Placeholder 0129
Character
Vorin Jeres
FWN (Free Words Network)
Tuesday, 18:35, Ession
Aftermath
It's raining as I walk out onto the promenade. For the first time in my adult life, the capital city is quiet. Crowds numbering in the thousands gather in the city square. Speeder traffic has been stopped, a giant holovisions hanging from the sides of skyscrapers show the face of older Duros in senatorial robes. Six guards armed with assault rifles stand at either side of him, but the mood is oddly relaxed, somber even.
I stand in the back of the crowd, but I can hear the Duros just fine. He's speaking to the crowd, and the few billion beings gathered on the starships that hang over Ession. Some of them are warships, others are trade vessels. All of them are carrying refugees.
People huddle up under whatever they can. Strangers share umbrellas with one another; they make room so that others can stand beneath the rafters of nearby shops. Men and women of a thousand different creeds have gathered in this crowded plaza to listen to this Duros, and I can only wonder as to how we've arrived at this point.
The Duros, an ambassador by the name of Gorvin Dukal, explains what's happened to the masses. He tells us that the man who brought us all together has been killed. He tells us that a number of our new Sith allies perished defending the civilian population of Atrisia. He tells us how it all happened; how our people were intimidated and forced into a battle that never should have happened.
Mister Dukal tells me that my brother's platoon was cut down and then raised as walking cadavers by alliance agents. He explains that it was the result of some force technique, something that was forbidden by the Dominion's force sensitive clades, and that the action was one of many unnatural acts carried out against Atrisia's population.
He tells us all of the desperate heroism displayed by our leaders; how they sacrificed their lives to defang the massive invasion force they were faced with. He tells us of the bloody battle that followed suit, where Jedi Knights bore down upon our people on the pretense of freeing them from Sith control.
Maybe they thought they were right. Maybe they thought the people of Atrisia needed to rise up against a ruler they elected because he did not suit their ideals. Maybe they thought they were saving people. Dukal explains that it doesn't matter, because we will rise from this. He says that funerals will be held for the millions of dead, and that our people will have closure.
My heart breaks. We agreed to join the Dominion for its ideals; we wanted an end to war. Jedi, Sith, Republic, Imperial, none of that mattered anymore. We were one people, strong and happy. A simple cannon shot shattered our reality.
Now we understand. The galaxy will not accept our way of life. We will never be left to our own devices, for we are faced with enemies on all sides. Even still, gathered by the score in this crowd, we are one people. By the blood of Atrisia the lines formed between us have melted away. We aren't Republic refugees anymore, nor are we Sith defectors. We aren't helpless or alone any longer: we are citizens of the Dominion.
The people cry, they scream, but most of all, they cheer. Pictures of fallen soldiers scroll across the holoscreens, and the names of those whom so bravely sacrificed themselves in the defense of innocent life and our ideals follow them. Dukal says that the fleet was not broken, and that it comes to Ession as fast as its engines shall carry it. Elements of the leadership still live, and a council will be organized to preserve and essence of democratic rule. Banners with the Dominion Phoenix emblazoned along fabric dark as the void unfurl along the skyscrapers. Soldiers clad in both imperial and republic regalia clasp hands and speak words of praise as starfighters scream overhead.
For the first time, I feel true patriotism in my heart.
Never again will we bow to slavers. Never again will we have our voices and opinions censored. Never again will we have our people dragged into a pointless land-grabbing war.
Never forget Atrisia.
FWN (Free Words Network)
Tuesday, 18:35, Ession
Aftermath
It's raining as I walk out onto the promenade. For the first time in my adult life, the capital city is quiet. Crowds numbering in the thousands gather in the city square. Speeder traffic has been stopped, a giant holovisions hanging from the sides of skyscrapers show the face of older Duros in senatorial robes. Six guards armed with assault rifles stand at either side of him, but the mood is oddly relaxed, somber even.
I stand in the back of the crowd, but I can hear the Duros just fine. He's speaking to the crowd, and the few billion beings gathered on the starships that hang over Ession. Some of them are warships, others are trade vessels. All of them are carrying refugees.
People huddle up under whatever they can. Strangers share umbrellas with one another; they make room so that others can stand beneath the rafters of nearby shops. Men and women of a thousand different creeds have gathered in this crowded plaza to listen to this Duros, and I can only wonder as to how we've arrived at this point.
The Duros, an ambassador by the name of Gorvin Dukal, explains what's happened to the masses. He tells us that the man who brought us all together has been killed. He tells us that a number of our new Sith allies perished defending the civilian population of Atrisia. He tells us how it all happened; how our people were intimidated and forced into a battle that never should have happened.
Mister Dukal tells me that my brother's platoon was cut down and then raised as walking cadavers by alliance agents. He explains that it was the result of some force technique, something that was forbidden by the Dominion's force sensitive clades, and that the action was one of many unnatural acts carried out against Atrisia's population.
He tells us all of the desperate heroism displayed by our leaders; how they sacrificed their lives to defang the massive invasion force they were faced with. He tells us of the bloody battle that followed suit, where Jedi Knights bore down upon our people on the pretense of freeing them from Sith control.
Maybe they thought they were right. Maybe they thought the people of Atrisia needed to rise up against a ruler they elected because he did not suit their ideals. Maybe they thought they were saving people. Dukal explains that it doesn't matter, because we will rise from this. He says that funerals will be held for the millions of dead, and that our people will have closure.
My heart breaks. We agreed to join the Dominion for its ideals; we wanted an end to war. Jedi, Sith, Republic, Imperial, none of that mattered anymore. We were one people, strong and happy. A simple cannon shot shattered our reality.
Now we understand. The galaxy will not accept our way of life. We will never be left to our own devices, for we are faced with enemies on all sides. Even still, gathered by the score in this crowd, we are one people. By the blood of Atrisia the lines formed between us have melted away. We aren't Republic refugees anymore, nor are we Sith defectors. We aren't helpless or alone any longer: we are citizens of the Dominion.
The people cry, they scream, but most of all, they cheer. Pictures of fallen soldiers scroll across the holoscreens, and the names of those whom so bravely sacrificed themselves in the defense of innocent life and our ideals follow them. Dukal says that the fleet was not broken, and that it comes to Ession as fast as its engines shall carry it. Elements of the leadership still live, and a council will be organized to preserve and essence of democratic rule. Banners with the Dominion Phoenix emblazoned along fabric dark as the void unfurl along the skyscrapers. Soldiers clad in both imperial and republic regalia clasp hands and speak words of praise as starfighters scream overhead.
For the first time, I feel true patriotism in my heart.
Never again will we bow to slavers. Never again will we have our voices and opinions censored. Never again will we have our people dragged into a pointless land-grabbing war.
Never forget Atrisia.