Treason Has Its Consequences

[Progflaw99]

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Dosuun, Local Space​

FIV Wrath, Primary Bridge​

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​

Not so long ago he had been the arbiter of a similar scene, the images flashing before his eyes as he stood aboard the polished deck of the Wrath's command bridge. His damn collar itched, the classic gray Moff's uniform fitting just a hair snugger than it had a few months ago. *Really have to cut back on the take away.* he mused. The dry humor was the only way to lessen the tension visible along the man's jawline. A lot had happened since that day in Avalonia Square, that horrid moment in time. Somehow this felt worse. He should have seen it coming. Intelligence was his forte, his responsibility and yet somehow he had missed the signs.

Fear. An almost foreign concept, so far removed he had been from true fear for so long. Replaced by concern, worry, and thoughts of the next day. No, this fear cut deeper, to his very soul. When he had been summoned to the Wrath Moff Calgar had felt a chill shoot down his spine. Once on the Supreme Leader's good side, he no longer could be sure of his position. He had but one saving grace - the treason had not been due to his indescretion. No, that laid firmly at the feet of his subordinate. Director Shepard.

Cold blue eyes peered out from his position slightly left and abreast of the Grand Moff. It seemed all of the senior leadership had been summoned - sans the obvious. Those fortunate souls had eluded the First Order's grasp, escaping with their lives. The others wouldn't be so fortunate, that much was clear. Lined up shoulder to shoulder upon the pristine deck plating were several officers, officials, even a few enlisted. Some of them Dante knew, others he couldn't place. *Don't lock your knees.* he reminded himself, gently wiggling his toes inside the Minister's polished boots. The silence was deafening.

Nothing but the hum of the Wrath's environmental systems and the occasional hum of electronics permeated the cool of the Bridge. Every breath was shallow, every nerve on edge. Those gathered knew why they were here, those standing shoulder to shoulder knew what fate would befall them. It was only a matter of when. They wouldn't have much longer to wait. A furtive glance of his peripherals revealed a similar drawn expression painted across her delicate features. A sudden instinct to say something, to do something came over him - but what? Though he wasn't the slightest bit sensitive to the Force, he did as most humans do. *Everything will be alright. Take it moment to moment. Don't think more than a minute ahead, don't think more than six seconds ahead.* An old soldier's mantra, forcibly echoed in his mind and though he knew it was futile projected towards the Grand Moff.

This time it wasn't Dante tasked with carrying out the Supreme Leader's justice. Whom was yet unknown, even to him. A shuffle at the turbolift towards the rear of the bridge suggested they didn't have long to wait.

[member="Sieger Ren"] | [member="Natasi Fortan"] | [member="The Major"] | [member="Asharad Graush"]
​

 

[Natasi Fortan]

It was an ugly business.

Natasi had always been suspicious of Tanomas Graf, even before his first betrayal his ambition had always exceeded his capability, but one was forced to wonder whether suspicion could become a self-fulfilling prophecy in times like this. When she had discovered that Graf had been brought back into the First Order fold, she had come down hard upon him and upon the woman who had done the folding. Even still, she had agreed that he was worth a second chance. Now only weeks later, the truth of his conspiracy had come to light. His efforts to undermine the First Order in order to propagate another iteration of his failed Galactic Empire had come to light quite by accident, so much had the First Order turned a blind eye to the man.

History teaches: never trust a Graf.

Luckily, collateral damage had been minimal; no ships or equipment were missing, though some officers had defected with the so-called Imperator. They would be dealt with in due course. Still, the Supreme Leader took betrayal poorly. Even a whiff of disloyalty was anathema. But there was a good chance that heads would roll, and not just for disloyalty but for incompetence. Naval heads. Intelligence heads. Moff heads. How so many had been content to look the other way while a known traitor was welcomed back into their midst was surely to be a topic of conversation for the stormy present. The Supreme Leader would surely want these questions answered -- perhaps in words, perhaps in blood.

Natasi felt sick to her stomach. Her face was paler than normal, so white that the smattering of freckles that dusted her cheeks and nose, which normally faded into her skin tone, were quite visible -- at least the ones that didn't disappear into the darkness under her eyes. For the moment -- crucially, for the moment -- she was not in the line with the others. That may well have changed once the Supreme Leader appeared. Still, it was only marginally being on this side than on that one. At least, Natasi thought dully, they know their troubles are almost over.

The Grand Moff's eyes flicked up and met [member="Dante Calgar"]'s. Her lips twitched; not into a smile, but into less of a frown. At least there were friendly faces here. She nodded almost imperceptibly and pressed her lips together into a pale line as the sound of the turbolift grew louder and closer.

Showtime.

 

[Progflaw99]

“Some words are wind, ser. Some are treason.”
~ George R.R. Martin, A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms​

​

-​

​

*Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.* A crooked scowl gripped Sieger's features, a flicker momentarily revealing an almost unnatural movement of his face. Then it was gone. The Supreme Leader inhaled deeply, the subtle shake of his hands ceasing as he suppressed the immeasurable frustration - and disappointment. Time and time again Sieger had watched as his government forged ahead, took steps backwards, he had even encountered treachery before... the solution had been similar but this time it had been different. Once before the man known as Tanomas Graf had betrayed the Order, only to return under a banner of penitence. He had looked unto the man and seen the potential there. The good and the bad. *My judgement was inadequate.* It was an inconvenient truth. One he was hesitant to admit to himself, even less likely to admit to anyone else. Even so, the evidence was overwhelming.

