Theocracy Of The Unwilling

Ronovi

16-05-2010 12:25:20

Chapter One

The facade of night was hovering over the ragged ruins of District IV's borders deep within Eden City on Yridia IX. What were once neon-blazing edifices slumped stoically in lumps of brick and concrete; what were once sterile white ambulances lay stranded, brown with rust where they had been abandoned in the inferno. Beyond that broken landscape, dark alleys that had escaped the influence of lingering radiation still lay barren like an untouched womb, the walls seeming to expand and breathe like the inner flesh. Even as late-night travelers screeched and reveled in the parts of the entertainment district that remained intact and unspeakably alive, many streets had succumbed to a quieter, more somber fate and awaited no footsteps upon its pavement.

The year was 33 ABY. And Those To Be Reckoned With were hunting for their next most wanted.

Donning the dark, shadowy attire as distributed from the team's armory, Dralin Fortea scaled the heights of a crooked stairwell winding through the broken infrastructure of a condemned casino building. He shielded his eyes from the pastel pink glare of a liquor store sign in front of him, and he brushed away the strands of his fiery hair as he descended into the nearest dark corridor of the district. The pavement seemed to shudder as he ran, as if it were flinching from his approach, or perhaps from the silver hilt he was clutching in his hand.

In the next few minutes, Dralin began to see familiar shadows swooping down upon the premises like birds of prey with their heavy feathered wings outstretched. The scrape of their boots was barely audible under the rush of wind through the narrow mouths of the alleyways, as the adjacent buildings and walls swallowed up the sound and belched out silence. Beautiful, efficient silence. Dralin let his right leg swing out from under him as he briskly swerved around the corner, his eyes set on the man he had been looking for the entire forsaken evening.

He was dressed nicely for a wanderer of the night, designer shoes clicking as he whistled with his hands deep in the pockets of his long, bulky coat. Out of the corner of his eye, Dralin spotted the tall silhouette of a fellow Reckoner disappearing and reappearing in the dark space as if traveling through an endless wind tunnel. He saw another skip across the top of a lower building, the glint of a blaster rifle in the crook of his arm. The man was whistling an old tune, a familiar one. Dralin cocked his head and listened for a while. Then he assumed his position as the target skidded to a halt and a shadow dropped gracefully to the ground in front of him.

It didn't take long to get the reaction the team needed.

With a guttural yelp, the man stepped back, only to feel Dralin's breath on the nape of his neck as he saw the holdout blaster spin in the victim's hand like a metal top. The man stepped back, lobbed three blaster bolts at the Reckoner behind him, missed, and fired three more. Dralin felt the heat of his lightsaber as he activated it, deflecting the white-hot beams as if scattering stones onto the barely lit alleyway. He could smell the sizzle of the bolts as they made contact with the pavement, burning the stone and leaving black scars in memorial of their brief journey.

Dralin eyed the surrounding structures, the swelling walls as if they threatened to overwhelm the movements of the team. The man let his blaster fall to the ground. He turned to disappear onto a nearby street, only to scream as he was bored down upon by flourescent yellow eyes. His heavy gauntleted hand ripping through the heavy air as if it were black velvet, Doni Tzu nonchalantly Force-shoved the man face-first into the nearest wall, watching him crumple to the ground with blood spurting from his nose like a broken faucet. It all seemed to have been done in silence, even as Mechronage Saltherion dropped from his sniper position and moved to flank Commander Teia Coran as she lifted her hood from her face.

Teia held up a hand as Mechronage raised his rifle and cocked it. Dralin breathed deeply, letting the resulting fog warm his chin and cheeks. The sounds of District Sin continued in their neverending crescendo, music blaring loudly from a pub nearby. The Knight deactivated his saber, watched as Doni Tzu pulled the moaning man to his feet, and stared into his victim's face mixed with blood and tears.

"Please," the man was saying, though his words were heavy with clotted, broken tissue. "Please, have mercy on me..."

Dralin cut him off with a swipe to the brow, the hilt giving an audible crack to the cranium as the bone splintered and the man dropped like a loose weight. Doni Tzu exhaled as if frustrated, and with his hands he tore the front of the man's coat open, exposing the two thermal detonators latched to his belt. He turned to face Teia.

"Just as we thought. He's loaded."

Teia nodded. "Can't argue with the data we were given. The intel we get is always pretty accurate." She stooped down and sifted her hand through the unconscious man's coat, pulling out whatever tangible identification was there. "Still, if this is the man we were looking for..."

"Assassin. Been trying to get Rend with a detonator or a grenade for weeks. I know," Doni Tzu finished Teia's thoughts for her. He directed his gaze to the lights, blurred in the generated haze. "So...I suppose we do the usual with him?"

"We'll take him to District II first. Get the police to write a report on him," Teia said, and Dralin raised an eyebrow amusedly. The report was just polite paperwork, compared to where they took their prisoners next. The regular Yridian police normally didn't get to keep these targets incarcerated. "After that, we take him to the usual spot. Get information on the explosives he was using. Get him to talk."

"Sounds like busy work," Mechronage grumbled, and Dralin rolled his eyes.

"Sounds like business as usual," he retorted, and he bent down to lift the man from the ground and swing him roughly over his shoulder. The man was light and easy to carry, even though his face was bloated with blood and threatened to stain the Dark Jedi's immaculate robes.

In a singular unit, the Reckoners disappeared into the dimness of the district, sweeping the dust from the streets with their quiet footfalls. If this man was anything like the other troublemakers they had recently put up with, then this was a pattern that would have to be brought up with the higher leaders of the clan. It would be of particular concern, and not just to Those To Be Reckoned With.

***

"So," Ronovi muttered, her breath fogging up her glass as she kept the whiskey close to her lips in order not to spit at the Ubese in front of her, "I finally get you as a Proconsul, someone I could tolerate as an anti-social, disgruntled man, and you tell me you've been a damn woman all along?!"

The situation couldn't have been more perfect for Ronovi to desire a strong drink even more. She bore her organic eye into the gray visage of Ji K'awiil, sitting across from the Consul's desk with his...no, her helmet bouncing on her knee. The drawn cheekbones, the deeply set eyes glowing from above the breathing mask, the ceremonial braids gathered at the nape of her neck...Ji had known how to play the role of a butch assassin, and well. Now as Ronovi felt her veins stretch like elastic from the flesh of her forehead, she could sense that Ji was amused by her higher up's reaction.

'You think the Imperials would've hired a woman to do a man's job?" she asked, and her vocal chords scraped against one another as she forced her thin, dry voice from her throat.

"Yeah, what's your point? Hell, I'm a woman and I was an underground fighter," Ronovi growled. "But you didn't see me pretending I had...well..."

"You would never understand my sacrifices," Ji continued, ignoring Ronovi's interruption. "I'm Proconsul now. I don't need to pretend anymore." And she finished talking before her voice completely gave out, signing a gesture of dismissal toward the Consul's alleged ignorance.

Ronovi bit furiously down on the inside of her cheek and drained her glass before setting it down with an angry clatter on the desk, scattering datapads from their resting places. Even as Aedile and Quaestor of Cestus, relations had been tense between the two Dark Jedi in the room, and here they were, settled in the same castle, working for the same fiefdom. And now that this little insight had been discovered, the new Consul didn't know how she'd manage to maintain her sanity with K'awiil marching around the vicinity with her head raised high under that respirator. She moved toward the half-empty bottle to refill her glass when a castle worker stomped into the room, bowing curtly to the Epicanthix as Ji settled back into her helmet.

"Ma'am," he said, "we've received a transmission from the ambassador sent to Yridia IV. He claims the interim governor has some matters of concern to discuss with you."

"Does he now?" Ronovi asked, raising an eyebrow. It had been only a few weeks since she had begun setting her sights on fully colonizing Yridia IV, to make it a sufficient economic counter to Yridia IX. She wondered what sort of bargain the fresh-faced Yridian had in mind now.

"Yes, ma'am. He wishes to meet with you, promptly."

"I'll arrive on my own schedule. Thank you very much," Ronovi replied sharply, waving a hand as if to brush away a fly. The castle officer turned briskly down the adjacent corridor and the Epicanthix cast her glare back at Ji. "Looks like you get to hold down the fort for a day or so. But don't get too comfortable, K'awiil. I don't want to come back hearing that the new girl in the room's been messing things up."

"Oh, don't worry, Tavisaen," Ji rasped from under her helmet, mimicking Ronovi's sharp use of the Ubese's surname.

Ronovi snorted bitterly and splashed the sides of her glass with Corellian whiskey. One more for the road, she thought, or she was going to go mad.

***

Another inside job botched. That would be another tally mark for her book. She dipped her feet into the tall grass as she stood overlooking the vast landscape of Yridia IV. The silhouette of the fortress loomed behind her.

There would be no point in continually attacking the clan from the inside. They had grown wary of such tactics since the events following the Eden City Tragedy, and such strategies weren't working anymore. But she could smell the tension brewing from the colonial settlements of the planet she now secretly resided in. She could feel the frustration as the villages were forced into towns, then into cities...the mines pried open again as Tarentum poured the need for economic and governmental development down the people's throats like medicine.

No, there was no point in simply pricking the inner belly of the beast. In order to tame it or even kill it, one was better off with an army and generals. And Nilani knew that for the situation at hand, she would need just that.

Ronovi

16-05-2010 12:26:19

Chapter Two

Ronovi had not had any pre-conceived notions on how the discussion between her and the interim governor of Yridia IV would proceed, not even when she had stepped from the platform of her transport followed by two guards and viewed the construction sites around her. It was as if she had walked straight into a laboratory rather than a developing city. The steel frameworks of buildings, plotted out by men pretending to be artistically motivated architects, reminded her more of skeletons with metallic flesh being stretched over their bones. On each side of the makeshift road, there was dirt scraped up from their resting places like scabs from skin. Set up fences keeping screaming and staring people away from the approaching Prince of Yridia protruded like broken ribs out of a rusted cage. It was like walking by a giant corpse. The whole project looked dead even if it attempted to put life into this colony.

