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Rav Haskeen

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Nor'baal
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"Hold that light steady Davik!" Rav rolled his eyes and harrumphed as he scolded his compatriot "Drusk, my cape needs to look more...urm...wavey yes?" he snapped as the Trandoshan attempted to comply with the command.

"This, this, is my mome...I mean our moment boys! The chance of a lifetime, it will make all the galaxy know the name, Captain Haskeen of the...." the Captain paused. His gang, his merry crew, did not have a name. Quickly his mind raced as he invented one on the spot "The Corellian Corsairs!"

A chorus of 'yarrs' rose up to meet him, as he swept his tentacles back and turned to face the camera crew, which consisted of his able first mate, whose name he had quite forgotten.

The camera-man counted down, as the lights came up and the holo feed for their ransom of President Thorne, began.

Addressing the people of the Galaxy, Captain Rav Haskeen of the Corellian Corsairs stood, in a defiant pose, his shirt open to reveal a muscle-bound chest, a cape rippling behind him, thanks to the efforts of a large fan being held off-camera, his cutlass in his right hand, his left fist clenched.

"People of the Galaxy." he began in a deep voice "I, Captain Haskeen, of the Corsair, hold here on my vessel, your leader." he smiled as he reached the next section of his proclamation "Many of you, no doubt, have heard the name 'Haskeen', but few have seen the legend in action. But your 'President' has now fallen before my blade, and surrendered to my charge."

Haskeen made the entire broadcast about him - naturally - as he paced across the bridge, the camera following him.

"Apprehending your 'President', I single-handedly cut through swathes of his men, veterans of countless wars each. My blade sang with the joy of murder, as your Presidents elite forces fell like wheat before a scythe, unable to stand before the strength of my arm, and the speed of my....of my arm." he briefly checked the autocue behind the camera.

"But then, your 'President', fell to his knees - and begged to be spared."

"I, Captain Haskeen, am a merciful man - and so I chose to spare him, despite the considerable reward for his corpse. This is why I know to offer you the chance to purchase his continued safety and freedom. I know, for some reason, this pitiful man is one you respect, and love, so I give you this chance to show your adoration. All I ask for."


He turned to stare down the camera.

"TEN-MIIIIIILLLLLLLIIIIOOOOOOON CREDITS."

He began to laugh, off-screen the diabolical cackling of his crew could be heard, as eventually, Captain Haskeen regained his composure.

"The payment is to be made in unmarked, untraceable currency. You have three rotations to comply, or your 'President' Thorne, shall be delivered to the steps of the Galactic Senate, in pieces."

He slashes his sabre down, and look imperiously down the camera, as the transmission came to a close.
 

Carrick

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Idiots.

The President of the ISC had been kidnapped by a bunch of absolute morons who, if they were to be believed to be the kidnappers, had managed to give a ransom demand without actually giving either proof of the safety of the captured party or, indeed, a way to actually pay said ransom. Carrick wanted to just go back to bed or, better yet, pour himself a very large drink but he refrained from doing either.

Instead he stood in front of another bloody podium and the flag of the ISC, no press this time.

"To the 'Captain' of the 'Corellian Corsairs'."
he started the address bluntly, "You claim to have President Thorne but present no evidence to support this. The ISC demands proof you have him and proof that he has not been unduly harmed."

On to the next piece of housekeeping.

"Once this has been obtained we may begin discussions as to a ransom. Including how you presume we actually get this payment to you. Please respond as soon as you are able."


And, hopefully, he could see their ship boarded, their crew executed and the President rescued before they actually got their act together if they were, in fact, the kidnappers.


@Nor'baal
 

Rav Haskeen

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"What do you mean they 'want evidence'? Captain Haskeen snarled in his cabin, as one of the crew relayed the message to him via a commlink. "What is this? Eh! Fine. Go and cut off a finger, actually no -" he stood, pacing up and down in his cabin in frustration. "An eye! No, no. What about one of those stupid pointy ears of his? Hmmm." he ran his hand through his stubble and sighed, turning the commlink to mute.

