Barkeep
Two Weeks Post Assassination
Time ticked by like an enemy. A slow advance that had his nerves on edge. So many moving parts, so many factors to consider but time, time was the biggest threat. If everything wasn't done at exactly the same moment all across the Confederate territories, then it would be a bloody affair. If it went that way their job after the dust had settled would be more difficult. They had to be seen as liberators, the ones who would save the people, not usurpers who had caused more damage than the OP.
The swirling corridor of hyperspace had been a constant since he'd been smuggled off Bothawui, the Hand of Fate never staying in one place for more than a few hours before Emah took them back into the void. He'd seen more empty patches of space in the past weeks than he had in his entire life. In that time he'd had little to do as they skirted the edges of CIS space, monitoring com-frequencies and focusing his ethereal gaze upon the pieces on the board. [member="Anesia Jy'Vun"] would feel him there, like an ever lingering presence wherever she went, watching and waiting for the key moment where all the threads aligned. Shatterpoint, some called it, to Norongachi it was a way of life. He always found the weakest point in a series of events -manipulated and coerced to his own design- and then acted on that moment.
Now he had to create a myth, a legend, something children and adults alike spoke about with excitement.
Bothawui, Office of the Interim President.
The honeymoon period was over for Jonas Wilheim. The slow and comfortable settling into his position the mere shadow of a dream that had become a bloody nightmare too quickly for anyone to anticipate. Bombings of ordnance depots, theft of military equipment. Entire warehouses found empty, the guards dead or unaccounted for.
Protests in the streets had become riots, entire cities across the territories brought to a halt by looters and activists, the CIS was burning from within. All the Omega Protectorate had to do was watch. Everywhere he looked, upon every wall he passed, he could see that face and those eyes, burning like emerald hell fire from beyond the grave.
"Rise." It commanded and no matter how many times the cities maintenance droids painted the walls anew, it would be there again the next morning like an eternal mockery that he couldn't escape. The ship was back as well, that black Star Destroyer, HIS Star Destroyer. The past week he'd had nothing but reports of it intercepting troops on their way to worlds that were on the brink of civilian uprising.
It was like a ghost, always there when they least expected it, ripping through their lines and then gone again before they could fire a shot. They had attempted to trace it but the trail cross-crossed and back-tracked so much that soon they had fleets scattered across the edges of their domain all the while more worlds turned violent, The front with Omega Protectorate bubbled and sizzled after they lost yet another engagement.
Something had to be done, something no leader wanted to do.
"Effective immediately the worlds and its people therein, under the authority of the Confederacy of Independent Systems and its ruling government institute martial law..."
Time ticked by like an enemy. A slow advance that had his nerves on edge. So many moving parts, so many factors to consider but time, time was the biggest threat. If everything wasn't done at exactly the same moment all across the Confederate territories, then it would be a bloody affair. If it went that way their job after the dust had settled would be more difficult. They had to be seen as liberators, the ones who would save the people, not usurpers who had caused more damage than the OP.
The swirling corridor of hyperspace had been a constant since he'd been smuggled off Bothawui, the Hand of Fate never staying in one place for more than a few hours before Emah took them back into the void. He'd seen more empty patches of space in the past weeks than he had in his entire life. In that time he'd had little to do as they skirted the edges of CIS space, monitoring com-frequencies and focusing his ethereal gaze upon the pieces on the board. [member="Anesia Jy'Vun"] would feel him there, like an ever lingering presence wherever she went, watching and waiting for the key moment where all the threads aligned. Shatterpoint, some called it, to Norongachi it was a way of life. He always found the weakest point in a series of events -manipulated and coerced to his own design- and then acted on that moment.
Now he had to create a myth, a legend, something children and adults alike spoke about with excitement.
Bothawui, Office of the Interim President.
The honeymoon period was over for Jonas Wilheim. The slow and comfortable settling into his position the mere shadow of a dream that had become a bloody nightmare too quickly for anyone to anticipate. Bombings of ordnance depots, theft of military equipment. Entire warehouses found empty, the guards dead or unaccounted for.
Protests in the streets had become riots, entire cities across the territories brought to a halt by looters and activists, the CIS was burning from within. All the Omega Protectorate had to do was watch. Everywhere he looked, upon every wall he passed, he could see that face and those eyes, burning like emerald hell fire from beyond the grave.
"Rise." It commanded and no matter how many times the cities maintenance droids painted the walls anew, it would be there again the next morning like an eternal mockery that he couldn't escape. The ship was back as well, that black Star Destroyer, HIS Star Destroyer. The past week he'd had nothing but reports of it intercepting troops on their way to worlds that were on the brink of civilian uprising.
It was like a ghost, always there when they least expected it, ripping through their lines and then gone again before they could fire a shot. They had attempted to trace it but the trail cross-crossed and back-tracked so much that soon they had fleets scattered across the edges of their domain all the while more worlds turned violent, The front with Omega Protectorate bubbled and sizzled after they lost yet another engagement.
Something had to be done, something no leader wanted to do.
"Effective immediately the worlds and its people therein, under the authority of the Confederacy of Independent Systems and its ruling government institute martial law..."
