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Offline Cordae

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The Keyis Legacy
« on: 10/27/12, 01:14:36 PM »
THE RESURGENCE WAR

   Minister of State Heryon Strinn was leaning against a podium that Cordae thought to be an uncanny likeness of the man; they were both short, squat, and reeked of cigars. In a long wood-paneled stateroom sat the Royal High Council– a collection of senior advisors, cabinet members, Lord Generals, and their assorted staff. The meeting had originally been scheduled to take place during one of the cooler months, but recent developments demanded that it be convened now, at the height of the hottest summer on record. Even the nights, as they were all now particular aware, offered no respite as the whole room sat sweating, trapped in a boardroom at two in the morning. Cordae scratched at the thick brown stubble covering his jaw. It was all he could do to blink away the fatigue.

   “Our sources in the Royal Intelligence Service have been monitoring the situation developing on our southern border.” The meeting had only started, but Strinn had been in other meetings since the early morning and he was beginning to lose steam. “Since last we met, there had been only minor troop activity in the border regions, but new reports suggest that is no longer the case.”

   Strinn thumbed through his copy of the 487 page briefing memo. “Royal Intelligence puts the new estimate at around 30,000 light infantry, 1,000 artillery crews, and sixty armored pieces no less than fifty miles from our border outpost at Ternwej.” He dropped the document onto the table, using the loud bang that followed to accentuate his point. A particularly pale interior sub-minister shot up wide-eyed in his chair from a humidity-induced coma and looked around, clearly startled. Strinn pulled an already-damp handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed the sweat from his forehead. For good measure, he ran his fingers through his thin, slate-gray hair, re-fixing it firmly to his head.

   “Gentlemen, there can be no clearer indication of intent from our Eresari neighbors. They quite plainly mean to strike at us,” Strinn left his podium and pointed at the small outpost marked ‘TERNWEJ’ on one of the maps hung from a hook on the wall. “And they mean to do it soon.” Cordae knew that Strinn was speaking to all of them but he got the distinct feeling that Strinn had said the last part to him alone. He cleared his throat and turned to the man on his right.

   “Vice Minister MkTennen, go hold up that map over there.” Cordae gestured to a map titled ‘The Lesser Antilles.’

   “We’ll each throw a dart at the map and then blow the unholy hell out of wherever they land.” Strinn smiled in a way that only he ever could: his lips pursed with such strength that they had all but disappeared into his mouth and threatened to crack his face in two. He turned to the crowd.

   “Your Highness, It is my learned opinion that the Eresari are amassing their troops near Ternwej because they mean to commit to hostilities. Though, perhaps the Eresari have gathered the full strength of their army on our border to look for seashells.” Some of the State Department heads chuckled and passed silent jokes with their colleagues.

   “What...would you suggest, Minister?” Cordae spoke quietly as he stood up, pushed in his chair, and brushed off the front of his uniform.

   “Sir?” Strinn leaned toward Cordae, his smile refusing to give any ground.

   “I speak of the invasion you quite clearly mean to propose. What would you suggest? I’ve listened to many of your enlightening lectures on military policy and, after having taken your lessons deeply to heart, I have a few ideas that you might find…suitable for our present situation.” Cordae began to meander slowly toward the front of the room. Cordae was not an extremely handsome man, but his massive frame lent authority and lethality to his gait.

   Cordae continued. “If the Eresari are, as you have said many times before, nothing but a menace, an inhuman and barbaric people, why should we waste time talking? Since we cannot reason with these animals anymore than we can reason with a block of wood, wouldn’t it simply be more expedient to just kill them all and be done with it?” The room had become an arena. Cordae and Strinn’s acidic smirk were the sole contenders.

   “My Prince, I think we disagree on exactly how much of an asshole I really am.” Their eyes were locked.

   “No, Minister, I think have a fairly accurate idea of how much of an asshole you are.” Cordae’s right hand began to shake slightly.

   “War has been the goal of your administration from the beginning, though you will not do us fine gentlemen the courtesy of saying so. You have treated the States of Eresar with nothing but contempt for seventeen straight years and you expect us to be surprised when they start massing their troops on our border?” His brother Anash stared at him silently, but Cordae knew the look on his face meant “Watch it.”

   Sweat rolled down the side of Cordae’s face. “Do you think we are so dense? Do you think we cannot see this plainly for what it is? I think you do, sir. I think you mean to stand there behind your podium and your maps and your memos and tell us that this whole thing, this whole damned thing is unavoidable and that the only way to coexist with our neighbors from the south is with their necks under our boots!”

   A door’s creak from the back of the room broke their silent contention and the Sergeant-at-Arms snapped to attention, his boots knocking together with a crisp clack. “Attention!” High King Enarion Infardus Keyis entered in a manner befitting his station; measured, but with power and intent. He stood in front of the doorway and returned a room full of salutes with his own.

   “Where are we?” he asked as he made for the seat reserved for him.
   
   “His Royal Highness was in the middle of calling me a blood-thirsty tyrant, I believe.” Strinn smiled at the King as he folded his hands behind his back. Enarion looked up from his slate to his son.

   “What took you so long?” The room filled with duly restrained laughter, but Cordae wasn’t laughing. Not this time. The others may have seen it as nothing more than back-and-forth, but he knew better. He knew. He knew! Strinn was the reason the Eresari were mobilizing in the first place, that corrupt, double-dealing bastard. How right that they amass their troops at our border! He could feel a building throb in his sinuses.
   
   In a rage, Cordae threw a handful of defense reports at the wall, mercilessly snuffing the brief moment of joviality. He raised his hand toward the Minister of State.

   He was yelling now.

   “This man stands as an affront to the very name of peace and is the antithesis of what the Chief Diplomat ought to be. He has done nothing but continually undermine the negotiation process with the Eresari from the very beginning and if we go to war now, the blame will lie solely with him and the blood of our children will stain his hands.” He turned to face the rest of the room.

   “I, Cordae Solarius Keyis, loyal son of The Royal House Keyis, do hereby swear on my most sacred honor that I will join the Royal Army and request to be put in the most at-risk unit should it come to war with Eresar. If I should die in battle, let my death be on his hands and let my Queen-mother in Heaven know who to curse with her everlasting breath. So do I swear this oath.” He didn’t remember how he came to be staring at Minister Strinn, but it pleased him immensely to know that he had struck that goddamned smirk clean from his face. Even if that... that pretender did have his war, Cordae was content to know that his sneer had limits and that they could, in fact, be reached. The King stood.

   “The forces of Eresar have overrun Ternwej. No survivors. I’m assembling the Lords Militant to draw up suitable countermeasures and invasion plans.” Silence washed over them. “We’ll be at war by daybreak.” Cordae looked at his father, then back at Strinn.

   He was smirking again.
« Last Edit: 12/23/13, 09:32:55 AM by Cordae »



Offline Cordae

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One Damned Thing after Another: Stories from the Pilgrim War
« Reply #1 on: 12/25/12, 09:43:39 AM »
CHAPTER I - SCARF

   Miva Quartermarq burst through the two glass-paneled doors of 'Jazi’s Place' on the corner of Vynstoi  Street and West 52nd with all the unbridled energy of a tiny runaway freight train. “I won!” She screamed, thrusting her hands up into the air. She blew a handful of her wildly, wavy brown hair away from her face with a loud puff and stopped to look around the café, suddenly aware that she was not alone. She caught the eyes of a bald old man in a tan overcoat who was struggling to suppress a particularly resilient grin as he stared at her over the top of his wrinkled newspaper. Miva abruptly forced her arms to her sides, which only served to agitate her frazzled explosion of hair even further, and stared wide-eyed at the floor.

   Her mother Helen pushed the door aside with her shoulder and walked inside. Miva’s coat and book bag hung loosely from her shoulders while Miva’s pink knit scarf was draped haphazardly about her neck. When she challenged her daughter to a race, she thought there might be some ceremony to it all, but as soon as she’d said ‘race,’ Miva had thrown her things to the ground and was already halfway down the street without so much as a ‘by your leave.’

   Helen ran a hand through her disheveled blond hair. I think I taught her that one, actually. She sighed, tossed the book bag into a nearby booth, and shook out her hair, still panting slightly, as it fell down against her back. The inhabitants of the region called South March favored short-cut utilitarian hairstyles, but Helen always kept hers long. She thought it made her look majestic like the portraits of the High Queens that she remembered from her school books. She even had the extremely fair “royal shade,” though it stuck out noticeably against the sleek black hair which was especially common in her new home of Tannerkerq.  Miva’s hair, on the other hand, resembled her father’s. He was a northerner from the frozen industrial collectives of Voynfvier  where shaving and wearing one’s hair short was seen as stacking the deck against one’s self when the harsh winter winds came.

   After Miva and Helen situated themselves, a lady from behind the counter walked over to their booth and placed two dog-eared menus in the middle of the table. The waitress, whose nametag identified her as ‘KORA BOSTOI,’ tried to look younger by using makeup, but her tanned, slightly creased skin and an errant streak of gray mixed in with her soot black hair betrayed her. She was very kind, though, and she always talked to Miva whenever Helen took her to Jazi’s for breakfast.

   “So you beat your mom, huh?” Kora grinned at Miva. Her voice was rough and scratchy, but Miva wasn't  frightened or nervous.

   “Yup! I’m really fast.” She replied, and then set about building a pyramid out of a nearby stack of jam packets. Kora smiled back at Miva, then turned to Helen and gestured to the pitcher she was holding in her right hand. Helen offered a small, polite smile and Kora filled her mug to the brim with black, steaming caffeine. The liquid’s pungent vapors filled Helen’s nostrils and opened her sinuses and Helen blinked out of instinct. Milk and sugar would definitely be a part of her breakfast today.

   When she thought no one was looking, Miva snuck a packet of wrenberry jam into her pocket for later. Wrenberry was not popular in the South because many people there preferred heartier, bland-tasting fruits like the disc-shaped, off-yellow ploin, which grew directly out of its trees’ bark and spoiled quickly, or thick-shelled cyuot  with its blue, mealy pulp and soft, pleasant aroma. Wrenberries, which grew on vines, were small yellow berries with bright orange juices that stained one’s teeth and tickled one’s taste buds with their tartness. Miva loved them and usually had no problems getting her Tannerkerqer classmates to hand their wrenberry-flavored snacks off to her.

   As Kora was walking back to her spot behind the counter, she fished a sleek plastic shape from her apron and powered up the aging vid-screen which hung in the far corner of the restaurant. From what Helen could tell, a news show was just coming back from commercial.

   Saints, I haven’t watched the news in months. She knew that things had been tense between The United Lands and the Eresar for a while, but it had been like that for as long as she could remember, so she wasn’t particularly concerned about a war breaking out. She wanted to be more informed, but the 24-hour news cycle wasn’t very friendly to single working moms and it was hard for her to find free time to sit down and watch the news or read the news prints. She began to listen as Miva enthusiastically wrecked her jam fort.

   “…and for those of you just joining us, I’m Kaern A’Foya and this is SKY27, Tannerkerq Metro’s best informed news channel. Our next guest this morning is Lord Militant Caskor, chief spokesperson for the Royal Army garrison stationed at the nearby Ternwej  Outpost. My Lord, it’s a pleasure to have you with us.”