"It is so difficult, being a leader of such renown." Captain Haskeen lamented.

He turned the commlink on again and gave the command "Take a short video of him, rough him up a bit yes? The old one-two on his pretty little face."

He waited until the job was done, and snickered as he watched the video back a few moments later, before sending it to Carrick.

There's your proof.
 

Drussk

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"What about hisss earsss, he doesssn't need thossse." Drusk whined as he salivated over the thought of eating one of those crunchy looking pointed ears.

"The captain says he's not for eating, we're just going to rough him up a little bit."

"Hsssk hsssk hsssk fiiine." Drusk laughed at the prospect of roughing up the fancy elf president, cracking his three fingered knuckles as he approached the half-Sephi and began to lay into his face with a couple good scaly punches.

 

Davik Lorso

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Rough him up?

Davik look at the Gamorrean bully to his right. Dork was infamous for his killer fists. He once punched a Karkarodon to death with a single well-aimed fist to the face. The Ossein smuggler looked at his own hands, soft and showing no signs of hard labor, then he looked at Dork again and thought he caught a glimpse from the others in the captain's crew. Hardened pirates all of them.. maybe they thought Davik didn't belong here? Before he felt like he had to volunteer, Drusk came to the rescue and cracked his knuckles.

"Press that green button, Dork-" Davik immediately told the Gamorrean as he didn't want the punches to be wasted because they forgot to press record, "-zoom in on his face." but Dork pressed the white one instead and the cable connecting them to the holo-console popped out. Meanwhile Drusk landed his first punch, "No, Dork-" Davik sighed, walking over to the camera to plug it back in. "Just stand back," he pressed the green button and the camera started recording just before Davik's face came in full view, "Testing one, two-" Dork nodded fiercely, so Davik just took that as that it was working. Good. Easy-peasy. In the background Drusk landed his fourth straight scaly punch.

The smuggler made sure to control the camera and make a good quality video that showed both the beating as the president's once-pretty face. The captain would be proud of his camera-skills for sure.

 

Drussk

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It was around the fourth punch that Drusk realized he was being recorded. Glancing at the camera, he gave the President one more good punch as he noticed the man starting to wake up under the assault. Funny, usually when he punched people they went to sleep.

"Sssmile for the camera, Missster Presssident." He hissed as he gave the man one last good punch before turning to face the camera and holding the man's head up with his thumbclaw and foreclaw under his chin. He looked at the camera and blinked before licking an eye... If the camera was pointed at him, that meant he was on camera too... His scalp started to itch as his drunken lizard brain began to consider the implications of that.

@Sreeya @Eccles
 

Carrick

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Carrick lit up a cigarette as he watched the message play for the second time.

It certainly looked like they had Emryc Thorne as their captive - cute little ears, massive frame and killer eyes - but it was hard to tell completely. Taking a deep breath, Carrick ran a hand through his hair as he watched the brief but violent beating for the second time - the messages weren't being broadcast to the Galaxy at large as of right now.

That could change at any moment.

"Send the image of that Trandoshan to the news teams."
he ordered one of the intelligence agents, "I want ID, I want it spread across the Galaxy and I want it known that there is a 2 million credit bounty on his head effective immediately. The Captain has a bounty of 1 million. And make sure the investigation team had images."

The Captain's vanity would take a beating from that alone. He nodded to the communications team and his own message would be sent back.

"Captain, you have proven that you hold President Thorne to a good enough standard that I am willing to discuss payment for his release. How do you expect to receive payment?"
he asked bluntly before adding, "And, for your sakes, I would recommend you cease any further harm."


@Nor'baal @Arclight @Eccles
 

Rav Haskeen

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Captain Haskeen sneered as the Secretary spoke to him. He may be a pirate, but he was not a fool.

"Captain, you have proven that you hold President Thorne to a good enough standard that I am willing to discuss payment for his release. How do you expect to receive payment? And, for your sakes, I would recommend you cease any further harm."

He laughed "You are not the one making demands. I will contact you with information about the payment, until then, play nicely."

He ended the transmission, as the Corsair slammed into hyperspace once more.
 