He couldn't wait any longer. Any insecurities the Supreme Leader had he veiled behind an impenetrable fortress of the mind. There was business to be taken care of. Nasty business, but business nonetheless. Rising from the seat within his spacious chambers, Sieger stood and ran his hands across the ornate robes he wore. The visage was almost flawless, time had seen to that. The first iteration had been borne of necessity, this had been near perfected. Only his trusted Praetorians had known his secret - that was sure to change, but for now this was how they would see him. Familiar.

"Summon the Master Kyrel, his presence is needed immediately." Sieger sneered. In response to his command a crimson clad Knight bowed low before disappearing into the corridor beyond the Supreme Leader's chambers. It was time. "To the bridge." As he stepped past the threshold two Praetorians clad in Crimson battle armor flanked him on either side as they traversed the Wrath's corridors, eventually arriving at the primary turbolift. There were no words needed and as Sieger stepped upon the lift the Praetorians followed in his wake. Soon they would all share in the suffering of betrayal together.

[member="Natasi Fortan"] | [member="The Major"] | [member="Barbatos"] | [member="Kyrel Ren"]​

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Traitors... He had long suspected it, but didn't know that it would come to this. Tanomas Graf, a once shining star of the First Order had shown his true colors and defected once more... Left with several officers, and whoever he could recruit that resided within the upper echelons of the First Order itself. It was a shock to everyone who had heard the news across the First Imperial ran Holonet within its territories. Now those who weren't fortunate, be it Moffs, Intelligence officers, Naval officers, any and all those that had incurred the wrath of the Supreme Leader will be met with death.

To be summoned personally aboard the FIV Wraith was something of an honor. Kyrel was a being that had stuck close to the shadows, to come aboard and act as the Enforcer he so proclaimed himself to be. To which he took the title "Enforcer of Ren" with great pride. Now it would be put to the test and would show it's mark to all those that were either enemies or traitors to the Supreme Leader and a reminder to those that their fates were bound to that of Sieger Ren whether they wished it or not.

The turbo lift that he was on, was closer to reaching its destination. Clad in his Raiment of the Vigilant, the dark silver armor with a dark red cape adorning it, the gold sigil that kept it in place and had acted as a robe as well,it's purpose acted as to provide stealth, hide the mechanical spine and the components of the armor on the back, and to make him stand out as a Master of Ren within the ranks. The Ren masking mixing designs of Mandalorian and Ubese to provide a sense of intimidation, and to hide the dark side corruption that was growing each day, hid a face of silent excitement, to kill, to drink in fear and most of all to send a message.

The turbo lift came to a sudden stop, and there he had felt it clear in the Force. Fear, dread, these were emotions that he reveled in. He couldn't wait to unleash terror as he plans to make this a work of art. Not overall bloody but just enough to provoke some fear with whoever he would see aboard. The doors opened, and what he saw underneath the mask was much to his surprise Moff's. Stepping forward upon the bridge, the grin that played at his very lips were finally breaking through. Stepping forward slowly, with each step his cape flowed behind him, his walk carried that of a warrior... No an executioner.

When he examined the room more closely, he could tell eyes were upon him, Officers, Bridge crew. Gazes fell on him as if they were what they wanted him to see. A monstrosity, gazing upon them he looked to the Moffs before him, Eyeing [member="Dante Calgar"], reveling in the fear, the panic he was experiencing. A part of him wanted to laugh enjoying it all the more. His eyes next drifted to that of [member="Natasi Fortan"].. The Grand Moff herself... In all these years this would be their first official meeting, distant memories recalling how he protected her ship against pirates above Kaeshana, and seeing her all over the First Order. Only now to stand before her, reading her fear but her anticipation on what is to come. His mask gave no expression as he put his glare on her most, wondering what she thought of him, turning away he knew that would all come to light within moments.

Approaching the men and women, who all were to keep their heads down, Stormtroopers keeping their heads down every time one looked up. He approached the long line of them, his fingers itching towards that of Vader's Bane, but to that of a Vibroblade, he brought with him if he needed to make a more permanent example into the minds of those that served Sieger. He stood next to the men, Silent as the dead as he eyed the high ranking members of the First Order. Yet another Turbo Lift was approaching, he could feel it coming.

He was coming at last.

[member="The Major"] [member="Barbatos"] [member="Asharad Graush"]

 

[Zak Dymo]

[ Jorah's Theme ]​

​

He had traveled through space many times.

Typically, those voyages took place between Skye and his native Takodana. Familial outings to connect with his Clan and people of Shaol'mara. Such trips were carried out in light shuttles and transports that were little more than commercialized light freighters re-purposed into passenger haulers.

This vessel was none of those things.

A super star destroyer. The youngling had never even imagined its like. It was a great city among the heavens, a floating metropolis formed into the shape of a great spear. One that would pierce the heart of the Resistance and shatter the false bravado of the misguided masses who allowed themselves to be so easily blinded by the self-serving pirate lords of the Coalition, the hollow promises of the Republic's corrupt Senate, or the false prophets of the Jedi.

So many voices crying out in the wilderness. That this ship should exist was proof of the fact that their Supreme Leader offered more than mere words.

His was truth to power.

The boy lingered out in the corridor, pushing himself up on his tip-toes as his horn crowned head moved as if on a swivel as stormtrooper patrols passed by. There were three boys in all. Two human, alongside the one Zabrak. The boy's distinctive red and black skin matched the uniform that they wore perfectly. The drab attire of Imperial Academy cadets was accented with a brilliant red baldric.