   Lord Militant Istinai Caskor was an attractive man whose good looks were accentuated by his Royal Army dress blacks. He had a drawn, gaunt face and firmly set features that might have made him seem overly stern, but he also had deep yellow eyes and the perfectly straight black hair that the Tannerkerq women fancied. Helen could see why they put him on the morning vid segment instead of the radio show.

   Caskor inclined his upper body slowly towards A’Foya in a cross between a bow and a nod. Caskor was known in Tannerkerq as ‘the noble’ because he exhibited an air of graciousness almost to the point of nobility. In fact, Caskor planned his public image very carefully in order to hide the fact that he hated being on live television almost as much as he hated reporters. His smile appeared to come naturally, so no one had any reason to suspect his less-than-sincere sincerity.

   The slender, silver-eyed newscaster swiveled his desk chair to face the Lord Militant and the lordly Lord Militant did the same, though with much less flare than his partner. A’Foya jumped straight into the interview.

   “Lord, we’ve received reports of increased troop movements along our southern border. Can you possibly tell us anything about that?” Miva climbed down from the high booth seat and walked toward the bathroom at the far end of the room.

   Caskor smiled again. “Well, we haven’t started a war with the Republic of Eresar, if that’s what you’re implying.” He laughed amiably. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the base’s activities but I can at least tell you that we haven’t broken anything important.” Caskor leaned back in his chair. “I also think it’s important to point out that it’s not exactly right to refer to our neighbors to the south as ‘the Eresar’.” Behind the large sectioned news desk, Caskor ran his thumb over one of the King’s Seals emblazoned on his starched, black dress uniform’s polished silver buttons.

   “Calling them ‘the Eresar’ is a hold-over from when our two nations had fought a terrible war almost two centuries ago. Many Eresar prefer the term ‘Eresari’ because they use the word ‘Eresar’ to refer to their country as a whole and they believe calling only one man or woman ‘Eresar’ to be extremely disrespectful.” A’Foya blinked at him. His smug half-smile still stuck to his face, but his annoyance was palpable. Caskor saw the look in A’Foya’s eyes and sighed inwardly. Here was another man who wanted to fight the old war again. He continued.

   “Now, about your question regarding troop movements.” Caskor stiffened in his seat. “I’m not prepared to make a statement about any military intelligence we may or may not have about Eresari troop movements. I will say that it’s our duty to protect this land from invasion, but that’s all I can say. Other th-annn-ksst-other than t-...” The live feed suddenly cut out to a blue screen flashing large black letters that read ‘TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES.’ The vid-screen’s speakers whined and screamed in high-pitched defiance, scaring some of the restaurant patrons. After a second, the picture broke out into fuzzy lines of garish green, red, and blue, then shuddered back into recognizable form as the feed came back.

   “-ksst-ot allowed to comm/..comm/m/ment.” The feed cut out again and repeated its spasmodic sound and light show for another half-second before normalizing. Helen heard a dull thud from the screen’s speakers before the newsroom’s lights began to flicker sporadically.

   Kaern A’Foya wasn’t smiling anymore.

   His hand darted from his pocket to cover his lapel mic. “What the hell was that?” he asked, his voice muffled but still audible. Caskor stared at him with a particularly stone-set frown until his comm unit went off. He grabbed the head of his lapel mic in one hand, pulled the cord with the other until the head came off and let the broken head clatter to the ground as he turned away from the cameras to answer his comm.

   There was a second dull thud somewhere in the distance and the screen faded into broken static. Helen heard another dull thud behind her, off in the east.

   That one definitely hadn’t come from the television.

   Helen turned toward the counter to see if Kora had heard the thud as well, but she only had enough time to turn before the high-rise next door was violently torn in half. The bald man with the news paper fell over in his chair and Kora screamed. Her eyes locked with Helen’s and then everything went to black.
   ___ ___ ___

   When Helen regained consciousness, she was lying in the middle of West 52nd, halfway under what used to be one of the colossal bronze doors of the West 52nd Symphony House. She tried to move her legs, but couldn’t. She tried to push the door off of her, but the door was far too heavy and her left arm had been broken in the explosion. She forced herself not to look at the injury, but she knew it was bad especially because she couldn’t feel it. One of the first things she noticed was how cold she was.

   The ground to the right of her exploded in an upheaval of dust and duracrete, showering her with debris and coating her in gray ash. She whimpered and gritted her teeth. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth followed quickly by the bitter sting of adrenaline. Her neck hurt, but she tried to swivel her head to see if there was anyone around, anyone who could help her and-

   Miva. She couldn’t see Miva.

   It took a moment for the thought and its gravity to dawn on her, but as soon as she knew that Miva was gone, she thrashed hard under the door, pushing against it with renewed fury. After a few seconds of the most courageous moment of her life, she smacked the door with frustrated frailty. She swore loudly as a bolt of pain shot up her leg and into the middle of her spine making her cry out, first in pain, then in panic. She couldn’t see Miva.
In her struggle, she almost missed him. A metal wedge with pearl decked in lustrous, iridescent mother-of-pearl sat like a dorsal crown along the middle seam of his helmet. It shone like a Saint as it caught the sun through the dusty clouds. She tried to look at his face, but found a vaulted ceramic visor that completely obstructed his face. She could see the fires of broken Tannerkerq dance across his polished visor. She noticed that he was not alone; there were hosts of black and brown-armored infantry swarming into the shops and storefronts. They were taking things. Was he a Bannermarcher? She tried to call out to him. Maybe he had seen Miva.

   He knelt down next to her and reached out, softly grabbing something which hung around her neck. She tried to move her head, tried to help him with whatever it was he was trying to do, but her strength had left her and she couldn’t move. She winced in pain, then looked up and saw what he had taken: Miva’s pink scarf. She never gave it back to Miva when they sat down for breakfast. She gulped. The soldier was looking at the scarf, gently turning the fabric over in his hands. Miva would want her scarf back.

   “Please…sir…” Helen whispered, too afraid to speaker louder. His head snapped down to look at her. Tears ran down Helen’s cheeks and cleansed the dust from her face, forming small crystal roads. She looked at what she thought must have been his eyes as he stuffed Miva’s pink knit scarf into one of his belt pouches.

   “Please…”

   Regimental Commander Inarinoi Zant, leader of the 41st ‘The Pride of Topokoi-Heridas,’  drew his side-arm and shot Helen Quartermarq through the head, killing her instantly.
___
« Last Edit: 12/25/12, 09:47:36 AM by Cordae »



Offline Cordae

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Re: One Damned Thing after Another: Stories from the Pilgrim War
« Reply #2 on: 01/01/13, 04:55:48 PM »
CHAPTER II – NO MAN’S LAND

   He ducked his head under the low door frame of his officer’s quarters and adjusted the worn, darkened belt from which his black, long-barreled sidearm hung. He drew it quickly and shoved a new power pack into the slot on the underside of the barrel. The pistol’s laser optics system flickered to life and began recalibrating themselves. He took aim at the flag pole near the officer’s mess tent, then switched it to safe mode and reholstered it.

        The air bit fiercely at his exposed flesh and he scowled, as if to will the cold away with naught but his anger. To no great surprise, his scowl didn’t make him any warmer and the wind continued to bear down on him. When his company had been transferred to the southern theater’s famously named ‘Tannerkerq Line,’ he thought he’d be in for some pleasant weather. As it happened, the line was actually far closer to the cold, barren, wind-swept plains of Eresar Myjora than he had anticipated. Just the other day the Line Commandant had the entire ion cannon battery pulled from service to protect against a particularly large ‘bloodstorm’ – a dust storm which got its name from the color of the dust found in the Southern Myjora Badlands which flew at them constantly at every hour. He fastened the topmost button on his heavily padded combat jacket and stepped out into the street.

   His armored combat boots, matt black with dulled chrome detailing, made the duckboards creak and groan as he walked over them and left them sunken considerably further into the mire as he walked toward the front lines. Two riflemen stopped to salute him as he passed. He called them by their names and clapped one on the shoulder. Most of the other officers he had met always preferred to remain separate from their men – much easier to send men to their deaths if you don’t know their names or what their voices sound like – but Captain Cordae Keyis, leader of Saber Company never subscribed to that belief. He talked with his men; he knew all of their names. What right did he have to ask them to give their lives for him if he didn’t even know who they were?

        Cordae leaned against the cold, earthen wall of Trench 42b and let his massive arms rest across his chest. Somewhere off in the distance, he heard the hollow squaw of a carrion bird.  Just as he’d touched his back to the wall, his personal communicator chimed in his ear which drew a sullen, tired sigh. He stood up straight and opened his earpiece’s micro-feed.

   “Good morning, Captain.” Rifleman Ames Ricker’s voice came through with astonishing clarity. In fact, his clear speaking voice was why he’d been tapped as adjutant. Nothing annoyed Cordae more than having to listen to someone mumble in his ear for an hour.
Cordae rubbed his eyes with his left hand, keeping his right hand on his earpiece, holding it firmly against his head to improve call quality.

“Good morning indeed, Ricker. Another beautiful morning in 42b.” Cordae looked up at the sky. The horizon was gray and the sky was obscured by heavy cloud covering which was stained blood red from the dust. “And there’s only one cloud out this morning!” Ricker laughed.

   “Shame the one cloud is the sky, of course,” Ricker sighed. Cordae could see Ricker’s infectious grin already and was forced to smile in spite of himself. Weather jokes were common in this stretch of the line. Well, at first they had been jokes. However, after two years in the trenches, commenting about the sky had taken the role of the mindless pleasantry, very much like asking someone how they were doing when you couldn’t give a damn one way or the other. The private would salute the sergeant and say, ‘Evening, Sergeant,’ and the sergeant would reply in kind. ‘Lovely weather, sergeant,’ the private would say, to which the sergeant would reply ‘The sun shines somewhere, private.’ Then, when the sergeant had left, the private would turn to his friend and comment on which part of the sergeant he thought the sun actually shone from.

   Cordae removed his left glove and smoothed back his light brown hair which was kept long in accordance with the traditions of House Keyis. His hair was one of the things he got to keep when he joined the Royal Army at the start of this war and for a while, he stuck out rather sorely because all the common-born soldiers were required to be shorn completely upon entry. Something about wanting to keep the occurrence of parasite infestations down among the men - as if nobles by their very nobleness were impervious to lice. Cordae had proven that wrong in less than a week.

   “Ricker, notify Section Command that I’m beginning my review. Shaking hands, kissing babies, shooting people in the face,” Cordae said, his own rather dry brand of humor finally surfacing. Ricker could tell when Cordae was joking almost half of the time, which was no small feat. The Captain could be a confusing man at the best of times and this was not the best of times.

   “Of course, sir. I’ve also been instructed to tell you that you’ve a message waetin’ for you in the fo’rd command post – the one near LeHaver’s section. Sounded rather urgent.” Ricker had become adept at masking his jaunty West Plains accent, but it managed to poke through every once in a while. Cordae always found the West Plains to be dull and flat – all the best features of a plain, his father would say – but it had the best taverns west of Macharius, which certainly made Royal visits much more enjoyable even if he couldn’t remember most of them.

   “I’ll make sure to stop by. Shall I send Major LeHaver your regards?” There was a beat of silence.

