Mandalore Speaks

[Kiro]

Across the galaxy, the regularly scheduled holonet transmissions were interupted or postponed, as a broadcast eminating from the Mandalorian controlled planet of Roon was picked up by the many studios and transmitters. And across the galaxy, holoprojectors and datapads displayed a Mandalorian woman clad in full, rune covered armour, save that iconic helmet, which was tucked under one arm. Her face was young, if marred by an old, jagged, vertical scar traveling down the left side of her face, from her temple to her jaw.​

"Sentients of the galaxy. I am Mandalore. I am adressing you from Roon, our home in exile. Just a day hence, I attended a diplomatic summit with... representatives, of the Galactic Alliance, to discuss the future of my people. And there, I was forced to leave early. And to that end, I apollogise. It was less than courteous. However, I am sure you will understand my reasoning soon enough."

A smirk, turned eerie and disturbing by the scar, sneaks across the Mandalore's face, before she nods to someone outside the shoot. The holographic display widens, to show a humanoid male on his knees next to the warrior, with a bag over his head. Mandalore's gloved hand descends to grasp the bag, and pulls it up and off.

The HoloRecorder focuses in on the face of Nathanaeu Bastele, the Galactic Alliance's Chief of State. The man looked mostly unharmed, save for the odd cut and bruise, and the gag stuffed into his mouth.​

"Smile for your viewers, Mister Bastele. Some of them actually voted for you. Now, I assume the majority of you are thinking that I will publicly execute the good Mister Bastele."

The woman draws a weapon from her hip, and examines it carefully, before removing the magazine.​

"I will not. The recent battle of Teth, a battle unsanctioned by myself, has dragged the Mandalorians and the Galactic Alliance into war once more. While I will never shy away from war, and this man should by all rights be my enemy, I promise that upon my honour as a warrior, a Mandalorian, and a scion of Bralor, this man will come to no harm under my care, unless he invites harm upon himself."

"While his freedom is temporarily... lessened, I have every intention on returning him, safe and intact, to the Alliance. All I want in return for this consideration, is that we are allowed safe, unobstructed passage through Alliance space, until we can reach the Imperial border, where he will be returned to the closest Alliance planet or starship. All we want, is to go home. But, should the Alliance try to stop us, or the Jedi attempt a rescue, I am afraid that his safety cannot be guaranteed. The confusion of war has been known to claim many an unintended victim."

"Rest assured, these are not threats. I am simply stating what is going to happen. Mister Bastale will be as safe as you make the journey to my people."

Mandalore makes a vague gesture, and the transmission zooms back in on the female Mandalorian, removing the Alliance Chief of State.​

"I hope you all make the logical choice. I am Carien Bralor."

The woman, finally named, moves her hand swiftly across her throat in a slitting motion, and the transmission fades out.​

(OOC: All are welcome to post their thoughts and reactions, as it is being broadcasted so the entire galaxy can see and/or listen.)

 

[Denzein]

The poor man screamed in his cage, clutching the stump where his left leg used to be. It wasn't bleeding as the wound was cauterised, but it was stuck with all manner of nasty looking needles and cathodes - vicious things that pumped his system full of neurotoxins and blood inflammatory. He was going to die, but that knowledge didn't comfort him at all.

Nor did his captors grin as he stared down the woman on the holo-net. He was toying with a vibroknife, running a finger along the edge of the blade with the care and familiarity of a dedicated lover. His eyes never wavered from hers, even when she went off camera he kept looking at where she had been until she reappeared. He seemed fixated upon her, but only in the way a serial killer obsesses over their next plaything.

The dying man whimpered involuntarily as the slow acting poisons started their deadly work on his brain, stirring the killer from his contemplations. He stood, leaving the screen playing as he opened the cell door and advanced on his victim who to his credit somehow found the strength to back away and cower against the far wall. It was a futile effort, perhaps, but the sadist respected his charge's will to survive.

He respected it right up to the point that he sliced out the man's tongue and pushed it down his oesophagus.

Turning from the thrashing man who was simultaneously suffocating and drowning in his own blood, he looked back at the screen while wiping the blood off his blade on his armoured thigh. The new Mandalore was back on screen, finishing her little speech by telling the world her name. No doubt she felt she'd shown the Galaxy what her balls were made of by threatening the Alliances Chief of State in front of the entire Galaxy... And she had, sort of.

The Alliance were faced with a dilemma, and the time they spend dealing with it may well buy her time before they retaliate. To others (such as anyone with no interest in the Alliance's welfare), however, all she'd done was present the most tempting target she possibly could have. He didn't even have to take the man alive, if he played his cards right even just the simple act of attacking could be enough to trigger all kinds of fun. Of course the Chief of State did represent an easy, wealthy life for the rest of his days if he did capture him and smuggle him to the Sith successfully, but that was honestly secondary to this particular lowlife. Chaos for chaos' sake.

The drowned man lay still at last, and the former Mandalorian that had killed him left the body to rot. He went to his armoury and began to don his skin, his mind going through all the countless possibilities of what he could do next, of where his whimsical mind might lead him now. He knew his final destination, of course, it'd just shown itself on Galactic TV. How he got there, however, was anyone's guess.

Haran grinned, and sheathed the knife. Let the new game begin.