The chambers beyond were those occupied by the Supreme Leader. The Elite Praetorian Guard stood vigil in their resplendent red armor, matching the color of the baldric that the young initiates wore. Wordlessly, the sentries at the proverbial gates came to military attention. As they did, there was a shared, involuntary gasp among the three boys.

The Supreme Leader was coming.

Awkwardly, the children fidgeted. Standing straight -- or, at least, very nearly so -- the boys folded their hands down in front of them as they stood there with their heads bowed.

A minute ticked by. Perhaps two. Perhaps not even one, for Jorah's heart was beating anxiously. An anxiety that only accelerated exponentially as the sound of footsteps could be heard. He held his breath as first one, then several shadows passed over him. Staring down at the deck, the shadows were all that he could see.

After the shadows had passed, the younglings remained there, silently, for a moment more.

As the sentries relaxed their pose, the younglings turned and proceeded toward the direction from which the Supreme Leader had come. Emerging inside of the private sanctum, the three boys prepared to see to their daily chores of maintaining the Supreme Leader's chambers. Menial tasks. But, among the initiates of the Academy at Skye, to have been selected to travel with the Supreme Leader as one of his cabin boys was a great honor. One that few achieved prior to graduating the Academy, and some of those would still never be selected for the Supreme Leader's entourage.

 

[The Major]

FIV Wrath, Space over Dosuun
Standing upon the Execution Line

A wavy lick of dyed, platinum blond hair managed to curl its way just into view within Sybil’s line of sight. Her head had remained bowed slightly since her mustering up to the line of traitors. Outwardly, the strange, distant kilometer long murk in her once stinging eyes might come across and be interpreted as shock, or a symptom of fear. In reality she was just focusing upon this tiny strand of hair which flickered and bounced with the occasional puff of the ventilation ducts found upon the bridge.

Some hours ago when the news of the departure of the Imperator was detected the FOSB was thrown into no small manner of disarray. Damage control and suppression of leaked information was of tantamount of importance. Orders were quickly given, and a number of specialised spies would of course move to chase and mingle into the departing caravan of the former Imperial Remnant along with whatever persons of the First Order who were convinced to follow. Some would likely be detected and dispatched. Not unlike the Director herself.

So it goes.​

Sybil was aware that Minister Calgar and Moff Fortan were not more than a few meters away, separated by armed guards who were ready to mow down any sudden bouts of inspiration. It seemed pointless to seek their sight.

Was this the end?​

Well, the odds were certainly arrayed against the former Director. She should have been trembling with fear or sweating regret. Instead, she felt nothingness. A void. Irrelevance. Slowly a vague understanding in her brain that she should probably make some kind of scene of things to fight for her life formed, like tiny shatterpoints of assurance that could pool together to something awful.

[member="Sieger Ren"] | [member="Natasi Fortan"] | [member="Kyrel Ren"] | [member="Jorah zos Darnus"]​

 

[Progflaw99]

Barbatos too could feel the energy of the Supreme Leader. Though unlike the initiates, it didn't quite take his breath away. Deeper and darker secrets had been revealed to him by Sieger. Even so, the Praetorian's measure of the man remained undiminished. His body becoming rigid as the Supreme Leader swept into the corridor the Praetorian seamlessly fell in step behind him. As was the standard for their kind a force pike was gripped tightly in his fist, his feet practically gliding across the floor with an unnatural grace. All of them moved in this manner, precisely coordinated steps equally measured, each swing of the arm tight.

He kept his mind clear, focused on the task at hand. Those they were about to be in the presence of were the same that had been found guilty of treason. Not discontent, not indiscretions whispered where the walls had ears. No. These were true traitors of not only the First Order but of Sieger Ren himself - the ones they could capture. Others had escaped - even two of Sieger's own Praetorians had been swayed by... what? Barbatos couldn't understand. Four and Eight. It was fortunate for the Order that they had not been on duty at the time of their treason, their treachery. Barbatos had full faith in Sieger but the combat potential of the Praetorians was not to be underestimated. If anyone could kill the Supreme Leader, it would be one of those trained under his own hand. The thought sent a pang of anger searing through his mind, the sound of the turbolift doors closing behind them allowing him to draw back to the present.

There were no words between the Praetorians and their Lord - none were needed, not even telepathically. So attuned were they to each other that they operated as a single unit. Many but one. One, but many. A few moments passed, the subtle hum of the turbolift coming to an abrupt halt as they reached their destination. *The Command Bridge.* Babatos knew the place from memory. Eyes closed he could tell you the distance from one side of the bridge to the other, where the consoles where, where the command trenches were - it was merely a part of their training.

As the turbolift doors snapped open the first two Praetorians stepped into the room and took up position on the far side of those captive. Sieger followed, slowly walking forward until he reached the ornate throne set before the line of traitors. Barbatos and the other Praetorian took up position on either side of him. Gazing from behind the opaque crimson of his faceplate, the Praetorian sneered with disdain. On some of the traitors faces he could see their fear plainly written in the creases on their faces - others by the darkened fabric between their legs. *Pathetic.* These were not noble men of the Order, they were less than that - and they would die appropriately. Though he wished for it, such was not his task. Instead the long time Master of Ren - Kyrel - had been chosen to bear the weight of executioner. From where he stood at the base of the throne Barbatos spoke, voice obscured through the modulator. :: Kyrel of Ren. Advance to the base of the throne and kneel. :: A simple command. Perhaps the Knight would find familiarity in the position. It seemed not so long ago he had come face to face with the Supreme Leader and felt his anger. This would feel different, almost reverent.

