The Corrupted | Prelude to War

[Ascendant Muse]

7 2​

H OU R S​

The evening was young when the report reached them.

In the wake of the disastrous season finale of Dance or Die - a rather hit holovision series - the lead personality found himself stuck between a rock and a hard place. With the Confederacy still crawling all over the station where the last episode had aired, Chad did not have any opportunity to scrape together a comeback. He had no chance to damage control. No hope in doing anything really, except sit on his hands and wait for the producers to get back to him. Thus, when faced with the potential end of his career, the rather attractive Host decided to do what most men did when they were in trouble. Go home. In particular, he wanted to pay his aging mother and senile father a visit at their condo on Kuat. Perhaps spending some time doing the simpler things would have been just the refresher he needed to get his life back on track.

Or so he thought.

It was approximately eight thirty in the evening, Geonosis time, when the frantic calls began to erupt over the public channels. Ever comm-number that was publicly known, from the department of Health to Golbah City's local animal shelter, seemed to be pinged by one frantic individual. The message they received was simple, but damning. Upon watching the azure hologram, one would first be greeted with the sight of Chad himself. Smiling. Walking about the halls of the public transit vessel as if he were about to promote a new series - but his words stated he was heading home for some much needed R&R. Then, the explosions began to rock the ship around him. Flames were visible, as were the terrified screams of those within proximity to the holovision celebrity. After gaining his footing, Chad grabbed one of the staff who was within reach and demanded to know what was going on.

"I-I don't know, the captain was hailing the New Republic and then-"​

Another explosion. A break in the transmission. Upon reconnection, the frantic expression of Chad can be seen alongside a handful of survivors. It would become immediately evident that the star had crammed himself into an escape craft. And as the vessel attempted to make its way to safety, Chad's camera was pointed to the remains of their transport. The Ainatisul had been broken clean in half by ordnance. Its white hull marred by the black of what appeared to be turbolasers which had shattered the ship's shields. Shaking hands then turned the device back. Gone was the confident, mirthful expression of the holovision star. In its place, sheer terror. Behind him, one of the surviving staff members weeped in their hands. The ship was beautiful, but ill-prepared for any such assault. Only a handful of escape pods were featured in the design. Thus, only a handful of souls would live to tell the tale, whilst over one thousand Confederate lives were lost to the void of space.

N O W​

Skepticism was not the absence of empathy. But rather, it tempered the mind in order to ensure the survival of the body. By the time Chad's escape craft made it back to Confederate space, the transmission had gone viral. News outlets were covering the tragedy and calls for the Republic's condemnation were being made across all platforms. The star himself found himself at the epicenter of a media whirlwind - but before he could sit down for even the most modest of interviews, he was promptly taken into Confederate custody. The survivors were interviewed by the Knights Obsidian. Their minds probed for any knowledge of foul play and to see various angles of the tragedy in real time. Their findings...were damning. From the account of the surviving staff members, the vessel had complied with all international policies and was making a routine transmission before heading to Kuat.

From those aboard, there were no signs of foul play. No signs of tampering. Smuggling. Or any other acts that would have justified a ship being ripped in half. With this report in hand, the Obsidian Knighthood provided their findings to the Viceroyalty. Perhaps it was the pressure of the media which saw their response given so quickly. Perhaps it was the fact that over a thousand Confederate citizens would never again see their homes or loved ones. But nonetheless, the congregation of the Confederacy's governing body was brief. Shorter than nearly any issue ever discussed. A near unanimous cry was given for a response - and once more the Southern Systems would find themselves beating the drums of war. So often, they strived not to see new Imperial powers take root among the stars. But this time, they had to put to death a corrupt democracy.

This time, it would be the New Republic which felt the sting of their wrath.
​

 

[Raona Cadera]

Carida - 75 Hours after the Ainatisul Event

The senate building was buzzing with activity, none of it good. Her heels clicked along the plastoid-ceramic surface of the hallway as she made her way to the Corellian office. It had been 72 hours since the footage had gone viral. How the hell could this have happened? What in the seven Corellian Hells happened at Kuat, or rather near the Kuat system? While she wasn't privy to New Republic fleet movements and military strategy she was trying her best to pin down the vessel that had thrown the Republic into chaos.

The doors to her office opened and she was swarmed with aides, each of them having updates from the various tasks she had set them on. All of them had something to do Ainatisul event. She waved them away and as they dispersed she noticed a man wearing a Corellian Defense Force uniform waiting behind the waves of aides. She made her way towards him and he gave her a salute which she nodded recognition to.

"Captain Shae, What have you got for me?" The young captain had become a friend of hers over the last year or so. The human male was part of the small token force Corellia provided to Cardia's defense and had quickly become one of her most trusted allies and a source of information in the Corellian military. While being stationed with the Republic defense fleet wasn't a luxurious position, it was one that held a certain amount of prestige and distinguished him as an up and coming officer in the Corellian Defense Force Navy.

"Fleets are moving, shifting," he started as she walked past the messenger. "We aren't sure where they plan to attack but the fact is Ma'am we just don't know. And CNI isn't telling us any different." Lisza scoffed at the report.

"Of course not, they never do make things easy for us do they?" That brought a chuckle out of the messenger.

"Ma'am, Admiral Nova and your sister have requested you return to Corellia for the time being. The ruling council agrees and have called you to return at once. There is a shuttle and escort waiting at the docks." The news hit her like a charging bantha. There was too much to do here, too many people that she needed to speak to. She couldn't just...Leave. She shook her head, her black hair bouncing around her head. Her yellow eyes locked on his in an icy glare and the man flinched.

"I can't. There's too much to do," she said firmly, "Corellia will be just fine without me being cooped up with my parents."

"Ma'am this is an order from the top. We've already had you cleared for leave with the Senate." She gaped at him.

"How-"

"Directer Basali pulled some strings I hear. You know CNI doesn't tell us anything. Pack your bags. You're coming home at 1400."

 

[Vulpesen]

[Redacted]

 

[Alwine Daye]

Cantina; Golbah City; Geonosis

Alwine could not pretend to understand any of it. Shedid not understand, firstly, why anyone had cared about that stupid dance show, even after the big worm-dragon-monster thin had erupted from the dancing floor, murdered all the finalists, and then tried to kill the Confederates. Were audiences that blood thirsty? And then, she did not understand why, after investigation, and learning that the producer was hiding bodies that had their brains eaten out, the Confederacy did not immediately arrest him and tossed him into interrogation. And lastly, it was more of a source of anger rather than misunderstanding, Alwine Lechner was furious that now the Confederacy cared.

How many more people like her had been subjected to the tortures on Stewjon just for being a Force User? The Confederacy had not cared them. She knew she would not be able to find a single person in the hierarchy of the Confederacy that would be able to solemnly swear that such monstrosities no longer happened within the Confederate Cloud. That those who were brought in, were safe, not just from the outside, but from themselves as well.

And now… A thousand random civilians, and the Confederacy was on its back legs, ready to lash out. For what? Strangers? An excuse to go to war?

But it was different. Something on the inside of the petite Lupine gnawed at her. She had not been there on Copero. She had not been there on Eshan, not for the fighting, anyway. And now… Was now the time for her to go to Kuat? To leave the save Confederate borders, albeit to what sounded like it was about to be bloodshed for people that ultimately did not matter, and see what was outside?

