Faction Social Upheaval || The Confederacy

[Draconis Sederius Wolf]

Location: Theed Viceroyalty Chamber
Objective: Do Viceroy things
Wearing: Dress clothes

Draconis would pause as he would listen to all that spoke to him as he gathered his coat. First it was the ever present yap of Bastille Rommer that always seemed to bother him. Such a thinly veiled threat in here, how typical considering that now he was the least of his problems. However next to speak, was that of Exarch Talon, the Ice Queen almost berating his outburst, comparing it to the tantrum of a child. And yet she finally conceded that, as the second person to do so, Draconis had a point. But she mistook his opinion as one to be extremist, to be isolationist. Was he not fully prepared to march to war against the Bryn when the Silvers had first called for aide? Did the fact that no one, had ever heard any issues coming from the Surric System based on immigration, despite it being a border world on one of the largest hyperlanes in the galaxy? Did anyone even bother to notice that in record time the Census in Surric had gone from a bare six million citizens to almost twenty million both registered citizens and legal residents?

Did anyone care to remember that he had volunteered to defend the fool who was dumb enough to threaten him, on a live broadcast to the entire CIS? Draconis could only imagine the outrage of his home system at such a blatant disrespect going unanswered. They were certainly making peace a difficult option.

Exarch Talon was a figure that inspired respect in many, fear in many more for her history, that she was Echani, that she was an unstoppable force on and off the battlefield. And while Draconis respected her, he did not fear her. She was a loyal servant to the Confederacy just like he was. Her faith in all of the wondrous capabilities and the absolute splendor of her majesty had been something he'd admired since he was in the CAF. Then the Vicelord spoke, and Draconis would turn to finally face his executor, his former commander in chief, his god. This was the man who had sent out the CIS First Decree. The man who had given hope to an entire system and made those who were corrupt in power shake in fear. This was the man that inspired a down trodden people to stand up, to fight, to die for their freedom. This was a man whose dream had inspired Draconis to take the duty he'd been charged with and give it his very best. To lead others, to inspire others of greatness and to give nothing less than his best and more. He would listen intently as he spoke, that he actually acknowledged what Draconis had said was noted. He even offered him a chance to step back from the ledge. To steer away from this madness. But again, there was no defense raised. There had been no issue raised with the latest of many, many issues that had arisen since Draconis had been appointed.

And as the Lord Commander spoke, he tried to find the words. He tried to think of something, anything to say at this moment. And yet, for the man that always had a rousing speech seemingly ready, who was always ready to proclaim the glorious wonders of the Confederacy, who loved his people and all peoples in the Confederacy, his words failed him. He'd been beating his head against a brick wall in this assembly. It was despite his support for many bills that they passed. Every issue he raised, every argument he put forth, save for this one, had been essentially tossed out. And to make this one driven home, he had to finally rip the rug out. He had to tell them all he'd had enough. That he was sick of being told he had a voice but no one would listen. And as the Lord Commander finished and a fellow member decided to add his opinion, he finally decided that his answer should be exactly what the rest of them had said in his defense.

So wordlessly, he would sigh, reach up to his chest to the place where his pin was kept. And with the delicate practice of someone who had done this repeatedly for some time, paired with the absolute reverence for what it represented and how holy he kept this singular item, he removed the pin and placed it on the railing of his pod. His time, and the time of his people would come to an end. The fortress that had stood tall against all enemies of the CIS, that had crusaded valiantly in the face of all her enemies, that was built up so that no single galactic power could break her, would be undone. He held back tears as he turned, and left the chamber without saying so much as a word.

 

[Darth Metus]

Wearing: Executive Formal Wear​

GOLBAH HILL, THEED

The olive branch had been extended - yet in silence, it was denied.