As they waited for the man to approach, Barbatos noticed one among the row of traitors who radiated fear visible or non. *Director Shepard.* As all Praetorians he too knew her face by memory. What circumstance had found her caught up in all this? For one about to meet their doom she radiated... something else. The Force flowed around her but... something was unnerving about the way it did so. The Praetorian couldn't afford to remain fixated. As Kyrel stepped forward both crimson clad warriors widened their stance, hands wrapping tightly around their force pikes. In unison, they moved. In unison they watched for the slightest hint of danger.

[member="Kyrel Ren"] | [member="Natasi Fortan"] | [member="The Major"] | [member="Jorah zos Darnus"] | [member="Dante Calgar"]​

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Another day, another enemy to the First Order to be vanquished. While the total reach of the conspiracy was not yet to be seen, it had apparently touched the highest reaches: the admiralty, the government, and most crucially, the Praetorian Guard. Four and Eight, thought as loyal as any of them, had been part of Graf's treasonous cabal. It was enough to turn the stomach. Decima followed along with the Supreme Leader and the other guard. Her thoughts mirrored [member="Barbatos"]' -- lingering on the consequences of what might have happened had Graf's cronies been given access to the Supreme Leader during his betrayal.

Her dark eyes narrowed slightly. Perhaps the Supreme Leader -- a man of unnatural talent and uncanny foresight -- had seen this coming. Perhaps it had been a test to the rest of the Praetorians.

If so, they had failed. But they were in good company.

She fell into position flanking the Supreme Leader, her dark eyes tracing [member="Kyrel Ren"] through the viewslots of her crimson armor. She reached into the Force, sensing for danger, for venom, for intentions. If anyone were to strike at Sieger, they would be ready.

[member="Natasi Fortan"] | [member="The Major"] | [member="Jorah zos Darnus"] | [member="Dante Calgar"]​

 

[Progflaw99]

He could feel the atmosphere of the room change the moment the turbolift came to a halt. The Supreme Leader had arrived. As Sieger's first footfall fell upon the polished deck of the bridge Dante took a breath and did as expected of them all. Bending at the knee he knelt down, head down, eyes averted as the man strode past and walked upward towards his throne. A furtive glance upwards saw the traitors in a myriad of ways. Some knelt, shame evident across their features. Others stood tall, chins slightly raised in defiance. Others still took a more neutral stance, kneeling but otherwise concealing their trepidation. It was a strange place to find himself.

Sieger's Praetorians adjusted their posture as one of the Knights of Ren was called forward - and on that cue Dante rose with the rest of the room. Things had begun, pieces had been put in motion. Between the Praetorian summoning Kyrel, Dante looked up and down the line of traitors. Imagine his surprise as he recognized a woman who had been considered his Protégé at one point. The Major - also known to him as Sybil. He could feel the muscles in his face involuntarily tightening. If she was there, why had he not been held responsible for her? There was no point in wondering, soon enough they would find out, wouldn't they?

[member="Natasi Fortan"] | [member="The Major"] | [member="Kyrel Ren"] | [member="Jorah zos Darnus"]​

 

[Zak Dymo]

[ Jorah's Theme ]​

The goal of the Praetorian Guard was to see to the needs of their Supreme Leader.

The most outward manifestation of this task were the ceremonial guard that functioned as the secret service. Further from the public light were the communications technicians, culinary specialists, and logisticians who each had a role in supporting the Supreme Leader's schedule. Beneath that small group were the Praetorian initiates who served as apprentices in carrying out the duties that often escaped notice.

And the fact that they escaped notice was no mere coincidence. The Praetorian Guard prided itself in its ability to carry out its daily routines without drawing attention or creating a distraction for the Supreme Leader. As he moved outside of his private sanctum, the cabin boys were ushered inside in order to clean and tidy up in the time available, while the Supreme Leader's schedule had him elsewhere.

Barhis was gathering up the pieces of a coffee service that would be returned to the kitchen and refreshed. Mouse-droids swirled around on the floor, cleaning and polishing the deck.

Further beyond the inner sanctum, in the Supreme Leader's private chambers, the linens of the previous evening were stripped off the bed. The gathered mass of sheets was then dropped on top of the young Zabrak.

"Take these to the laundry on deck thirteen."

That sounded like easy enough instructions. Though, as the young Zabrak stepped outside of the sanctum and into the hallways of the vast ship, he was presented with an inconvenient truth.

All of these corridors looked the same to him.

He hadn't been conscious of it to that point, but he'd been getting along by simply following the other boys. He honestly had no idea if he was supposed to go left or go right. But, he had a fifty-fifty shot at getting it right so... right.

He'd gone two steps. Turned around. And proceeded off to the left instead.

Arms full of sheeted, the boy's head was turned up to try and scan for some kind of marker that would distinguish where he was. That was, until he collided with something.

The Supreme Leader's sheets spilled out onto the deck, as the young Zabrak fell back on his butt. Even before he'd looked up, the sudden, short bleeps made clear that he'd stumbled right into an astromech.

It was one of the bulbous BB units. It's black orb swaying side to side as the square-ish head seemed to cock itself toward the unaccompanied minor. Pulling the sheets back into his arms, Jorah pulled himself up onto his knees. "I'm sorry," the boy said, pushing up from the floor so that he was standing upright again. "I didn't see you."

