dr. Qar finally responded,'Thas all I've been doin…keeping it together and boy what a shit job I've done thus far…', putting a small unseen device into one of his tac-pouches, as he briefly paused again to make a last consideration for the honesty, and what it may have implied for his role in the war going forward.

'Erskine…feels like I left a long time ago. Right now… m'just breathing, walking around in a body that feels like the corpse of who I used to be…I ain't the same man anymore…frankly...I dunno who that is.'

Awash in the same abyss, pacing with fleeting, floating lightness in what felt like the same sorts of different dimensions at times, yet the Stormchaser could only understand what his friend had been through to a certain point, having known the joys and freedoms of life, and known the untethered autonomy of mercenary life for so much longer. However, despite all the highs and lows the old Woad had known before that moment, Barran could still easily see the cybernetic story written on the good doctor, visibly told from head to toe in a glowing, multi-faceted, augmented form of all the replacements, repairs, blemishes the array had weathered in Grey's journey as an Imperial. Though Erskine had no will or desire to think very much on the matter, there was still a small part of him that remembered what parts had been replaced in the months after Irveric Tavlar's assassination, remembering fine and well what they both experienced that day.

But once again, the Lord-General knew the damages to his own person had been far less costly to recover from, defined both in financial and in fiscal recoveries alike. But in this, the Lord-General also knew what it would've taken, what one might have went through in order to necessitate cybernetics to begin with, looking to his own cybernetic left arm with a newfound sense of anguish in the process. Lord-General Barran would then find himself sharing in Dr. Qar's pain as the latter admitted,'Feels like...feels like I…lost everything,', tearing once more at the Stormchaser's soul, knowing exactly how many meanings were interwoven with that phrase if it was being spoken by his friend directly. Not easy to say or hear for either men involved, not by any means, but the comfort of a good, stalwart friend was proving to be a boon of sorts for them by then.

'I have heard what others say… 'oh sad Julian, fucked up his life, betrayed his people…is a coward'. And yet…I just keep putting on this fucking uniform to throw it all on the frontlines without a word…because…I..feel so much guilt…. I let down the Empire…I…couldn't save Tavlar…I let down Carlac…and I let down the only person I have ever loved…because I couldn't…ruin her life…like I had ruined my own…'

Is it jus' me who sees it? My brother in arms has been slighted, an' repeatedly.

An' I've been blind to every last segment of it.... No more. Not this time.​

The rage the Lord-General was feeling to all who dared bring his comrade, his cyberneticist, his soon-to-be psychiatrist, his friend to lose so much of himself in such a way - it felt warranted. It felt necessary, but in seeing his friend finally breaking down in front of the very man who'd broken down before him just moments before, the rage gave way to yet another wave of heartache, seeing the same one who killed scores with just a scalpel on Csilla, the same one who fought like a madman against Darth Malus in the Third Battle of Ziost, reduced by then to a teary-eyed shell of the numerous evolutions Erskine had seen for himself in the ten years they'd be fighting together. None of what he was seeing or hearing felt right to the Woad, but it still helped him understand his friend a little better, and yet, in all that he was processing of the good doctor's words, seeing him like that was still weighing heavily on Barran's soul.

'So you ask me…what are you doin? Erskine …I don't know…because I don't know what I'm doin' anymore either…I don't know what I'm fighting for anymore….I'm jus...jus gunna keep doin' it till I ain't got nothin left...'

Letting it all in, the pain, the sorrow, the grief and the trauma, this revelation alone silenced them, with both men thinking on these words with all due consideration; but the Lord-General, and his will to fight off his own self-disdain, was being brought low merely by seeing what going the next step would do to men like the good doctor. Given even more reason to believe he was dragging good people, heroes even, down to the fiery depths of Hell with him. Old men were always expected to have moved on beyond their glory-hunting days, but there the Stormchaser was, at it again - at the cost of all who once held Erskine, and his name dear to their hearts.

