Trinn Traumsen
The Hour
Once more, The Traumsen Hour finds its way to a device near you.
"Hello Galaxiens, I am Trinn Traumsen with THC, and this is the Traumsen Hour."
Her expression is uncharacteristically dour, and her eyes consistently dart to a datapad in her hand, rather than the teleprompter.
"Our current story is coming to you live..." Already, she reaches for a glass of water and gulps. "We have received exhaustive reports of missing starships all across the Quiberon Sector, including an entire relief fleet meant to deliver much-needed aid to the wartorn Core."
Although her home lies in the midrim, the ongoing campaign between the Galactic Alliance and Pro-Imperial forces has only reinforced the despair of what she has to say next.
She leans forward. "This coincides with a leaked intelligence report of imperial remnants gathering in the Sector under the call of one self-proclaimed Moff, Malkim Abretta."
An image appears on the screen beside her. The last known image of the Moff and the emblem of his pro-imperial cell, DEAD MARCH.
"All vessels and fleets traversing the Sector, be advised, the Moff is known for his extremist views and is wanted for piracy, terrorism, slavery, orchestrating illegal arms sales, and mass murder."
Her eyes close, and she takes a deep breath. When they open again, she stares with solemn determination.
"I fear this galaxy is returning to another age of darkness, but for now, the light of democracy flickers on in the winds of war."
"Stay safe and look to each other."
The broadcast cuts.
"Hello Galaxiens, I am Trinn Traumsen with THC, and this is the Traumsen Hour."
Her expression is uncharacteristically dour, and her eyes consistently dart to a datapad in her hand, rather than the teleprompter.
"Our current story is coming to you live..." Already, she reaches for a glass of water and gulps. "We have received exhaustive reports of missing starships all across the Quiberon Sector, including an entire relief fleet meant to deliver much-needed aid to the wartorn Core."
Although her home lies in the midrim, the ongoing campaign between the Galactic Alliance and Pro-Imperial forces has only reinforced the despair of what she has to say next.
She leans forward. "This coincides with a leaked intelligence report of imperial remnants gathering in the Sector under the call of one self-proclaimed Moff, Malkim Abretta."
An image appears on the screen beside her. The last known image of the Moff and the emblem of his pro-imperial cell, DEAD MARCH.
"All vessels and fleets traversing the Sector, be advised, the Moff is known for his extremist views and is wanted for piracy, terrorism, slavery, orchestrating illegal arms sales, and mass murder."
Her eyes close, and she takes a deep breath. When they open again, she stares with solemn determination.
"I fear this galaxy is returning to another age of darkness, but for now, the light of democracy flickers on in the winds of war."
"Stay safe and look to each other."
The broadcast cuts.