The square-ish head went back, as the droid gave a warbling reply that was punctuated by a flat chirp. The young Zabrak felt his face burn at the rather blunt commentary from the droid. "I said I was sorry," the child repeated, flatly.

Rudely, the BB unit gave a low whistle, before it started to roll around the boy.

As an idea struck him, the young Zabrak turned and asked, "Hey, do... do you know how to get to the laundry on deck thirteen?"

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Kyrel kept his eyes on those that were awaiting execution, some of them looked horrified, defiant, or at the very least had accepted their fate through shame. The Master of Ren most of all felt fear within them, even if they weren't showing it. He could sense it nonetheless and sensed the Supreme Leader, his dark Master slowly approaching through the speeding turbolift, before it eventually came to a halt. The Enforcer could barely contain a joyous and nervous smirk that adorned his lips.

The door slowly opened, and from then the cold came in, it was the power of the dark side that Kyrel could feel. Much stronger than that of his own power, the man looked as if he was a god. Yet Kyrel knew the truth himself that he was no god, just a man who traveled through time and with the single utterance of his will. His spirit traveled to vessels unwilling to let his First Order survive without him. There was at times he wondered if the man was close to as what the legendary progenitor Emperor Palpatine was... In some capacity, yes, but even he knew that Sieger, as he stood, was someone who learned from mistakes the folly that even Palpatine could not learn from.

The Ren felt compelled by his power, not too long ago he was punished and reconditioned. Now he felt compelled to obey Sieger in any capacity, his voice as if a dark whisper in his very mind. Always there, yet reveals itself when it wants to. What or who stood next to him were the Praetorians, now less than what they were thanks to the defection of traitors the result of which was apart of the line of traitors before them.

When one of them commanded that Kyrel kneels before the Supreme Leader, he approached. Bending the knee once again to the man, his masked head bowed before him. He spoke as if in total and utter obedience to the Master of the Dark Side. "What is thy bidding my master?" He said coldly awaiting what his orders will be next, and what would please him.

[member="Jorah zos Darnus"] [member="Decima Fortan"] [member="The Major"] [member="Natasi Fortan"] [member="Sieger Ren"]

 

[Progflaw99]

A wide grin stretched across Sieger's lips as Kyrel emerged. The man had come a long way from his humble beginnings - and as was apparent, learned some humility. Kyrel's knee bent, Sieger reached out to the man and bid him stand. "Rise." he practically cackled with glee. "Today you will be the dispenser of my justice, the headsman and his axe." With a motion of his hand he gestured towards the line of gathered subversives. "Take your post, you will know my desire." While waiting for his chosen executioner to prepare, Sieger walked towards a familiar face. *Natasi.* The voice would echo in her mind, his eyes boring a white hot beam through the side of her skull. *Once again we find ourselves betrayed - it seems your faith has been misplaced? Or am I mistaken?*

He wasn't looking for a real answer, at least not one that the Grand Moff could give voice to - yet. His own voice cut through the silence of the bridge. "These people before you.." he motioned once more to the line. "..they have sinned against us all. Some have sown discord among the ranks, others aided those who sought the downfall of this Order. Others still defiant to the last, allowing the traitor Tanomas Graf and his cronies to flee First Order space alive." A scowl was painted plainly across his features, an oppressive atmosphere beginning to grip at the very air in the chamber.

"Captain Hadrian Lamach." he paused, eyes focused on the man first, then a glance to his executioner. "Special Agent Gavin Welch." Another glance. As Kyrel did his work, he was wholly unaffected, almost basking in it as he felt their life cease to exist. Had he been alone, he very well may have absorbed their essence but instead he only grew in anger. Perhaps the next one angered him most of all. "Director Sybil Shepard." His words slowed, eyes shooting daggers as he met the woman's gaze. "You disappoint me most of all. I had such high hopes for you - but you brought this treason into my house." He raised two fingers and prepared to strike a figurative blow, a signal to end the Director's life in an instant and held it there. *Is this the right way?* a quiet voice in his mind asked. Sieger didn't yet have an answer, he struggled momentarily to find one...

[member="Natasi Fortan"] | [member="The Major"] | [member="Kyrel Ren"] | [member="Jorah zos Darnus"] | [member="Decima Fortan"]
[member="Barbatos"] | [member="Dante Calgar"]
​

 

[The Major]

FIV Wrath, Space over Dosuun
Standing upon the Execution Line

As Captain Lamach expired to the machinations of Kyrel Ren the various pools of morose emptiness within the Director began to harden and shape into jagged crystals. Unlike the brash anger that one might sense in sith or the contorted focus of the knights of Ren, Lady Shepard -the person ever more aware that she was the former Director- was far more subtle in approach, continuing to pool inwardly in a dangerous kind of self realization. Deeper she delved into this pit; steadily and more tenuous it became to actually read her soon to be cooling corpse within the Force.

The complete switch took place once Special Agent Gavin was freed from the tyranny of existence. As an agent he wasn’t specifically close to the Director insomuch that she could reckon, however, he had been acting upon her directives; thus, she was responsible for his life, and the fact that their reasoning for allowing the former Imperator to roam the galaxy at large was in part due to the consistent need for the Supreme Leader to test his flock of ever shrinking family, only served to further illustrate what a futile effort and waste of effort it ultimately was to attempt to interpret his will.

Sin? Treason? She would have spit if she lacked class. Traitors ran. These now dying and dead upon the deck had not.