With the departure of Surric's representative, a relative hush befell the Viceroyal Chambers. The representative body had been no stranger to heated disputes before - as such was the nature of legislation. However, this marked the first voluntary resignation of one of their own. While the immediate future would remain uncertain, the matter at hand demanded an answer. For every moment that passed, more lost souls burdened the struggling Monastery. Now was the time for action - and thus the day would continue. As the doors slid closed behind the politician, the Speaker's gavel rang out. All attention was returned back to the center, where the aging Twi'lek proclaimed:

"We will recess for fifteen minutes."​

In the Vicelord's eyes, that was more than enough time to get to work. As he settled back into his seat, his gaze lofted to the primordial woman at his side. << You can say 'I told you so', and I won't hold it against you. >> Though his mouth uttered no words, his thoughts would ring out directly within her thoughts. Clearly, Isley was the furthest thing from pleased - as the decisions of one peer had complicated his afternoon. Yet, such were the burdens of leadership. His nostrils flared momentarily before he reached for his datapad. Deft keystrokes penned an order for his sibling, Shalita Verd , and a request for the Lord Commander Gerwald Lechner .

Given the circumstances, I believe an Inquisition is in order. We cannot allow Surric's people to fall victim to the ego of a single man. Do what is required.​

For the one misquoting the Charter, the truth of the binding document would soon be known. There was no clause regarding secession. No clause about throwing away membership over brusied feelings. There was, however, recognition that ill fit representatives would be removed. Monastery was already suffering - Surric would not. Not if Isley had any say in the matter. With his missive sent, the Vicelord cracked his knuckles and set to work. Fifteen minutes was not exactly a lot of time to put thoughts to paper. But, for the sake of his people, he would try

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER

Once more, the gavel rang out. The Speaker called for the joint session to resume and the floor was opened for deliberation. At this time, the Vicelord rose - datapad in hand.

"My fellow Confederates and guests," he began.

"Thus far, our thoughts and hearts beat as one in the matter of the refugees above Monastery. Though our worlds have their own limitations, we each have voiced genuine support for seeing these people given a proper home. Thus, I have done my best to consolidate the suggestions given thus far into the Confederate Refugee Act. The terms of this Act would be as follows:"

"1. Any member within this body can adopt the mantle of Sanctuary World. This title denotes a willingness to house fleeing refugees - the amount being up to the planet's discretion. The title also denotes a willingness to accept Sanctuary Stations within their system.

2. The Federal Government will begin immediate construction of Sanctuary Stations, with the first being erected in the Monastery system. These stations will provide accommodations that meet the average living status across Confederate Space. Furthermore, the Stations will house the means to provide education, background checks, and citizenship opportunities to those aboard."

3. The Federal Government will offer tax breaks to corporations who sponsor or otherwise aide in the construction of these Sanctuary Stations."

He paused to lower his datapad. "In doing so, we can tackle the crisis head on - and quickly. Do I have support for this notion?"

With thus said, the Vicelord yielded his time. Should enough of those assembled voice their support, the Act could move onto a formal vote. Or, it could be revised based on their feedback. Such were the joys of politics.

Srina Talon | Hester Shedo | Bastille Rommer | Laertia Io | Rookal the Hutt | Aeson Rora | Lady Pawla Arsec of Grindera | Oleander Webb | Svana Neoma | Jordar Varcskel | Imperia von Sorenn | Matthew Locke | Elsasca Selcoc | Agravain | Gerwald Lechner | Darth Elyria | Raven Thystle | John Locke | Draelos | Visanj T'shkali​

 

[Ren Ashbridge]

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Location: Golbah Hill, Theed
Equipment: Suit
Tags: Srina Talon | Darth Metus | Hester Shedo | Bastille Rommer | Laertia Io | Rookal the Hutt | Aeson Rora | Lady Pawla Arsec of Grindera | Oleander Webb | Svana Neoma | Jordar Varcskel | Imperia von Sorenn | Matthew Locke | Elsasca Selcoc | Agravain | Gerwald Lechner | Darth Elyria | Raven Thystle | John Locke | Draelos | Visanj T'shkali | Anyone I Missed
​