Darth Stolas

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Training was another thing he'd doubled down on, preferring hardcore combat droids over 'nice' models that wouldn't hit very hard. The pain and effort made him feel alive where lounging or drinking himself into a stupor didn't, a challenge to be overtaken in defeating moving metal that tried in earnest to knock his head off. Morgan recovered quickly from physical injury.

Just after a Force-reinforced arm stiffly blocked a swinging punch with resounding
clang, Dante's whistling interrupted to inform the Firrerreo of a high-priority news report.

Catching his breath he picked up a glass of chilled water and gulped some down, stretching to little to check his bruises and general wear.
"On screen," he snapped irritably. Any break in what patterns Morgan managed to keep lately that could invite idleness tested his patience.

Morgan absorbed it all, goldens scanning over the mixed collection of tabloids and addresses that'd appeared within hours of each other then finally on the supposed kidnapper's demands and bloviating bullshit. Powerfully painful pangs of worry sank into his chest. Dante had been asked not to flag news of Emryc any more. It wasn't something he was supposed to care about, was it? He'd been let go, no more marching home. But still, shouldn't he at least make sure he was alright?

He paced wildly across the floor. A memory of a soldier boy buried and bleeding in a broken wall out was stuck in his head, the way he looked laying in a hospital bed afterward. The sheer heart attack of a broken arm on Naboo. Another man's curt baritone voice rang like thunderous shouting through his head in rebuttal.


“I don’t want you to meddle in my affairs again."
It froze him stiff with guilt. What if this was no different? How could Morgan be sure? Emryc had the entire ISC trying to find him, he could handle himself. Right?

Other thoughts blew away the moment a relevant Switter post was brought up. Sharp eyes widened and snapped to the sight of Emryc being shot transposed next to scaled claws mimicking a twisted smile for a selfie. It summoned memories of yellow eyes and grasping claws, evoking a true and unquenchable hatred like nothing else could. Morgan knew Emryc would suffer rather than break his image of President Thorne. What else might be done to him?


"The payment is to be made in unmarked, untraceable currency. You have three rotations to comply, or your 'President' Thorne, shall be delivered to the steps of the Galactic Senate, in pieces."

Dante emitted a sorrowful warble and the sound of a Huttball loss klaxon recorded years ago aboard the Lady Lucy. The kidnappers said they were willing to hurt him.

Glass shattered in Morgan's hand, water within instantly reduced to angrily billowing clouds of steam. Air rumbled and darkened, metal creaking under an unseen pressure from all directions. Eldritch sparks dangerously danced between iron-hard fingertips until they closed into a fist, the training droid folding over like a sparking suitcase easy as crushing cardboard. Luminescent golden eyes with pupils thin as a knife's razor edge glared at the screen.

Hesitation gone Morgan pulled boots on and marched to the cockpit. He'd had always known one day he might wake up and find Emryc was gone, but-


"We're going."

After everything else Morgan still didn't want that to happen.
 

Carrick

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"Release the video of the President being beaten to the public."

There was a pause.

"Sir... is that wise? Public confidence might fall. Not to mention this bounty for the Trandoshan... it may cause a lot of hate crimes."


Carrick closed his eyes for a moment before responding. He wanted another cigarette already and it was beginning to get to him through the Force as well. The little part of himself that demanded he just stamp down on these pissants was growing ever louder and it was becoming much more appealing as time went on.

"Play nicely, he says."
he mused as if to himself for a moment before shaking his head, "It's almost as if he believes this is something where he holds all the cards. As if he doesn't need me to make the deal as much as I need him to."

The most outspoken of the agents spoke up again.

"Doesn't he though? He has President Thorne."


Carrick nodded.

"He does - but what he also has, right now, is a target painted on his back far too large for him or his people to ever escape. If he kills or mutilates Emryc Thorne, the entire Outer Rim will be crying for his head within seconds. Their hate will be unending. Trandoshans will be skinned by the thousands just for the chance to get the one who hurt him. Not even for the bounty."
he shrugged, "The public love Emryc Thorne and that love will be poison for them. This captain can either take a deal or he can die, either today, tomorrow or after he has been hounded for the next several decades. Simply put? He took a score too big. He can't afford to kill President Thorne - he needs to make a deal and he needs to make it well."

