Darth Adarable
Mizara, Lahos.
The throne room cascaded between shadow and coloured light. Warm crackling reds and oranges, frigid blues and purples as regal as violet petals combined with the tall pillars of black marble in the echoing hall. Tapestries long and narrow hung on the pillars to dampen the echoes. Scenes of battle, of Vena and Mandalore and Bastion woven into cloth. The throne itself was swept up several steps, its’ crimson clad Queen draped in chersilk and gold, a crown of darkened gold, ruby and contruumi gems upon long, curling mahogany hair. Severe, the face, staunch the posture, fingers with nails painted gold clenched around the arms made to grow into when she was but a child.
Adara Zambrano, as perilous as her father Braxus, indeed grew up. Halfway to seven feet tall, still small for an Epicanthix, Adara took in a breath and held it. Venan Honour Guards, women in armour and upswept navy blue armourweave cloaks held glaives, beside the Militibus ex Infernis. Mighty Anubians, who tended her since childhood. A selection of burgundy clad Handmaidens, faces hidden by cloaked hoods, stood behind the throne. Gifts from her father. A flagon of wine sat beside a goblet half-drunk, Adara’s hand halfway to the beverage as another person tripped into the throne room and bowed their heads.
“Is this the one?” A nod from one of the Handmaidens, and Adara’s eyebrow rose. She leaned forward, eyes black as coals with lit red centres narrowed. “What need could you have had in my city that you stole from a hospital? Food, medicine, lodging, any who have need of it is provided it. Education is free.”
He grit his teeth, the nervous twitches to his muscles as telling as a monologue. Adara sat back, foot extending in leisure. “Send him to rehab. Take a knuckle for the theft, I might be generous but I cannot abide such abuses on others, who follow the rules. Get one of the healers to cure his addiction, and give me reports weekly on his progress. If he makes none, evacuate him from this city. Go!”
Before the man could speak, he was dragged away and Adara rubbed her temples. “Give them the run of the bloody city, and they find another way to be dissatisfied. Perhaps I’ve become too lenient? Father would have killed him for being a nuisance. Or for target practice. Or because it’s a weekday... do you ever... miss people?”
With a deep exhale, Adara stood up and trotted down the dais stairs. She plucked the crown from her head and held it between elongated fingers, staring at herself in the reflection of the jewels. No, she would not give into such cursory bothers as loneliness.
Mig Gred
Stardust Solus Skirae
The throne room cascaded between shadow and coloured light. Warm crackling reds and oranges, frigid blues and purples as regal as violet petals combined with the tall pillars of black marble in the echoing hall. Tapestries long and narrow hung on the pillars to dampen the echoes. Scenes of battle, of Vena and Mandalore and Bastion woven into cloth. The throne itself was swept up several steps, its’ crimson clad Queen draped in chersilk and gold, a crown of darkened gold, ruby and contruumi gems upon long, curling mahogany hair. Severe, the face, staunch the posture, fingers with nails painted gold clenched around the arms made to grow into when she was but a child.
Adara Zambrano, as perilous as her father Braxus, indeed grew up. Halfway to seven feet tall, still small for an Epicanthix, Adara took in a breath and held it. Venan Honour Guards, women in armour and upswept navy blue armourweave cloaks held glaives, beside the Militibus ex Infernis. Mighty Anubians, who tended her since childhood. A selection of burgundy clad Handmaidens, faces hidden by cloaked hoods, stood behind the throne. Gifts from her father. A flagon of wine sat beside a goblet half-drunk, Adara’s hand halfway to the beverage as another person tripped into the throne room and bowed their heads.
“Is this the one?” A nod from one of the Handmaidens, and Adara’s eyebrow rose. She leaned forward, eyes black as coals with lit red centres narrowed. “What need could you have had in my city that you stole from a hospital? Food, medicine, lodging, any who have need of it is provided it. Education is free.”
He grit his teeth, the nervous twitches to his muscles as telling as a monologue. Adara sat back, foot extending in leisure. “Send him to rehab. Take a knuckle for the theft, I might be generous but I cannot abide such abuses on others, who follow the rules. Get one of the healers to cure his addiction, and give me reports weekly on his progress. If he makes none, evacuate him from this city. Go!”
Before the man could speak, he was dragged away and Adara rubbed her temples. “Give them the run of the bloody city, and they find another way to be dissatisfied. Perhaps I’ve become too lenient? Father would have killed him for being a nuisance. Or for target practice. Or because it’s a weekday... do you ever... miss people?”
With a deep exhale, Adara stood up and trotted down the dais stairs. She plucked the crown from her head and held it between elongated fingers, staring at herself in the reflection of the jewels. No, she would not give into such cursory bothers as loneliness.
Mig Gred
Stardust Solus Skirae