Alwine sighed, and ducked into the nearest cantina, ordering herself some mead. Her Knights Obsidian armor felt warm and stiff in the heat of the damned planet, but she had grown to love it somewhat since leaving the cooler temperatures of Stewjon. The call for those coming to Kuat would soon be sounded, she assumed. All there was to do until then, was have a drink. And maybe it was time to learn sabaac too.

 

[Alexandra Feanor]

Redacted at request of CIS admins.

 

[Valencia Hadley]

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Location: Golbah City, Genosis​

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Business had called the Viceroy of Manda to Golbah City earlier in the week, appointments with the Viceroyalty and other sundry duties that kept her away from her homeworld - but perhaps it had been fortuitous, as she was on hand when reports started to pour into the city from one Chad McChadstone, a name that Valencia recognized immediately. She'd been aware that the CIS had been on the hunt for the man ever since the finale of the Dance or Die episode that had basically been a showcase for the Confederacy's power against giant worms. Not their proudest moment, but it was shocking to see the man's name emblazoned on her datapad so soon after he'd managed to slip their grasp in sector S-38. It seemed that the man had used his ship and fled close to the Republic's territory, which in retrospect perhaps he was now regretting...

It wasn't often that the young Viceroy was made use of in this particular fashion - her duties usually ran more towards political intrigue and schmoozing foreign dignitaries, but it was an all hands on deck call when word came that a ship that identified itself as a Confederate vessel had been destroyed after hailing the New Republic. She'd retired almost immediately to the office space she'd been allocated in the capital and set to work on compiling whatever information she could, and by whatever means. She had no head for war, but she was a whiz with numbers in a pinch, and this situation was plenty pinchy. As the minutes dragged on into hours she found only more confusion that she was clarity. It seemed that McChadstone had managed to escape with his life and an escape pod - but he had little detail about what exactly had happened. Only vague claims about hailing the NR and then being fired upon.

It seemed that the answers that were needed weren't going to be found inside that office, nor in the steady stream of reports she was being fed. Instead, Valencia grabbed up her datapad and the suit jacket off the back of her chair and set off at a hurried pace back to where the rest of the Viceroyalty had congregated earlier to make their decision regarding the invasion on Kuat. It seemed that their reporting had been much the same, which was disappointing.

A CIS vessel had been shot down over a New Republic planet, and there was little information at all about either why or how. It was troubling indeed, and the decision to approach the planet, both to inspect the wreck, and question those who had witnessed it, seemed all the more prudent. She was concerned that perhaps it would be seen as an act of aggression, but by that same token, shooting down a civilian vessel was about as aggressive as things got. They didn't exactly have much choice - not when they'd recently gotten themselves tangled up with both the Jen'ari Empire as well as the Mandalorians. Any sign that they'd be willing to allow such a transgression without an answer in force would be, frankly, unacceptable. Valencia wasn't exactly excited for more bloodshed, but she understood the weight this decision carried. The time for talk was past, and the Confederates would act as they saw fit - regardless of what may have transpired above Kuat.

 

[Allya Vi'Dreya]

Allya couldn't believe it. More like, she didn't want to believe it. Her boyfriend had been a commander in the New Republic, she feared what this meant for them. But, she had personally led one of the intelligence gathering teams. The survivors had been interrogated, the beam transmission from the ship as it was destroyed, detailing all of its data had been double checked. She went through the data one more time, to see if she had missed anything at all. Anything that would allow her to call into question the original findings. Anything so she didn't have to wage war against the Republic. The ship had to move from one trajectory to another through hyperspace, so had reverted to real space near Republic space to make the short distance needed before it could realign, on it's path back to Kuat. The Republic had done an amazing job at removing pirates and a lot of the crime in their space. So the ship felt safe. Several independent sources reported a Republic patrol in the area, there was no doubt one was at least nearby. The Ainatisul reported to have been hailed by a Republic Patrol, and they felt safe in sending their data, and comm signals, and obeying orders. It was all in the comm and sensor dump. As was the data when the shields began to buckle, the ship's distress signal claiming it was a Republic attack. That Chad guy, his recording was live, as it happened. He also clarified it was the Republic. The recovered remains also supported such an attack. It had been from heavy military grade munitions, not some cheap pirate stuff.

The passenger's stories added up. The force users also felt the same thing, they could see the ships attacking. Everything added up. There was no discrepancies. There had been no sensors, or cameras pointed to the area, no republic recordings of any kind, almost as if they had purposefully avoided this area of space. Anything they said would be lies. The evidence was damning. Even for her, one who desperately needed this to not be true, someone who would have done anything to make it not true, to tell her father this was a tragic accident, we should embrace the New Republic, and make up....for this little girl, who had the potential to lose everything she cared about because of this, it was true. This was more than enough evidence to damn the Republic. They would try to claim it was a lie, but the proof was there. And they would have every reason to lie. They had far to much to lose. The only thing she couldn't figure out is WHY. But, frankly, with the corruption in the Republic, and its inability to keep itself in check, it could be as simple as the pregnant Mistress of one of the senators was on the ship, and they didn't want the knowledge to become public. There were simply to many examples of such abuses of power in the Republic's history.


Her heart broke in two. Allya's head hung low and her eyes closed. For a moment, she thought about falsifying the records, of lying, saying that there was no way for the Republic to be involved. If she just deleted the information from the other ships about the patrol in the area, it would clearly be a case of mistaken identity, right? She clenched her teeth, her hand hovered over the button, as tears formed in her eyes. Why was she made to do these things? Why did she have to be the one to help prove the CIS was correct? Would Jerek hate her? Would he turn against her? Fight on the enemies side? Would he kill her? She didn't know....but she knew her duty, and her duty to the families of the thousand who died. She pressed the button, and transmitted the confirmation report to her father.

The girl then curled up in her bed, and cried.

 

[Srina Talon]

​

Location: Geonosis [Golbah City] – The Citadel​

Wearing: This​

Tag: [member="Mitth'rae'leios"] [Thrael]​

The light had barely touched the morning when wailing alarms snatched her from the cradle of a dreamless sleep. It was preferred. More often than not, her dreams had a tendency to lean toward reminiscent, or, prophetic. She had only just returned from Eshan for the first time. Part of her worried. Part of her wanted to stay to ensure that nothing went awry with Echani Command and the Exclusion Zone—but all parties needed to retain cooler heads. Leaving her family… Again…

Srina felt raw. Still. Regardless…She’d gotten out of bed, calmly, and reviewed the reports. Her expression froze over as the data streamed in. Mercurial eyes became hard. Silent. She inhaled, briefly, and remembered meeting with the Galactic Alliance for the first time on Sullust. She remembered supporting them. She remembered carrying on with diplomacy no matter how difficult it became. She remembered…So much. So much, but so distantly, that it felt like a lifetime ago.

It was a lifetime ago. No matter how long it had been… No matter the time that had passed. This…

This shattered her already broken heart.

Now…Now—Her duties continued. Seventy-two hours had passed. Srina hadn’t slept since. Paperwork had been piling up in her absence, and now, it was even worse. Information piled in from the statements that were taken from the few survivors that were left. Testimony after frightened, tearful, testimony. Silver eyes had scanned the Holo-Vids for hours at a time. One by one she watched, listened and waited for any sign of obvious mechanical failure or some kind of deviation.