The thin, frail-looking Yridian sitting at the governor's desk visibly sweated throughout the entire meeting, and now the perspiration threatened to stain his navy blue suit a deep black as his porcelain hands shook like they would shatter. It didn't help when Ronovi furiously slammed a fist onto the desk halfway through his stammering sentence, causing it to leap up like a terrified mutt who had been given the sharp end of a stick.

"You have made enough mistakes for one week, Kritt, and I won't tolerate it anymore!" the Consul barked, and her voice echoed in the bare-boned office of the new government building. "If you can't handle your own planet without cowering behind your desk, I can find someone else who can!"

"Madam Consul," Morrisey Kritt stuttered, and his eyes flickered helplessly to his advisors who did not seem any more confident than he was, "there is only so much I can do. If the workers continue to riot, then construction and excavation cannot continue..."

"And what, are your police forces just sitting back with a glass of ale?!"

"No, but our forces are still learning, and they've been given such little time to train up during this project..."

"If you continue to make excuses for yourself," Ronovi snarled, "I will drag you from behind that desk myself."

"But Madam Consul!" Kritt sputtered, his words rather audacious compared to his terrified tone. "Think realistically! We don't have sufficient enough authority yet here, so what can we do if the masses can overwhelm -- "

Ronovi's hand shot out, twitching, ready to Force choke the puny human where he sat. She could feel her lips peel back into a strained grimace, the skin in her forehead creasing in dark folds. She willed herself to relax. The sinews in her arm muscles loosened. She stifled a laugh.

"You know why I agreed to let you oversee this planet's development, Kritt?" she asked with a simpering inflection in her voice. "It's because you're not a fool. You know what has to economically happen for Yridia IV to become more than just a couple of villages on a useless landscape. Agricultural production needs to grow. Businesses need to be founded. And for that, we need the number of resources to multiply."

The interim governor attempted to speak again but found he could not do so. It was as if his tongue had been glued to the roof of his mouth.

"However, you're only proving to me that an intellect can't be a suitable leader if he doesn't have the stomach to deal with the typical problems that come with development. What the Hell did you expect, love and peace? Get your police forces to take care of the rioters and protesters. There are dozens of people rallying outside your building this very moment. Start now."

Kritt could only nod dumbly at Ronovi, who sneered in reply. She rose from her seat and nodded to her guards, who moved from the door to flank her.

"I'll give you seven days, Kritt, to improve the situation. Do not make us expend our military resources just because you can't handle a handful of whining civilians. This development will go forward...with or without you."

With that, Ronovi turned on her heel, leaving a scuff on the cheap red carpeting, and disappeared from the office. She allowed Kritt's tongue to flutter again as he continued his usual stammering, his usual fidgeting and fretting as he tried to remedy the situation. Some things would never change. Morrisey Kritt was an intelligent man but a coward. He was no Rend; he wasn't even close to Griffin's potential. And Ronovi knew all too well how that man came to his end.

The Consul shielded her eyes from the setting sun as she exited the government building, the sounds of the natural world being swallowed up by angry words and shouts. The crowd of Yridians clustered around the building's entrance had not lessened, as men in simple law enforcement uniforms attempted to hold them off with stun batons and blasters. On the horizon, Ronovi could see sites unfinished, plantations unkept and poorly supervised. It was a shame that Yridia IV could not be more like Yridia IX and have been at least somewhat stable economically before Tarentum had swooped into the system and seized control; the clan had more on its hands then ever imagined through this development.

But war debts had to be paid. New profits had to be made, exports and imports increased. Ronovi had to remind herself of that even as the angry chants of the Yridians grew louder and they hissed obscenities and threats at the Consul. "Monster," was what they kept repeating, as well as "Tyrant." Typical labels. Typical insults.

Ronovi smiled and boarded her shuttle without a word, while her guards trailed behind her. She was disappointed by how reserved the Yridians were, having half-expected one of them to cast a stone or swing a fist at her. She would have enjoyed playing up to the role of "tyrannical monster" and leaving someone with a snapped neck. She approached the pilot of the transport somberly, watching as he adjusted the ship's controls.

"Take me to the County of Messina," she ordered. "I need to speak with a fellow Tarentae."

***

Dralin loved the sound of breaking bones in the early morning. The guttural screams of the assassin: even better. He reveled as he bent each finger back, hearing the crackle of each phalange against cartilage like stone scraping against rubber. Teia watched nonchalantly, arms folded across her chest, as Balia Donos emerged from the hallway and entered the interrogation chamber, indifferent to the cries of anguish.

The lieutenant of the Reckoners raised his head at the sound of Donos's footsteps and grinned. He maintained a grip on the assassin's hand, as the half-naked prisoner groaned against his restraining binders that fastened him to the sleek steel wall like he had been crucified. "Here's a joke for you, Donos," he said, his thick Coruscanti accent cutting through the tense atmosphere of the chamber. "How many Dark Jedi does it take to break every bone in a man's body?"

Donos snickered as Dralin bent the assassin's thumb back sharply, brutally, until it almost snapped in two. Shrieks soon split the prisoner's lips, still swollen from faceplanting into a wall a few hours back. None of the Reckoners were worried; many residents of the Mirage in Eden City were still awake, dancing and drinking with the music overpowering their senses. To them, it would just seem like a sexual escapade gone horribly wrong.

The "interrogation" abruptly stopped when the door of the chamber slid open again, and two figures stepped into the shadowy vicinity. The three Reckoners recognized the two in a heartbeat. They said no words to them, only stepped back so that the second-in-command of Kaerner could take a look at the prisoner. The assassin soon found himself gaping into Aedile Tyyravis Nami Dantes' cold, green eyes.

"So, this is the punk who tried blowing the governor into tiny pieces," Nami said, before turning to look at the man beside him. "Jagen, stay here for a while. If any information he has turns out to be on a bigger scale, Spectre may be needed."

"Yes, Aedile," Jagen Phoenix replied, as Nami turned his attention to Commander Coran.

"So...is he talking yet?"

Teia shook her head, an amused smile dancing on her lips. "We're starting small now. If broken bones aren't enough, we'll see if other mutilations will make him talk."

"You'll get nothing out of me!" the assassin cried, though his noticeable fear heightened the octave of his voice and made him sound like a terrified kitten. "Do you hear me, you Jedi swine? Nothing!"

At this, Dralin shrugged and cast a glance at Nami and the others in the room, waiting for approval. If breaking fingers wasn't enough, then perhaps a more sinister form of torture was necessary. Groping for his holster, the Knight lifted his DL-44 heavy blaster from its resting place and set it to low power. No device would be needed after this.

Donos's eyes widened as Dralin approached the wall and brandished the weapon at the assassin's nether regions. Donos loathed using blasters, and this sort of torture was one of the reasons why. The assassin looked down at the blaster as if skeptical, then screamed in utmost agony as Dralin squeezed the trigger and tore away the flesh from the man's right thigh. Blood-smeared bone was exposed underneath, and it was fortunate that everyone in the room naturally had a strong stomach.

"You know what this is, little man?" Dralin hissed into the howling prisoner's ear. "We like to call it the Burning. Now, I figured I'd start with something a little fleshier, and then maybe move to here..." he fired again, stripping an area closer to the man's groin to the bone. "...or maybe here..." Another scream, as fabric melted away with flesh. "And I'm going to keep going until you talk. Now, unless you'd like to be a charred skeleton soon, spilling the beans doesn't sound like a bad idea, does it?"

"Bravo, Dralin," Jagen whispered just as the Knight obligatorily aimed for the crotch area. That was enough for any man desiring to keep his "honor" to talk. The assassin's words began to tumble out of his mouth rapidly, choked with pain.

"The Ghost Lady told me to do it! She didn't go by any other name! She just gave me credits and told me I'd be rewarded in more ways than one! The Ghost Lady told me to do it!"

These words were received in silence. The majority of the Tarenti there knew who he was referring to. Still, Dralin pressed the barrel of the blaster hard into the assassin's groin, spittle landing on the man's red, stubbly face.

"What did she look like? Give me a description."

The prisoner sobbed and drooled as he spoke. "She was dressed in white. Had pale hair. Real pale skin. She kept one arm under a cloak. I didn't see it!"

"And has she hired any more of you? Are others working around Yridia?" Dralin could hear the man's heartbeat quicken, could see the sweat forming on his brow.

"Just a few more. All the others have been caught or killed. Five men were sent to Yridia III, to take care of a clan base. They were all thugs, I remember. Real cheap mercenaries. She didn't give me that much information. I swear to you, that's all I know."

Yridia III. That was the home of House Reinthaler. Nami's brows knit together in a furious frown as he directed his attention to the Spectre commander next to him.

"Jagen, get back to Joran and report to Saitou. See if any siege has been attempted on the Pyramid," he ordered. "Teia, Dralin...do away with this scum. Do what a Jedi Hunter and a Krath Priest should do."

With that, Nami disappeared quickly from the chamber, with Jagen at his heels. Dralin and Teia exchanged surprised looks before they hastily reveled in their newfound promotions. Then Dralin turned to bore his eyes into the assassin's white visage, raising his blaster at the man's skull.

"You may want to turn around, guys," he told Teia and Donos. "This is going to get gruesome."

"What?" squealed the prisoner. "No. No, NO!"

And the fizzle of a bolt subdued him to silence.

***

Pergitor was worse than Yridia IX. The sealed cities nestled in the ruins of a once intact environment were a shining example of how not to mine on a planet. In their encased generated atmospheres, it was surprising how the citizens could breathe properly. Then again, that could have also been caused by the fear that their breath would be choked out of them if they made the wrong move or spoke the wrong words. A planet run by a fundamentalist religious group with an iron fist would certainly have that sort of effect on its populace.

Lady Nilani delicately traversed the streets of one sealed city, the hood of her silver cloak pulled over her nearly colorless hair. She kept the stump of her arm hidden under the folds of fabric; she had made no move to replace it with cybernetics after Lord Khyven had vainly removed it shortly before his death. It had not hindered her too much in her fighting techniques, and the months she had taken to learn how to wield one blade as well as she wielded two blades had been a refreshing vacation. She stepped out into the middle of a seemingly abandoned city center, knowing all too well that the lack of people was due to low population as well as intimidation.