       “I would…appreciate it, sir.” Cordae closed the feed and tried to move, but found that the dark, loamy South March soil he thought he had been standing on was actually an inch-thick puddle made of equal parts black, acidic trench muck and a mesh of bloated, half-decomposed ‘badland reeds’ – tough, hardy bastards that grew where nothing else could in these lands. He swore as he tried to pull his foot free, but the poisonous tar clung mercilessly around his armored boots. He swore again. Even the ground wants to kill me. Noble Captain Keyis: defeated by mud.

      He braced himself against a sandbag and after a few seconds, successfully wrenched his right boot from the mud with a satisfied grunt. He repositioned himself and as he freed his other boot, a sick, wet sshhlop reverberated down the line, breaking the pallid morning silence. A pale, lanky corporal with a scraggly red beard poked his helmeted head out from behind a crate of mortar shells and blinked at the strange, muddied captain, then yawned and went back to leaning against his ordinance crate.

      Cordae only had to walk for a minute before the sanitary conditions of 42b improved drastically. His section of the trench was dug directly into the ground, but the existence of a particularly plentiful water table ensured that the southern half of 42b would flood at even the slightest chance of rain. The northern section had its own problem, though. While significantly drier, the northern section had to be built across an expanse of subterranean rock the surveyor teams had called ‘the biggest stracking thing they’d ever seen in their poor, miserable lives.’ The Royal Engineers’ solution was to build a series of interconnected breastworks above ground level and face them with massive slabs of structurally enhanced duracrete. This allowed for a much higher fortified wall than usual, making the waddle-esque ‘trench walk’ obsolete.
Cordae stopped to talk with a pair of watch sentries before ducking into a causeway lined with sandbags and covered by a red-earth colored tarpaulin canopy.

II

      “Ah, Captain. I’ve been expecting you.” Cordae had barely made it through the door when Major Angelo LeHaver greeted him. He heard the security door latch shut behind him and he snapped to attention.

      “Major LeHaver,” Cordae offered a crisp salute. “Captain Keyis of Saber Company reporting as ordered.”
     
      “At ease, Captain.” LeHaver returned his salute just as quickly as he was able, almost as if he were slightly annoyed that the rules required his being saluted at all. This was done as an attempt to convey to his officers that he was a man who could be trusted; for all the pomp and circumstance, he was just another soldier. Cordae had seen his fellow nobles use the very same tactic against generals and field marshals, so he was considerably less impressed. LeHaver offered his hand and Cordae shook it.

      “These are strange times we live in, me telling a scion of the Royal House to stand at ease,” LeHaver and Cordae offered forced smiles. LeHaver motioned for Cordae to follow him back to the map table.

      “May I speak freely, sir?” Cordae let his left hand rest on his sword. Not many officers had swords, but they were not entirely uncommon; many liked how they looked and it never hurt to have a third weapon strapped to one’s self during a war. Cordae’s sword was a gift from his father, High King Enarion Keyis, upon his promotion to Captain. It had a long handle, which Cordae personally preferred, and had a curved blade similar to those originally used by the Middle March plainsriders of yore, though his was much more utilitarian and sparsely decorated. It would have found much more use five decades ago, but Cordae found that waving it around before a battle had a very positive effect on morale. Besides, everyone – including Major LeHaver – was set on treating him like a noble, so as far as Cordae was concerned, the sword was just gravy.

      “Yes, of course, Captain.” LeHaver had returned to his original spot, but had not yet done away that uneasy grin of his.

      “I was wondering why you called me here, sir. I’m scheduled to patrol the northern breastworks in 42b this morning and-” LeHaver nodded.

      “Of course, of course, my apologies for keeping you. Mud doesn’t watch itself, after all. We’ll get right to it then.” LeHaver pressed a button on the side of the table and the map of South March instantly faded away and was replaced with a map of Paskerfvier up in the north. LeHaver cleared his throat.

      “Your unit has gained a reputation, Captain, and a very good one at that. I haven’t forgotten your glorious successes against those Eresari camps in the Coi Lowlands.” Cordae bowed graciously at the compliment. Coi had been a rough theater: lots of quick, clandestine raids in the dead of night. Saber Company had gotten very good at them, for there was very little room for error. Cordae glanced through one of the bunker’s fortified windows and surveyed the gray-on-gray of no-man’s-land. For their successive victories, Saber had been rewarded with a two month all-expenses-paid stay in this special little circle of hell.

      “I want you to do it again,” LeHaver said as he looked at Cordae while hunched over the map. Cordae furrowed his brow.

      “I’m sorry sir, you want us to raid Co- the Coi Lowlands again?” Cordae let a healthy amount of confusion slip purposefully into his speech. “As I recall, we had left that area…quite out of sorts.” LeHaver smiled at him.

      “No, Captain. I want you to raid an enemy camp near Paskerfvier.” LeHaver pointed to a spot on the map due east of the small mining town, then returned to his full height. “Do you recall the destruction of Tannerkerq, Captain?”

      Cordae’s muscles stiffened and he blinked. ‘No,’ he thought, ‘the day my country was invaded had completely slipped my mind.’
He had gotten his hands on some of the initial Royal Intelligence Reports before he had accepted his field commission, but they didn’t tell him anything more than the vid clip all the news stations ran at the time. Some art student had a recording device pointed down one of the main streets in the early morning and caught the whole damned thing by accident. Cordae mumbled something in the affirmative, but looked away from LeHaver as he began to blather on about something he was sure sounded very important.


      The camera had been pointed down…down a street, I can’t recall which one. It was one of the busier ones, a commerce road leading to the financial sector or something. Civilian craft were zipping up and down the boulevard, everyone eager to get to work. There was no way they could have known. Normally, the military outpost at Ternwej would have been able to warn Tannerkerq of an invasion, but the Eresari had made sure to turn Ternwej into a skid-mark before anyone had any idea of what was happening.

      Eresari infantry units had already converged on the city’s southern border and were a little less than half way down the road when the first short-range missiles struck. Royal Intelligence was able slow the vid down to the point where we could actually see the rockets. I watched them hit their targets. I could even make out the red and brown roundels on its guidance fins. Silence had completely overtaken the Briefing Room. Department heads from ever part of my father’s government were crammed inside the dark wood-paneled room watching the footage for the first time. No one looked away.

      One of the rockets had slammed into a three-story apartment building. It was clearly meant for some other target because the sheer concussive force of the shockwave managed to blow a nearby coffee shop all over the main street. The dust cloud that hung over the city was…considerable.

      After a few minutes, the dust had settled. Eresari infantry had just started to reach the area near the gutted coffee shop. For some reason, the camera’s owner stayed longer and zoomed into the coffee shop’s wreckage – almost as if he knew to look for someone. I heard one of the Lords Militant’s adjutant ask if that was all. He was quite plainly annoyed. His Lord Militant turned around and petrified him with one of the most debilitating stares I had ever witnessed. I made a note to ask him how he did that.

      What came next was how a ‘bombing’ became a full-blown war. An Eresari commander – the vid’s resolution was far too low to distinguish his rank, but his black armor was a clue. Low-grade officers wore dark copper colored dusters with beige ceramic chest armor. The dusters symbolized the burnt blood-red ash that darkened their lands and the chest armor was said to resemble the shade of our sun as it shone through the dust, pale and cursed. He walked up to her, took her scarf, and started…looking at it. The rotund, ruddy-faced collection of combat ribbons and medals that was Minister of Defense Coriyle Matoryn leaned toward the screen and squinted at what he was sure couldn’t have actually been happening. And then he just shot her. He just…that was it. He took the scarf and left her there.

      He couldn’t recall another time when the Privy Council had been that quiet.


      Cordae shook himself from the memory, which all-in-all took up two seconds to revisit, and looked back at LeHaver who was right where he’d left him. “Yes sir, I remember Tannerkerq.”

      “I’m reassigning Saber Company to Paskerfvier because this war has gone on for two years with victory few and far between. We cannot afford another Tannerkerq, especially not in the north, so near to the capital. We’ve got word that the Eresari have a forward encampment there and are using it to coordinate their entire northern offensive. We need that camp destroyed – completely and utterly. You’re shipping out with the next convoy in two hours.” Cordae blinked, then nodded.

      “I’ll notify my men immediately.” LeHaver saluted Cordae and Cordae snapped to attention.

      “Dismissed.”
« Last Edit: 01/01/13, 04:58:41 PM by Cordae »



Offline Cordae

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Re: One Damned Thing after Another: Stories from the Pilgrim War
« Reply #3 on: 01/12/13, 02:59:46 PM »
CHAPTER III – SAVAGES

Without warning, the lead Fortress-class armored infantry transport jerked twice on its treads and died. Pallid black smoke spewed from its fore engine compartment into the bright, cloudless skies of the Ghent Savannah. It had laid there in the middle of the road for no more than a second before two half-dressed men, vehicle engineers attached to the 301st Tactical Support Unit, began to clamber down the long hull-mounted ladders attached to the carrier's sides. One of the men was very short and completely bald, while the other was almost completely covered in thick brown hair which betrayed his West Plains ancestry. Both were sweating and swearing profusely. The northerner picked up a small rock from the side of the road and tossed it at the transport’s cockpit. The rock bounced harmlessly off of the cockpit’s reinforced plastic window, but the lead driver – who had been sitting in a small, poorly ventilated metal box for the better part of four hours – saw fit to respond to the engineer’s enthusiastic complaint with a particularly foul anecdote involving the northerner’s mother and several giant hounds. While the two argued, the short, bald engineer had completely lost his patience and had set about attacking the engine access hatch with a pry-bar.

After an hour of sitting, the situation had changed only slightly. The large, hairy engineer’s tirade had attracted the attention of his brethren sitting up in the transport’s main hold and after a solid fifteen minutes of jeering, the main driver climbed down from his perch and, using his own helmet as a weapon, broke the northerner’s nose. Once everything had been cleaned up, it was discovered that three of the engine’s four coolant turbines had melted almost all the way down to their fan-mounts. It took two hours for replacements to be found and airdropped to the convoy’s location and a team of machinists from the 248th Mounted Squadron were brought up from the rear to begin the repairs.
Captain Cordae Keyis and the thirty-six soldiers of Saber Company’s 1st Platoon weren’t close enough to see any of the festivities. They were stuck in the middle of the convoy between a troop transport carrying a group of ordinance technicians from Kottmarq and a squat, heavily armored freight transport laden with explosives. Specialist Tranner, a well-built man from the northeastern town of Vyncerq – famous for its brandy – commented on the irony of being placed between a transport full of bombs and a transport full of bomb technicians, but no one else seemed to appreciate the joke. The unrestricted sun had been bearing down on the metal transport roof and it was too goddamned hot for bomb jokes.

Especially while sitting next to a truck full of bombs.

Sergeant Adrianne Kommer sat in the corner of their troop hold next to the loading ramp. Kommer was a middle-sized woman known throughout Saber for her faded, straw-yellow hair which she always kept back and her temper which she did not. She had been able to pass the first three hours of the stoppage by writing letters to her family in Voynfvier, but it was going on fifteen minutes past the fourth hour and she was quickly running out of relatives. She stuffed her old, worn notepad into her satchel and took out a thick, dog-eared deck of playing cards which she tossed to Rifleman Kanz, the one-eyed trooper sitting across from her. The deck hit his padded combat jacket and fine pale savannah dust shot out of the fibers into a billowing cloud that hung in the air. Kanz jumped and caught the deck with both hands, clearly surprised.