The agent pressed.

"And the bounties? The hate crimes?"


Part of him wanted to dismiss it - who cared? It wasn't him pulling the trigger, it wasn't even him ordering it. Instead it would be the direct response to the actions of a fool. Actions having consequences beyond what they expected?

Too bad, so sad.

Grunting in mild annoyance, he rolled his eyes. Missed by Carrick himself and those around him was the flash of yellow.

"Fine - post the official bounty at a reduced rate. 250k for the Trandoshan and 100k for the Captain."



@Eccles @Nor'baal @Arclight (Tagging with the updated bounty amounts)
 

Jaikus Thorne

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roberto-cuevas-cdff8ea5-db4c-434e-987a-c6a9ba749d18.jpg

Axxila, Upper Levels.


It rarely rained on the city-planet of Axxila, and yet tonight it poured uncharacteristic intensity. It had been a few weeks since Jaikus had returned to the planet, since having locked himself within the confines of his apartment. After leaving Emryc and all the others back on the beach-planet, Jaikus had since buried himself in the work that had been piling up in his absence. Initially, tonight had been no different.

The office where he sat was dimly lit, just enough light to illuminate the table of documents and research notes that were scattered across the polished surface. Nearby, a simple holo-screen played, having just recently been switched over to the daily news. It was mostly there to fill the void of silence as Jaikus worked, background noise that he rarely paid much attention to. He only briefly glanced up as the feed changed suddenly to a breaking news story, though his gaze did not linger long enough to register it. Once more, his attention instead settled back onto the research notes and materials splayed out in front of him.

The mention of Emryc Thorne being captured caused him to snap to attention.

It was only now that the Axxilan took the time to actually listen to the holo-feed, reading the headline that had been plastered across the front of every news network since the incident had occurred. The sight of it caused Jaikus’ heart to sink into his feet and the color to drain from his face, suddenly feeling the knots that began to twist tightly in the pit of his stomach.

What felt like an eternity would pass as Jaikus filtered through the dozens of news stories, tabloids and addresses that had been released in the hours since the incident, all of which he had neglected to pay attention to until now. Citrine eyes narrowed and absorbed the images of Emryc being shot within a bathroom, forced to ‘smile’ for a selfie with his assailants. He listened as the ‘captain’ of this merry little band of assholes spoke, conjuring a ridiculous story and following it up with even more ridiculous demand for ransom. The Axxilan knew the role that Emryc would play before the public, and how likely allowed himself to be captured, rather than defend against it. He knew the half-Sephi would play the helpless politican just as he had on Keldooine.

Eventually, Jaikus’ attention was drawn to a new set of images – ones which had only recently been released to the media. He was unable to look away as the images flicked across the screen, seeming to move in slow motion while taking in the full sight of Emryc’s bloodied face, as well as the faces of those who assailed him. The air suddenly grew a bit colder, citrine eyes seeming to luminesce a bit brighter, as they fixated upon the face of a particular Trandoshan. Murderous and sadistic intent burning behind his gaze as Jaikus memorized the scaly visage.

It was a face he not forget.

Jaikus stared at the images until the feed finally went black, the feelings of panic and dread that initially washed over him buried deep. In its place, his face suddenly contorting and twisting with new, unbridled rage. He stared at the empty holo-screen, and he didn’t even notice that his fists had closed and balled tightly, knuckles turning white and fingernails digging bitterly into the center of his hands. The Axxilan didn’t even notice as the skin broke and blood began seeping out from his clenched palms, dripping onto the cool floor below.

Nor did he notice the golden chain that was clutched tightly within his left hand.

Moments turned into minutes, and yet there was no outburst from the Axxilan. There was no tantrum as there had been on Telos, nor an explosive expression of his rage. His emotions churnned like a dark, tumultuous sea just beneath the surface - a mixture of emotions each battling for dominance on his face and threatening to boil over with devastating effect. A part of Jaikus wanted to pick up the nearest mug and send it hurtling towards the holo-screen in front of him, and yet he didn't. Instead, he was sat deathly silent.