The massive cathedral that hovered before her was as gaudy as any attempt to praise a religion by building the most ridiculous fortress or temple for it. She approached the doors and naturally found them locked, but that wouldn't be a problem. While the Keepers' demise cost her the secrets of necromancy, which she herself had never bothered to learn; her gift for simple means of entry had not changed. She drew a blade from her side and swung it at the rusted padlock with all the strength of ten men. The chains fell to the ground in pieces as the doors squeaked open.

Nilani was met by dozens of staring eyes. She had stepped into the heart of the church, filled with men and women, all haggard looking and all wearing deeply colored robes. Nilani wondered if they carried blasters or swords under those garments; she wouldn't have been surprised. A gravelly voice emerged from the main altar, as a middle-aged man with grayish-black hair stepped toward the intruder. His beard hung long and limp from his chin. His hand was at his belt.

"Who dares disturb the proceedings of the Church of Infinite Perception?" he rasped, pointing a gnarled finger at the Ghost Lady. "Answer now, and we'll decide whether or not we should purge you."

Nilani laughed at this attempt at intimidation. She swept her blade in a defensive position against her chest, and she heard the clicks of hidden blasters. She heard the mutterings of "prayers" under each member's breath.

"You must be the Preceptor," she said to the bearded man before her, and surely to his amazement, she bowed deeply to him, her cloak billowing outward as she did so. "I am but your humble servant. I come only with a request."

"Request?"

"Yes," Nilani said, her smirk never fading. "It involves purging a bit of...unnecessary paranormal activity."

Ronovi

16-05-2010 12:30:48

Chapter Three
Featuring writing from Saitou Tarentae and Dralin Fortea

The ship hung in orbit silently adrift, waiting for a passing ship. The mercenaries had arrived at Yridia III, but they had been given enough information to be wary of the landing. As one of them glanced over screens, the “leader” became anxious.

“Where are they!?” Shel’varr pounded his fist against his armrest. His comrades in crime merely exhaled lightly as they continued to fidget with their stations. Luck would have it that a shuttle was en route.

“Reinthaler complex, this is Shuttle Alpha Four with the goods from Lady Consul Ronovi. We are making our landing approach now.” A quick, affirmative response crackled over the console and warned of high winds.

Shel’varr grinned, exposing his yellowed teeth. The ship powered up and engaged its cloaking device. Such technology was quite the gift for a simple assassination and reconnaissance gig. “Follow them.”

***

Saitou looked across his desk towards the entrance. The tattered Cestus banner was draped honorably under a plastic-glass worthy of museums for fine art. No longer hearing its haunting call, he did enjoy the legitimizing effect it held for his office.

“Is there any further word on our honored guests?” Gazing at the blue hologram of the scanning officer, Saitou rubbed his newly grown short beard. The facial hair betrayed his military upbringing, and even most styles, but he felt a certain leniency on this uninhabited planet.

“No, sir, the bait shuttle has started its approach. We have not detected anything yet.” The man stood at attention, but broke eye contact to visually confirm his assertion. The hologram deactivated after the officer pounded his chest with the right arm, bowing slightly.

“Severon,” Saitou beckoned the newly appointed Aedile, “perhaps the mercenaries are not entirely worthless. Gather Black Phoenix and Zurhidon; I would greatly enjoy a fitting show in the battle arena to raise House morale.”

The blue silhouette bowed slightly and turned. “Feel free to enjoy one for yourself.”

The two summit members parted with mutual contentment.

***

“Can’t you even follow a shuttle!?” Shel’varr’s voice could not hide his fear. There was no way such a landing could be considered feasible for an outpost. Branches cracked loudly and dull, metallic thuds indicated the mercenary ship’s agony. Blaster cannons attempted to clear a path, but only created more debris as the ship was hammered by the crosswinds.

The crew did not need to listen for long. A large tree trunk burst before them, but the jagged shaft caught the bottom of the craft, sending it nose-down to the ground below. A combination of intensely moist ground and sturdy engineering saved the ship and crew from destruction.

“Another live one over here! It’s a wonder they haven’t been eaten yet,” Syrna said with a chuckle. “How are we going to get this wreck back to the Pyramid?”

“That’s your job,” scoffed Dox. His hands did the talking as he signaled to his team to gather the mercenaries. They survived a tumble in the jungle; they’d survive a ride on the back of speeder bikes in mostly one piece as well.

An odd talisman of sorts caught Syrna’s eye. This mercenary would miss the fun of the evening’s events, but Dox would not get credit for this trinket. Snapping it from the man’s wrist and exacerbating the compound fracture, she quickly pocketed her find.

***

The entirety of Reinthaler, save security and the lesser maintenance personnel, was assembled in the arena. Those unfortunate enough to attend in person were glued to projectors while continuing their work.

Shel’varr looked around in a groggy stupor. He was suspended in a box-like cage. Drax’el was nowhere to be seen, but the other three were also in their own personal containers. Shel’varr reached instinctively for his sidearm, only to find his hands were missing.

“It has been too long, Reinthaler! We have toiled endlessly to complete this complex. Tonight, we revel in our progress with dinner and a show.” Saitou waited for the raucous laughter to subside. There was no fancy meal prepared, but he did notice many had brought snacks to the event.

Native beasts, unrecognized outside of the planet, circled the ground beneath the mercenaries. Teeth gnashed in anticipation, claws scratched the floor, spines shook, and tails twitched with titillation. One mercenary finally succumbed to fear and howled in terror.

“Honored guests, I bid you welcome to House Reinthaler. I am Saitou Tarentae and it is my honor to host you this evening. What brings you to our humble abode?” The four outsiders looked up at the man whose voice mocked them and then back to the audience below.

“Please, please! I’ll tell you anything! We were hired by some creepy chick with connections.” Severon raised his hand and the roar of the crowd subsided somewhat.

“Anything more specific?” the Aedile inquired.

Shel’varr bared his teeth in rage and looked at his stumps that were formerly fingers. When he looked up again, two of his companions had been dumped to the creatures below. The audience cheered as the beasts did not immediately pounce as they considered which morsel might be tastier.

Saitou dangled the talisman, which Syrna had found. It was a curious symbol, but one he had never encountered. Sending the item out with telekinesis to dangle before the two remaining men, the Quaestor asked what it meant to them.

“That belonged to Drax’el! He got it from some religious nut!” Shel’varr’s stare pierced through his last remaining companion’s eyes, but the man was unwilling to silence himself.

“Oh? Would you be so kind as to entertain my people with a story then?” Saitou looked to his House. Their bloodlust was not yet satiated. The Pontifex raised his hands and motioned for them to anticipate.

“It was to be left as a token. We were to kill anyone of importance or as many opportunities as presented themselves, but were to leave it as a warning.” The mercenary’s fright was compounded as the beasts finished the scraps of his fellows.

“Well then, it appears we have a few things to discuss.” Saitou motioned to the arena crew to retract the prisoner. “And what of you, my stern and silent guest?”

Shel’varr uttered the most scathing curse of his youth and spat. He would not give his captors the satisfaction of his fear. The bottom of his container opened and he tumbled to the beasts below. The members of Reinthaler would be busy soon enough. It was time for them to have some release.

***

"Stubborn as Hell," Ronovi grumbled. "All of them."

She left a foggy handprint to linger on the decorative glass of the window, watching as hired grunts carted away the last of squealing protesters from the grounds of Anshar Kahn Tarentae's estate. It was a beautiful day in Messina...too nice. Nice enough to let the sun shine upon the faces of angry Yridians screaming for blood. Ronovi quietly took the glass that the butler offered and sipped from it, directing her attention at the Tarentae sitting across the room.

Anshar said nothing at first, instead drumming his fingers on the armrest of his chair as he surveyed the space around them. Being Marquis of Messina, he took great care in seeing everything grow and flourish. He had not hesitated in returning to his land after leaving the office of the Master at Arms, and now he, a former Prince of Yridia himself, smiled matter-of-factly at the Consul standing before him.

"I figured you'd understand the consequences of attempting to develop here," he said before slowly rising to his feet. "Yridia IV's been a backwater planet of colonies for years now. With Yridia II and Yridia IX, it was simple. Here, they've grown a certain mental complex."

"You mean a backwards mental complex," Ronovi stiffly replied.

Chuckling, Anshar stepped laboriously over to the window, peering out of it and watching the guards return from tossing the rabble-rousers outside the front gate. He took great effort in walking these days, as the connection of his spirit to his body was fragile and now incurable. The death of one of the Keepers, Talitha, had left him in this state, and while the story of how he had gotten such a condition was a long one, it was safe to say it was unnatural, and dangerous. He could not fight like he used to. He could not act to his full physical potential, let alone his Force potential, any longer.

"You know, this isn't the first protest I've had to put down in the past few months," Anshar informed Ronovi, as the two stared out over the mountainside and the glistening river where the Marquis's cozy residence had been built. "People in my county have been causing enough trouble as is, but I didn't expect others to climb the mountains in an attempt to seize my estate. Still, it's been happening. I've had to put up with scraggly men with blaster rifles, even young ruddy-faced boys shouting for my death. Of course, I've dealt with them all accordingly. Sometimes I only have to lift a finger and my security takes them out."

"How often has it happened?" asked Ronovi. "The attempted rebellions, I mean."

"Often enough to be concerned about it."

Anshar moved away from the window, turning to a table and pouring himself a glass of crystal clear water. He drank it slowly, intensely, before refilling the glass to the brim.

" 'Death to the Tarenti,' they say. Have you heard it?" he muttered. "I don't know about you, but I'm not interested in wasting firepower on another Yridian revolt. However, they may simply go with the disruption tactic. They'll try to stop everything you attempt to advance. Be alert. Be vigilant. You're Consul now, and a Tarentae...you'll need eyes in every part of your head. Not just the back of it."

Ronovi smirked at the alteration of such a cliche, sipping her whiskey before averting her eyes. Anshar could only say so much, could only give so much advice without it starting to echo in her mind. It was good, however, to get a report on Messina. And if men were climbing peaks to rebel against their superiors, then they may be willing to go through more hazardous trials to stop the projects that the clan had in mind for the planet.

As she had said, stubborn, all of them. Foolish, too. She placed her hand on the glass again as a light drizzle began to descend upon the mountains and threatened to cover the place in cold, harsh frost.