“Hey Kanz, wanna play a game or somethin’?” Kommer asked.

   “Do I get to say no, sergeant?” Kanz asked, still a little jittery from being surprised.

   “Nope,” Kommer answered. She was grinning and Kanz knew what that meant. He looked up from the deck in his hands and caught her gaze. For all of one second, he wasn’t sure who was more terrifying – his Sergeant or the Eresar. Defeated, he removed the grimy string tied around the deck and began to shuffle the cards. Kommer looked around. “Anyone else wan’ in?”

One of the men to Kanz’s left, a Middlemarcher from Banvyc, nodded and began to put away the dust-caked news print he was reading. Two others, Hactris and Ballermore, joined in. Captain's Adjutant Ames Ricker craned his neck to watch as two other soldiers dropped their heavy kit bags into the center of the hold and used them as seating.  Before long, the game was under way and 1st Platoon’s troop hold was filled with the sounds of laughter and camaraderie which helped almost all of them to forget about the war, if only for a short time.
Cordae remained silent and withdrawn. Unlike Ricker who was running a friendly betting ring – one cig got you in – or Kanz who was begrudgingly enjoying himself, Cordae was stuck in the smoke and flames of Tannerkerq.

For some reason, he kept coming back to that woman and the soldier, back to when he first saw the footage. After discussing it with his father, Royal Intelligence decided to throw the tape to the media. They thought it’d lend the Royal Army, not to mention the Royal government, nearly limitless amounts of popular support, to say nothing of the instantaneous solidarity it would surely build in the legislature. Their analysis was right on all accounts and the vid spread like wildfire. In only twelve hours, the four major news networks were looping the footage nonstop. There were riots in the streets of every major city, even the capital. He could see the crowds from his quarters in the Sun Crown – the royal residence. He heard their chanting and knew it would be war, one way or another. Pretty much had to be at that point.
The war wasn’t what bothered him.

Once when he was young, his father had told him during dinner that he was to join him on a trip to the Eresari capital of Sistisani. Cordae had always been a curious and adventurous youth, but he became frightened and ran from the dinner table. He flat out refused to go, even going so far as to lock himself in his room when his servants had begun to pack his things. He was still a young boy then, no more than six or seven, and had taken a little too well to the stories his tutors told him of the old war against the Eresar. It took a good hour of convincing from his father that the Eresari weren’t going to murder him and his family.

‘That’s just not going to happen,’ his father had said. ‘The Eresari were our enemies, it’s true. But they have honor just like us. They never murder but will not hesitate to kill for their country, just like us.’ Then his father sat him down and told him a story about his grandfather, to see if the fear caused by a story could not be undone by another.

‘When I was younger,” his father began, “Your grandfather told me a story about the old war, the war we call ‘the Evening War.’ It was a terrible, terrible war. Cordae, you mustn’t ever forget that all wars are terrible, but the Evening War was a dark time.’ The King sighed. ‘Your grandfather was a colonel then and was stationed in the north to fight the Traitor Armies of Lord Zozridr Alimand. Alimand was a very popular general who was once a great friend of our House, but he defected to the Eresari and invaded the North March.’ Cordae nodded; he knew the story well. Everywhere north of Voynfvier and its vast mines were forced to fly the stained mauve banners of the Traitor Armies. His father continued.

‘One day, your grandfather and his regiment were captured. There were many rumors going around at the time about killings, whole companies gone missing and thought to be wiped out. So, when he was captured, your grandfather came up with a plan. He told each of his junior officers to conceal a small trench knife in their uniforms for when they were to meet the enemy Force Commander. He had thought that he and his men were dead anyway and hoped to kill the Force Commander in the hope that his death might just be enough to end the war in the north.’

‘When your grandfather was brought before Lord Alimand’s general, known only as the Force Commander, he wasn’t expecting what happened next. The Force Commander stood there and saluted your grandfather, then ordered his adjutants to bring bread and hot wine. Your grandfather was entirely dumbstruck. The Force Commander looked at your grandfather and said, “Greetings be them unto you, enemy.’ He took your grandfather’s hand as an equal. ‘You are my prisoner, this is true, but we will treat you and your men kind. I know it well our reputation among your armies, but I say to you these killings are not the Way of the Eresa’an and the fanatics who slew your men thusly are not true of Eresar. You know my Master and he has great affection for you, so he thusly made of me the order to stay my hand.”
‘Your grandfather was surprised to say the least. He asked the Force Commander, why he was being treated with such kindness and do you know what he said?' he asked. Cordae shook his head.

'He said, ‘It is our duty, enemy. Nothing more.’

Cordae was a little young to understand what the Force Commander had meant by that, but he wasn’t a child anymore and he knew what duty was. Your enemies deserved respect, mostly by virtue of their being your enemy. There were no conditions, no bargains or petitions gain to be made. Prisoners were kept alive and in good health until such a time that their release or exchange could be secured. That was how the world worked.

And that was how war worked until two years ago. His grandfather didn’t have any stories about civilians, especially none about them being shot in the street like dogs.

Saints above, what the hell was that about? The vid was too distorted to see any unit insignia or facial characteristics, but the head crest was obvious evidence that the man who shot that woman had been an officer. High up, too – a regiment head or field marshal. He would have been taught by the best, hell, possibly even by that Force Commander! Where the hell was that man’s honor?

Yeah, people die in war. A lot of people die in war. Cordae had killed a lot of people in war, but damn it, he was an officer of the Royal fucking Army. He knew the damned difference between a soldier and a civilian and so did that bastard from the vid. If he knew anything about the Eresari officer cadre– and he did – he knew that they were trained just like him: born into high-status families, taught from a young age all of the values of the nobility, taught to fight, and had a moral code to guide them. And that man just…threw it away? Just like that? A life-time, no, a legacy, a heritage of honor and that man decided that he didn’t have to live up to it anymore? Who the hell was he? And to shoot a civilian in the street. Honorable suicide was too much to hope for such a man.

Hell, he’d seen archival picts of Eresari being executed after courts martial for murder. Offenders were strung up by their feet, thrown from the fort walls, and were left hanging there until either the rope broke or their feet rotted off. Their names were stricken from the military annals and their families had to wear a black stripe sown into their shirt collars until the war ended. If they had no family, their property was taken by the state, but their belongings were sent to public auction at the state’s benefit.
This was, apparently, no longer the case.

Savages.

“Sir?” The man across from Cordae, Sergeant Arsa, was staring at him worriedly. Cordae looked at him, confused.

“Yes, Sergeant?”

“You were saying something about savages, sir.” Cordae blinked.

“It was nothing, Sergeant.” Silence passed between them and Arsa hadn’t looked away. Cordae sighed. “I was thinking about Tannerkerq.” Arsa leaned back against the hold wall.

“Yeah.” He clearly wanted to say something more, but he just looked at Cordae’s feet and turned to look outside to the flat, golden grasslands.

The convoy was moving again.
« Last Edit: 01/12/13, 03:07:52 PM by Cordae »



Offline Cordae

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Re: One Damned Thing after Another: Stories from the Pilgrim War
« Reply #4 on: 01/23/13, 12:06:32 PM »
CHAPTER IV – HOLY AND LOW

“And then, when the men had slain the heretics, Saint Straph the Bold came unto them and said, “Sing you now your battle songs and offer praises unto Him, for it was through his might that he has remade this land holy and struck your enemies low.” – The Book of Hymonia, 15:40.

Second squad moved through the camp like a knife in the dark. They were split up into two columns, five men in each, and slowly progressed toward the large communications spire in the center of the camp. The spire was their objective: destroy or otherwise disable.

Well, ‘destroy’ wasn’t exactly an option. They’d infiltrated the camp with only ten men and blowing up a comm tower in the middle of the night would likely rouse the whole camp to come and fight them. It’s true that First Squad was sitting just outside the palisade walls – their mission was to neutralize the bands of patrolling sentries that might give them all away – but the twenty Royal Army riflemen didn’t favor the odds of fighting through two hundred Eresari warbands. Better to let them sleep. They’d probably need it too. When their commandant found out that their comm spire had been disabled, the whole contingent would probably be in for an hour-long lecture while standing at attention, followed by a non-strenuous four hour forced march through the woods. Though, the security officers who would no doubt be executed for their failure to apprehend them would likely be absent from all of that.

Captain Keyis, who led the right column, threw up his fist and took a knee. Both columns followed suit. They were hidden by the long shadows cast by the Eresari tents, so they could observe the whole of the camp’s main area without attracting attention. But for two guards at the central comm spire, the parade field was empty. Cordae thumbed his micro-bead earpiece.

“Sword to Dart, come in Dart.” After a second, his earpiece crackled to life.
“This is Dart, Sword.” Cordae pulled out a small data-slate.
“Mark your position.” A small ‘X’ appeared to the north of Second squad’s position – just behind the guards. “Dart, two hostiles directly north of us. Go say hello.”
“Copy, Sword.”

Next came Cordae’s favorite part: try to spot the scouts. The game was simple. See if you can spot the scouts before their targets get dead. Cordae usually lost and, as it happened, that night was to be no different. He only saw Scout-Sergeant Thrate as his knife lashed out of the shadow and reappeared, glistening and red, from a gash in one of the guard’s throats. The other scout, who approached the other guard, tapped the man on his right shoulder. As he turned to look, the scout expertly sunk his knife into the guard’s right amd left lung in quick succession. The guard crumpled to the ground without a sound.

The scout wiped his knife off on his prey’s brown fatigues and signed ‘all clear.’ ‘Saints above, how did they even see us’? Cordae thought as he grinned. He ordered Second squad forward and directed Rifleman LeFaine to begin on the communications spire. LeFaine was the squad’s computer technician and his skills were invaluable to the mission, especially if they were to avoid waking the entire camp. Within minutes, he had begun breaking through the camp’s security protocols. Cordae pulled his sidearm from its holster and primed it, then turned to his men.

“Alright, Saber. LeFaine says the whole process is likely to take around ten minutes. Sergeant Kommer, take five men and clear out one of these tents along the parade ground. Specialist Whitehill, take the rest and find another tent. Scout-Sergeant Thrate, Scout-Rifleman Bosker, and I will go introduce ourselves to this camp’s commandant. Maybe tie him to the spire once LeFaine’s had his way with it.” Second squad smiled and began to split up. Cordae turned to Thrate as they made their way toward a large tent in the middle of the furthest row of tents. There was a black four-man transport with a family crest roundel on its door. Eresari noble-caste.

 “You brought the rope?” Thrate smiled and tugged at the length of black rigor-cord secured diagonally over his combat jacket. “Good man! On me.” Cordae held his trench knife blade-down in his right hand and stood to the left of the entrance of the commandant’s quarters. Thrate and Bosker took the right. Cordae looked back across the square. The rest of Second squad had disappeared into the enemy’s munition tents. He turned back to Thrate and nodded. In an instant, they were inside.

The tent was exactly as he had expected it; spacious, sparsely decorated, and kept in immaculate order. That made it easy for him to get in. There was only one bed and in it slept the commandant. Cordae ordered Thrate to secure the commandant while he went over to a wooden desk and began to rifle though its drawers. Eresari officers kept the most interesting things in their quarters, but he was looking for intelligence – maps, ledgers, messages – and not souvenirs. He pulled the top drawer out of the desk and set it on its surface, then began searching through its contents. Thrate and Bosker positioned themselves near the Commandant.

