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Star Wars: The Crimson Covenant / Re: CC: The Crimson Covenant
« Last post by Syren on November 04, 2024, 08:43:18 PM »“You and I got some troubles we’re facing
I know we can make it staying high in low places.”
-Beach Weather
Contruum
Moon Base
“You?” Involis breaths. “You brought us here?”
The tension in the air pulls tight like the loop of a noose.
Allom answers, “Indeed we did.”
“Emperor Schrag will never stand for this.”
The hollow laughter that follows, echoing across the vast space of the platform, is far from reassuring.
“Schrag has become weak,” Faraas says evenly. “He hides behind that boy, granting him such latitude and longevity. The galaxy could be the Empire’s again in an instant – all he needs to do is move to seize it – but alas he does not. Shrewd as he may be, Schrag has never been a coward, and yet he hesitates, hidden away at the citadel on Byss. Trusting our fate to Trevaithan…and another Winton.”
D’Cera tilts her mask back, amused, “You brought us here to air your grievances with Schrag’s succession planning?”
“That seems a bit trite for us Inquisitors, no?”
“Not when you consider what we stand to lose. The last Winton ruined everything for us when Dementat followed that traitorous redhead to the grave on Centerpoint. Schrag did what he could to rehabilitate the Empire but coming back from that kind of a loss, one that allowed the Republic to grow into the menace it now presents, was an arduous task even for the most seasoned tacticians. Leveraging a questionable truce to bolster galactic standing was an…unexpected move, but contaminated by a Winton and her associates.”
“So, this is about me. Typical.”
“Not just you,” Allom hisses, tone rising in annoyance. “The Empire. The Sith. We will not be defeated by the spectacular hubris of The Four again.”
Involis has taken in their surroundings and assessed the nature of their setting. A private chat in a symbolic setting. Intimate, industrial, but the poetry is too nuanced for the Inquisitors which tells him there is something more, not just beneath their masks but beneath their motives. The misgivings about Dahlia are not a surprise, considering they mirror those about Karen and likely any other Winton that came before. Their pettiness, superficiality, and vanity read as liabilities unless you know how best to exploit those to one’s advantage. They could also be envious that they are not as favored now by the Emperor, or at least the appearance of what now sits on Schrag's throne. More Voss-Ra smoke and mirrors, a testament to their commitment and their power. However, his counterparts have gone to great lengths to arrange this little scene and so he must know what has compelled them to do something so melodramatic.
“What makes you so certain that she will fail?”
Allom raises an arm and extends a finger at D’Cera directly.
“You are not the true Daughter of Darkness the sorcerers have foreseen. You plot and you play but you toil away while the Republic is ripe for the crippling. The Four lives in part to your attachment and subsequent inaction. You, my dear, are not playing to win.”
D’Cera squares her shoulders, defiant, “Is that so? The implication being that there is someone who is – tell me, I am dying to know.”
Feraas ignites his saber, “Someone far more powerful than either of you.”
“I suppose we will see,” Involis counters, igniting his own. The jagged weapon eases out of his armor to match that which pulses within its center.
Feraas feels its power radiating, words whispered uncoiling like tendrils in his mind.
Faraas and Involis clash together in the center of the platform. Brothers come to blows. These are ideological lines, ones that he has only recently crossed. Whatever they think will happen by taking Winton out of the equation is one hell of a lie. As his saber connects with Faraas’s again, and again, and again, he wonders just what kind of evidence they had been presented to the contrary. The Inquisitors know their roles under Emperor Schrag’s rule, having hunted down scores of Jedi and Force-sensitives across the galaxy after being expelled from Chandaar. So many had been slain and with each one they struck down they knew the significance of it. In it. Exterminate any potential resistance to their power so that once the Sith rose there would be no one who could stop them. All of these actions are predicated on Winton proving victorious over Masterton, Patten, and Gellar.
What has changed?
D’Cera senses the shift, a compulsive desire behind it, and extends both hands to separate them with a burst of telekinetic energy.
“I am not the only reason you summoned us here.”
“Not entirely. Disappointed?”
“Kinda am.”
“You are only an instrument, Darth D’Cera. Means to an end. Except this time, not ours. There are other tools to be leveraged. It is the piece of the Etheralis we have also come to reclaim. To return to the one it truly belongs to.”
“The Etheralis? Who has filled your heads with such a big word?”
Allom laughs from where he has been standing sentry to the skirmish before them.
“An old mentor, from what we were told. The one whose counsel you disregarded. You have made too many enemies, my dear. Not enough allies.”
“There it is,” she says sharply, angling her head her cousin’s way. “Told you she would be a problem.”
Involis glowers darkly, “Adubell sent you.”
“She appeared at the Inquisitorious shortly after you two last departed. Fascinating women with a rather…interesting perspective. She made some compelling arguments.”
“I’ll bet. Surely you see through these lies? How she is using you?”