What, could possibly, have prompted this? Was it their movements on Eshan? Were the Republic closer to the Clans of Mandalore than they’d initially anticipated? Her elegant brow furrowed. None of this made any sense in her mind. Did the Republic not have former Alliance members? Would they really, truly, allow this sort of silent assault?

From the information Srina had—As an Exarch, she could not yet say.

Within the Citadel she was scheduled to meet with a representative from Mikko. She was prepared, as always, and was dressed in the same dull shade of grey that had adorned her person since visiting her home. The diminutive creature was still observing a period of mourning. Moonlit hair rolled down her back in flaxen waves, moving with her, like a cape of silk. Braids and knots flowed through her tresses with some sort of grand design. Polite, elegant, and functional.

“Exarch. Your guest has arrived.”

The electronic voice carried through her offices easily. The robotic secretary was always blunt, to the point, and was very much what Srina needed to complete her everyday activities. “Please send him in...”, Srina replied, softly, though the acoustics would carry to the holo-comm easily enough. This was not the conversation she had intended to have with the Admiral on this day. But, in this galaxy, things were never as they appeared to be.

Upon entering Mitth’rae’leios would see that the office space was spartan. There was a monochromatic theme, leaning heavily on white, but there as very little to be observed that did not serve a function. There was a singular painting on the furthest wall that depicted a battle of days that had long since passed. Other than that, the walls were bare, and the furniture was extremely utilitarian.

The young Echani stood, rising fluidly, to greet the blue-hued male that had traveled so far. Immediately…She was besotted with a sense of wrongness. Emptiness. Her gaze flickered, briefly, with a palpable sense of discomfort. She had spent enough time around Mandalorians to know what this sensation was. As her Master, [member="Darth Metus"] would say, damnable creatures. Ysalamiri.

“Welcome to Geonosis…”, she breathed, gently, though not without strength. The hem of her gown pulled slowly behind her with the softest whisper. Srina didn’t know, yet, what the Vicelord would decide. Would he call the Viceroyalty to gather? Or, would they simply act? It was rare that took place.

“I trust that your accommodations were fitting?”

 

[Mitth'rae'leios]

Time was a fickle thing. Fickle in the manner that its ebb and flow were constantly influenced by the very elements which it acted upon. Such thoughts were not those that occupied the Chiss' mind as he spent his time accommodating to life within Confederate space. Rather since his arrival on the Planet Mikko from the space of the former Republic Remnant, by invitation of the Emperor of Mikko himself, he had spent his days pandering to the needs of his daughters and subordinates.

Such was the life of a military commander, and a father at that. One such career he performed with a brilliant, lackluster fashion.

In spite of any shortcomings, and any such difficulties that plagued him, the Chiss pursued character as excellence as he always had. Precision and efficiency in all things within his manner to apprehend. And, as such, it was easy for the Chiss to decide whether or not to accept an offer from Emperor Solomon to become the military representative for the Mikkoni Empire within the galactic influence of the Confederacy of Independent Systems.

His answer was simple: He would accept within the parameters that he would be allowed to move as he saw suitable to forward the progress and intricate power of the Confederate military force; a simple methodology in his own mind, but one he felt he could accomplish nonetheless.

It came without much surprise to the Emperor of Mikko that the Chiss showed no signs of intimidation when asked to represent the Mikkoni at the meeting called by the Exarch. As it was Admiral Thrael was intrigued by the idea of meeting with the Vicelord's second in command; or his apprentice as most within the Force Sensitive sect would have referred to her.

With such thoughts in mind, the Chiss entered the woman's office with nigh but a placid expression upon his face to greet the words of his superior. His arms were firmly, yet carefully, clasped behind his back by his hands to keep his posture as straight and prepared as possible, his eyes calculating every aspect of the woman and her surroundings without even the slightest hint of movement, and his breathing was even beyond that reasonable for a man so fresh into a new military hierarchy.

It did not take a glance over the Echani's features for the Chiss to ascertain the mood of her dress or disposition, though her features presented that of a mild depression, but a brief recollection of the events of Eshan that he had missed during his establishment as a leading military officer for the Mikkoni Empires representation. Rather than address that matter, however, he read the slight fluctuations in her features and chose his next action wisely.

"The accommodations are satisfactory, Exarch," he began with a smooth breath, not allowing his own manner be misinterpreted by his words and tone. "While the Confederacy is far different than what I had anticipated from my studies I find it to be as efficient as I had expected."

As he spoke he made a motion to gently nudge the ysalamiri draped over his shoulders, urging it back up onto the harness that had been carefully adorned upon his shoulder pads.

"You will have to excuse my precautions," he uttered softly as continued to fix his gaze upon the pale, white haired woman. "While a meeting with the Exarch should be a secure and productive one, I could not ignore the possibility that such a woman of your standing might find a former Imperial such as myself to be a less than acceptable candidate."

It was easy enough to state ones position. Maintaining it, however, was an entirely different endeavor.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Citadel Dockyard
Golbah City
Geonosis

It had been not long since she's returned from another mission, this one having taken her to some icy cold planet somewhere in Wild Space. For once, Madalena was happy to be in the scorching heat of Geonosis; the weather would probably not make her happy for too long, but after having nearly frozen her butt off, she welcomed it now.

Uncaring about what others might think, she'd rummaged through her hangar bay until she found the perfect item – a picnic lounging chair. Slipping into a small bathing suit, she pulled the chair along with an impossibly big bag of weapons, and sat herself outside, enjoying the direct sunlight on her skin.

Baal was with her, running happily in circles around the dockyard. The Sithling let him do as he pleased; a Loth Wolf, Baal was intelligent, sentient, and knew all the safety precautions he needed to know about to make sure he did not accidently get run over by a landing ship. But just to make sure he was safe from the heat as well, she pout a gigantic water bowl out for him as well, complete with some ice cubes.

Sitting down, Madalena turned her commdevice on, allowing it to update with all the info that she had purposefully ignored on her trip home, wanting just a few hours of silence. Most of the earlier tidbits were ones she could've not listened to at all, mundane tasks and updates that had nothing to do with her or her realm of responsibility, but then…

A string of curses that would've made a sailor blush came out of the Sithling's mouth. She had been there! She had been at the Dance or Die space station, and she had fought those tiny worms and that gigantic big monster worm! The debriefing afterwards had alerted them all that Chad McChadstone had made an escape, but now…

Madalena blinked. Not really one to believe in coincidences, she could not help but wonder. McChadstone, needing to hurry back to CIS space? Why did his escape pod not take him to a nearer, safer place? NR space was just near the Silvers, who were allied with the Confederates, so why did Chad make a point of coming back here? She wished she could've been part of the interrogation team. If nothing else, she would have been satisfied with punching a few teeth out of his smug face.

And now they would be going to war, for the third time since Life Day.

At least that bit of news was all right. Madalena was a Sith, a Warrior, a Blood Hound. The opportunity to put the pointy end of her weapons in someone else didn't really unhinge her. She welcomed the opportunity.

"We're off to go to another war, another war, another war," she sang, her voice light and full of joy as her hands began to remove the weapons from her backpack. It was time to sharpen them.

 

[Keva]

Geonosis
CDF Military Base

Keva didn’t watch holos, they were mundane things for the most part. Far beyond her understanding of basic as well, grasping only half of what they tried to convey was far from actually enjoyable: the pretty pictures would’ve been far more enjoyable if she was some mere child.