If anyone were attempting to pierce the veil that was her spinning mind, and why should they -she was about to die- then this was the point where trying to dig into what could reside within her spirit was cut off from the outside world. To break in past this wall would require the breaking of Sybil’s very essence. In its place one would only see a series of glowing eyes, pointedly looking back in unblinking, red cracked steadfastness.

The closed shell that used to be Sybil finally looked past bit of hair bumbling about her point of view and noticed some blood that had streamed downward from an ex-coworker. It moved like a tiny river across the deck to push and gently caress the woman’s boots much like water pools and moves past a rock in a river.

The woman spread her stance as if she were standing at attention at a military parade, possibly anticipating the direction her body would crumple.

“Disappointment? Me? To you? Indeed! Am I allowed any final words? How I may wish to bequeath my possessions? Or has the First Order fallen upon itself to such a degree that it will stab its former operatives much like one slays a pig." She instantaneously responded to her this quip with her final one.

"Alas. Steady on, Sieger. Long live Supreme Leader.”​

[member="Sieger Ren"] | [member="Natasi Fortan"] | [member="Kyrel Ren"] | [member="Jorah zos Darnus"]​

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Kyrel watched as Sieger had a mad look of glee in his eyes, his very cackle displayed as such as Kyrel's swift obedience to the very will of the one he had served. Kyrel bowed his head. He could see what Sieger desired, as he gestured to that of the line of traitors laid so neatly before them. He walked slowly, eyeing each one as he approached the line. It was as if he was a butcher at a slaughterhouse. Separating the tainted meat from the rest of the livestock that promoted a healthy system at best.

Kyrel waited, as Sieger spoke the names of those that were accused of betraying his very will. To allow the tumor to turn into cancer within the very body of the First Order, and as such it must be cleansed. Kyrel looked upon the first man, many means at his disposal to execute, with the first name that is uttered. Like a predator, The Master of Ren looked upon the first of which to dispense Sieger's will. Captain Hadrian Lamach. Within seconds, with a single thought that had entered his mind, Hadrian Lamach was lifted from the ground, mid-air, not even a single finger extended to keep him afloat. He was turned around to face Kyrel, to make sure that his mask was the last thing the man saw, the man had a look of terror, unable to explain the sorcery that had raised the man mid-air. And with that single thought, Kyrel flung the former Captain against the transparasteel glass of the bridge window. He screamed in pain as he was slammed against the hull repeatedly. Bits and pieces of teeth started to fall upon the floor. Already coughing up blood from the mouth, as Kyrel soon finished his work with the first victim. Placing him in front of the others, and with the very will of his mind, he began to twist the limbs of the captain. The man kept screaming, begging just to die already. Kyrel grinned as he heard bone snap and break as his form was contorted beyond limits of the human body. The man kept begging to die already as with his limbs already looking like a pretzel. Kyrel finally twisted his head around and snapped his neck, the back of his head showing where his face was moments ago.

Kyrel moved to the next victim, savoring the fear that was to be gained by how gruesome he could be with such methods of killing. Taking pleasure in the masterpiece he had taken, he never took this much delight in killing, but for traitors an example needed to be made. With the next name that the Supreme Leader had uttered. Special Agent Gavin Welch. Unlike the display he had performed earlier, he was not above granting quick deaths. Pulling out Vader's Bane.. His trusted blade ignited with a sharp hiss. The blade whispered to it's very Master when it was ignited it demanded blood for being awakened and Kyrel always fulfilled that promise in exchange for power. The blade was raised, and with both hands, in one swift motion, the hum of the blade crackled as it struck the traitor's neck. Within moments his head was severed and his life was at an end. With a gentle nudge of the Force, it was sent towards the feet of the Moffs that watched.

Approaching the Director of the FOSB, one that had allowed Graf into the ranks of the First Order once more. Unlike the rest, she had shown that she was not afraid, that she had come to terms with her death in this very case. Something to be admired at best, the crimson blade rested on her neck. She spoke her final words, and with that Kyrel spoke to her, his voice distorted. "You will die braver than most Shepard... For that, I will grant you a quick death." He said as within moments he raised his lightsaber prepared to strike her down as another example of all those that had failed Sieger.

[member="The Major"] [member="Sieger Ren"] [member="Jorah zos Darnus"] [member="Decima Fortan"] [member="Natasi Fortan"]

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Natasi flinched when [member="Sieger Ren"] invaded her mind, her eyes flickering up to meet his gaze. Once the initial discomfort of having her head invaded by the hot heat of Sieger's wrath passed, she met his gaze without flinching. When the two officers named by the Supreme Leader were dispatched with, Natasi said nothing. She didn't look at them or away, keeping her gaze transfixed on her sovereign. But when the time came for [member="Kyrel Ren"] to strike down [member="The Major"], Natasi couldn't remain silent.

She wouldn't.

Shepard had made a difficult choice -- in the end, the wrong one, but she had no way of knowing that at the time. She had done what people in her line of business did: take risks for the good of the Order. Was she to be slain for that? Slain, by the likes of Kyrel Ren, at that? Perhaps in the end it was his self-satisfied gloating that stirred the Grand Moff. She stepped forward, placing herself between executioner and victim, so close that the Ren's blade was nearly against her own neck. Still she did not break her focus on Sieger.