“She told us of the power in uniting the Etheralis. Bringing all four together as they were meant to be. You are merely a distraction. A false idol. The Lady Adubell is the rightful heir to the Prophecy Persephonea! She will bring forth the return of the Sith.”
D’Cera has got to hand it to Adubell. Immortal and totally delusional? Neat! Off the rails does not even begin to cover it. She would dare to try and take this from her? Blasphemy! She would feel bad about not killing her when she had the chance except she, like, did – and yet here they are. A maniac mixed up with her father’s quest for immortality now seemingly bent on retconning their entire existence.
This is not the role she was meant to play, Involis muses. This interloper. Rage ripples through him.
“Adubell may have enchanted you with her promises but this serves only her interests if this is what she now claims. The Sith will not rise in her name – only a Winton victorious will create the future we seek. The Voss-Ra have foreseen it. You know this. You have always known this. What magic now has you so twisted that you believe otherwise?”
Allom snaps back sharply.
“Not magic, merely fact. The Lady Adubell transcends death. The sorcerers may see many things, but they do not know everything. They have been wrong so many times before, misplaced their faith so egregiously it defies logic. Do you deny this?”
The words, laced with venom, pierce the armor to sting his skin beneath. The Voss-Ra raised him, taught him, trained him, and that blinded him to certain truths. Truths that have become more glaring and unavoidable which informed his path forward. Dahlia has only exacerbated this situation, acting as both a foil and a future to his journey. They have made progress throughout the cycles, adjusting and recalibrating the pieces and players into position, but ultimately failed to execute on the promise of the prophecy and the glory it purports to reward them.
“I do not.”
“Then you see our predicament,” Faraas sighs. “Trust the Voss-Ra when their failures mount or seek a new path to victory through Adubell? The prospect is…refreshing. A broken stalemate. Even you have to see the value in it, Involis. Winton must be eliminated but you have a choice. Die with her or rule with us.”
Allom nods to him, “All you must do is surrender your armor and the fragment that lies within it. Yours will make three – quite a collection. We are so close. Join us and bring forth a new era.”
It surprises him how easily the words appear on his tongue, the strength of his belief, “No.”
Whether they anticipated this answer or not, they do not show it. A hush falls over the platform.
“So be it, Inquisitor Involis. You will give us the Etheralis or we will take it from you.”
“Then we will kill you both.”
D’Cera’s saber is pulled into a tensed, gloved hand, fingers curling slowly around the hilt. The brilliant pink hue reflects off the blackness of her mask.
“Neither of those things will be happening tonight, darling.”
“Once again, your Highness,” Allom says, saber glow casting menacing shadows across his form. “You are very, very wrong.”
-TBC
I know we can make it staying high in low places.”
-Beach Weather
Contruum
Moon Base
“You?” Involis breaths. “You brought us here?”
The tension in the air pulls tight like the loop of a noose.
Allom answers, “Indeed we did.”
“Emperor Schrag will never stand for this.”
The hollow laughter that follows, echoing across the vast space of the platform, is far from reassuring.
“Schrag has become weak,” Faraas says evenly. “He hides behind that boy, granting him such latitude and longevity. The galaxy could be the Empire’s again in an instant – all he needs to do is move to seize it – but alas he does not. Shrewd as he may be, Schrag has never been a coward, and yet he hesitates, hidden away at the citadel on Byss. Trusting our fate to Trevaithan…and another Winton.”
D’Cera tilts her mask back, amused, “You brought us here to air your grievances with Schrag’s succession planning?”
“That seems a bit trite for us Inquisitors, no?”
“Not when you consider what we stand to lose. The last Winton ruined everything for us when Dementat followed that traitorous redhead to the grave on Centerpoint. Schrag did what he could to rehabilitate the Empire but coming back from that kind of a loss, one that allowed the Republic to grow into the menace it now presents, was an arduous task even for the most seasoned tacticians. Leveraging a questionable truce to bolster galactic standing was an…unexpected move, but contaminated by a Winton and her associates.”
“So, this is about me. Typical.”
“Not just you,” Allom hisses, tone rising in annoyance. “The Empire. The Sith. We will not be defeated by the spectacular hubris of The Four again.”
Involis has taken in their surroundings and assessed the nature of their setting. A private chat in a symbolic setting. Intimate, industrial, but the poetry is too nuanced for the Inquisitors which tells him there is something more, not just beneath their masks but beneath their motives. The misgivings about Dahlia are not a surprise, considering they mirror those about Karen and likely any other Winton that came before. Their pettiness, superficiality, and vanity read as liabilities unless you know how best to exploit those to one’s advantage. They could also be envious that they are not as favored now by the Emperor, or at least the appearance of what now sits on Schrag's throne. More Voss-Ra smoke and mirrors, a testament to their commitment and their power. However, his counterparts have gone to great lengths to arrange this little scene and so he must know what has compelled them to do something so melodramatic.
“What makes you so certain that she will fail?”
Allom raises an arm and extends a finger at D’Cera directly.