Regardless of this fact news of a fallen CIS vessel, transporting CIS civilians, and supposedly carried out by another of the Galactic powers? How could a marshal not hear of such a thing? The fact of the matter was that this was a call to war, or so it had been deemed as such.

And so the Chiss wondered, as her shiny boots clicked against the metal floors of the base, about all this war, all this conflict. Did it make her too cold? She felt no sorrow in her heart for those that had died, she did not cry, she did not weep, no, nothing of the sort. They were numbers in her mind and little else, a faceless wall of corpses that proved the reason for why she was even here in the first place. It was a ruthless approach, no better than a filthy droid: and it made her scowl to consider such a betrayal of why she even wore the colors of the Confederacy in the first place.

But at the same time.

She debated the contrary all the same: did these eternal conflict breed such a fiery and controllable passion within her all while the ruthless efficiency commanded her approach to it all? For why was she here for any other reason than a fiery passion and ambition bred by conflict? The rippling scars from the Vagaari scum that had nearly claimed her eye, and had claimed so many of her comrades during those faithful months. It had bred such an unrelenting hatred in her heart, a hatred that had ascended into purpose, and then into a solemn drive to see the Vagaari and anything like them removed from the Galaxy with utterly ruthless and merciless efficiency: as any cancer should be. For why else if not passion did she abandon what had been so thoroughly and utterly drilled into her head? Abandon what seemed like the very reason of her birth. Abandon the Ascendancy, abandon the CEDF, abandon all that she had learned so much about, had utterly dissected in her youth. Abandon what had bred such a ruthless machine.

She took some solace in this, to some extent, even when it did tear the very fabric of her being: leaving her awake many a night and leaving her tired, quiet, and sullen: even more than usual. For passion was power, a power to shape your own destiny. And with that power you gained strength, and through that strength that shape of destiny could be fulfilled. And that was the path to freedom. At least, that is what Keva had decided to keep herself sane.

Amusing, to consider all this ran through the mind of a woman who spoke no better than a child. Locked away under the prison of her obscure native tongue.

In due time the clicking boots came to a halt, a blast door sliding open as the Chiss was greeted by a T-series Tactical Droid. Her own T-series, which had been left near factory standard besides having Cheunh drilled violently into it’s skull. The droid disgusted her. A droid standing where man should stand, droids were not made to command. Truly, the downfall of the Confederacy were simple facts like this. Thankfully minor faults, no matter how much they filled her with a wretched disgust: they were competent enough to see her goals fulfilled. One day.

The uniform was crisp, she reminded herself of an Imperial sometimes with this brutal following of military dress. She had encountered some before, these officers in fine uniforms that showed their power through the sheer uniformity of it all. She enjoyed it, a guilty pleasure maybe, this design of the wretched Imperials. It was commanding. She needed to seem commanding, even without her command of language.

Keva wasted no time, snapping an order out at the droid in her native tongue. Every time the chance to speak Cheunh was given it seemed like her prison was a little bit lessened, only to be so brutally constricting a few moments after.

“Lat ch'an'ciuh to Tahei! Ch'ah ch'epasahn etah tsaco sir k'user mah ch'a ch'ucan'ci ch'azepi!”

She spat it out, the droid had learned very quickly that it was little more than a glorified translator at times. Ferrying her commands to the rest of the legion of machines under her command.It was a rallying call, to prepare her forces for the inevitable war.

A regrettable war. She had little doubts this conflict would fall into the same analog as the butchering of Copero, the CIS shared her ruthless efficiency. Understood no heroes existed if one wished to complete a job well, maybe, childishly, she held out some hope that the fire would be small: armies would burn, bases would be razed, warships would be torn asunder. But that the people would not feel the scathing talons of conflict, not leave with the same scars she bore on her face, and in her cold heart.

It was moronic. She knew that completely and utterly, but it was hope. Something that even her militarized soul could not fully abandon, hope could never truly be replaced by the cold calculating logic that dictated so much of her career.

Bah.

Such thoughts were meaningless, empty things. This was war, or the prelude to it at least, people would die. Many people would die. It would be impossible to avoid, she would search her solaces instead for when the armies marched: this passion would have to be turned to the total annihilation of the enemy, her strength turned to seeing them crushed, and the bloodshed would inevitably fuel her ambitions. Progress demanded blood, she knew this, deep in her heart. She merely did not know how much of it. And that would now forge a path to freedom, to the peace given when the scum of the Galaxy was smothered under millions of marching metal feet.

And with such sobering thoughts, they gave not sorrow but that unwavering conviction she seemed to be making herself known for. Gazing out to the rolling dunes, Keva let herself listen to the metal stir. Her droids slowly bringing themselves to life, to be loaded up and prepared to be sent across the stars to whatever new battlefields would show themselves in this coming conflict. She let her thoughts remain to one thing alone, listening to the chorus that filled her heart with a rage that fueled her strength.

Progress, would demand blood.

 

[Anton Delane]

Once, long ago, Anton had wanted peace more than almost anything. The chance to hold his wife, and watch his daughter grow. To protect, and guide the galaxy into a more peaceful era. However, war took that from him. War between the Sith and a Republic. So long ago now. In the end, he was unable to save his family, and as a broken man, he wandered the galaxy.

Eventually, he destroyed everything they had built together.

But one man, nay, one GOD saved him and gave him new purpose. [member="Darth Tacitus"], his Emperor. This Sith practitioner asked for little beyond the ability to protect his people. Regardless, Anton knew the depths of his heart, and the loss of Darth Tacitus during the battle of Eshan weighed on him heavily. He had faith in the Eternal Emperor's return, however, he planned to give his God the perfect gift upon his awakening. Revenge.

Revenge against the very concept of a Republic, as it was what had struck down the Ancient Eye, and it was known to have haunted his Emperor's dreams.

With that in mind, Anton secretly created a group of New Republic Sympathizers to spark a terrorist cell and encouraged them to attack a planet by the name of Doldur in Confederate space. They took a valuable governmental building in the exchange. It was true that most of them died in the attack, but, from the ones that survived, he used them for so much more. He also instructed them to infiltrate Geonosis with the intention of assassinating [member="Allya Vi'Dreya"] in the name of the New Republic. Sadly, it failed.

That disappointment meant that he had to escalate the game even more. He thought that depriving the Vicelord of one of his children would be enough, but, if that wouldn't do—He would deprive him of the lifeblood of his nation. His citizens. He worked diligently to acquire six ships that could be retrofitted to appear to belong to the New Republic. Anton paid a fortune for this but in the end—He was able to get his hands on New Republic Transponder codes and communication frequencies. They seemed to be strangely trusting with their details and information. Only a handful of individuals were disposed of during the acquisition.

Upon inspection, it was evident that what Anton got his hands on what slightly out of date, but, it would suffice for the civilian ship that had come from CIS space. He could barely contain his pride in his vision finally, finally coming true. Oh, this revenge. Glory, would be found.

All in the late Emperor's name.

72 Hours ago​

Anton stood on the bridge of the retrofitted New Republic ships. It was disguised well and had been renamed to something innocuous. Rork's Drift. At first blush, the vessel seemed entirely legitimate, especially, from the way it cruised along without a care. There was a certain amount of risk involved if they ran into a real patrol, however, it allowed them to pass by dozens of ships, scan them, send them on their way. Their presence would not be noticed.