***

It had felt like only minutes had passed since Dralin had been burning the skin and hair off a man's groin, and technically, it had been twelve or so hours. The morning had turned to early evening when he had suddenly been called to Castle Tarentum, and he entered the hangar bay of the castle with a slow stride. Usually he was not fatigued, though he didn't sleep much and sometimes using the Force to keep himself awake put him in a more aloof mood than he was normally accustomed to. Dralin disappeared into one of the castle's turbolifts and stared out its portal as it carried him up above the ocean waves, until he was observing the transparasteel windows that overlooked the Yridia II horizon.

Ji was sitting at the Consul's desk when Dralin entered the office, and the young Coruscanti looked around curiously, noticing the large Dashade in the corner. Frosty Romanae Tarentae blinked once as if greeting him, before Ji spoke a few words.

"Good to see you, Fortea," she whispered, before signing most of her conversation. Luckily, Dralin had learned more than a bit of the sign language by now, becoming used to the Ubese's minimal speaking. "Frosty and I have been waiting for you. We've been looking for a new Rollmaster since Raiju left the position."

"Very kind of you, K'awiil," Dralin remarked dryly, before looking toward the viewing portal. "Where's Ronovi?"

"The Consul is currently on Yridia IV, taking care of development issues," Ji signed. "Therefore, she has left me in her stead. However, she is in complete agreement with appointing you to this new position. You will carry out the usual reporting and archiving expected of both Rollmasters. However, I called you both here for a reason."

"From what the Proconsul's told me, it sounds like there's been some trouble with an old enemy of ours," Frosty enunciated through his crowded clusters of teeth. "Been causing some havoc around Yridia IX and even Reinthaler's base. Goes by the name Nilani. You familiar with her?"

Dralin shook his head. "I'm guessing this has to do with necromancy. I barely got into the practice of it."

"Lady Nilani," Ji signed, leaning back in her chair, "is a former agent of the Keepers, who as you were made aware were killed months before the last Rite of Supremacy. She had been working with the Keepers in their long drawn out manipulation of the clan and ended up helping a Dark Jedi spirit called Adamu with his quest for revenge against us. Adamu's been eliminated, but Nilani escaped from our grasp and hasn't been spotted since. But now we know she's been attempting to disturb the Yridian populace, thanks to the information you garnered from that assassin."

"I don't quite understand," remarked Dralin, slightly amused. "This is just one woman we're talking about. What possible influence could she have on the system now that the Keepers are dead?"

"Don't underestimate the Ghost Lady, Fortea," Ji warned, her hands dancing in their lingual choreography. "She is quite persuasive, and since some of the politicians on Yridia IV are doubting the success of our projects, she can prove to be a strong force against us. Not to mention she is a powerful warrior in her own right."

"I'd crush her if I had the chance," Frosty growled, smirking, and Dralin shrugged. The Dashade was powerful and could take on some of the strongest of opponents, but even then Ji's body language was showing an aura of disagreement.

"Nilani is stronger than you think. She killed Lord Khyven, one of the most brutal warriors under Zero's tutelage," the Proconsul signed. 'Not to mention she put a blade through my back on Yridia IV. I still have the scar from it. My point is, Nilani is not to be overlooked. What we must focus on is tracking her down and finally doing away with her. And that's going to take utmost concentration from our units."

Dralin furrowed his brow and made his way to the wall, leaning against it with his arms folded across his chest. Frosty shuffled over to Ji's desk and his eyes flickered to and fro, surveying the two before Ji finally broke the growing tension.

"I have no further need of your presence," she signed. "You may both go now. But realize you have a mission to attend to. Every member of the clan must be informed of the threat. The Consul will return to the castle soon and further clarify the situation with house leaders, but for now, you do what is expected of you. Observe, report, analyze. That is your job."

As both Rollmasters moved to exit the room, Dralin could feel a certain sharp sensation in his abdomen, like a sudden rush of blood moving to his head. The idea of a target, and an assignment, spurred him on, as his fingers brushed the saber hilt at his side before he heard Ji's whisper behind him.

"Do not fail me, Fortea," she hissed, as Frosty's silhouette passed Dralin and he solemnly followed the Dashade into the light of the corridor.

***

If ghosts could be impatient, Nilani would epitomize that concept. Beneath the nave of the cathedral lay the network of tunnels that comprised the crypt: not only did the Church of Infinite Perception store their dead there, but held their meetings there as well. After her announcement of a new enemy for the Church to "purge," the Preceptor had gathered his officials and held an impromptu meeting on the topic, leaving two thuggish brutes standing guard over Nilani, armed with serviceable blaster rifles, just outside the chambers. The so-called Ghost Lady wore a façade of detachment, trying to show her guards that she was willing to wait out the Church elders as long as she needed to.

After three hours of trying to look bored in the dusty, stale corridor, Nilani was nearly ready to abandon her plan when the door to the meeting room swung open, the oxygenated hinges breaking the silence with a loud creak.

"You are welcome into the Preceptor's chambers," a dry voice wheezed out into the dark hallway. "We have many things to discuss."

Striding confidently into the room, Nilani crinkled her nose, barely able to disguise the disgust she felt at the state of the room. The elders all wore the same dirty, unwashed robes, all sporting similar gray-streaked beards, as if they were all locked in a vain contest to appear the poster child of abject humility. Given the intimidation and clout wielded by the Church of Infinite Perception on Pergitor, however, it was likely a point of survival to appear the most devout of the group.

Taking the only empty seat in the room, which was placed at a small table before the semi-circle of Church elders, the pale woman locked eyes with the Preceptor, upon whom she had attempted to impress a willingness to serve earlier. Her gaze slid past the aging overseer for a moment, taking in the large, ornate doors behind the elders, before snapping back to the Preceptor's blue orbs.

"I certainly hope you've given thought to my request and information, Preceptor," Nilani began, her clear voice ringing out in the stale, recycled air of the dark chamber. "The Yridia system is in dire need of a strong hand to help rid themselves of the… unnatural dictatorship that currently plagues them."

As Nilani finished her sentence, however, the aging Preceptor let out a bark, his sharp, derisive laughter cutting through the stillness. "Young girl, we've been planning this for some time." The Preceptor ran his fingers through his pliant beard thoughtfully, as if considering something before continuing. "You do provide a source of information, however, and I feel that you may have saved some lives by arming us with an update on their current defenses and political standing."

Slowly rising to his feet, the Preceptor gestured for Nilani to follow him, with the easy manner of someone used to being obeyed. As she made her way to the back of the chamber, two junior members of the Church moved to the ornate doors, grasping the large, decorative handles and tugging hard. With another earth-groaning creak, the enormous doors drifted open, and Nelani heard a sharp intake of breath. It wasn’t until the Preceptor placed a gnarled hand on her shoulder until she realized it was her breath being held.

"That’s yorik coral if I ever saw it," she muttered, glancing back to the Preceptor.

"You wished to introduce us to Tarentum, girl," began the Preceptor, chuckling darkly. "Allow me to introduce you to our new gods."

From the darkness of the Vongformed vault came four figures, all of them easily topping two meters in height, rippling with tattoos, scars, and muscle. The Preceptor stood in awe, watching the four Yuuzhan Vong warriors size up the newcomer.

"These four are our gods! They are perfect beings, every one! Not even the filthy supernatural powers of the Jedi could stand up to them! Tarentum will be ours!'

With the proclamation of imminent victory, the powerful Yuuzhan Vong pounded their chests, the largest of them proclaiming loudly, "Do-ro'ik vong pratte!"

Shaking her head, Nilani could only wonder whether it could have been any easier to orchestrate the downfall of Clan Tarentum.

Ronovi

31-05-2010 02:31:57

Chapter Four
Featuring writing from Dralin Fortea

More than a week had passed. The fury had become a contagion. While Yridia IV maintained its separatist mindset, Yridia IX was beginning to smell the tension, thick like an open flame. A small portion of the Eden population had begun a rather frustrating spiel of dissention, protesting the progress of the city's recovery from their latest tragedy. They talked about economic stagnation. They began conspiracy theories. They screamed for reform. And all the while, measures were being taken within governmental chambers to put out the fires that were beginning to burn.

Reckoners Tlaloc Elols and Eziek Dalvex remained hidden in the crowds that had flocked to the center of District I. The golden spire of the government building gleamed in the generated sunlight, casting a strange light upon the well-dressed man standing at the podium. The vicinity was not short of security, and the Reckoners remained in their positioned spots even as Governor Stanson Rend's speech grew loud and intense and he raised his fists and gesticulated with every melodramatic statement he made. No drug or spice could have induced such a deep and unified trance upon the people.

"Understand, people of Eden, that we are under the reign of a mighty King! And working under that King is a mighty Prince! Ask yourselves: Is it worth it to undermine the extreme devotion and protection of our great Monarch? Who else has saved us from danger after danger? Who else has been our support, our beacon during our slow, arduous recovery? The politicians who dare slander the King's name, have they helped us? No. They are fools and traitors to our trust! And I am only the King's humble servant, his messenger for making Eden the paradise it deserves to be during these hard times!"

"Isn't this the same guy who normally just sits back, smiles, nods, and then flicks his wrist and gets the work done?" Eziek skeptically asked Elols, who chuckled and leaned against the wall.

"Sort of. But you gotta remember, Rend knows how to play certain roles. If the people need a charismatic leader, then they've got one."

"...Yridians! It is those dissenters who hinder our progress! Do you think I would've not already carried out my decisions were it not for their banter and bickering? Let me rebuild the parliament, and I will be able to bring about the very advancements we need! Let me pick new leaders, new ambassadors, who can and will do a worthy job for this city! Then we, the citizens of this great planet, can be the shining example of government and power for the planets around us!"

"He's given the new commander every target we need to take out," Elols continued in a whisper as the crowd grew more excited with each word. "Politicians, protesters, diplomats. Solus says we'll start tonight, do a bit of weed whacking."

"Weed whacking?"

"All part of the job." Elols grinned and placed a hand on Eziek's shoulder. "Those To Be Reckoned With have to live up to their name."