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Ren looked on at the chaos that was the Confederacy’s Viceroyalty chambers from his pod paying half hearted attention, ultimately regardless of what was said he was going to support entrance of the refugees, he wanted to grow Nelvaan which required people and only truly desperate people would willingly come to a frozen world with nothing on it. The chaos’ highlights that Ren actually paid attention to started with the representative of Surric having an impassioned plea to be concerned with the potential security implications, though Ren believed these to be a bit overblown. Public executions of traitors will make them fall in line if the security concerns truly became that desperate. Following that the Exarch, Srina Talon , eventually making her own plea, though, of the opposite opinion with a small addendum added regarding keeping people enslaved. Ren still thought it was a shame he couldn’t have some...forced labor from this refugee crisis though his master, Valeria de la Vallée , had forbade it so he would allow those that came to Nelvaan to live normally, Ren also really had no interest in being turned into a fine paste by Srina either, everyone knew the stories, like the rumor that she killed a Mandalorian with a pencil. It was impressive and he enjoyed living. Eventually the discussion ended with the representative of Surric seemingly resigning, which Ren saw as a shame even if his master had described him as a strange man, and the speaker calling a fifteen minute recess.​

​

Once the recess had ended, the Vicelord stood and made a proposal which was seemingly a culmination of the various viewpoints that had been espoused in addition to what would likely seem to be compromises for some of the Viceroys present. Once the Vicelord yielded his time, Ren stood and was recognized by the speaker for the first time in the session:​

​

“Today we have all discussed and made our points for how to deal with this crisis expeditiously and I believe we have found a good middle ground with the Vicelord’s proposal. I support this proposal and should it be adopted in its current form I would adopt the mantle of Sanctuary World for Nelvaan. I can’t promise much, my world has little infrastructure and commerce and no major cities, however, I can promise the refugees a chance at life. I would ask those worlds, and my fellow Viceroys, with more resources than I to promise these refugees the same and support this proposal.”​

​

And with that Ren yielded his time and retook his seat.​

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[Raven Thystle]

VICEROY THYSTLE​

Outfit: XoXo
Location: Naboo, Golbah Hill, Theed
Tags: Darth Metus | Srina Talon | Hester Shedo | Bastille Rommer | Laertia Io | Rookal the Hutt | Aeson Rora | Lady Pawla Arsec of Grindera | Oleander Webb | Svana Neoma | Jordar Varcskel | Imperia von Sorenn | Matthew Locke | Elsasca Selcoc | Agravain | Gerwald Lechner | Darth Elyria | John Locke | Draelos | Visanj T'shkali​

The Viceroyalty chambers had exploded. People were throwing words and opinions. The Viceroy of Surric had thrown threats and threats were returned in kind. A sigh parted her lips when the Viceroy; now an ex Viceroy of Surric, had surrendered his pin. Slowly, the vampiress leaned back into her seat when the Speaker called everyone to order. She hadn’t uttered a single word throughout the entire situation as angry emotions had flared, but her demeanour had never changed even in the slightest. Her bored expression that she always wore, never shifted and so it remained while the others took a break.

So much had been said and yet, it didn’t seem as if much had been accomplished. Raven supposed that that was the nature of the beast and her head tilted slightly to view Nadia and Nala for a moment as their uneasiness was palpable within the closed chambers. The woman was reminded of their own natural distrust of outsiders and it gave her much to think about during the fifteen minute recess. So when everyone returned to their seats and the proceedings began once more, the calm woman knew just what she wanted to say. First however, she listened to the Vicelord speak about the Refugee Act that he asked for support on. Something which a fellow Viceroy quickly gave support to, but not before delivering a small speech, one that she herself would give.

Slowly, the Vampiress uncrossed her legs and rose up to a standing position. ”I am the Viceroy of Felacat, Viceroy Thystle as many call me. It is a planet full of people-“ She took a slight pause to wave a hand behind her at the two Felacatians behind her who shifted nervously at the attention drawn to them, only for her to continue. ”That is inherently weary of strangers. They are not the most welcoming of people, but during my time, I have worked with them to be more accepting of the changing times that we see. After Ryloth, I had plans of refugee stations drawn up, so that we could begin building them and have only recently been completed. So yes, I do give my support for this notion.” Raven said, as chocolate eyes touched upon those currently present so then all would not feel as if she was disregarding anyone. After all, she had remained quiet so then everyone who spoke would feel heard.

”However, even after this notion may pass, it still does not address the root issue of why these refugees have lost their homes and seek shelter from a galaxy that is less than friendly in these uncertain times. And perhaps now may not be the time to discuss it, but I feel that as unrest grows, as our Sanctuary Stations are built and filled to capacity, that we need to think forward, past the present problem and seek to resolve the ever growing refugee problem at the root cause. To look at not just the surface level, but also underneath it. For this issue will not go away on its own.” Raven gave pause as she angled her head slightly while her gaze swept the chamber once more. In her opinion, they could not turn a blind eye to the problem for much longer.