With the rope in one hand, Thrate struck the Commandant across his face while Bosker, an unusually large man for a scout, flipped the man over onto his front and restrained his limbs. Thrate had worked a rag into the officer’s mouth and used the rope to gag him. In under a minute, the commandant sat in the middle of his tent attempting to curse Cordae and the scouts with every fiber of his being. Of course, Cordae couldn’t really understand him with the rag in his mouth. In fact, he preferred not to understand him at all. He looked up from his task and smiled at the Eresari, whose own red eyes threatened to burst out of his head with rage. Cordae waved a gloved hand at him.

“Evening, Regimental Commander.” He picked up a steel rank pin from the desk and tossed it at the officer. “You ought to invest in better guards.”

The Regimental Commander shook with rage. He tried to thrust his foot out at Bosker, but the scout saw it coming and jumped away. He brought his rifle butt down on the man’s shoulder with a sharp crack. The Eresari offered a muffled scream and fell onto his side. Thrate threw Bosker a sharp look. “Goddamnit, you can't just break the man. We need him in one whole piece. Captain’s orders. No killing the captured ones, especially the officers.”

 Bosker shrugged and looked down at the shaking officer. ‘They don’t look so different from us,’ Bosker thought. The Eresari were generally rather pale, which was a result of the thick dust clouds that hung over their lands, blocking the sun. The kept their heads shaven – dust got everywhere – and their eyes usually took on varying shades of yellow or red. Even then, they looked like lithe, pale South Marchers.

Cordae let the first drawer fall to the soft grass with a dull, earthen thump and pulled out the second drawer. The first drawer gave up nothing of interest – a collection of pens, several pads of paper, a small ploin from trees in the nearby forest. The second drawer was much more interesting. He pulled out a gold-handled war knife and hefted it in his hand. It was obviously ceremonial and, from the look of the handle-bindings, quite old. He took it from its sheath and stabbed it into the desk’s wood. Finally, he found something he could use – a wax-sealed portfolio crammed thick with what he could only assume were documents of a very much classified nature. He looked from the portfolio to the officer who, still on his side, stared straight into his eyes.

Cordae smiled. “That’s all I needed to know.” He stuffed the package into his side-bag and the officer strained against the ropes, muttering something in Eres Voys. He was silenced by Bosker's boot.

As he began pulling the third drawer out, he caught something out of the corner of his eye. He let go of the third drawer handle and returned to the second drawer which was still sitting on the desk. He squinted at the object as he pulled it out.

It was a grimy little thing. Obviously fabric of some kind. Probably not ceremonial, at least not as far as he had been briefed. The damned thing had seen its better days, though. It had little tassels on the ends, but they were so caked in dirt and grime that he couldn’t see what color they were, other than the black-brown mud he had grown very used to over the years. South March mud, definitely. The Eresari tracked their dust with them wherever they went and it mixed with the black loam in South March. The product was famously resilient and ever-present. The years of living in a battlefield had made the ends hard and they clattered together as they shook. Cordae turned the fabric over in his hands. As he turned it over, it came unfolded and billowed out to its full length - just about three feet long.

The inner sections of cloth were in much better condition than the its sides, but even then that was exactly saying much. The shape itself was familiar though. It was actually not unlike-…

…not unlike a scarf.

A pink knit scarf...

Cordae squinted. He saw the fabric grain and the thread pattern - cris-crossing, well-made, but there were some flaws, some minute mistakes in the pattern. Hand-made. He took his glove off and touched the fabric. Soft.  He stared at the scarf without actually looking at it.

...from Tannerkerq.

He saw the Eresari pull the scarf from that woman. He saw him blow her head all over the street. He saw it over and over and over and goddamned well over and over again. Something inside him laughed. The scarf, the helmet’s white crest, the gun, the blood, the scarf. The scarf. The pink knit scarf. The pink knit goddamned scarf. Staring him right in the face, staring him right in the goddamn face.
It stared at him like the Eresari stared at him, broken and bleeding on the cold, wet dirt.  More laughter.

Actual laughter.

He was laughing. It was muffled by the rag, but Cordae knew a laugh when he heard it. It was sick and wheezing, but it was a laugh. He could see it in his dust-red eyes. dust red like blood red, just like blood red.


He folded the scarf neatly into a dingy, matted rectangle and placed it in his kit bag. He walked out from behind the desk. His silver warknife hung loose in his hand. Scout-Sergeant Thrate stepped forward.

   “Captain?”
   “Leave me, Thrate.” Cordae was looking at the Eresari. Thrate hesitated.
   “Captain, what-”
   “Leave me. I’ll be out shortly.” Cordae tried to sound calming and his words had entirely the opposite effect.
   “Captain, our orders dun'…” Thrate’s words hung in the air for the longest two seconds of his life.
   Cordae looked up. He was staring straight at Thrate. Right into Thrate.

“Get. Out.” Thrate felt a shiver in his spine. The captain’s words pierced him like honed icicles that struck his nerves and made his brain pound. He threw Cordae a salute – which went unanswered – and ordered Bosker out of the tent.

LeFaine went out to meet them. “Find anything good?” he asked. Thrate ignored him.
   “You done breakin'-na thing?” he asked. He nodded up at the comm tower’s signal mast.
   LeFaine stopped. “I…yes?” He let one of his lug wrenches drop into a cloth-sewn belt-holster.
   “Good. We’re movin’.”
   “Sergeant, what-” LeFaine looked beyond the Sergeant and saw Captain Keyis emerge from the tent. He saluted him as he came closer.

The black lining of Cordae’s officer’s coat whipped in the wind, contrasting its cloth 'blancoflague' cover. “Captain, their communications are offline.” Cordae looked at LeFaine.

   “Good job, Rifleman. Pack it up. We’re leaving.” LeFaine blinked.
   “I…yes, sir.” He saluted and began packing his tools back into their pouch. Cordae made a soft gesture to Thrate and Bosker. They left for the tents their comrades were using as cover.

Cordae looked at his watch. 03:44. The mission had taken all of fourteen minutes. He looked back at the officer’s tent, then the sky. The twin-moons shone down on him and he felt cold. ‘Holy and low.’

His empty knife holster knocked against his reinforced leg-armor as he walked away.
« Last Edit: 01/24/13, 12:16:54 PM by Cordae »



Offline Cordae

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Re: The Keyis Legacy
« Reply #5 on: 12/23/13, 09:45:08 AM »
The "Forging Alliances" Arc

((This news release covers events which occurred after the "Resurgence War" - the war discussed in the previous topics. It covers events that happened in "realtime" during RP in the present era.))
____

[DUE FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE]

###

ERINI UNDER LOCKDOWN, REPUBLIC DIPLOMATS EXPELLED

HoloNet Newsdesk, Coruscant – Approximately two days ago, a liaison from the Republic Diplomatic Corps gave testimony before the Senate Committee on New World Discovery and Exploration saying that all long-range and ex-atmospheric communications between the Republic and Erini had been ‘severed with absolutely no prior warning.’

Shortly before communications went down, the Republic’s Chief Envoy of the Mission to Erini, Ambassador-at-Large Rickard Torias, received this message from the Erini Ministry of Communication:

___

“ATTN>> REPCEE_TORIAS:

In exactly one hour, Erini will be placed on full lockdown in accordance with Royal Decree 167. Please be aware of the following items:
-   The cessation of all communications between The Kingdom of Erini and your consular office aboard the Republic Diplomatic Vessel ‘March of Morning’ until further notice
-   The speedy and safe deportation of any and all Republic diplomatic officers on Erini to Republic Diplomatic Vessel ‘March of Morning’
-   The recall of all Erinian officers, magistrates, representatives, or other such individuals to the capital city of Vysberg
-   The instructions of the Erini PDF to fire on all unauthorized craft after no more than three (3) warnings

Your people will be under every available protection during the process of their return to the ‘March of Morning.’ Any Republic nationals who were unable to be deported before the lockdown, will be held in comfortable quarters in the Royal residence under the protection of His Majesty Enarion Keyis’ personal bodyguard."

___

All diplomatic personnel were successfully withdrawn from the planet before the lockdown took effect. As of today, no communications have been received from Erini. We are uncertain of what caused the lockdown and our reporters have still be unable to learn anything.

###

ERINI AMBASSADOR APPEARS BEFORE SENATE

HoloNet Newsdesk, Coruscant – Today, His Excellency the Lord Ambassador Cordae Keyis of Erini addressed the Galactic Senate during their noon session. We do not have any information regarding the ongoing lockdown of Erini. A transcript of his address is set to be released in a few hours.

###

ERINI LOCKDOWN RESULT OF CIVIL STRIFE, "STABLE" SAYS AMBASSADOR TO SENATE

HoloNet Newsdesk, Coruscant – After weeks of unexplained absence, the Erinian Ambassador delivered a short address to the Galactic Senate during their session in the early afternoon. The transcript of the speech, written and delivered by the Lord Ambassador at the behest of the High King of Erini, may be found below.
___

“Good afternoon, honorable Senators and esteemed delegates.

About a month ago, my King issued a royal decree which authorized the complete lockdown of Erini until further notice. You may consider my presence before you as the end of the lockdown. Erini is once again free to receive the Republic’s diplomats and visitors. However, my government and I feel a brief explanation behind our actions is both prudent and necessary and it is with the task of delivering this explanation that I stand before you now.

The reason for the lockdown comes from Erini’s history. I realize that our history may not be well known, and so it is necessary that I start there.

Ten years ago, Erini was plunged into five years of vicious, brutal war. The war was the result of a bitter centuries-old conflict between the peoples of Eresar and the Allied Marches which would take days to explain to you now. After the dust settled, the Allied Marches were the victors and there has, until very recently, been quiet in our world.

I’m certain you honorable senators understand the difficulties we now face. Five years have passed since the end of the war and tensions remain high. The High King of the Allied Marches, my father, is making constant efforts to create an era of peace from the ashes of war.

One month ago, those ashes were briefly rekindled.

Militants from the ‘Topokoi Popula,’ a violent Eresari ultranationalist party, enacted a two-part plan aimed at dissolving our tenuous union with strife and chaos. This plan began with a string of bombing attacks throughout the large civilian centers of the Allied Marches. The damage was extensive and although new information is coming in every hour, the latest estimate puts the death count at upwards of 3,000 civilians and 26 Royal Defense Force soldiers.

A half-hour after the initial attack, the Topokoi Popula’s paramilitary wing took control of Rekloi, a fort-city in western Eresar, with the intent of mustering support for a coup against my father’s government.

The lockdown decree was sent to your Envoy Chief ten minutes after the Rekloi was taken.

In the days that followed, The Royal Defense Force stationed troops in and around the insurrectionist regions with full cooperation of the Eresari continental government to contain and neutralize this new threat.

As I stand here before you, Rekloi is under heavy siege and is expected to be brought back under control in under a week. Our Ministry of Communications will issue updates as they become available.

I thank you, the Galactic Senate and your constituent assemblies, for your patience at this trying time. Thank you for allowing me to speak and on behalf of the High King of Erini, I salute you and bid you good day.”