"...and just as we must rebuild, so too must our neighbors! And who else can pave the way for them but the people and leaders of Yridia IX? Our sister planets' leaders are ineffectual! They do nothing but rile up their people! That is why we must rise to the challenge! The King has ordained that we spring into action and bring these lazy leaders to justice, and replace them with governors who know how to properly bring a population to profit and glory! I ask you now, citizens of Eden...who will you trust? The skeptical fools or the men who have faith in their King? Believe in me! Believe in the Prince! Believe in Yridia!"

The roar of approval from the crowd was near deafening, and Eziek couldn't help but laugh as the citizens of Eden began to chant Rend's name in an eerie unison. Rend remained frozen in his final stance, his right fist raised, the sweat dribbling from his forehead down into his trimmed beard. Eziek noticed from his hiding place, however, that a smile was beginning to blossom on the governor's face like a pearly white rose. It was not a maniacal smile or a mischievous one. It was simply a smile of satisfaction. Pure, unadulterated satisfaction.

The team didn't have much time. The clusters of people would disperse like gnats soon and the naysayers would move a separate way. Edging from the wall, Eziek and Elols wove their way into the cheering swarms and deep into the open spaces, where they would shove the barrels of their blasters into their victims' mouths and ignore the muffled screams.

***

"Do you know what a Balmorran metal parasite is, Kritt?" asked Eriro Dusquen, lieutenant colonel of the 1st Batallion, 39th Infantry Regiment. "They are, as I'm sure you've guessed, native to Balmorra. They eat through the city foundations and newer buildings alike, destroying their cities unless they are dealt with."

Morrisey Kritt could not reply, unless perspiration counted as a form of communication.

"That is what you have allied with here," Dusquen continued. "They are parasites, eating away at what could have been their future. The idiot country yokels saw progress, and now they face the consequences of trying to tear it down."

Standing in front of the office building formerly occupied by the beleaguered Kritt, Dusquen and the deposed governor watched on as the infantry led lines of people toward the two Warlord dropships set up in front of the construction site, which were on loan from the 1st Forward Support Company. Once they were aboard, the dropships would take them to camps scattered across the continent, where the political criminals would face detainment, processing, and internment. The subjugation of Yridia IV was proceeding as planned.

"I'm sure that you will find that Tarentum doesn't take matters such as these lightly, Kritt," the lieutenant colonel continued. "I certainly wouldn’t want to be you in about two standard hours."

"Two hours?" Kritt sputtered, his eyes widening in fear. "What's going to happen in two hours?"

Dusquen smirked at the former governor. "We received orders on how to handle you once we had conclusive proof that you were helping the rioters. You are no slicing genius, that's for sure – you practically left the recorded messages out in the open, labeled 'Incriminating Evidence.'"

The occupation of the construction site went as planned. While a few of the protestors escaped into the surrounding jungle, most were rounded up and shipped out, with only one incident of attempted escape from the line of would-be rebels. It ended with the predictable response of blaster fire, holes burnt into the dissidents, proud soldiers openly jeering at the corpses of five rioters.

"Did you see all of that, Kritt? The soldiers are proud of being in the Yridian Surface Command," Dusquen said, looking on in admiration. "They willingly took the lives of beings who would destroy the order we brought to this system."

Hanging his head, all Morrisey Kritt could do was pray.

***

"It is done, Ronovi."

Ronovi did not move from the viewing portal. The moon of Koros had just emerged on the horizon, casting its gray reflection on the waters below. Her coat lay strewn across a chair behind her; she kept the sleeves of her uniform tunic rolled up, revealing the brown and white scars glaring from her arms. She did not speak, not even when she heard Ji's heavy breathing just beside her.

"Ronovi?"

"Good," Ronovi finally managed to reply, inhaling deeply. "Good. I'd have it no other way."

"The mission was a complete success, Consul," High General Sato Tarentae said, emerging from his place in the corner. "Yridian Surface Command reports that there was little to no resistance from the government. Yridia IV has been fully occupied, but scouting the wilderness for possible guerilla forces will be another story."

"Do whatever you can to stop any possible rebellion," the young Prince muttered, drumming her fingers against the transparasteel just inches from her face. "Some civilians will stop at nothing to remove the clan's presence from the planet. They want it no other way."

"You give the people a lot of credit," Ji remarked.

"If we needed to overthrow a two-timing interim governor in such an extreme way, then they deserve such credit," retorted Ronovi. "In the meantime, however, we have other things to do. I spoke to Stanson earlier today. He now has total control over Yridia IX, and we will be working with him more...intimately, so to speak. Other than that, there's a reconnaissance mission to attend to, Ji. As my second-in-command, I want you to oversee the assignment. You will be working directly with the head of the Tarentum navy."

Sato and Ji exchanged glances before Ji spoke.

"And what exactly is the purpose of this recon?"

"Expansion," Ronovi put it bluntly. "With Yridia IV going through changes again, it will be difficult to start agricultural production from the bottom up. We'll need to find more fertile planets...outside the Yridia system."

"Outside the system?" Sato repeated. "Ronovi, the clan has never made a move to expand its dominion."

"Well, it's about time we got started," barked the Consul. "It's clear that we're just repeating our motives year after year. Another Yridian conflict. Another Yridian invasion. Another Yridian strike. It's time we moved away from simple inner strife and showed the rest of the bordering systems who's boss. Because I'm not going to stand by and follow the same annoying politics."

As she spoke, she never removed her eyes from the darkening view. The stars were beginning to glitter like sparks in her line of vision. She heard Ji's raspy voice behind her and was pulled from another impending stupor, as if she were waking from an unpredictable dream.

"Orders are orders, Consul. Where do you want us to go?"

"The Gesaril system," Ronovi replied. "It's not far off. Take the strongest of the naval fleet with you. The planet Gesaril, from what I can tell, is a prison colony that refuses to die. We can make something from that."

"As for you?"

"I'll be speaking with Sashar Arconae soon," muttered Ronovi. "There are finalizations to be made on the Treaty of Kessel. I want the Estle-Eden Axis to be fully ingrained in both clans' systems and politics. Like I said, it's about time we made a little progress."

Ji nodded curtly to all that her superior said. It all seemed rather rushed, but Ronovi had implied the possibility of expansion during the major summit meeting held at the castle a few days before. She had remembered how the more veteran leaders responded to the Consul's words, some looking on disapprovingly while others nodded in agreement. She knew that Quaestor Scion Altera of Kaerner was visibly looking forward to such an escapade; it'd give his house more opportunities to do their pirate bidding. On the other hand, Ji was not quite sure how some of the leaders of Reinthaler had taken it, but only time would tell how they'd speak of it later.

Ji and Sato left Ronovi alone in her office, and for a long time, she did not move. She didn't want to move. Tarentum was changing into something far more intimidating in the Minos Cluster. All the things it should have been doing, it was doing now. An iron fist was no good if it was beginning to rust, and Khyron would only want the most out of a unit that had been renowned for its hunger for power and control in the past.

It was only a matter of time, Ronovi imagined, before the Yridia system would be challenged once again for Tarentum's decisions. How deliciously, and obligatorily, typical.

***

Morrisey Kritt never quite figured out how he hadn’t died of dehydration due to the sheer amount of nervous sweating that punctuated his life, but he thought that might have been a better way to go than explosive decompression.

Packed into a small crate barely large enough for him to keep his legs from being popped out of their sockets, Kritt was past the point where one might describe him as hysterical. Blubbering, tears and snot running down his face, the deposed governor was reduced to an animalistic terror – the sort of mindset reserved for small rodents in the middle of being feasted upon.

After a public beating that ended with a broken cheekbone and some nasty lacerations, Kritt was shoved into a box and loaded onto a freighter. If anybody noticed a homing beacon slapped onto the side of the box, no one said anything. After the ship broke orbit, it powered its way perpendicular to Yridiae’s ecliptic plane, positioning its airlock away from the system's planets. If sound waves traveled through space, the loyal Yridians would have listened for the satisfying thump of a small box being shot out into dead space, like a shirt being shot out of a pneumatic gun at sporting events. Having released its charge into the void, the freighter returned home, its crew ready to celebrate with the other patriotic soliders. As far as they were concerned, the Yridian Kratocracy had washed its hands of yet another enemy.

Kritt's destiny, however, did not involve explosive decompression inside of a small cargo box. Nilani had other plans.

Though Kritt could hardly appreciate the maneuver, a Corellian Corvette exited hyperspace nearly on top of his tiny prison, immediately moving an open cargo hatch into place, as guided by the homing beacon, to catch him. The instant that the crate was inside of the hatch, the door closed. The Corvette turned around. Jumping back into hyperspace, the ship left no trace of their covert pick-up.

Ronovi

13-06-2010 03:36:29

Chapter Five
Featuring writing from Dralin Fortea

"I hope your new office is...comfortable, Stanson," Ronovi said, grinning as the turbolift dipped below the waves of the ocean on Yridia II. She watched as Stanson Rend stared through the portal as the smokiness of the waters flooded the view and eclipsed the two passengers in deep, heavy shadows.

"Comfortable enough," he replied, his voice low and silky.

Stanson stroked his gray beard as the doors of the turbolift parted and he saw a transport awaiting him in the castle hangar. He walked beside the Consul now, hands folded behind his back as his designer shoes clicked on the steel floors. Ronovi stopped a few feet from the shuttle, turning to face her new partner-in-crime. He gazed straight back at her, no ice in his eyes, no strain in his smile.

"You will begin your work as Ethnarc tomorrow morning," she informed him, cracking the knuckles on her right hand. "Convene with the Common House at 1100 sharp. I won't be there, but twenty-one fine men will be looking back at you. All appointed by your preference."

Stanson chuckled. "Good to know they'll comply with my demands easily."

"Your first order of business will be to appoint three new Governors for our colonized planets," Ronovi continued. "I have some recommendations of my own to give you. We have many veterans of Tarentum who would be more than happy to serve the new Kratocracy. Keep that in mind."

"Of course."

"There's one other thing I want you to remember, Stanson." She let her breath waver in her air as she spoke the words. "As Ethnarc, you have free rule over the civilian population. You are leader of the Yridians, their beacon of hope in such hard times. As long as you do nothing out of order with my desires, you'll have your little sandbox to play in."