Besides, the New Republic military presence in the area seemed to be nearly non-existent. In his eyes, it also seemed that they had chosen to abandon much of Kuat to its misery. Word on the holo-net had it that in the last battle that had taken place here, part of the rings had been dropped onto the world. Such wasteful destruction. How irresponsible was this Republic, truly, that this planet, this titan of production, had been left to filth and disrepair?

His pity, if there had ever been any, had utterly dissipated.

They had several spies onboard the chosen ship, the Ainatisul, that had given him the exact locations, time of arrival, and where they would exit hyperspace to readjust before they headed into Kuat. The Ainatisul had taken the Hydian Way from Confederate space and headed toward New Republic Space at an easy glide. A short micro-jump upon reaching Camaas, set it right outside a New Republic zone.

When the luxury cruiser came into view, Anton knew they had made the right choice. The rich, the famous, oh, they would all be on that ship. This would get the attention of the Confederacy. If hundreds of Echani and Thyrsians burning on Eshan got them to cross the Galaxy, certainly, this would get the Droid Nation to take a short leap. That damned Warmonger of a Vicelord wouldn't be able to avoid it. Such a pathetic excuse for a leader, [member="Darth Metus"], and his blind members of the Viceroyalty would just eat this up. “Ainatisul, this is the New Republic Patrol Ship Rork's Drift. Please power down engines, shields, and shut down any weapon systems. We will try to make the scan quick, and send you on your way with little delay.”

The Captain responded. “Oh, we were unaware of any scanning happening at this time.” Anton smirked and went back on the comm.

“Annoying, I know. Procedures, on top of procedures, I think one of the Senators just put in a new law outlawing some type of fruit or something…", a lie, for certain, but it was small enough that a Confederate would have no way of knowing any better. "...I'm not sure, to be honest, but, they have us hustling out here. I have a date in five hours and I want to get the lead out, and get back, but, it's not my job to question. We both are in a hurry, the faster we do this, the easier it is for us both, Captain.”

The Captain laughed. “I have one of my own, on Kuat. Good to know I'm not in this boat alone. Alright, we are coming to stop, lowering shields, and powering down defensive systems. Let's hurry and maybe we won't be late.”

“You said it, Captain!” Anton gave a hardy laugh. The Captain sent off a message to his passengers and crew about the impromptu stop, and Anton activated the scanners. It was in that moment, Chad acted. Oh that cheeky bastard knew just what to do. A small compartment of explosives went off in the ship, panic flooded the vessel, and Chad made his way to the escape pod. Immediately afterward the small group of ships opened fire on the Confederate cruiser.

It was perfectly timed, so that Chad, and a few of the passengers would get away, just to watch the ship get pounded into dust. No comm jamming or sensor jamming happened, This allowed all of the transmissions to get through, and Chad played his part of a sniveling victim to a tee. The man would be given more money than he knew what to do with after this was all over.

A transmission of "Mission Accomplished" was sent to Kuat. It was meant to be discovered in one may layers of deception. True it would be given to someone on the planet, and lead nowhere, but, it was simply more evidence to pick up.

72 hours​

No! They were not moving fast enough. That damned Allya Vi'dreya. Anton should have killed her from the get go. He was sure that little traitor was the cause of this. Perhaps she'd cried to father about her little boyfriend. Perhaps, she'd filled his head with her sympathies, and her drama. Was it too late to continue?

No. It didn't matter. He had planned for this eventuality as well. He would force the hands of the Confederacy no matter who had to suffer for it.

Anton took a data pad and laid it in front of a man, who was clearly grieving. “Marshal Vorhees....It seems like...it seems like the CIS may not be going to war.” He had helped this man grieve the loss of his entire family on that cruise. His wife, sister, parents, and three children, all gone. He had access to the ships Anton required and had the loyalty of his crew.

He just needed a push in the right direction.

“We need....we need more Marshal Vorhees, we can't let them get away with this....we can't...” The Marshal took the data-pad with the face of a dead man walking. He reached up and hugged Anton before speaking. “Thank you, Anton, you've helped me so much. I know what I have to do. Walk away and forget about all of this. You have a lot left to lose while I have...I have nothing. Just, leave the rest to me. I'll make sure justice is done.”

96 hours​

Several Confederate warships attacked two New Republic civilian liners along the Corellian Run and Mara's Corridor. They were utterly destroyed, and from that, the rumors began. The seeds of dissent and war had been sewn. Anton, the puppeteer, couldn't have been more pleased. The grieving Marshal had come through for him. Anton smirked and breathed out a crushing insult to the air. There was no one else to hear. "Let's see that damned Vicelord walk away from this. There will be no peace. The Republic won't even have a chance!"

Anton laughed and ran his fingers through his hair. Oh, this was perfect. Absolutely perfect! Life didn't get any better than this!

 

[Luna Terrik]

​

Time: 0100 Hours
Location: Aboard the Rebellious Hawk; Orbiting above Moonus Mandel
Wearing: Commander Dress
Tag: [member="Allya Vi'Dreya"]

​

It was extremely late into the night by the time the news came over the ships communication systems. Luna had been on the bridge of the Rebellious Hawk for ten standard hours now, pouring over the details of the upcoming excursion into deep space. Their scouts had not been able to gather many details about the planet, it’s defenses, anything. All they knew was that the CIS was going to be coming with a full force soon, and the Dauntless needed to be perfectly ready and planned. They were the front line, afterall, and any slipups by them could cause a lot of damage down the road.

The group of Lieutenants and Commanders had been pouring over the same area of the city for hours now, debating where would be best to begin the attack, when the communication came over the general comms. Luna in particular was in a heated debate with a man much taller than her over how many squads needed heavy weapons when she heard the communication. Its words seemingly stopped all of the activity on the bridge, freezing everyone in their tracks while the harrowing realization blasted through them of what had just occurred.

Thousands of Confederate civilians. Ones that the Dauntless laid down their lives daily to protect from foreign excursion, had been killed. A civilian ship in New Republic space had been ripped in two, with no signs of the typical foul play. There were few findings that were broadcast over the signal, which the Rebellious Hawk was probably lucky to receive this deep into the outer reaches of the galaxy.

It was not the time to make assumptions. Even if some evidence was there in regards to how the ship was blown up, and where it was destroyed made that..hard, Luna had to be focused on the task at hand. That was to prepare herself, her men, and those around them for the upcoming invasion. Time for mourning would be left for later, event if her heart was being torn for all of the civilian’s wives, husbands, and children that would never get to see their loved ones again.

Looking around the room, she could see that her sentiments were being shared with the others in the preparation room. The redhead commander took a deep breath, lifted a coffee cup to her lips to take a single sip, before reaching up and patting the man she was just arguing with on the shoulder, giving him a soft smile. She then turned to the room, doing her best to keep her voice clear and concise. “The news we just received..will hang heavy in all of our hearts. But right now, we have a job to do, as we always do. There will be a time for mourning, just as we have when one of our own brothers or sisters that fight beside us falls as well. But if we do not get this plan set in place, we do not get every detail accounted for, a message like that will be sent to the families of the men and woman we place on the ground. If we are not perfect, then needless lives will be snuffed out, and those loved ones will never get to see their moms or dads again. Let’s assure that does not happen.”

Her words were met with nods and the hustle of activity getting going once again. They had a job to do, and the Dauntless never failed. As this happened, Luna turned away for a moment, motioning over a younger deck private to her side. Giving him a pat on the shoulder, she nodded toward the comms equipment. “Tell them to get Adjunct Vi'Dreya on the comms. I need her opinions on some matters.” He gave her a quick nod and turned swiftly, jogging over to the communication station. Did Luna really need Allya to be on the comms, helping going over every detail of the invasion, as boring and mundane as that might seem sometimes? No.