___

The Erini Mission offices on Coruscant will reopen pending instruction from the Erini Ministry of State.
« Last Edit: 12/23/13, 10:28:23 AM by Cordae »



Offline Cordae

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Re: The Keyis Legacy
« Reply #6 on: 12/23/13, 10:00:27 AM »
The "Forging Alliances" Arc

Strong Are Our Walls

<<The Hall of Galleries is for the most part a decorative addition to the Sun Crown. The hall was built several decades ago by one of the minor sons of House Keyis, but he had good taste, so later generations kept it and it eventually found a use as the repository of the House's portrait collection. As a rule, every Seneschal, the leader of a House, and his sons sat for a portrait, though so-called Erinian 'Seneschalian portraits'  were always given carved silver frames while the sons were given stylized eboryx, a milky black metal alloy. House members with no connection to the House line could win the honor of a portrait through outstanding deeds in service of the house and such men and women were allowed a shined bronze frame.

Six years ago, the Hall underwent major renovations and gained several new high-end boardrooms which, although they were designed with the Hall's original coloring and materials in mind, reflect current Bannermarcher tastes which include high ceilings, bright shades of white tile and brown wood, black accents, and silver garnishes all strung together with smooth, fluid lines.>>

___ ___ ___

Cordae's armored dress boots clacked against the rich, glossy white verm floor tiles. Their sharp staccato reports ricocheted off the polished hardwood walls of the dimly lit corridor. Several meticulously carved silver candle sponsons decked the walls and their light played and danced with the angles and colors of the royal oil painting portraits which hung alongside them. The black rigorcord holding his heavy black shoulder cape strained against his chest as he walked toward the boardroom at the end of the hall and his cape whipped angrily behind him. The Throneguard stationed outside the boardroom door snapped to attention.

"Lord Ambassador." He saluted. "They're just inside, sir." Cordae nodded.
"Thank you, Lieutenant," Cordae said as he nodded at the man and pushed the door aside.

Inside the windowless room, his father, the High King and his new Minister of State, Lord Gydien Rysz, sat around a large darkwood table along with a handful of other cabinet ministers and their personal aides. Rysz was a middle aged man with brown hair and a garish scar along the side of his head was in the middle of one of his famously full-throated and empassioned arguments.

"I beg your infinite pardon, my King, but how much longer are we supposed to wait?"

"As long as I tell you to wait, Minister and that is something you would do well to never forget."

"Yes my King, of course, but we can't ignore the terrorist threat...." He trailed off as he noticed Cordae enter the room and stood. Cordae bowed to his father and hung his shoulder cape on a metal-armed coat tree, then turned to face the room as he walked toward a seat  on the left."

"Please excuse my absence. Business on Coruscant kept me later than I anticipated. I hope we're not going down the all Esesari are terrorists and we should kill them all road again, are we?" He asked with a clipped tone that expressed both sarcasm and pointed annoyance with expert efficiency.The King pursed his lips and reached for a crystal decanter of vysint.

"Lord Minister Rysz, the other cabinet ministers, and myself are revisiting the question of planetary government," said the King. The clear liquor was chased by three ice cubes as it flowed into a beautiful, multi-faceted crystal glass. Cordae nodded and filled his own glass with the same decanter.

"My Lord, it's good to finally meet you," Rysz said as he got up from his seat and offered Cordae his hand. Cordae smiled and shook his hand.

"Do you think we should kill all of the Eresari?" Cordae asked mid-shake. Minister Rysz smiled awkwardly.

"Not if we can absolutely help it?"

"Ah, then it's good to meet you too, sir." Cordae took a quick drink from his glass and stood to face the room. "Before we continue, there is something I must relay of a sensitive nature. The clearance level is hereby set at "ochre." A few attendants and personal aides quickly rose, bowed, and exited the room. As the last uncleared staffer left, Cordae pulled a small tray lined with input slots from under the table and passed it to the King which he then took in his hands. He held down a button on its side and spoke into a small receiver, his Bannermarch accent shining through.

"Keyis, Istvan Honorius, thirty-second of his line. I do hereby invoke the royal power of secrecy and do divine my right to do so with this ring," he pulled off a small signet ring which he wore on the smallest finger of his left hand. "which I affix now." the King inserted the face of his ring into the center slot of the tray. He passed the tray to the Minister of State who inserted his own ring in a similar fashion. The tray was passed around the room until it returned to Cordae. After inserting his own ring, Cordae placed the tray into a square in the middle of the table and locked the boardroom doors using the table's central console. Once the room had been secured, he looked at the King who smiled slightly and nodded. Cordae unconsciously straightened his uniform and sat down again and sipped his drink.

"A few days ago, I met with a representative from the Empire, one "Lord Quarasha." She wanted to discuss our situation with the Eresari rebels." Rysz blinked at Cordae.

"She knows of the Eresari rebels?"

"I told most of the known galaxy about it from the Grand Convocation Center of Coruscant's senate hall. I think if she wasn't able to find out about them by now, the Republic would have won this war already."

Rysz thought a moment and shrugged. "Fair enough."

"She made us an offer, actually," Cordae said slowly as he diverted his attention to watching the light play with the factes in his glass in order to appear nonchalant. A short silence hung in the room until it was broken by the King.

"What sort of offer are we talking about?" he asked.

"Whatever we need to bring the Eresari to heel, as far as that goes. Her primary offer was for advice, but she was willing to provide intelligence gatherers from Imperial Intelligence, saboteurs, even troops if we asked. And she offered her own personal services as a combatant and strategist. I believe the last offer is the one of most substance." The King leaned back in his chair and nodded.

"...Was she serious?" Rysz asked.

"I'm fairly certain, Minister."

"Why did she go to you? We have an ambassador to the Empire, I appointed him myself," Rysz asked, slightly annoyed.

The King looked at Cordae through his steepled fingers. "My son has made some important friends in the Republic throughout the course his duties, I assume. Lord Quarasha probably wants to make sure he's not a 'rep' as I think they call them." Cordae grinned.

"Slang does not befit your station, my King." Cordae was answered with a dismissive wave and a roll of the eyes. "Besides, they call them 'pubs'-"

"Could you focus, please? We've just been propositioned by the Empire," The King said with a wicked smirk.

"Proposition is a...strong word, my King, but sure, why not?"

Rysz shifted in his seat, obviously annoyed. "Are we considering her offer?" Cordae answered him with raised eyebrows.

"We're fighting separatist insurgents and you think a Sithgoing to make things easier?"

"Well hell, it's better than another bombing string!"

"No!" the King interjected. "No it's not! It is not better than another bombing string! The minute a Sith touches this soil, we answer to the Empire in some way or another. They're persistent bastards from what I hear." Cordae shrugged in response.

"No more or less persistent than the good Chief Envoy Torias floating up there in low orbit." He gestured toward the ceiling with his glass referring to the diplomatic ship from the Republic which was allowed permanent access to Erinian airspace following a treaty signed three years prior. Rysz laughed and switched from vysint to Voynfvié, the Voynfvierian brandy of choice.

"Hell, the Republic has been throwing trade concessions at us like they're going out of style ever since First Contact," Cordae continued as Rysz poured his brandy. "I don't really see that changing any time soon. They don't want us getting friendly with the Imperials for obvious reasons, so they're trying to sate us with trade."

"Exactly right," Rysz said. He was up and walking around. "However, we've found a nice little niche in the Imperial silver and liquor markets. We've had our hands in both their purses all this time and it has gone rather well for us." The King cracked the knuckles on his right hand.

"Still no hint of repercussions from the Republic for dealing with both factions?" he asked. Rysz shrugged.

"It's not illegal for us to trade with the Empire; we're not members of the Galactic Republic and they're too concerned with us trading exclusively with the Imperials to stop trading with us on 'moral grounds.'"

"While trading with the Republic and the Imperials simultaneously has been...rather beneficial, we will need to take a side in this war sooner or later, I think," Cordae said. "Now is not that time, however. I propose we keep Quarasha out of this. Erini's destiny in this galaxy is for Erini to decide and no outsider will change that." He refreshed his vysint. "In the mean time, we need a resolution on our Eresari problem. Preferably one that doesn't involve killing all of them."

The King spoke up. "Unitary government is our best chance at balancing all of our interwarring factions, but we need to get them to stop warring long enough to do it." He turned to Rysz. "What's the word from the Eresari Delegation?"

Rysz swirled the brandy in his glass and stared intently at the ground. The Eresari Delegation was a group of high-ranking Eresari patriarchs sent to negotiate a better treaty of unity between Eresar and the United Marches. However,the Royal Diplomatic Service and the Ministry of State had a second objective: negotiate a workable charter for a new planetary governing body which included every nation of Erini. This was the first attempt of anything of such a scale which meant that the venture had to either succeed or fall into secrecy and nonexistence.

"Negotiations are...difficult, sir. The Eresari are not as accepting of a planetary framework as we had thought," Rysz said slowly. The Delegation had been a thorn in his side for the better part of a month. "They won't even touch it unless we can straighten out the problems in Eresar. Besides that, we need to bring the other lands into it as well."

"Other lands?" Rysz nodded.

"Yes, sir. Kynmarch. Their leaders, the Rocae…We have had very relations with them for some time now."

The King nodded. "Ambassador, what do you think?"

Cordae sipped his drink and stared at a wall.

"I think we need a unified Erini if we're ever going to have peace on this planet. We'll have it in our lifetimes, sure, but not in our grandchildren's lifetimes. We need Kynmarch, obviously, but the most important thing is Eresar. They have to agree." Cordae looked back at his father and Rysz. "I've notified my contacts and friends in the Republic that I'd be taking a leave of absence for a while. Use me in the negotiations. The Eresari don't like me and I'll be God damned if I don't like them either, but they know I'm a man of hon-..." Cordae stopped briefly, his voice catching at 'honor.'

Silver knife stained in blood, pink knit scarf, STOP FUCKING LAUGHING-

"...a man of honor. I can go." Cordae's face muscles tightened and he swallowed.

The King looked at Rysz. "Minister? What are your thoughts?" asked the King. Rysz ran a finger along the lip of his brandy glass.

"Don’t send Cordae. It’s too much. He’s made quite a reputation for himself as a war hero, a fact which would be eternally…awkward at the negotiating table,” Rysz began. He looked up at the King. “Send him to the Kyn. If he wins a deal with them, he'll look much more like a serious negotiator and less like a conquering hero coming in for his spoils." He turned to Cordae. "No offense, of course." Cordae shrugged and finished his drink, greatly annoyed though going to great lengths not to show it.

The King nodded. "Do it." He turned to Cordae. "For Erini and for our grandchildren." High King Enarion Infardus Keyis, thirty-second of his line, stood up and folded his hands behind his back. Cordae and Rysz stood and immediately snapped to attention. The King looked them both over and after a moment of silence began to quote Saint Hymonia.

"Strong are our walls, Oh my counsellors and soldiers, but as sure as walls bring us security, so does friendship bring us peace."
« Last Edit: 12/23/13, 10:27:19 AM by Cordae »



Offline Cordae

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Re: The Keyis Legacy
« Reply #7 on: 12/23/13, 10:03:21 AM »
The "Forging Alliances" Arc

((This story takes place before Eszrah was appointed the Kyn emissary to the Jedi Order))

Not For A Little While Yet

Cordae gripped the bridge of his nose between his right thumb and forefinger and rubbed in small, quick circles. Ever since he was wounded in the Pilgrim War several years prior, he found that pressure liked to build up in his sinus passages whenever he flew. His doctor had given him pills for the swelling, but they only lasted for so long, which turned out not to be very long at all. He had been flying for several hours and his head was stinging and throbbing like a bastard.