Finally she gave a nod and followed it up with some last words. ”Peace does not last forever and the ignorant will never survive. That is all.” The Vampiress said and moved to take her seat once more. Whatever the case, the woman had said her piece and had given support to the notion. In her eyes, she had done her part. The thing with these meetings was that a Viceroy could never take anything personally and one such Viceroy had done so, which had come at the cost of his position. She on the other hand, would be hard pressed to even pretend to care if they failed to acknowledge her words.​

 

[Darth Elyria]

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Tag: Darth Metus | Aether the Iron | Srina Talon | Hester Shedo | Bastille Rommer | Laertia Io | Rookal the Hutt | Aeson Rora | Lady Pawla Arsec of Grindera | Oleander Webb | Svana Neoma | Jordar Varcskel | Imperia von Sorenn | Matthew Locke | Elsasca Selcoc | Agravain | Gerwald Lechner | Darth Elyria | Raven Thystle | John Locke | Draelos | Visanj T'shkali [OPEN]
Attire: Black Itchy Frock
Location: Seated Near the Vicelord
_____________________________________________________​

Elyria said nothing.

Why?

This was not her nation, nor, did she have anything constructive to say over the rabble-rousing of lesser minds that liked to hear the sound of their own voices far too much. She had wished the King of Krant well in his endeavors and found his offerings more than acceptable. Her son would be a wise tyrant one day and she was very proud of that. While the Speaker called for a fifteen-minute recess the darklit woman lingered near the Vicelord. She could feel his thoughts and frustrations bubbling up in his mind like air trapped beneath the waves.

She did not find fault in that. As the Vicelord she had watched Isley Verd make sacrifice after sacrifice for every unworthy amoeba in his domain. For their benefit, not his. And for what? To what end? To be questioned and abandoned by some mouth-breathing degenerate from some system that she hadn’t even known existed until this moment? <<Your Viceroy have thin skin, it seems…>>

<<I do not know if they will be able to stand tall in the days to come.>>

Darth Metus glanced at her and she merely shook her head. Weakness should be culled. The loud one was weak. Atrocious, before his betters. Incapable of stowing personal pride for the betterment of both his own people and his peers. When he left in silence? Problem, solved. Elyria was relieved that he would bleat no more. <<I would not care if you held it against me. I am not present with skin so thin that a light breeze may wound me. I am present because you are. Because our son is. I am here to lend my strength and scintillating wit however you deem fit.>>

The Vicelord cared about these people. Thus, she was obligated not to eat them.

<<…I should have brought popped corn, however. The salty puffed kernals, slathered in fat. You never mentioned there would be entertainment amongst your squabbling. I shall henceforth attend all meetings of your Viceroy.>>

As her children might have said “for the” quote unquote “lawls” but the Lady of Night, Bringer of Discord, could never speak of such things. It was beneath her.

The session renewed itself just in time. Elyria, was bored. Her hair snaked around the ankle of the Vicelord and flicked back and forth with such determined tedium that he might feel as if it was determined to tickle him whilst he addressed the forum, oh so very, very seriously.

Some support, some dour words, but in the end?

Sanctuary Stations were all the rage. A multi-fold solution since the Viceroy of Surric had stepped out before any true decisions could be made. His constructs could no longer be counted on. Faith was broken. Trust was broken. Perhaps one day, Elyria surmised, that near-humans would realize that one of the truest signs of maturity and success was the ability to disagree with someone while remaining respectful. Lest they lose life and limb.

It wasn't as if she subscribed to that though. Blah, blah hypocrisy, blah. She was, of course, always right and never had any reason to raise her voice…But she did know a few valuable anecdotes for lesser species. Especially, those in delicate positions of power. The first, was tact. Being tactful and raising one's words, not one’s voice, would always hold value. Rain made jasmine flowers grow. Not thunder.

Tact to Elyria?

Well. That was simply the ability to tell someone to go to hell in such a way that they actually looked forward to the trip. That, was her way. It irritated her, vaguely, that some mortal thought they could do it better.

Humph. Heresy.