But what she did need was for Allya to not be alone right now. She needed her being active, removing her mind from the events that had occurred. She knew the young woman’s background and how this would be hitting her, and being alone was the worst thing possible for her right now. Luna needed her Adjunct to be strong, especially in times like these.

Allya was Luna’s right hand, and even in this extremely trying time, she needed her Adjunct by her side. Strong, fierce, and resilient. A true Dauntless.

 

[ToKola Bakari]

​

Location: Ryloth, Knights Obsidian HQ | Tags: Free to Join | Wearing: Link | Time: 72 Hours​

​

The Obsdian Hall was in a frantic uproar. Knights sprinted from one side of the massive atrium to another, some disappearing from sight as their own Stealth Field Generators took them from sigh. Cardinal was not dressed in the garb of his brothers. No, his armor had been all but destroyed on Eshan, so in it's place he'd reverted back to his own traditional wargear. The armor held to him well, despite the growth he'd had over the past years. It was to be expected since the wargear was handed down to him as a young man, not yet full grown. Then it would shift and sway uncomfortably, now his muscles and frame held it well in place as he moved about. It had been detailed and reforged to standard, the wood was properly coated in the sacred oils and blessed by the gods of the Nija. Some would consider thye ritual supersticuous and unnecessary, however he had decided to hold to his heritage, rather than shun it.

He'd been in his office when the klaxons thundered through the halls of the Knights. They could mean only one thing, War.

Metallic doors parted to reveal a Command Center, manned by a number of the order's senior members. Knights who had taken up the role of administrators and instructors in their later years. Still garbed in the armor of their station, the dimly lit hexagonal patterns on their suits made the majority of the lighting within the center.

"What happened?" Cardinal's voice called out, his sunburnt eyes dancing from one man to another until finally one of them approached him, tapping into the holoterminal as he did. "Dominus Prime. Several Confederate ships were targeted by an attack from the Republic Navy." Cardinal's attention shot to the man before he looked around to those gathered. "The Republic Navy? When did this happen?" The Holoterminal came to life to project a myriad of holoreels, relaying the footage that had been leaked from the Republic's vicious attack on the Confederate transport ships. Cardinal watched this footage, gazing at it with an uncertain feeling rising from his gut. "Has the Vicelord made contact?" Cardinal asked, not diverting his gaze from the sight layed out before him.

"No, sir." The man responded, meekly. The Knight stepped back while Cardinal leaned over the terminal, nodding with an understanding expression. "Watch Officer!" His voice thundered, as he slammed a hand on the terminal, forcing it to shut off the replaying images of the Republic attack. "Put all sectors on alert. All disptached Knights need to return to their respective stations. Activate Protocol Zero-One-One-Zero, double the guard surrounding the Vicelord and Exarchs immediately. No member of the Viceroyalty travels without a Knight's Obsidian escort." The Officer who sat at a terminal, responded with a curt nod before tapping into the terminal and seeing it done. The Confederacy had been attacked and it was the duty of the Knight's Obsidian to see the people safe. With that out of the way, Cardinal would be able to turn his eyes to the drums of war.

​

 

[Srina Talon]

​

Location: Geonosis [Golbah City] – The Citadel​

Wearing: This​

Tag: [member="Mitth'rae'leios"] [Thrael]​

​

72 Hours [Confederate Civilian Liner Has Been Shot Down]​

Silver eyes flickered. Not from distaste, or dislike, but from curiosity. Srina hadn’t met many Chiss before. Not personally. She knew the service record of this particular Admiral due to his exploits in the orbit of Dagobah. His skin was just as blue as a fading summer sky while his eyes were a tumultuous shade of crimson. While she enjoyed these features; it was the lizard over his shoulders that caused her heart to skip. It cut her off from the extra senses that she unconsciously relied on.

It wasn’t painful, nothing so particular, but it didn’t feel good either.

“If there is anything further you require please let us know.”, she spoke softly, her words airy, as if touched by the wings of a bird. There was a certain ease in which she moved. It gave the appearance that she was very nearly part of the fixtures of the room. Nothing save for the autonomic responses would give away the sadness that this day brought her. Only her duties as an Exarch gave her the will to keep from placing this summit on hold. “Geonosis is a melting pot of many different cultures.”

“We try to cater to our foreign dignitaries as well as we are able. The heat can be disagreeable. Should you find yourself in the Crown there many cooling zones to observe.”

Cooling zones were public areas and parks that were shielded from the blistering heat of Golbah City. Often, they were a melting pot, where families and politicians could be seen taking a moment to escape the desert conditions. Srina liked to go to the one not far from the Citadel from time to time. It was soothing to see that their daily efforts seemed to keep the center of their nation peaceful.

The Chiss apologized for his precautions that came in the form of a ysalamiri and the diminutive woman shook her head slowly. Her hand rose to gently dismiss it, however, a small smile flickered across her crystalline features. For a moment, her features became achingly beautiful, but the glimmer of life faded just as quickly as it arrived. “I do not hold the sins of a nation against one man. A former-Imperial is one of my dearest friends and closest allies.”

“I also remember that in the end—you defied the ties which bound you on Dagobah.”

She could imagine that it was not a change of heart that moved the Admiral. No, that would be far too plebian, and truly, it would exist beneath him. She could imagine the calculations that he made from within the safety of his ship. She could imagine his crew watching, waiting, to see what he would do. To see how he would react. Would it be with anger? Would it be with regret?

No. This creature, this, Mitth'rae'leios would have reacted with logic. And so…He turned his back on the Empire. He shot at their disgraceful allies. He bombarded them, and likely, spared many of the Alliance that day. Now…Now it seemed that their former friends had become their enemy.

Still. She could not believe it.

“Come. Be seated…We have much to discuss.”

Unbeknownst to the Exarch, and her guest, the security had been raised by the Dominus Prime of the Knights Obsidian. Referred to as Protocol 0110 her protection detail had been doubled. The robotic secretaries both paused when the heavily armed Knights arrived to guard the entrances and exits. One looked at the other, toward the holo-feed, and back toward their newly acquired Confederates.

“Oh dear, oh dear.”

“Oh my, oh my.”

---

96 Hours [New Republic Civilian Liners Have Been Shot Down]​

Srina stood up from her position on the ergonomic seat in her office as silver eyes widened. The glass of water that she had been holding crashed to the floor, shattering, as it broke a heavy silence. She could see the feed that was playing but her mind had yet to process it. They had scarcely begun the investigation into the loss of their people when suddenly two Republic ships had gone down? What was happening here? What in the hells was going on?

A Knight Obsidian came into the office, lips parted, as if to inform her of what she already knew. Her hand raised to stop the senseless chatter. She knew. Oh, she knew. She was sure that [member="Darth Metus"] and [member="Adron Malvern"] would either be there, or calling, soon.

“Contact the CDF and find out what ships were in that area. If they were ours? Take them into custody immediately. I will deal with the consequences from the Vicelord but bring me the individuals responsible.”