Wiping away more of his own tears, Barran looked with absolute sincerity to Qar and responded, almost sighing,'Julian.... It genuinely doesn't need to end this way for you, Br'er.', trailing off to pick up and light his cigar again. As he let plumes of smoke envelop the space between them, dissipating as the warm breeze blew the cloud apart into wisps, Lord Erskine would see the good doctor leaning back in his seat and following suit, taking a moment for something of a breather as the Lord-General thought on how best to continue. In the moments following the next exhalation, the Woad could feel it crushing him to consider the alternative as he near-growled,'As much as I hate intruding an' aw the rest of it, I just can't bring myself to allow such a fate to befall you. I've invested myself a little too much for that, so I'll be allowing no - more of this.... It's just that- ah, fuck!', grimacing as his vision blurred once more.

'If we continue down this path, the kind of men we become, beyond this point.... We'd hate them if we met them now. In fact, I might even go so far as to say we'd outright fear the very thought of becoming them. But if that's what it takes to kill our despair, our self-hatred and all the rest of it - then so be it. Demons we shall become, shadows who dwell not on their torturous pasts. But-'

To actually go all the way and steel his heart well and truly to all that was meek and reserved about his views, personal traits and general beliefs on self-conduct; or even worse as according to his own standards, a self-actualised tyrant of the worst order, a remorseless brute until his dying breath - Erskine found himself shuddering with complete disgust at the concept. That wasn't the path he wanted, but in this regard, much like the very metaphoric and real storms he chased, this decision would rest beyond the Woad's control.

'-The harder, more daunting way. The max-difficulty path, if I might be honest; suits us more, like waaaay more. An' if this path is chosen, we go in with hearts on our sleeves if need be, as these are the men we can't escape in the end.... These are the new starting-points we can venture out from. That good ol' square-one caper, if you will.'

 

[The Quartermaster]

R E V E L R Y

Tag: Trajan Fett

The Quartermaster gave a melancholic smile. "That it hasn't," she agreed, knowing of what Volker was referencing. She remembered the Red Coronation well enough and the tumultuous years that the Mando'ade had undergone. Though many liked to imagine that it was peaceful before the genocide, Mandalorian history had been well-fraught with conflict before the Sith Empire had torched their homeworld. Alea had been only a smith back then, keeping a low profile. That was how one avoided needless conflict, and it was a mantra that she still carried to this day, in her personal life and decisions as a leader.

"The Confederacy was never our master -- ours was more of a partnership. But few look back on our partnership fondly. By the end, they were more reliant on us for keeping crime and corruption in check than their own law enforcement; their collapse soon after our departure was no surprise. As former Confederate worlds enter our fold, they are beginning to experience true freedom. As for the Mandalorians of the Enclave, we are making by," Alea allowed, pursing her lips ever so slightly. Volker's inquiry couldn't help but bring back the fresh memory of the Sith incursion to the fore of her mind, but she forbade herself from dwelling on it. What was in the past was the past, and all she could do as a leader was prepare for the future and not be weighed down by her mistakes. "Kestri is far from hospitable, but we have always been a strong people, even at our lowest. Despite our hardships -- lack of common infrastructure, crime, and instability in the region -- we have made a good life for our people to once again grow."

"I used to always think that Mandalorian identity was tied to Mandalore," she reflected, tilting her head to the side. "That we would never truly be home until we had reclaimed the world from the Sith. Yet when the Union did so, were our people freer? No, I now believe that home for our people is where we make it, whether it be Mandalore, Kestri, or any one of the millions of planets throughout the galaxy."
​

​

​

​

​

​

 

[Aerys Yvarro]

​

How strange, Aerys must have felt as her boots first hit duracrete on Ravelin. Little over 19 years ago, she was conceived right there on that ball of rock between a Lord Admiral and a Sith Lord. They don't know 'bout who you are, and they don't give a damn. A soft smirk crawled along her face, she stepped off the transport with a dusty old denim jean jacket. If it said Avalonian Wolfpack then it did so just barely, ripped patches and frayed edges, faded print, and strips of a bygone empire laid claim to the jacket. They don't know how you came to be, and they don't know about the stars in your eyes, oh... Hot blood love is gonna get ya. Dirty blonde hair, slightly disheveled was moved with one hand while the other dug for a lighter and a cig.​