A few more seconds, and the Axxilan planted his hands and the table in front of him, slowly rising to his feet. The Dark Side coalesced and built around the man, all of that hatred and rage radiating off of him like heat off sunbaked stone. As he came to stand, the holo-screen in front of him began to crack beneath an invisible new weight, spider-web fractures streaked across the glass surface, threatening to shatter with the slightest additional pressure. The hanging light fixtures above him began to flicker and sway violently, flashing with desperately pulses before the bulbs within popped, casting complete darkness upon the office.

With measured, purposefully steps, Jaikus moved across the room, his previous work completely forgotten as he plucked the data-pad from a nearby end-table. Immediately the Axxilan opened several encrypted channels and began sending out messages to dozens of different nameless contacts. Jaikus had long-since established connections within the criminal underground of Axxila, a network of informants and spies that he frequently utilized in his operations across the galaxy. A new task had been given with more priority than the others, and days ahead would be spent scouring the galaxy for the location of the half-Sephi. No matter what it took, Emryc would be found. And so would the morons who kidnapped and beat him.

And there would be hell to pay.

 
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Renfry

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Renfry's eyes were transfixed on the holonet screen as breaking news tore across the headline. She hadn't been told what she was about to witness, but she had been told in absolutely certain terms by Síle that it was something she needed to see.

She was unprepared for the images that filled the screen. The banner scrolled with "President Emryc Thorne, kidnapped by pirate terrorists" and her blood ran cold. The air in the base on Junction dropped measurably in temperature as unbridled rage poured through her. Was he okay? Yes, he was. She could feel it. He was alive, but how long remained to be seen.

Was this in response to Preef's death? Had he left a contingency? No, it would have been a different route if that were the case. This was about the ISC's war with the Syndicates. At least that was what she told herself. She couldn't believe that she caused this. That she had caused him to get hurt.

She watched the face of the tentacled man, etching everything into her mind so that she knew the face she would turn to mush. As he spoke of Emryc falling to his knees and begging for his life, she only became more angry. She knew it wasn't true and the fact that this piece of bantha poodoo had the audacity to make that up as well only made her angrier. More irate.

Her breathing was heavy with rage and her eyes practically blazed like fire. She forced her breathing to slow if only so that she could give orders.

She stepped out of her office with purpose, stopping next to the woman she had set up as "secretary." Because apparently an Empress needed a secretary.

Prepare a wire transfer of ten million credits, but don't send it, she said. Have a corvette and destroyer prepared for launch, she said. She didn't care that she had just ordered the mobilization of thousands of men and women without warning or explanation.

It was her right when people were going to die.

She knew that such a summoning would take time, and so rather than go out to vent her rage or begin flight early, she went to her room and took a seat on the floor. She closed her eyes, reaching out to the Shadow, her longest and dearest friend. She had tracked Emryc many times before, and this would be no different. He would be able to feel that acidic sensation and he would know, but no one else would.

I'm coming for you, Emryc, she said quietly. And I'm bringing death with me. No one would hear the words, but he would know. He always did.

@Sreeya
 

Malou D'Amaris

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Malou was back on Namadii for the time being, though for the moment, her master had not given her anything to do. So the Miralukan child had spent most of the day working on her studies. Unfortunately, even though she had quite literally helped her master establish a kingdom, she still had to do her maths homework.

The teen was hunched over her desk, tapping equations onto her datapad with a stylus while a radio chattered away in the background, when a couple of key words caught her attention. "President", "fallen", "murder", and "credits", to be exact. Malou lifted her free hand and rotated her wrist just the slightest, causing the volume dial on the radio to rotate left to increase the volume. She continued to figure out the problem at hand, stopping only to listen once she finished whatever step she was on.

'The ISC president was kidnapped by pirates?' Malou did not visually react to that information and instead remained still for a second or two after the broadcast ended and the radio returned to whatever it had been playing before.