"Ronovi," Stanson muttered, his voice lifting in a cheery, teasing lilt. "Do I look stupid enough to push your buttons?"

Ronovi smirked and shrugged. Stanson was right - he was in a very good place right now and he was not a man who gave in to power struggles. He knew when he had the better deal, and he knew how to keep it. Now as the doors to the shuttle slid open and the pilot beckoned for Stanson to get onboard, Ronovi extended a browned hand for him to shake.

"I expect great things from you, Ethnarc," she whispered. "Once our little recon mission in the Gesaril system wraps up, we can start setting our sights on bigger treasures. In the meantime, keep reminding the people why they love you so much. Maybe tell them how wonderful it is to be Yridian. That always works."

"I'll remember that," Stanson said, and he disappeared into the transport, the steel doors enveloping his noble silhouette as his superior watched him disappear into the deep fabrics of the sea.

***

Eden had always retained an excited energy, but tonight was particularly electric. The Mirage especially was busy, its two bars crowded with more rambunctious citizens than the normal mobs. The smell of spice and alcohol was pungent as ice rattled in tankards and cocktail glasses clinked together in frequently spontaneous toasts to the King and the glorious night. Next door, meat and seafood were sizzling in the kitchen, as hungry customers happily awaited to gorge upon a feast as if it were their last meal.

Dralin, proprietor of the Mirage and under his usual alias 'Kaiman Sal,' sat at his reserved booth by the hidden exit. He polished off his Sullustan gin and straightened the collar of his jacket as he surveyed the young women staggering by in short skirts and spilling lum on the floors. Dralin wrinkled his nose; he'd get a janitor to clean up the mess later. He heard someone clear his throat beside him and raised his head to see two figures standing over him, sipping from glasses. Dralin smirked at the sight of the newer Tarenti wandering about the city, and he leaned back against the cushions of the booth.

"Aren't you supposed to be back on Joran?" he asked pleasantly, beckoning for them to sit down.

Carter quietly took his seat as Coop Ter'An chuckled and savored a mouthful of his drink. "Donos said this was a great spot. So we thought we'd pay you a visit, 'Kaiman.'"

"Good. You know the drill." Dralin snapped his fingers and a voluptuous waitress traipsed by with a tray. "Refill on the gin, please. But back to you guys. Why are you really here?"

"Pirate business," the Nautolan replied, grinning. "Jagen wants some of Spectre to take time off of base patrol and check out the market they have on ships. If we want to be incognito on our missions, we need to make sure we fly without basically going, 'Hey! Look at us! We're big, bad Dark Jedi! Fear us!'"

"Sounds fun, Coop. What about you, Carter? Just on duty as a Reckoner?"

Carter nodded.

"I see," Dralin murmured. "So I'm guessing you guys have been downtown?"

"Yeah, so?" asked Coop.

"So you've seen the...new decorations, so to speak," said Dralin, pointing a finger at a window on the other side of the room.

Carter and Coop were up in a flash to look, which highly amused Dralin. Curiosity always got the better of the newer members, though he didn't blame them. Especially when outside was looking more like a dystopia by the minute.

Hanging from the adjacent building was a large banner, descending across the sleek steel of the office's exterior in its intimidating size. The ebony folds rustled in the thin generated breeze, the golden embroidery glistening in the dim lighting of the metropolitan twilight. But most impressive was the finely detailed dragon sewn into the fabric, accentuated by the embellished trefoil behind its tailored silhouette. Along the edges of the banner were bright golden words in Basic, screaming in the night:

"The King is Yridia! Yridia is King!"

Dralin calmly observed Coop and Carter as they solemnly returned to the booth. What they must have known already was that those banners were everywhere now. The symbol of Lord Khyron was becoming more and more prominent not only on Yridia IX, but also on Yridia II and even Yridia IV. If the people were not willing to acknowledge the Sith King, then they would be forced to think of him each time they got up in the morning. Not that several people weren't already revering this enigmatic ruler in their own ways. Apparently he had fan clubs now.

Watching the shadows fall upon the two young Dark Jedi's faces, Dralin smiled and raised his glass, letting the ceiling lamps shine upon the gin brimming from the lip.

"To the new order," he said, sipping and succumbing to a rarely experienced reverie.

***

"Some data we got," grumbled Welshman from the bridge of the Magnus Kaerner. Archean, Commander of the Air Guard, felt his eyes crinkle in an amused smile as he sensed the former Consul's exasperation.

According to the holographic data on the screens of the ship's control panel, the information the navy had used when deploying fleets to the Gesaril system was outdated. Scouts had returned from the planet Gesaril claiming that the prison colony was desolate, most likely having not been utilized for several years. No prisoners were to be found, so there was no hope for slaves. Not much else could be salvaged.

Still, if Welshman was annoyed, then the Fleet Admiral would be in a worse mood. Archean turned on his heel just as the intimidating height of the Sith Master filled the entrance to the bridge.

"Bloodfyre," the Tarenti greeted as the Shaevalian quietly yet feverishly stepped to the panel. He drummed his fingers upon the metal of the controls and set his dark eyes upon Adien.

"Change of plans," he ordered in a clear, concise manner. "I've spoken with the commanders of the other ships and we've agreed that we've already wasted enough time and fuel in this system. The fleets will be splitting up and dividing their efforts in other systems, under my orders."

"Any systems of particular interest?" asked Welshman as Captain Adien Falaut set the MK for hyperdrive.

"Several, in fact, with more updated information than what our archives provided for Gesaril," Bloodfyre said. "Personally, I don't blame the librarians we have, as Gesaril hasn't held much relevance over the years...but I do hope the Prince can put them in their place for this terrible lag in our schedule."

"Where to, then?"

"Key in these coordinates," Bloodfyre told Adien, pointing a finger at one of the screens. "Other ships such as the Requiem and the Cocytus will be heading off to adjacent regions. I've entrusted Ji to go out on her own with the Doomsday, to an uncharted system. Shows promise."

"You got it, Admiral," Adien replied, grinning as Archean rolled his eyes and the majestic Star Destroyer launched into the web of cosmos before them.

***

Morrissey Kritt could feel the blood pounding in his ears, the panicked state that he worked himself into over the past few hours having slowly subsided once he realized that he was not, in fact, dead in the cold vacuum of space. If he strained his ears, he could hear the background hum of a ship, at least of Corvette-size, passing through the realm of hyperspace. It stood to reason, then, that someone had rescued him.

Kritt froze, holding his breath. A faint shuffling sound, accompanied by a heavier boot clomping down onto the metal deck of the ship, was barely audible over the hum of the ship’s engines, but gradually grew louder. The former governor could hear a muffled female voice explaining something in placating tones, followed by a harsher male voice grumbling something guttural.

With a jarring bang, something struck the crate, jostling Kritt painfully. Then, with a groan from the box, the lid slowly opened, filling Kritt's lungs with cleaner air. Before he had time to take a breath, however, a clawed hand gripped his collar, lifting him up and into the air.

"Y-Yuuzhan Vong!" Morrissey stammered, his eyes bugging out of his head like balloons explosively buoying themselves out of water.

"Quiet, governor," murmured a voice off to Kritt's left, cutting through his renewed panic like a knife. Turning his head sharply, he saw that the owner of the voice was very pale, with long white hair and flowing silver robes. She looked Kritt up and down. "Vok, put him down. I can't have you damaging valuable people like Mr. Kritt."

With a loud thud, Morrissey was dropped on the ground. Taking in great gulps for breaths, he tried to get a bearing on his surroundings. The ship appeared normal, with the exception of the Yuuzhan Vong, but something on the crate in which Kritt formerly called home caught his eye - a homing beckon, slapped to the side.

"Yes, your allies among the Yridian people have coordinated with us in an attempt to save you," the woman said with a satisfied smile. Kritt slowly got back on his feet, taking his cue from the calm woman. Nodding reassuringly, she continued. "I'm Nilani, and you will find that we have a lot in common, Mr. Kritt. We're coming out of hyperspeed any minute now, and you'll get to meet the good people behind our operation here..."

Blinking, Kritt's mind began sputtering back to life. While he was a cowardly man, nobody became a governor of Yridia through stupidity. Allies among the Yridians? People behind our operation?

"And who are these people, Nilani?" Gathering his wits about himself, Kritt had begun his own shrewd analysis of his situation. "They're obviously well-funded, possibly the head of a system. If they have an interest in rescuing me, then they have something against our dark Jedi oppressors..."

"Excellent deduction, Mr. Kritt," Nilani replied with a knowing smile. "While Pergitor does have a habit of staying out of the way, the Church of Infinite Perception has been keeping on eye on your...unnatural leadership for some time. And with our friends here," she added, with a nod toward the Vong warrior, "we will have a true chance against them."

His eyes growing wider, Kritt felt himself smile for the first time since first being called 'governor.' "Nilani, I do believe your faith in my rescue was well-founded. I just happen to have information on the whereabouts of Tarentum's fleet. If your...our benefactors are as well-armed as this ship suggests...The time to strike will be sooner than you may have expected."

Ronovi

18-06-2010 23:08:35

Chapter Six
Featuring writing from Dralin Fortea

The Consul inhaled. She sat in the dark room, alone. Her fingerprints lingered on the frosty surface of the glass. Stains were scattered in brown rings on the table top. The arteries in her hands pulsed, swollen with blood and serotonin and adrenaline. Adrenaline so strong that it could be drawn out with a needle.

Twenty-one men under the Ethnarc's iron fist in the Common House. Over ten renowned Tarentae comfortably settled in the seats of the Assembly of Barons. A select few given the privilege of serving Rend as the secret advisory board known as the Komturei. All pieces of a tyrannical jigsaw puzzle falling into place. All for the King.

The King was Yridia. Yridia was King.

Ronovi let the silence waft over her like the smokey smell of the office she resided in. She had not slept for days. The aura of the Kratocracy had kept her awake. Deep in her mind, she knew things had been taken care of too easily. There were bound to be a select few that had fallen through the cracks. And a few was too many.

The Consul exhaled.

By tomorrow morning, the unwilling would rise.