The Confederacy had not yet agreed to take action that would lead them to war. But this? This sort of aggression may lead to a place that did not hold options. “Something is going on in Republic Space. More specifically near Kuat.”, her eyes flickered toward her ever-present Chiss companion. He had been of great assistance to her in the last few hours, understanding flight paths, and in discussing the possibility of how the first NR ship went down. She would have to thank Mikko for sending such a capable representative.

“Staying on Geonosis…I don’t think it’s an option anymore. We sent out scouts but our people are starting to take action on their own. We will need to investigate. I need…”, she trailed off softly, turning back toward the vid-screen, again, looking at the details that followed. It wasn’t much…But it was damning enough. “I need someone from Kuat.”

“Someone with a level head to stay bloodshed. Do you agree, @Mitth'rae'leios?”

 

[Rath Exigo]

​

Attn: [member="Anton Delane"]​

​

• Warden Safehouse
  Golbah City, Geonosis

It was an unremarkable three-star hotel on Golbah City's fringes, virtually indistinguishable from the hundreds of other similar establishments in the Confederate capital, serving the thousands of low-ranking corporate delegates and the like, which streamed into the city like an unfortunate detritus brought in by the unstoppable tide of trade that the capital of a galactic superpower was bound to attract.

Yet this one establishment held a darker secret than most others would. Hotels provided the perfect cover for the members of organizations that wished to stay secret, as the various members of such groups could lose themselves into the crowd. Accessed through a secret code inputted into the elevator console, was a facility hidden beneath the unassuming building.

Despite all appearances, this hotel was not like the many other such establishments that peppered the Confederate capital. For, hidden deep beneath a mountain of red tapes and shell companies that didn't really exist, the identity of the establishment's owners would, in all likelihood, cause the kind of scandal which attracted the attention of institutions such as the Knights Obsidian. This particular hotel was owned by the Wardens of the Shroud, an enigmatic secret society operating out of Nelvaan's Eternal Empire, but active throughout Confederate space and beyond.

Within the hidden safehouse beneath the hotel, a single Anubian dressed in white robes stood in the conference room, reading a report that had been handwritten on actual paper. A necessary precaution, as paper would not be detected by devices which scanned for electronic equipment and could easily be destroyed by igniting it on fire. What the report contained, was disturbing.

Despite the best efforts of the Wardens, the Emperor could not be located. Assuming that his body had been completely destroyed on Eshan, the secret society had attempted to perform the summoning ritual which would have brought him back from the Netherworld. And failed. What followed was a mad scramble for information, but despite hundreds of hours of research, they had failed to come up with any answers and the possibility that the Emperor had been permanently destroyed, began to seem more and more likely.

It was something the organization had never anticipated, as their Emperor was supposed to have been rendered immortal, a god amongst lesser beings, by the Anubian ritual which was performed so many years ago, ritual which merged the Emperor's soul with one of the gods from the Anubian mythology, Ghul, the Demon Prince of Torment.

A growing cry for vengeance spread amongst the members of the secret society, echoing similar cries spreading throughout Nelvaan, amongst the Emperor's loyal subjects, cries calling for a crusade of sorts, an apocalyptic holy war against their Empire's oldest enemies. Old wounds suddenly became festering sores and military enrollment skyrocketed even as politicians called for all-out war.

Something had to be done, both to avenge the Emperor and more importantly, to prevent the Empire from plunging into chaos. A scapegoat was needed, a target for the people of the Empire to vent its fury upon, as well as a means of preventing the Confederacy from giving into the seductive and poisonous temptation of peace. Luckily, there was one amongst the Wardens who already had such a plan and all that the rest of the secret society needed to do in order to accelerate it, was to increase the resources allocated to it.

The pacing of certain operations had been accelerated as a result, as the uppermost circle threw all of their power behind Lord Commander Requis' plan to obliterate the New Republic, that nation which had given sanctuary to [member="Solan Charr"], who's support of the Dark Hand rebellion had led to the collapse of the Ancient Eye and the deaths of over four million of the Eternal Empire's citizens. It was the perfect target, both ideologically and pragmatically, as the growing nation was not only hated enough by the Empire's citizens, to provide an adequate scapegoat to sate their thirst for blood, but it was also a growing threat to the Confederacy itself and thus, to the Empire's own interests as well.

Reading the report compiled by some underling from the various public and secret news sources, detailing the destruction of several civilian ships over the course of a few days and bringing the two nations to the brink of war, the old Anubian allowed himself a smile. Requis' plan was producing results that were beyond expectation.

Opening a small notebook and tearing out a blank piece of paper, the Anubian proceeded to write a simple order that would be handed to his various underlings. It was a simple order, stating that whatever Lord Commander Requis required, was to be provided immediately and without question, no matter the means by which said resources were to be acquired. The embers had been lit. And the flames of war were to be fanned into a raging inferno.

 

[Damsy Callat]

Location: Tipoca City, Kamino | Form: Humanoid | Time: N O W​

Tag[s]: open​

​

She happened to like it. There was something inherently special to her to get to watch the contestants on the dancefloor. It wasn’t sad though; she could do it too—or try—and she would be doing so if the last CIS doctor she had seen off planet had cleared her for anything but walking and running when in her newly-designed armor. Maybe she’d try to learn to dance later with A’Runda. That could be fun.

But no, not yet. Instead she sat, curled up on the loveseat in her humble, whitewashed room with a bowl of dried seaweed chunks, sprinkled with salt of course. She was happily watching a rerun until—

The hologram shorted out.

What in the seas…? Damsy thought, slowly pushing the blanket off her legs and sitting up. First, she glanced out of the porthole window to her left. Oh, that’s right; it was stormy up here at the surface. It took some getting used to as she was so used to the calm deep abyss on this planet. Popping on more snack into her mouth before leaving the bowl on the soft cushions, she walked to the holovision flat screen, knelt down, and began fiddling with the channel controls. Shifting a few and she ended up on an uninterrupted Confederacy news channel.

It was Chad, though, for a fleeting moment, Damsy couldn’t place his face because of his expression. And he was filming himself, what was this? The sithspawn didn’t bother standing; instead, she slid backwards a few feet on her behind to see the screen at a better angle. But when the star turned his camera to film the dead Ainatisul, Damsy bolted upright. She let out an unceremonious cry as she rose a hand to cover her mouth. She stumbled backwards to catch herself on the sofa, sending her ‘popcorn’ to the floor.

The replay of the viral clip cut off there in favor of cutting back to two reporters, but Damsy didn’t listen. Blood pounded in her ears. And then her vision grew red and narrowed, as if she was hunting a predator in the water, when she saw the attackers named in a banner flashed across the bottom of the screen.

And right then she knew. She might have still been perturbed at her father, and he might be the vicelord, but ironically the Confederacy was so much bigger than him. While this national emergency didn’t smooth over her grudges for him, she couldn’t let them be the sole reason that she refused to fight for their dead.

The door slid open behind Damsy and someone stepped inside. “Changeling?” Naroh Se asked. “Are you alright?”

Damsy shook her head to calm herself. It worked little because, when she got up and turned to her mother figure, she growled, “I need to go.” At first, the Kaminoian looked confused, then she glanced at the holovision and understood.

“Get me a ship.”

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Citadel
Golbah City
Geonosis

It was a few hours later that Madalena, still in her bathing suit, walked through the halls of the Knights Obsidian Citadel in Golbah City. As she'd cleaned and sharpened her weapons, the heat had soaked through her skin, and there wasn't a force in the world that would get her to into a full armor right now. Besides, the floor of the Citadel was cool to the touch, and helped bring her body temperature down ever so slightly.