"Damn, sounds like a him problem." The Sith acolyte returned back to doing her homework, and continued to tap tap tap answers into the fields. The ISC President wasn't the one giving her a grade, so she could care less.
 

Darth Stolas

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Morgan's fiery and focused anger spurred him to action. Contacts out in the galaxy were being mobilized to track down Emryc and his kidnappers, further spreading word of the bounty on their heads and offering a third party bonus for the deed on top of that. Dante brought up any news from any source on the situation. There was even word of others searches beginning elsewhere, although that wasn't out of place considering Emryc's fame and media coverage of the event.

His blood ran lava-hot, golden eyes failing to return to normal nor his skin from silver shades. Worry turned to anger and back again in an endless cycle mixed with utter contempt for 'Captain Haskeen' and whoever had taken that selfie. No amount of meditation or deep breaths were calming him this time, already a mess internally and processing a slew of other things.

Only a few minutes after Morgan settled stiffly into the cockpit Dante screeched in panic at the comms station. It's photoreceptors rotated to Morgan before putting up a new video on screen.

He stared. The scale scaled fingers were curled into a fist. Morgan felt himself flinch as each punch connected with the seated half-Sephi's face. It was so much worse than getting hit himself, like his heart would shatter all over again, beating painfully in his chest faster and faster while his whole body shook with rage. Iron fingers crushed the pilot seat's armrests, feeling like an unbearable pressure beneath his skin was going to explode outward at any moment.

Morgan couldn't look away even when falling tears stung his eyes. By the third punch he barely breathed. Blood dripped down Emryc's face, bruises bloomed, his head was thrown back again and again.


"Sssmile for the camera, Missster Presssident."

Scaled claws lay down the final blow and angled the half-Sephi's severely beaten features toward the camera.

In that moment the burning of Firrerre, the misery in his heart, Emryc's horrific treatment at the Trandoshan's hands, all of it mixed explosively with interposed memories of Dorian suddenly so vivid Morgan may as well be experiencing them a second time.

Abruptly his body relaxed as if cut from string suspension. A long, deeply hissing breath left his lips. Slender fingers rose to calmly wipe away tears, skin so deeply silver it had far overtaken the brands burned into his flesh. Eyes of blazing orange-gold stared at the stilled image, passing over every minute detail of Emryc and those people who'd taken him. The dead men walking who painted a soldier boy red.

Each spoken was deliberate and quiet, a bass growl rumbling evenly throughout.


"Activate hunter teams three, five, and nine. Contact Storm Squadron. Just in case."

Morgan had promised not to abandon him. He always kept his word.

Voyager launched to lightspeed.
 

Laeonas Tannaras

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The lights in his room were bright, humming their hum. It was a sound he tried to focus on these days; rhythmic, unchanging. It was annoying, but it was preferable to all else he heard. Between screaming, wailing, begging, that humming was a measure of much needed peace.

It didn't make much of a difference though.

It had been a short bit since the incident he'd had with the guards. The doctors hadn't had the good sense to figure out what had prompted his little outburst yet. The holo still buzzed in the background, still on the same news channel for the past... forever. It was just background noise, same as the light, but without that blissful uniformity. Adbreaks, news stories, commentary about Chancellor Ro's harem. None of it mattered in the shattered mind of a man reeling, drowned in the voices of the damned.


Tied down, Laeonas couldn't bring his hands to his ears to cup the very, very loud wailing that rang in his ears. He couldn't tell if it was a mother cupping a young child, a boy in pain as their flesh bubbled from the sheer heat radiating in the air, or some other ill fated firrerreo who'd died a miserable death. They had all blended together long ago, fused in a never ending cacophony of suffering. There was nothing he could do but moan, cry, beg, as they had. Not for their suffering at the hand's of the Sith to end, as they had. He simply didn't want to hear it anymore.

The inability to cup his ears let all those real sounds enter his ears. That calming hum kept humming, and the air recycling system had started to come on. The wailing died down, and his breathing steadied. "...quiet..." he whispered, lips twitching upwards a bit. The skeleton of a smile appeared and disappeared on his lips again and again. These brief minutes were the only peace he had. Than they'd all come back, or something would trigger him, or the calm would dissipate.