***

Feeling refreshed for the first time since his regular cowering sessions with Ronovi Tavisaen Tarentae, Morrisey Kritt surveyed the deck of what he was told belonged to the Conviction, a Corellian Corvette owned and operated by the faithful of the Church of Infinite Perception. Peering out of the viewports, he could see the dark shape of Pergitor, as well as the nearby Corvettes and Headhunters that rounded out the fleet owned by the Church.

"With your help, Morrisey," began the clear voice of Nilani, "we will be able to launch ourselves directly into their system, on top of Yridia IV."

Nodding, Kritt watched the other ships take formation around the Conviction. "I can provide the hyperspace coordinates that practically put us in orbit. With the Yridian Fleet scattered throughout the Minos Cluster, we'll hardly be contested."

"Good," creaked the old Preceptor from his seat at the helm of the ship. "We will be upon them before they realize it, and our Vong allies will lead our fighting men in a series of covert raids on their government base on Yridia IV. It will be ours before they can dig us back out."

Arrayed behind the Precept, the four Yuuzhan Vong warriors stood proudly, each a powerful representative of their superior race, at least in their minds.

"Soon, we will destroy these Jeedai, and take the system for ourselves," growled one of the Vong, his scarred face betraying the blood lust that he felt in his heart.

"Yes, for all of us," muttered the Preceptor with an irritated glance back.

"Standby for the jump to hyperspace," the loudspeakers announced, crew members racing to their posts.

Watching as the pinpoint-like stars began to stretch into the tunnel-like perspective of hyperspace, the Preceptor grinned. "And how we will punish these fools who dare flaunt their power..."

Seconds later, the Pergitor system lay empty, with the exception of its dying namesake.

Ronovi

02-07-2010 03:13:30

Chapter Seven
Featuring writing by Dralin Fortea

"Congratulations, gentlemen," Ronovi said as she rose from her seat in her office. "You have made the institution of the Yridian Kratocracy a complete success."

The sound of scattered applause ricocheted off the walls like water drops cascading into a steel basin, as the elite members of the new government smiled assuringly in the spare light of morning seeping through the thin windows. Stanson Rend was dressed for the occasion, the finalizations having been made for his governors and subordinate politicians. He stood beside High General Sato Tarentae, as the latter exchanged a cordial glance with the Ethnarc. All who were present could not help but notice the jagged words newly engraved upon the transparasteel surface of the Consul's desk - the new Yridian slogan, translated into the Sith language.

"Late last night, I was fortunate to have the Sith King grace me with his presence in holographic form, within the castle's throne room," Ronovi informed the small group, letting her fingers dance upon several datapads scattered on her desk. "Having already approved the creation of the Yridian Kratocracy from the get-go, he has advised me to remain vigilant of the more rogue planets...and the people involved in developing them."

Sato raised his eyebrow at the very thought that Khyron was making Ronovi paranoid; however, the young woman smiled before leaning closer to Stanson.

"Stanson, as Ethnarc, it is your duty to see that such vigilance is carried out, for the sake of the King. By the time our navy returns from its extended mission into the Minos Cluster, provided that the assault they ran into was not too severe, I will review the fleets' defense strategies as well as encourage a more stable enforcement of patrol within the system. While the No Fly Zone has been effective for the most part, in recent years, it has not been enforced as well as it should be. Given the circumstances, we cannot allow another breach."

"Understood, Consul," Stanson said, smirking.

Ronovi let her eyes fall upon others in the room - the Tarentae, the military leaders, the political advisors - and relaxed. This was good. Everything was settling in very nicely, and comfortably. She allowed the final words of her declaration form smoothly in her mouth like butter melting off her tongue.

"High General Sato Tarentae has been instructed to supervise all forces that remain on Yridia IV, so that our recently appointed governor may make the transition into his new office in the safest and most efficient manner. I will be updating the Grand Chamberlain on all judicial concerns involving certain treasonous civilians who still await punishment, but obviously, he must return from his mission as Fleet Admiral first. In the meantime, Quaestor Scion Altera of Kaerner and our new Quaestor Dralin Fortea of Reinthaler have been asked to send reports of their bases' conditions with all details on potential threats to their set-ups and armories..."

She trailed off when the silhouette of a castle worker appeared in the doorway, appearing solemn in his tailored gray uniform. Bowing to Ronovi and her guests, he spoke curtly and urgently, as if he were being pressured to speed up.

"Ma'am, the Magnus Kaerner has emerged from hyperspace. Fleet Admiral Bloodfyre and Proconsul K'awiil are confirmed onboard."

"And the others?" Ronovi demanded.

The castle worker's eyes averted to the floor. "Ma'am..."

"What about the other ships? What happened to them?!"

"Ma'am," the castle worker said, "it appears that the Magnus Kaerner was the only ship to have escaped the reported assault in the Minos Cluster."

A dreaded silence hovered in the room as Ronovi sat slowly down in her chair. No one dared to look at her. Her one organic eye twitched as she rested her forehead on her open palm.

"How many survivors?"

"Many if not all of Tarentum's captains were saved, ma'am," the castle worker announced. "Fortunately, many casualties were avoided when the captain of the Magnus Kaerner was able to intercept the attacker at the worst part of the battle. I don't know much else."

"Send a message to the Fleet Admiral. I want the ship grounded and Bloodfyre in my office now."

The castle worker bowed to the simmering Consul just as another officer rushed over, nearly bowling the other worker over. All eyes fell upon him, as he visibly shook and sweated under his heavy jacket.

"Consul, urgent news from the Tarentum patrol ships! Several unclassified ships have just dropped out of hyperspace! Yridian security has been breached!"

***

The blue orb of Yridia IV hung in an undisturbed vaccuum in the vast expanse that intelligent life has called 'space.' From orbit, everything was serene, still except for the lazy revolution of the planet. The silence of space spoke of freedom from the hustle and bustle of civilization, ignoring the conflicts of man.

Without warning, four large ships dropped out of hyperspace, four Corellian Corvettes nearly appearing on top of the planet. Seconds later, they were followed by dozens of specks-- Incom Headhunters. The ships immediately turned toward the planet, letting the gravity well of Yridia IV draw them in like moths to the flame. The four frigates, named Conviction, Creed, Dogma, and Doctrine, split off into different directions, each aiming for different locations on the blue-green surface of the planet, their fighters screening their entry into the atmosphere.

***

Life in the so-called "factory" continued as normal. Ever since the newly-implemented Yridian Surface Command rounded up the protesters of Yridia IV, they began systematically rounding up the rest of the civilians, placing them in camps with the rioters and forcing them to work in the new gulags. The meager food rations, crowded conditions, and bone-weary work were all engineered to convey one thing, and one thing only: those who disagree with the new Yridian Kratocracy will not be tolerated, and will be put to useful endeavors.

Yarlisk Nuvel had been a loyal Yridian his whole life, or at least for all seventeen standard years of it. His father had been a construction worker who rioted over the work conditions of what was to be the new city-- the punishment for dissent had been a more draconian version of what was being protested. Nuvel worked at his station, pushing the durasteel beams down the assembly line, sweat pouring down his back as he quickly shunted them down toward the next person. Pausing for a moment, he could have sworn he heard something over the normal hum of machinery. The shouts of the guards?

With a sudden explosion, the windows on the far side of the factory burst, spraying the workers with shards of transparisteel. Dashing toward the door, Nuvel stared at the wreckage of what had once been a soldiers' outpost, the blackened earth marking the death of dozens of their oppressors. An incredulous grin spread across the boy's face as more interned Yridians joined him outside, watching as the remnants of their overseers were blasted by approaching soldiers. The newcomers were filing out of a grounded Corellian Corvette, with the word Dogma emblazoned on its side, followed by men in robes and a large, scarred being wielding a black staff. One of the robed men stepped forward toward the workers and raised his arms, as if in religious ecstasy.

"Good people of Yridia! By the power and infinite perception of our gods, you are hereby liberated!" Yarlisk crossed his arms as he listened intently, the armed men moving to secure the buildings behind the workers. "The evils of Tarentum, and their precious Kratocracy, are known to us! This corruption will not be withstood, will not be meekly accepted on the backs of the common people!" The workers started muttering, agreement taking hold. The Kratocracy had dealt with them harshly, and it did not take much for the people to hang upon every word. "They will be made to answer for their crimes! Give us your faith, for we surely have faith in you, the good, honest people, who have been so fiendishly imprisoned, and forced to work for the very evil they stood against!"

An uproar exploded from the workers, cheering erupting on all sides, as if the Yridians had merely been storing it all up for one occasion. Their will, broken as it was hours before, had returned, invested in these new liberators.

"Wait!" Yarlisk shouted, trying to be heard over the din. "Who are you?"

The old priest smiled warmly. "We are the Church of Infinite Perception, and we are your new shepherds in these dark times!"

***

The Conviction soared through the air, wind buffeting at its chassis as it rocketed toward the governmental base of Yridia IV, the former governor's office. Three people stood on the main deck, watching the ship eat up the horizon faster than any bird could.

"I can't wait to be sitting in my seat again," muttered Morissey Kritt, watching as the landscape of his planet sped past them. He turned, only to find Nilani and the Preceptor speaking, both facing away from him.

"When I am re-established as governor, will I have your complete support as a new member of the Church?" Kritt asked as he approached the two. The wizened man looked up, and then chuckled as he walked toward the main airlock in preparation for landing.

Nilani smirked at the former governor. "We'll see, Kritt." Turning sharply on her heel, she moved to follow the Preceptor.

"Wait!" Kritt caught up to her, leaning toward her. "I know how to do this job. I've done it before! You said I was important!"

"You'd done your part, former Governor," Nilani hissed. "Let the big neks do theirs."

Furrowing his brow, Kritt watched Nilani stalk off, wondering what they had planned to do with him.

***

For any guard patrolling the confines of the small governmental building on Yridia IV, it was not an average work day at the office. Especially when a demented creature with a living head on a stick was threatening your life.

The two Vong protecting the Preceptor and Lady Nilani traipsed through the doors of the building almost casually, before cutting their way into guards' flesh like a dagger through hot water. Pieces of uniforms and limbs fell scattered in pathetic piles, glistening with warm blood and bubbling entrails. One Vong hissed to the other and they beckoned for their two hosts to follow them up the makeshift stairs to the main office. The two guards around that entrance fell just as easily, dropping in velvety masses of sticky tissue and perspiration.