The same franticness that had been observed on Ryloth was also seen now, as the Knights were sprinting here as well from side to side. There was no new information she could glean though; she already knew about the ship that was supposedly destroyed by the NR forces, she already knew that all the Knights were being called into their stations. Thankfully, she wasn't assigned to any Viceroy. War or no war, Madalena hated guard duty.

But essentially, if there was no new information, and there was not much for her to do other than exist…

Madalena flipped her commdevice open. "Whatever it is we're about to face, you better come out of this alive and well or I'm shoving my fingers into your wounds to tickle your insides this time," she sent to [member="Cardinal Vi'dreya"]. There would be no replay of what had happened on Eshan. She'd asked him to go slower before they announced publically what was going on, but that didn't mean she was any sort of willing to go through a mourning phase, private or public.

And with that immediate concern out of her way, Madalena headed over to the mess hall. Travel to NR space would give her stomach enough time to rest; now, she wanted food. What better way to prepare for days of travel before an impending war?

 

[Derek Dib]

72 hours ...​

The office of the Viceroy of Siskeen was quiet. Lucas and Hank were in attendance, Hank standing at attention near the door reminiscent of a towering statue. Only the subtle bellow of the massive chest was the man's only movement, if man could be applied. Lucas sat in one of the two chairs opposite the desk. Elbows were planted on knees as he leaned forward, face resting on threaded fingers, and silently watched the Viceroy.

Derek sat back in the seat, one hand lightly flipping through the datapad on the desk while the fingers of his right hand tapped rhythmically upon the desk. The holo recording played above the desk. Scenes of footage attained from the destruction of the Confederate vessel, then visual reports from analysts, then other reports played in a continuous loop. He had seen and read the reports so many times it felt like the visuals were burned upon his retinas and the reports were ingrained within his mind.

He shoved the datapad away and waved his hand across the hologram causing it to shimmer into nothingness. Leaning back once more he closed his eyes and travelled back to the quick, impromptu meeting of the Viceroyalty. A nearly unanimous decision to go to war with the New Republic based on questionable proof. He had voted for a clear head, to not rush in with emotions hot, to try to validate with certainty the righteousness of their cause before jumping into warfare.

As was the norm his council was neither heeded nor wanted and his vote fell to the immense minority.

Sitting there he sighed and moved forward once more to pour over the body of proof that instigated the great war machine of the Confederacy into action.

96 hours ...​

A new report came in of Confederate ships firing on New Republic civilian liners. Quickly things were unraveling and as much as he tried to find the threads it came to no good end result.

He typed up a plea to postpone the military action and forwarded it to the office of ViceLord and Exarchs, the persons of [member="Darth Metus"] , [member="Adron Malvern"] , and [member="Srina Talon"] .

Too much was happening too fast without concrete evidence. The actions of Confederate commanders acting in such an aggressive manner in the face of orders begged more investigation. Everything felt wrong. Very wrong. And yet here they were barreling forward despite the questionable reality of the situation.

Standing he motioned for Lucas and Hank to follow as he left the office to make his way down the halls of the Citadel, needing a walk to clear his head, his conscience weighted heavy.

 

[Malok]

72 HOURS

The word Republic was ash in his mouth.

The bias of an upbringing long since past had colored the view of the Vicelord in the present. He did well not to wear his disgust visibly upon his sleeve at the mere mention of the word - but it was small secret that he would always associate the sins of the father with the son. When the news first fluttered across his datapad about the rise of the fledgling democracy, the Sith found his expression contorted. It was only a matter of time, he thought that day, before they vent some innocent lives out of an airlock. He was, of course, referring to one of the greater sins the first Galactic Republic had committed against his former people. This was one of the final straws - the jettisoning of unarmed Mandalorians into the black of space - that saw the Clans mobilize into a Crusade against them.

In the present, Darth Metus did not realize that the innocent lives he predicted...would belong to him. He had not yet fully licked the wound that had been his time on Eshan. A cacophony of dull pains yet wreaked havoc upon his rest as he resumed the domestic duties of his office. For a time, he anticipated that the Confederacy would know peace - so long as their Exclusion Zone held. However, on the fateful day, the Sith found the orders from his sibling moments before the news reached his ears. For just one afternoon, he had deluded himself into thinking that he could barricade himself into his office and catch up on the affairs of state. But his door was practically knocked down by the thundering fists of a tripled, Obsidian Guard force. He did not have an opportunity to annunciate the obvious question which burned upon his tongue.

"Vicelord, one of our civilian liners has been destroyed."​

It took the wintry patience of an alabaster Echani to cool the inferno of the Sith's frustrations. The warlike tendencies which had colored his lifetime bled to the surface in response to the news. Over one thousand, innocent souls had been extinguished - seemingly by the New Republic?! How bold. How stupid of them to ever raise a hand against the Southern Systems. If not for the insistent words of [member="Srina Talon"] ringing true within his ears, he would have mobilized the Confederate Armada right then and there. But no. They had to give their best and brightest an opportunity to get to the bottom of what happened. He, personally, had to stand before the camera as the hours rolled by and address a troubled nation. They trusted him to protect them. Trusted him to keep their innocents safe. Now, their blood had been spilled.

"My fellow Confederates...there has been an attack against our own."

96 HOURS

By the time the latest news reached his ears, the Vicelord was getting sick of his face. Not in the literal sense, mind, but in the metaphorical. His address had been broadcasted across every major and minor news network this side of the Mara Corridor; and as a result, the Confederacy was waiting on bated breath for the response. They had seen him mobilize their finest in order to liberate the beleaguered Eshan from underneath the thumb of the Mandalorian regime. How long would he wait to make the New Republic answer for the blood they seemingly had on their hands?! When it came to Eshan, the investigation...bah, what investigation. The reports were damning enough that the Confederacy roared to the rescue and successfully kicked every scrap of beskar'gam off of the Echani homeworld. Yet here? Now? They sat on their hands and did noth-

Two civilian, Republic vessels had been shot down.

That gave the media something to talk about. All sides of the political spectrum buzzed at the news - some praising the strike as a proportionate response whilst others condemned the spilling of innocent lives. However, as all eyes immediately looked upon Golbah City, the Vicelord himself was aghast. The order had not come from him. No matter how much he wanted something like this to transpire, the order had not come from his desk. Now, he had a new address to make. Not to the untold billions which now dove before their HoloNet screens for the latest update on the mounting tensions. But rather, to the select few the masses had chosen to represent and lead them. Immediately prior to standing before the Viceroyalty chambers, the Sith had read a missive sent by [member="Derek Dib"]. Darth Metus regularly looked upon the Viceroy of Siskeen as a devoted contrarian and nothing more.

But his plea for a stay on military action was...justified. Just this once. With both hands placed upon his podium, the Vicelord projected his voice across the chambers as thunder. "This situation is spiralling out of hand. We will have answers for the lives extinguished within the New Republic borders. I ask that you stand with me one more time in this. We will…" The conflict raged in his expression. His tongue thirsted for the vengeance that was so rightly due. The people hungered for a response that was as resolute as the offensive on Eshan. "We will find the answers in our own way. We will go to Kuat en masse. Our finest Obsidians. Our greatest Commandos. We will scour the planet for who is responsible for the deaths of our people."

"What we uncover will determine if the New Republic lives or dies."