"My Lord, I would speak on Director Shepard's behalf," she said. "She is a true servant of the First Order and of you, Supreme Leader. She sought advantage for you and your empire by acquiring the traitor Graf and harness his strategic mind for our benefit. She was fooled by his claims of sincerity, perhaps, but then so were the rest of us. I would ask you to stay your hand and pardon Shepard for her lack of judgment -- a serious lack of judgment, my Lord. Not treason. Let her come out of this debacle with more wisdom to use in your service. Please, my Lord."

[member="Dante Calgar"] | [member="Jorah zos Darnus"] | [member="Decima Fortan"] | [member="Sieger Ren"] | [member="The Major"] | [member="Kyrel Ren"]​

 

[Progflaw99]

The smell of blood, the sight of viscera - Dante Calgar was almost irritatingly unaffected. Though theatrical in its own right it seemed somehow more hollow than it should have been. This wasn't a victory, no celebratory hurrah at a job well done. This was a warning to be heeded, a clear and urgent message that treason would not be tolerated, and if it was just thought? That too might be punished next. It was a step away from what precious little the Minister knew of the man who had appointed him.

As Sieger's appointed executioner approached the familiar figure of the Director, his jaw tightened. The others he'd not known, well or otherwise - The Major was different. The two had worked together several times, as the Director of the FOSB and the Minister of Security were apt to do. Surely she hadn't knowingly done anything to undermine Sieger? There had to be a mistake, a rush to judgement, but who was he to deny Sieger his due? What little provocation would it take for Dante to be the one at the end of the sword? For better or worse he could not compel himself to action. Someone else did.

His stomach threatened to turn as he felt the presence of the Grand Moff depart, her step bringing her within a hair's breadth of the shimmering crimson blade of Sieger's Knight. Bile rose, a forced swallow bringing a sheen to Dante's eyes as time seemed to freeze. A mix of shame and fear filled the man - what hell had descended upon them all?

[member="Natasi Fortan"] | [member="The Major"] | [member="Kyrel Ren"] | [member="Sieger Ren"] | [member="Jorah zos Darnus"]​

 

[Zak Dymo]

[ Jorah's Theme ]​

The young Zabrak passed through the bowels of the ship.

Massive clenswash tanks dominated the large, vaulted chamber. Steam rose from off the effluvial rinsers, which were passed around the various cleaning droids and ship's servicemen that oversaw the operation of the laundry.

The black orb rolling alongside the red-skinned child gave a warbling chirp that ended in a flat whistle. Condensation was starting to appear along the BB unit, giving it's obsidian finish a glossy sheen. Looking down for a moment, the horn-crowned youngling shot a look down at the astromech. He could feel the change in the air, the humidity supplying a cloying dampness as the duo traversed inside of the industrial complex.

A human male in the black attire of a non-commissioned officer stepped in front of the boy. Looking down over the bedsheet-laiden youth and the droid, the petty officer wordlessly motioned them over toward a cleaning droid.

A shot of pressurized steam erupted from a value release just a meter away, prompting the astromech to roll over to the other side of the boy, as though hiding behind the Zabrak. Jorah stepped over toward where the spindly-armed cleaning droid was positioned. Passing off the bed linens, the young Zabrak took two steps back and then looked down at the BB unit.

"Let's get out of here, BeeBee-Three."

A hand seized the boy by the shoulder.

An involuntary gasp escaped him, the boy feeling as though his heart just leapt up through his throat even as he was spun around. The black uniformed petty officer was standing over him. "Where do you think you're going?" the ship's serviceman demanded.

The boy's amber eyes peered around the room. His mouth opened, but no sound was made.

A table cloth and several cloth napkins were pressed into his arms.

"Take these table linens back up to his Radiance's chambers," the petty officer ordered, before turning and walking off.

 

[Progflaw99]

A violent twitch seized Sieger's features as the disgraced Director spat back verbally. *The hubris, the defiance in her eyes.* He could feel the fire rising in his chest, the subtle tingle of power beginning to well at his fingertips. The call of the darkness rushed into his mind, primal blood flowing through his veins urging him to retribution for the woman's sharpened tongue - then as suddenly as it had culminated, cast into chill as Natasi Fortan stepped forward into the path of the crimson blade. "Stand down!" he snarled towards his appointed executioner. Visibly displeased his eyes narrowed as the Grand Moff issued her request - her pleading demand.

A deep intake of breath calmed his nerves, heartbeat slowing and reason returning. Silence hung like a thick blanket over the bridge, his eyes meeting those of the Grand Moff. If she were to return his stare what greeted her would be foreign. Both Sieger's and someone else's eyes gazed back at her. A secret madness hidden there. "So be it." he motioned with his hand for the executioner to see the stun cuffs removed. "Let it not be said that I have not been merciful on your account, Natasi." Sieger's words were deliberate, drawn out. It had taken him moments to fully regain control of the deep violence brewing beneath the surface. There yet remained others - proven traitors.

Eyes darting to those remaining, he raised his right hand, thumb and middle finger pressed together. Again he could feel the boiling rage well within his chest but this time he fought against it, instead a decisive motion cutting it off at the knees. With an audible *snap!* of his fingers a following *Crack!* could be heard from the necks of the remaining row. Mating head to shoulder at an awkward angle Sieger had ended their suffering quickly - his lust for blood sated. They had more important things to be doing, a slip from his usual pragmatism prompting this rather grandiose display. Bodies fallen to the floor, his attention once turned again to the Director.

"Director Shepard, I suggest you endeavor to repay your debt to Ms. Fortan. As for your position - prove you deserve it. Root out any remaining traitors and work with Minister Calgar as to the security of our empire."