“You are not the true Daughter of Darkness the sorcerers have foreseen. You plot and you play but you toil away while the Republic is ripe for the crippling. The Four lives in part to your attachment and subsequent inaction. You, my dear, are not playing to win.”
D’Cera squares her shoulders, defiant, “Is that so? The implication being that there is someone who is – tell me, I am dying to know.”
Feraas ignites his saber, “Someone far more powerful than either of you.”
“I suppose we will see,” Involis counters, igniting his own. The jagged weapon eases out of his armor to match that which pulses within its center.
Feraas feels its power radiating, words whispered uncoiling like tendrils in his mind.
Faraas and Involis clash together in the center of the platform. Brothers come to blows. These are ideological lines, ones that he has only recently crossed. Whatever they think will happen by taking Winton out of the equation is one hell of a lie. As his saber connects with Faraas’s again, and again, and again, he wonders just what kind of evidence they had been presented to the contrary. The Inquisitors know their roles under Emperor Schrag’s rule, having hunted down scores of Jedi and Force-sensitives across the galaxy after being expelled from Chandaar. So many had been slain and with each one they struck down they knew the significance of it. In it. Exterminate any potential resistance to their power so that once the Sith rose there would be no one who could stop them. All of these actions are predicated on Winton proving victorious over Masterton, Patten, and Gellar.
What has changed?
D’Cera senses the shift, a compulsive desire behind it, and extends both hands to separate them with a burst of telekinetic energy.
“I am not the only reason you summoned us here.”
“Not entirely. Disappointed?”
“Kinda am.”
“You are only an instrument, Darth D’Cera. Means to an end. Except this time, not ours. There are other tools to be leveraged. It is the piece of the Etheralis we have also come to reclaim. To return to the one it truly belongs to.”
“The Etheralis? Who has filled your heads with such a big word?”
Allom laughs from where he has been standing sentry to the skirmish before them.
“An old mentor, from what we were told. The one whose counsel you disregarded. You have made too many enemies, my dear. Not enough allies.”
“There it is,” she says sharply, angling her head her cousin’s way. “Told you she would be a problem.”
Involis glowers darkly, “Adubell sent you.”
“She appeared at the Inquisitorious shortly after you two last departed. Fascinating women with a rather…interesting perspective. She made some compelling arguments.”
“I’ll bet. Surely you see through these lies? How she is using you?”
“She told us of the power in uniting the Etheralis. Bringing all four together as they were meant to be. You are merely a distraction. A false idol. The Lady Adubell is the rightful heir to the Prophecy Persephonea! She will bring forth the return of the Sith.”
D’Cera has got to hand it to Adubell. Immortal and totally delusional? Neat! Off the rails does not even begin to cover it. She would dare to try and take this from her? Blasphemy! She would feel bad about not killing her when she had the chance except she, like, did – and yet here they are. A maniac mixed up with her father’s quest for immortality now seemingly bent on retconning their entire existence.
This is not the role she was meant to play, Involis muses. This interloper. Rage ripples through him.
“Adubell may have enchanted you with her promises but this serves only her interests if this is what she now claims. The Sith will not rise in her name – only a Winton victorious will create the future we seek. The Voss-Ra have foreseen it. You know this. You have always known this. What magic now has you so twisted that you believe otherwise?”
Allom snaps back sharply.
“Not magic, merely fact. The Lady Adubell transcends death. The sorcerers may see many things, but they do not know everything. They have been wrong so many times before, misplaced their faith so egregiously it defies logic. Do you deny this?”
The words, laced with venom, pierce the armor to sting his skin beneath. The Voss-Ra raised him, taught him, trained him, and that blinded him to certain truths. Truths that have become more glaring and unavoidable which informed his path forward. Dahlia has only exacerbated this situation, acting as both a foil and a future to his journey. They have made progress throughout the cycles, adjusting and recalibrating the pieces and players into position, but ultimately failed to execute on the promise of the prophecy and the glory it purports to reward them.
“I do not.”
“Then you see our predicament,” Faraas sighs. “Trust the Voss-Ra when their failures mount or seek a new path to victory through Adubell? The prospect is…refreshing. A broken stalemate. Even you have to see the value in it, Involis. Winton must be eliminated but you have a choice. Die with her or rule with us.”
Allom nods to him, “All you must do is surrender your armor and the fragment that lies within it. Yours will make three – quite a collection. We are so close. Join us and bring forth a new era.”
It surprises him how easily the words appear on his tongue, the strength of his belief, “No.”
Whether they anticipated this answer or not, they do not show it. A hush falls over the platform.
“So be it, Inquisitor Involis. You will give us the Etheralis or we will take it from you.”
“Then we will kill you both.”
D’Cera’s saber is pulled into a tensed, gloved hand, fingers curling slowly around the hilt. The brilliant pink hue reflects off the blackness of her mask.
“Neither of those things will be happening tonight, darling.”
“Once again, your Highness,” Allom says, saber glow casting menacing shadows across his form. “You are very, very wrong.”
-TBC