He blinked rapidly and scratched the right side - the [i[real[/i] side - of his face as he leaned over in his stuffed leather chair and looked down at the ground below. They had left the sharp, black and white peaks of the wide-reaching Euan mountains far behind them and were gliding peacefully over the long verdant fields and thick forests of Kynmarch.

___

Pipe-smoke hung in thick, pearly swirls around the lintels and torch-holds of the council chamber. The huge domed room, which sat on the seventh floor of the Grande Kyn'hava of Sorqia, was dressed in long bolts of course, colorful fabric and stank of fresh sap incense. The Kyn'hava was the oldest building in Sorqia - so old that the last of those who witnessed its construction had been dead for many, many years. That might not have counted for much to the Northerners with their lifeless halls and foyers of steel and duracrete, but it meant a great deal to Eszrah.

He hadnt been within The Walls for almost twenty cycles, but he beheld the Kyn'hava with awe regardless. It was truly a remarkable building with its four long naves and its spiked and decorated buttresses. It stretched high over the treeline and at the height of the Feastdays its shadow stretched like a reaper down to reaches of the river Marn. He remembered The Day from his childhood; the day when the sun was hid perfectly by the bulk of the Kyn'hava's central tower, illuminating its peaked silhouette like an orange spear into the darkness of night. Gods, but that was something to behind.

He blinked the memory away to his subconscious where it belonged and looked up at the vast, criscrossing support slats, cut long and thick from the tallest trees and festooned with vivid, intricate carvings of scenes from the Ryv'n. He settled on one of the older ones. It took up the entire side of the lowest strut and the torch flames danced wickedly off of it. The carving had dulled significantly over the years, but the figure of multi-headed dragon devouring the world was still recognizeable. The corner of Eszrah's mouth twitched.

Maybe not for a little while yet, Hylhwl.

The High Elder, long and grey in both his physical stature and his beard, rose as the delegation from Erini entered the room. They were no more than twenty in number and were led into the hall by the largest outsider Eszrah had ever seen. He noticed the long, delicate black fabric which hung over his shoulder and his dulled armored jackboots which made dull thuds as he walked forward. Eszrah, and all in attendence, stood with him. The old Kynmarcher patriach puffed his chest out slightly.

"I say thee 'well met herewithall' and bid you welcome to the Kyn'hava," bellowed as he shook the dust from his voice. "To whom do we open our great doors?"

"To the Allied Marches, High Elder. I say thee well met and speak the same to your kyn," spoke the large outsider. Eszrah quirked his eyebrows slightly, caught offguard by the outsider's observance of Kynmarcher protocol. He even got the second half right. The Elder, unmoving, continued.

"And who comes now before me and in sight of all?" The outsiders fanned out on either side of the large, oblong table and stood behind empty seats. The large one stood in the middle spot. No seat was afforded to him. All petitioners to the High Elder must make their positions standing, for if they could not bear to stand on their argument, of what good could it possibly be? The outsider snapped his heels together with an audible clack.

"I come now before you as Cordae Solarius, son of Enarion Infardus and of Bannermarch." Whispers filled the chamber. It had indeed been a while since a Marcher had come to Sorqia.

The High Elder sucked in a deep breath and spoke in the Kyn Voys, low and ancient, the words sticking in Eszrah's head. "E'fvu'm!" The chamber fell silent immediately. He continued in his normal voice which filled the room in its own powerful way. "You of your kind have been a long time gone from these halls. Could it be that you have forgotten us?"

Eszrah, and the rest of the room, looked to the outsider. His expression remained the same despite the veiled insult; a very thin smile only slightly obscured by his facial prosthetics.

"Much has changed, High Elder, since last our two kyn spoke. There has been war,-"

"There has always been war with you outsiders," the High Elder interrupted. "You have so little patience, so little understanding. You say you see so much and yet are blind all the same." This time there were no whispers to silence. Cordae bowed slightly.

"Who among us can say they have done no wrong? Which is worse, High Elder, to sit in darkness because one does not know the way or to stumble around in the night as one tries to find the day?"

Eszrah's face betrayed him and smiled. The High Elder's face did no such thing.

"You speak from our Book, outsider. I will hear your words." The High Elder held his arms out and all in attendence, save for the outsider and the High Elder, took their seats.

The Kyn'hava, Sorqia - The Sixteenth Hour of Negotiations

Pipe-smoke no longer hung around the lintels and the beams of the Kyn'hava. Half-way through the seventh hour, the windows had to be opened to ensure that everyone in attendence wouldn't die from asphyxiation before the end of the meeting, though everyone was so tired of sitting in the uncushioned wooden chairs that some almost wish they /had/ choked to death. Out of the nine outsiders that came with Cordae, all of them had shed their outer coats and some had their undershirts unbuttoned in an attempt to combat the stuffiness of the room. Minister of State Rysz had personally burned through two of his cigars and, having run out of those, had resigned himself to chewing the same piece of gum for the past hour to the infinite annoyance of Minister of Interior Vryk-Soonta who hated the sound of gum-chewing with every fiber of his being.

The Kynmarchers on the opposite side of the table were not nearly as out of sorts as their Marcher friends, but negotiations rarely ran this long and many were shifting restlessly in their seats. The Ulfarq of Praskermarch, all of 92 years old, had fallen asleep and was beginning to snore. Eszrah rolled his shoulders and sighed. It had been such a nice day...

In accordance to the Kynmarcher custom, Cordae and the High Elder had been standing the entire time. Cordae had shed his black shoulder cape which lay folded in the lap of his adjutant Ricker who had since opted to place it on the table the Kyn'hava was too goddamned hot to have a vrant-fur cape on his lap for sixteen hours. The High Elder was beginning to list slightly to the right, but he remained firmly in his spot.

In the past sixteen hours, they had certainly made some sort of progress, if it could indeed be referred to as such. Cordae was allowed to refer to the High Elder as 'Lord' and the High Elder had taken to referring to Cordae as 'this one' or 'Prince' instead of 'the outsider' or 'you.' For the first few hours, they had argued over the cause of the Pilgrim War and after nothing stood to be gained one way or the other, they agreed to drop it slightly after hour four. Following that, Cordae and the High Elder agreed to move onto the Allied Marches' plan for a planetary government and had gotten sidetracked into talking about what the Republic and the Empire were.

Toward the end of the tenth hour while Cordae was giving an improptu presentation on what exactly a Jedi was, the Ulfarq of Sronia keeled over and slid to the ground from exhaustion, which prompted the opening of the windows. A short recess followed and after the Ulfarq's body was removed, the High Elder decided that he didn't much care about the Republic or the Empire and wanted to get on with Cordae's proposal. For the next six hours, the conversation turned to matters of sovereignty and the makeup of the 'new government.'

For the most part, the High Elder and several of the Ulfarqs were in favor of a unified government. Because the Kynmarchers in general had kept themselves from developing industry, they felt they were being choked by their more technologically advanced neighbors and a unified government would give them certain allowances in trade and commerce. However, they remained unsure. Kynmarch was governed by an assembly of their elders, all force-sensitive, and reached consensus through a form of collective meditation. During this process, each representative melded their consciousness with the rest of the elders and, through a method of decision-making that remained unknowable to anyone but those present, came to decide on laws and the general governance of the land. This method of decision-making was considered by the Kynmarchers to be the very essence of who they were as Kyn while the concept was met with hostility by the Bannermarchers who viewed such a process as more akin to voodoo than government.

"Lord, we cannot know your ways and how your kin-..the Kynmarchers govern their lands. This is why representatives from Kynmarch must sit on a planetary parliament with others from the Marches and from Eresar. We-"

"Think of what you ask us, young prince. You know our ways! How are we to make counsel if we cannot use The Meld?" Cordae was about to respond when one of his party, a fat blond-haired man named Rort Belask, the Speaker of the Senate, slammed his fist on the table.

"Oh, by the goddamned Saints! Why are we still here if these people are so stuck on using magick to run their country?" His voice broke twice and he was sweating.

"Speaker...-" Cordae turned to his right sharply, but his hips ached and it made his voice waver.

"If they seem so content to sit in their huts and think together-"

"Speaker-"

"-then by the fucking Saints, why don't we just /let/ them!?"

"SPEAKER!" Cordae's voice grabbed the room by the scruff of its neck and shook it awake. The Ulfarq of Praskermarch woke with a start and looked around the room at the loud voices, plainly confused. Cordae threw one of his gloves at the Speaker in a rage. "I swear before every Saint in heaven that if you don't shut the hell up right now, I'll strangle you to death in front of all these nice people." He stared the Speaker straight in the eye. The Speaker threw Cordae's glove back at him and sat up straight without saying a word.

The High Elder's face was red as he spoke. "That one will leave now."

Cordae nodded. "Yes he will. Speaker?" With a practiced gesture, Cordae held his arm out toward the door, but the Speaker refused to move. Cordae cleared his throat and lowered his voice so that only those on his side of the room could hear. "Rort, walk out or be dragged out. It's entirely up to you." As if on cue, two armed Serathrasts, foot soldiers of the Kynmarch Ahrm bedecked in ceremonial robes that shone of gold and steel-thread, began to make their way over to the Speaker. Without hesitation, the Speaker stood and walked out of the room, opting not to bow to the room as custom demanded. Cordae turned back to face the High Elder.

"My Lord,-"

"High. Elder." he corrected sternly. There went the diplomatic victory from fourteen hours ago.

"...High Elder, the Speaker is a fool and does not speak with my government's words."

"Quite so."

"I would apologize for his words-"

"Do not sully yourself so, Lord Keyis." Everyone blinked. They hadn't heard the Elder use his name yet today. Ricker cracked his knuckles out of nervous habit. "You speak well and would do well not to tie up your words with untruths and...unbecomings." Cordae nodded.

"Yes, High Elder. Shall we-"

"We shall vote. As Kyn do. All outsiders will leave." Silence perched over the room like some large bird of prey and spread its thick, unnerving wings. Negotiations were finished.

"Yes, High Elder."

___

Cordae led his party out of the Kyn'hava and out in the Grand Square, a large open stretch of grassland lined with the distinctive deep brown wooden buildings of Sorqia Inside-the-Walls. It was night - morning, technically - and the square was lit by several large braziers filled with burning pine logs which filled the air with its sweet, sticky scent. The Speaker rose from a bench and came to meet them.

"How dare you rebuke me in front of those-" he was cut off by a vicious back-handed slap which rocked his head around. Birds flew from their roosts at the suddenness of the crack which echoed down the square. The Speaker stumbled backward, but remained on his feet and gingerly touched his face with his hand. Cordae kept advancing.

"You goddamned fool!" he struck the man a second time, advancing toward the shocked man with every step . "Idiot! Moron! Unrepentent incompetent!" each insult was punctuated by a slap. "I didn't stand in that room for sixteen bloody bleeding hours for you to feth it all up in twenty goddamned seconds!" Cordae held his hand up ready to strike again and the Speaker held his hands up to protect his face.