[member="Natasi Fortan"] | [member="The Major"] | [member="Kyrel Ren"] | [member="Jorah zos Darnus"] | [member="Decima Fortan"]
[member="Barbatos"] | [member="Dante Calgar"]​

 

[The Major]

In a moment, in the snapping of fingers or twinkling of an eye, the anticipated and frightening splendor of infinite release was belayed by a simple, rational gesture. Massive in implication, the ramifications of such an action would no doubt be missed by the survivors of this culling until it was called upon in some broken moment of desperation -too late.

Compelled by reasons unknown, the Grand Moff made herself a pillar in the midst of a vast sea of bedlam. Flanked by scarlet tones which hummed against her pale skin, she was at once larger than the life itself, larger than the metallic stench of freshly spilled sanguine waters, larger than the Ren poised to strike, or the dotted lustrous firmament of stars blinking quietly beyond the reinforced viewscreens. Surely, this defiance would spell disaster.

"Director Shepard, I suggest you endeavor to repay your debt to Ms. Fortan.”

Not realizing it until Supreme Leader finished his directive did Sybil feel that her face had scrunched up in pain, not for the generously applied saber burning a hot line against the right side of her neck, but for the expectation of watching Natasi crumble or crunch at a sudden whim of a vengeful Seiger.

Instead he tolerated it. Instead the Major’s reality was one of being saved by the person she least expected to step in. Dumbfounded, her face eventually relaxed and the queer energy of negative space seemed to roll away, clouds of dry ice crumpling away and giving the room a horrifying air of calm in what clearly was a processed execution line.

Why? Why give her another chance? Why this intervention at the last moment of moments?

And beneath that initial layer of confusion something far more sinister began to prickle in the pit of the Major’s stomach. Shaking it away her ocean blue eyes bored holes into the back of Natasi’s skull, perhaps seeking answers that remained unseen in that wavy shake of amber and brown.

“T-thank you.” The Director then peered back towards Sieger, saluting. “Thank you. And yes. Right away, Supreme Leader.” She turned away and did a frightfully good job of ignoring the spreading fire of screaming nerves. Moving quickly she sought privacy to what would have outwardly looked like a moment to coddle her shame. Retiring to a nearby lift the woman thumbed a button to take her to the nearest medical bay to get a bacta patch slapped on before things began to scar over.

With a lurch and rumble, the turbolift was away, whisking the First Order’s problem child away from prying eyes. Exhausted by the whiplash of monumental nihilism to sparkling hope she bowed her head and leaned it against the wall, tortured between what she knew she should feel as opposed to what she was feeling. In this mire Sybil found a smirk tugging at her face, and though she tried mightily to resist the realizations began to waterfall upon her mind like tumbling possibilities.

https://youtu.be/vY4qdAUkf7k​

Lights in the lift began to flicker, somehow bending and shaking in their fixtures, squeaking in a throb that couldn’t just be the movements of the ship. Nay, something troubled them in excitement. Within this splitting world Sybil bit her lips while the light in her eyes returned.

Then came a wide grin, seemingly bouncing about sickly as the image continuously was drowned in ever increasing intervals of darkness. It spread unnaturally, ugly, and vicious.

Gambling usually was very dangerous. But gambling with one’s life and walking away represented something else: opportunity. Wild, unrestrained adventure beckoned. Sure, it was reckless to test her government to such an extent; but with results and positioning like this?

Oh, it was worth a little pain.​

Ah the pain -beautiful, life affirming pain- which assured itself as the cooked gash opened up upon that abused dermis which had now formed succumbing welts that bubbled and popped. This ichor tricked down the Major’s neck in a wet, rusty hue that matched her dyed ascot. Laboring her breath with anticipation, she pulled out a datapad and scrolled through some setting before pulling up a list of names and ID numbers.

With a few pushes of a holographic screen very specific orders were spread, and extremely sensitive materials filled with false data were uploaded and planted upon the unlucky occupiers of this list -soiling their personal devices with invoices or records which would seal their doom once examined. How could she not do such a thing. Certainly the gods of fate had conspired to set this up. It would have been blasphemy to not take advantage of this loving, deft hand.

Guilty, innocent, suspected: it didn’t matter. What did matter was that once the investigation was fully underway the incriminating evidence of assistance provided to the traitor’s caravan would be present. Because unlike most of the government of the First Order, unlike Supreme Leader: Sybil, Shepard, whatever name she was using currently -the Major- did not relent once she targeted a person.

Confirmations of the prearranged orders blipped upon the HUD of her dataglasses, and the first list of targets to be captured, interrogated, and dispatched in the name and honor of the Imperial law faced reckoning. The ever shrinking opponents of the spread and growth of the Security Bureau were trimmed just a little more. In the interest of fairness, the Major made sure to add a supporter or two to the pyre, along with some random officers and officials. It would have been sad, but she was too emboldened by being spared to let such nonsense cloud her judgement. Ecstatic by the prospect that now that she was in debt to the Grand Moff, she mentally rehearsed her next potential moves to leverage that debt into entrenching further into whatever pet project Natasi would have on the kettle.

But first, she had to get that damned patch on her wound. ​

With a deep sigh of relief, she exited that lift with a subdued smile. Really, she couldn't help but indulge in the crispness of the recirculated, air conditioned air.





It felt grand to be alive.

[Exit from thread]​

[member="Sieger Ren"] | [member="Natasi Fortan"] | [member="Kyrel Ren"] | [member="Jorah zos Darnus"]​