That was when the holo quietly slipped into the range of sounds and words and things his ears paid attention to. It didn't come barging in, as that tabloid repeating kriffwad had before. It was subtle, quietly opening the door and slipping into the party. The crowd didn't pay much attention, and it quietly made it's way to the host; that man who'd been trapped in his own mind for what felt like years. Years, and it was barely a few weeks.

The news caused that mumbling man's gaze to turn upwards. Names came and went, but the mention of the president caught that shattered mind's focus. None of those voices in his mind had a face to them. It was one thing to see brief flashes; homes burning, a gold skinned woman running, a redheaded cripple laying half broken on the floor of a bunker. But their voices blended, and he'd only heard theirs following the catastrophe that had put him in this ward. Not once had he encountered a face familiar to him, or a voice that he hadn't heard before.

Yet as that battered, bloody face came onto the screen, Laeonas' heart skipped a beat. Aquamarines stared into half swollen silvers, a dazed look meeting his own. Words played in his head, the president talking without speaking.
"I am a man of action." That baritone had spoken. It had been a promise-- a promise to the general public of the galaxy, and words to please constituents. Laeonas had never once believed the man had meant it-- only that he'd done quite a good job at attempting to convince others. Whether or not it had been true mattered little to the human.

Yet now, as that promise of action, of strength stood shattered before a shattered mind, Laeonas could do nothing but silently weap.

The Sith would continue to glass planets. People would continue to die by the billions. Suffering would spread, disease would run rampant. The rich would continue to grow powerful, while all around them died. Politicians who promised change would be kidnapped, held for ransom to their own governments-- and nothing would happen.

There would be no peace amongst the stars. Only the bloodthirsty howling of the dark lords, and the maniacal laughter of criminal scum. Sith that Laeonas had come to despise, and scum that he'd wanted to move past for his entire life. He could do nothing as everything went to the flame.

Nothing but scream.



 

Tiamat

Character
Consortium
Rank
Chief Astro-Engineer

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GABA
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There were gaps in time where Lyra couldn't remember what was happening outside her own mind. The voices nearly seemed unbearable at times, constantly chiming in whenever they felt they needed to intervene and always at the most inconvenient moment. It was difficult to say what she wanted, but all of them seemed pleased they were no longer stationary until she went home on Corellia to rest, and hopefully find some way to gain some leverage.

Why are we here...there is work to be done...
Hush up, things are different, we need to see what we have, its time to go.
Let us take care of you, Lyra...

"No..." she spoke, "I-" she paused and picked up the holopad that chimed, the holonet was blowing up, Emryc Thorne had been kidnapped. Lyra sat in silence, trying to process the headline, something felt like it should be there, but the Eternal was quick and efficient in its work. She closed her eyes when she heard its voice.

What are you looking for Lyra?

She could feel the presence over her shoulder as she dug through her memories. She saw herself in front of a toy chest, digging until she pulled out a familiar looking freighter, "I don't know, a ship?" she examined it, confusion swept her face, and then dropped it back in, unable to recall what she was searching for, "Am I missing something? I feel like there is something missing..." she paused as she felt another presence, a female came behind her, brushing her red hair over her shoulder delicately and reached down to pull out Ship and then walked away.

"Hey! Let me see that!" she demanded, turning into the shadow of the Eternal and suddenly she was flooded with the reminders of the ship, everything was more important than herself, even when she was his apprentice. She saw Emryc's face contort into frustration as she stranded them on Lothal; she heard his voice mumble about her mess of research taking up too much space and the yellow glow of his eyes sharply burned when she went into his room.

Lyra opened her eyes, inhaling sharply as though she had been holding her breath for hours. She looked down at the holopad, there was nothing she could feel and she met the gaze President Thorne on the holopad. Even as all the hurt he caused her reeled through her thoughts as she read the incoming updates. She paused as her thumb felt the power switch, feeling the conflict roil and then settle before she switched it off.

 
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