Sitting at the governor's desk inside the small, dusty space was an older man, his face leathery and creased with an amused smile. It was as if he expected such an encounter, as he rose slowly and assuredly from his seat. The Preceptor wrinkled his nose at the man's sleek, hairless scalp; his black, immaculate uniform. How boringly formal.

"Funny," Lieutenant Colonel Eriro Dusquen muttered, averting his eyes in order to sweep a patch of dust from the desk. "You don't look like honorable guests of the High General."

"Is he not here?" the Preceptor demanded, hoping he was right.

"He is away by the Consul's request," Dusquen replied. "And judging from your appearance and those two disgusting creatures with you, I don't think I should give you any more information. Tell me, just how many men did you kill to get to me?"

"Who are you?" Nilani asked calmly.

"Only a man holding down the fort until the new governor arrives," said Dusquen as he let his right hand fall to his side. "And as far as I'm concerned, I'd rather not have insurgents in here when he makes his appearance."

The Preceptor attempted to remove his sidearm from its holster, but Dusquen was quicker. Letting the sleek silhouette of his DL-44 slide into his hand, he lobbed two shots at the older man, only to recoil as Nilani stepped in the hot bolts' path. The slippery sound of metal escaping from its sheath reverberated in the barely furnished room as she let her blade do the talking, its sharp teeth snapping at the bolts and sending them zipping away like frightened hounds into the nearest wall.

The Vong stepped forward, eager to dissect the Lieutenant Colonel. However, the Ghost Lady raised a hand.

"No. This is my prize."

Dusquen's eyes widened as he fired two more shots, then moved for his commlink. All the years he had spent learning military strategy seemed to fall from him. He was not at a battle grid, laying out the plans for an assault. He was not near the frontlines, conversing with generals. Instead, he was a meek old man staring at the glistening blade of an assassin, as a wild looking priest smiled at such a display. Dusquen would not go down looking like a fool. He would use everything he had left to achieve some simple form of strategic martyrdom.

Letting the blaster fly from his hand, the Lieutenant Colonel watched as Nilani dodged the flying projectile, just as he lifted the desk with all the strength he had left and heaved it toward his target. Nilani split the table easily, the splinters of wood and flecks of flimsy metal flying by her head like sparks, as Dusquen attempted his escape. He barely made it to the door when the Preceptor removed his pistol from his holster, aiming for the kneecap and watching as the bone turned to ash in Dusquen's leg.

The Lieutenant Colonel dropped but remained on one knee, head bowed and neck exposed. However, Nilani would not give him the satisfaction of an honorable beheading. She moved savagely, yet with all the subtleties of a dancer on a stage. The blade whisked the air as if it were fluffing cream, swishing and almost bristling like a feather. Dusquen fell in three pieces onto the floor, his face solemn as it dropped with the remains of his torso. Blood pooled around the scraps of his uniform, the blood of a strategist who could not escape death one more time.

The Vong were silent, as if they were admiring the slaughter. Nilani absentmindedly let the crimson sheen drip from her blade, not moving to wipe it away. She turned to the Preceptor, who had already moved toward the chair that Dusquen had been sitting in - the only piece of furniture left intact in the room save for a small console nestled in the corner.

"I told you not to interfere with this one," Nilani snapped.

The Preceptor let out a wispy laugh. "Can't resist sometimes," he said. "It's been ages since I had the opportunity to shoot someone outside my Church."

He settled into the seat merrily, brushing his hands on his garments after letting his pistol rest comfortably back in its holster. With a smile, he pointed at the console, as the two Vong maintained defensive positions on both sides of him.

"My dear woman, I believe a call to the clan is in order. Get the Consul on the line. We need to become acquainted."

***

"Damn it, do something!" Ronovi roared at workers as she stormed through the castle corridors toward one of the many control rooms. Stanson worked hard to catch up with her, while High General Sato was able to keep up with her manic pace.

"Ronovi, relax. Our forces on Yridia IV are stable. It's going to take more than a few angry pilots to destroy our fortifications, you know that."

"I said no more breaches, Sato!" snapped Ronovi as she disappeared into the room where consoles and computers alike were set up. "And what do we get? Corvettes and Headhunters in our system! I don't have the time or patience to deal with this nonsense, do you hear me?"

"Loud and clear," Sato muttered as Ronovi pushed aside various human as well as mechanical workers, pointing toward the most prominent console in the room.

"Sato, you are to notify the governmental base on Yridia IV immediately of the threat. Send a transmission to all generals of the Yridian Surface Command and prepare reinforcements if necessary. I will not allow anyone to threaten the stability that we - "

"Looks like the base on Yridia IV is already notifying us," Stanson broke in calmly, when he heard a beeping come from the large central console.

Ronovi, Stanson, and Sato all stared as the High General accepted the transmission and a haggard blue silhouette emerged. He wore large robes that were once elegant, and sported a long beard that refused to be tamed. His eyes shimmered with an interesting light even on the hologram, a light that seemed new, almost rejuvenated. Ronovi bit her lip as she felt the fires of her temper begin to intensify.

"Fair Prince of the Yridian Kratocracy," the man said, smiling, "we thank you for allowing us such smooth passage into your residence. I hope you'll allow us to become...comfortable in our new set-up."

"Who are you and what the Hell are you doing in the governor's chair?" Ronovi demanded through clenched teeth.

Soft laughter crackled from the transmission as the holographic image reclined in his new seat. "My dear, I am but a humble man seeking a new way of order in this forgotten mess of a system. I am the Preceptor of the Church of Infinite Perception...and I am here to stay."

The hologram blipped as two jagged silhouettes of misshapen creatures in deformed armor appeared to flank the Preceptor. Ronovi's eyes widened - she recognized Vong when she saw them. Damned creatures that were meant to die. However, as the whole scene on the hologram seemed to expand, another figure emerged. Tall, long-haired, elegant. Laughing.

"Ronovi Tavisaen Tarentae," Lady Nilani enunciated, bowing to the Consul in a graceful but mocking fashion. "Good to talk to you again. I was afraid we weren't on speaking terms."

And all the castle seemed to shake as Ronovi's scream pierced the heavy air and seemed to resound throughout the planet for every Yridian to hear.

Ronovi

29-12-2010 03:15:36

Chapter Eight
Following the events of "The King and the Gods"

Yridia II was bustling as the Ethnarc of the Yridian Kratocracy stood to speak. He let his gloved hands dance across the podium, his articulate words bouncing across the thick air as the Yridian people listened. In every household, holograms projected the blue silhouette of the feverish Stanson Rend, as he boasted of the system's victory over its latest threat, and the consequences of not uniting.

"See what happens, Yridians, when we unite rather than dissent!" he shouted, as the microphones threatened to screech from his enunciations. "See what happens when an enemy comes, and we batter against it with swords risen in a mighty chorus! This is the Yridia I intend to build further, the Yridia I trust! But you must trust in me, as Ethnarc. You must trust the King I serve, for you are your King, and you who had faith in our men and our troops only assisted in the elimination of our foe. Men and women and children all around, be wary of distrust of your leaders! I have only proven that union under me protects us and keeps us fruitful and prosperous. Believe in your Ethnarc, and your King, and we will do the rest!"

Again, it was typical jargon, sugarcoated words of ambition. But as always, it worked. Stanson took every Yridian by storm. His face became an icon, his smile a beacon of light. The banners of Khyron were cleaned up and multiplied in quantity on every inhabited planet. Patriotism had run rampant in Yridia, while its sovereigns became hidden, unseen, and to all but a few, they were not even known to have existed in the first place.

Behind the scenes, however - behind the shadow of their figurehead - the men and women of Tarentum braced themselves for impact. They were not expecting more war, more bloodshed. Instead, they faced a decree, as the silhouette of Muz hung in the office of Ronovi Tavisaen Tarentae as well as every other Consul's office. All clans would be affected, and all leaders were listening.

It was decreed then, in 33 ABY, that Tarentum and its fellow clans would revert to houses once again. The numbers of Dark Jedi had decreased drastically, through death and through conversion. Initiates were growing fewer and fewer in number. Now the Brotherhood had to adapt. The bloated egos of each clan's sovereigns would be tamed as the direction Muz claimed he wished to take was one toward more intimate work once again. It was all for power, all for preservation, and many took the news well and calmly.

Ronovi, however, did not.

Cursing loudly, she slammed her fist hard against the table, as the hologram of Muz shuddered before fading away. Her demotion to Quaestor, to her, was detrimental. She felt that her leadership, in many ways, was fruitless, and she herself was responsible for the downsizing of Tarentum. But she had to remain calm. Many changes were forthcoming, and she had to adapt. She summoned Tarentae and Tarenti alike to become battle team leaders, closing down teams but creating new ones to replace them as more suitable sub-units. Dralin took the Reckoners, Bloodfyre the newly originated Rite of Sin. Spectre and a new battle team, named Reinthaler after the house of the same name disappeared along with House Kaerner, would last a little longer even though Ronovi had doubts that they would survive the struggle.

In the end, K'awiil left for Arcona, and Ronovi appointed Scion Altera as Aedile. She became more reclusive for a time, left with her whiskey and datapads and a strange hunger for redemption. Not a redemption of soul, but a redemption of honor. If she felt like she was faltering in her task to make Tarentum powerful despite the recent fallback, she would only fight to resist such weakness. As some mourned the loss of clanship and others embraced the new house structure, Ronovi's mind was muddled. Oddly enough, she was able to focus on one thing alone, and that confused her more than any other decision she had made: She turned to the Academy.

Months before the next great Brotherhood feud broke out, Ronovi had a ship commissioned to take her to Antei, one of the honored Tarentae serving as her navigator. As she stood on the bridge waiting for the captain to settle in front of the controls, she let her eyes shift back toward the spire of Castle Tarentum peaking from the deep oceans of Yridia II.

"Where to, my lady?" the captain asked.

"To Lyspair," Ronovi replied. "And prepare yourself, captain, it's going to be a very long ride."