​

Cracked and faded black polish coated her fingernails, as short as they were. Black combat boots pressed against the duracrete pavement as she headed down those streets. The flash of ember from the cig as it was lit, to the wafts of ashburned smoke that dissipated into the Ravelin skies. Aerys dusted off the ashes onto the pavement, her boots crushed the tiniest of embers just as the New Imperial Order had crushed the Sith Empire on this very world. Here she was, so many years later, the child made on this world born of the now dead and gone Sith Empire, arrived to make good on a silent promise.​

​

You'll be beat down, kicked around they don't care, yeah nobody up there cares... She could hear the concerns from her older sister, Lucinyia. Ever the mother hen, and while Aerys appreciated her siblings' concern. Aerys needed to break away it was the only way she would ever really learn. Sure, she could've gone to the finest colleges on Dosuun, where her family lived like royalty. That wasn't her, none of it was, she hadn't earned any of it she was simply there. She existed and received it all, all for her name, well what was a name when none of it mattered.​

​

Cig between her fingers, right to Aerys' lips as she drew in the addictive chemicals and exhaled. The burn as it ran down the back of her throat, the pain that struck as it did, reminded her that she was still alive. Years after the victory, Ravelin was still celebrating, and as the years had ticked by so had the changes from the Sith Empire's darkness, to the imposing features of the Imperial heirs. Complimenting the dusted jacket, jagged pants, black in their color. A small chain hung from the back belt loop and clipped to the left pocket. The chain secured a small sheath to her side and in it laid a blade. One she was quick to flip down into her boot as she stopped in her tracks.​

​

A boot on a bench, cig in her mouth as she rolled her pant legs over the boots.​

​

The hotels weren't in the same splendor as those back home, but they would do just fine. Aerys had arrived on Ravelin with very little, just a bag of clothes, a few data sticks, cigarettes, and a lot of anger. She took her time as she studied the way the hotel's staff moved. She shrugged after watching them for a few minutes and walked in. Along the way up she found clothes on their way up back to their patrons. Aerys swiped those that looked like they would fit.​

​

She changed quickly in a locker room meant for the help, stuffed the old clothes into her bag. Aerys emerged from the locker room looking like she belonged at the hotel. From there, she headed to the elevator and waited as others filled in and pressed buttons. She simply was inclined to agree with their choices. Hearing them talk of the bar on the roof, Aerys shrugged and smirked. That's where she'd go to, and when the lift doors opened - she wasn't disappointed, not at all.​

 

[Jan Beroya]

I N Q U I S I T O R

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
CRYSTAL GARDENS | RAVELIN
TAG: Lucien Dooku
ROCKIN' SOME DRESS

WHITE BUTTERFLY​

And there it was.

Two brothers grappling at one another over different views while people get caught in the middle. Caught in the crossfire they haven't asked for. Forcing those with allegiances to both to pick a side.

As if there wasn't enough war in the Galaxy already.

Raina let Lucien finish speaking, chewing on his words as she did so while looking out over the city once more.

"I refuse to submit these people to same cycle, even if that puts me at odds with my brother."

He finally drew breath, choosing to finish his explanation with a loaded statement. The Knight remained silent for a heartbeat more, however, weighing out the consequences.
"You agree that the system is flawed. Yet I have not heard your solution to the greater problems regarding the Warlords that weigh down hard upon the Emperor. All I'm hearing is how you disagree with your brother's way of handling it, but can you blame him after his predecessor was blown up by one of those very same Warlords? I'd be cautious too if I was in his shoes to prevent something like that happening again." she finally said, turning her violet gaze back to him.

"You want the best for our people - I can see that much. But would you risk dumping them into more conflict - have them potentially end up like Carlac - by squaring off against your brother, who also happens to be your Emperor? Are you willing to take that risk?" she asked him. With the mood the Emperor was in lately, anything could happen.

"When you say you refuse to submit our homeworld to it all, how do you plan on achieving that while still being part of the Empire?" She had a shrewd idea of where it would go and she dreaded how it would affect her footing on both sides.

Defections never have an happy ending.