"I'm sorry! I didn't-"

"Didn't what?! Didn't WHAT, Belask? Didn't mean to call them savages in their OWN HOME?!" Cordae's words flew out of his mouth like hot daggers as he stalked toward the Speaker like a demon-shade, his hand balled into a tight fist. "Didn't mean to just dismiss them like they were simple?" Cordae pushed the Speaker to the ground and stood over him, poised to lay a punishing kick to his side with an armored boot when his adjutant grabbed his arm.

"Sir!" Ricker yelled as he caught him. "Sir, goddamnit, it's not worth it!" he yelled as he strained to keep Cordae back. Cordae pulled free, but was immediately held back by Ricker once again as well as Minister of State Rysz who had come running as soon as he saw the first blow. Cordae tried to resist but fell to his knees as his legs gave out.

"It's not going to help matters if you kill him in their capital!" The Minister of State's normally well-kept black hair was frizzing madly and fell out of his hair-band as he struggled with the much larger man. Cordae swung his right leg out in an attempt to get back up, but his muscles refused to listen.

"Not even if I kill him just a little?" He strained forward again but was pulled back.

As the rest of the party caught up to him, one of the Minister of War's adjutants cried out. "They're done! They're done voting!"

Minister Rysz looked up and spat out a curse. One of the Kynmarchers, a dark-skinned man with a white warrior's-stripe hair cut walked toward the group with two honor guard on either side.

"Help me get him up!" Rysz muttered to Ricker before turning to his own aide. "Vallt, go scoop up Speaker Belask." Ricker and Rysz set about pulling Cordae up to his feet which shook feebly before stabilizing. He offered a curt nod of thanks to Ricker and Rysz and completely ignored the cowering heap that was the Speaker as the Kynmarcher and his retinue approached them.

"Greetings, outsider," said the man. He spoke in a strong voice and smiled. Cordae ran a hand over his own head, a nervous quirk he had developed back when he had hair, then nodded to the Kynmarcher.

"Greetings...I mean, erm...I say thee 'well met' and of said-" he stuttered. The Kynmarcher grinned and cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"I speak the New Tongue well, outlander. Do not fret," he said. He shifted slightly to the left, noticing Vallt supporting a scarlet-faced Speaker of the Senate before returning to Cordae and Rysz. "Is that one...alright?"

Cordae shrugged. "It's possible." Rysz delivered a sharp elbow to his ribs and stepped forward.

"My colleague...fell...several times."

The Kynmarcher smiled. "On Lord Keyis' hand, yes?"

Cordae and Rysz exchanged uneasy glances. "Sure," Rysz replied. The Kynmarcher closed his eyes and shrugged, smiling all the while.

"So it happens. At any rate, I bear the Assembly's decision." All in attendance stood at parade rest and the Speaker limped forward and followed suit - he had hurt his leg attempting to keep clear of Cordae. The Kynmarcher continued.

"We have several...misgivings...about some parts of your proposition, of course. This is only natural, I must tell you. However, in regards to your unified government treaty, we stand willing to support it." The entire party breathed a sigh of relief, some more audible than others. "We can...discuss the particulars at a later date. Preferably when no one is bleeding from their face." Cordae smiled and held his hand out to the man.

"May I know your name?" The Kynmarcher nodded and took his hand. His grip was strong.

"Eszrah, sir. Just Eszrah."

"Thank you, Eszrah." Cordae shook slightly on his feet. "Now if you don't mind, I'm going to sit down somewhere for the next day and a half." Eszrah nodded slowly and spoke in Kyn Voys to his retinue who turned on their heels and went back to the Kyn'hava.

As he walked away from the square, Eszrah looked up at the sky. The Twins were stuck in high orbit on either side of the bright orange and pink disc which was the sun as it was just beginning its journey across the sky.

...and in the bright cometh he, in the high shadows of morning...

Eszrah nodded at the sunrise and breathed softly, his breath forming clouds in the cold morning air.

Not for a little while yet...

« Last Edit: 12/23/13, 10:27:52 AM by Cordae »



Offline Cordae

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Re: The Keyis Legacy
« Reply #8 on: 12/23/13, 10:08:06 AM »
The "Forging Alliances" Arc

((This story takes place before Eszrah was appointed the Kyn emissary to the Jedi Order.))

Those Who Are and Are Not

All he knew about Kynmarch was he had been told by his tutors when he was a boy and, if he was honest, not even half of what they had said had ever taken root. So, for the first time in what he thought counted as 'far too bloody long,' Cordae Keyis decided to take a day for himself. If he was going to argue the merits of a shared planetary government with the Kynmarchers, he thought it wise to at least have met a few of them.

He got up early and walked around the grounds near his lodging, an old blackwood house located in what the locals called 'the Old Quarter' and admired the skillfully wrought iron support buttresses which adorned each house and the soft, subtle tones of black, gray, and brown within the woodgrains.

After a while, he became profoundly bored. It took only a few minutes for Cordae to understand why people called it the Old Quarter - it seemed that no one actually lived there. Indeed, he had walked for fifteen whole minutes without seeing another living soul.

What began as a leisurely walk around the Old Quarter, where most of the Erinian diplomats were housed, quickly turned into a contest of seeing how lost he could get in the shortest time possible. Hours had past since he had last seen the distinctive wrought-iron candlabras which decorated the Old Quarters and he now found himself in the middle of a bustling city street.

As he waded through the crowd, Cordae began to notice that technologies which were held as commonplace in the Marches and the Eresari subcontinent remained largely absent from Kynmarcher life. For instance, there was nary a speeder to be found in the grand market bazaar; which is not to say that the wide Sorqian streets and grand, open-aired boulevards couldn't support them. Rather, the people of Sorqia and indeed, Kynmarchers in general, looked down on automated transportation of any king and strove to use such pollution-laden extravagancies as little as possible. Cordae quickly sidestepped an oncoming auk'erva - a large wood and iron cart which merchants used to ferry goods to and from their stalls - as it barreled down the road. He grinned and waved at the obviously annoyed driver as he urged his cart onward through the crowded street.

 In Vysberg's merchant quarter, goods were brought in on large grav-sleds held aloft by a sort of mag-lev system, but nothing so advanced had any place at all in these close quarters. From the safety of a shop's front porch, he craned his neck around toward a different cart laden with carved statuettes and furniture. This one was made of strong darkwood and reinforced with thick iron bars, polished to shine. The bed was almost eight feet deep and the driver - if he could indeed be called that - was perched on a small platform at its front which was cut slightly into the bed's frame. As far as Cordae could tell, he held no reigns of any kind, but even then, there was no large animal to steer and neither was there some colossal engine or grav system.

After a second, Cordae realized that the cart which could have surely flattened him had he not been so quick on his feet was controlled entirely by the Force. The discovery made him stop and watch as a train of them ambled off toward the southern districts.

He thought it a strange thing to see the Force being used on his home planet. The Kynmarchers were a very secretive people and they had been that way ever since the War of Arms almost five hundred years ago, but they weren't myths. People knew they were here and they knew where they lived...and yet, the Force was so...rare a thing, particularly in the marches. He remembered stories from his tutor - stories of 'witch trials' almost an age past. Could they have been...?

A voice called out to him from the throng of buyers and sellers on the street in front of him.

"Lord Ambassador!" yelled the voice. Cordae turned his head. He hadn't the first idea where it could have come from.

Cordae held a hand up to shade his eyes from the sun and scanned the crowd.

"Ambassador Keyis!" He turned to the right and saw what looked like some kind of...plume...a plumed helmet? Plumed like-

- swidewinder enters corner of third story - (explosions) - woman trapped under a door, helmet crest gleaming in the fire, takes the scarf, pistol; Shyrk-pattern, officer barrel-variant -

Cordae winced at the memory and rubbed the left side of his face. A figure came up the steps of the porch and clapped his shoulder.

"Sir!" Cordae's vision refocused and he recognized the man's face. It was nout a helmet plume but the man's hair, cut in a warrior-stripe style and dyed white. He stared at him hesitantly, then smiled and clapped the man's shoulder in return - the common Kynmarcher greeting.

"Eszrah! Good to see you," said Cordae. Eszrah's gold-lined bark-brown robes caught his eye as they gleamed in the sun.

"Doing some shopping?"

"Not intentionally, no," Cordae replied. He had to shout slightly to be heard over the din and livery of commerce. "I was trying to get some fresh air. It can get a bit stuffy being cooped up with all of the other diplomats."

"And you came to the market quarter to get away from it all?" Eszrah looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, is that where I am?" he joked as he held up his hands as if to indicate the hive of activity which threatened to engulf the both of them. Eszrah stared at him with a raised eyebrow. Cordae blinked. "I was...I was joking, Eszrah."

"Quite so." The two stood in silence as the world moved around them. After a while, Eszrah spoke.

"How are your legs?"

Cordae blinked again. "I'm sorry?" Eszrah's head was canted to the side, an inquisitive look on his face.

"Oh! Right, from yesterday. They're fine. That 'stand on your argument' custom you have is...interesting." Eszrah shrugged again.

"It keeps the fools away."

Cordae raised his eyebrows slightly. "Not if they happen to be sitting next to the one doing the standing," he said in an annoyed tone.

"This is true!" Eszrah laughed, genuinely amused. His voice was deeper than Cordae had first noticed. "Especially in your case. Though, the stander's retinue is not normally allowed to talk."

"Would that we had adopted that custom in our parliament," Cordae mused.

"Perhaps not so many wars then?" Eszrah ventured. Cordae thought, then shrugged.

"The pessimist in me thinks we'd have found a way."

Eszrah nodded. "Also possible." Eszrah stood up straight, placed two hands on the railing he had been leaning against, then vaulted over it onto the street below. He landed perfectly, very much like an acrobat. Cordae grinned and clapped politely. Eszrah bent his upper body at a 90 degree angle and pushed his left foot back, his right arm sweeping in a majestic arc toward his left as he imitated - rather believably - a March-style court bow. He held his hand out to Cordae, encouraging him to try the same. Cordae nodded in response to the bow and began stretching. Then, with dramatic flair, he calmly made his way down the stairs. As he finished his 'trick,' he stopped in front of Eszrah and returned his lavish bow. Eszrah laughed again.

"Ah, you Marchers are so...'stodgy,' is the word?" He began to walk down the street. Cordae followed.

"Were those stairs not to your liking?" Cordae's smirk was answered in kind with one from Eszrah.

"Come, let me show you something." Eszrah led Cordae through the sea of humanity and off toward the high stone gate looming in the distance.

--------

By the time Cordae and Eszrah had made it through the High Gate, the sun's rsays had become obscured by a sky-spanning row of burgeoning, portly clouds. The two men passed the hangers-on who populated the area immediately outside the walls and the made their way through the Yonder - huge, densely-populated habitats which sat far lower to the ground than the buildings in Sorqia's merchant quarters, though they retained the same criscrossing blanket of multi-colored canvas tenting. Indeed, they had been outside for almost two hours but had only been in direct sunlight for, all told, about ten minutes, so thick and so overlapping was the canopy of coursely woven bolts of tribal cloth. It was here, Eszrah said, that Cordae would find 'real' Kynmarcher wares - things that everyday people cared about. Things which were, as far as the so-called 'Yonderlings' were concerned, worth far more than the kitsch of the in-wall marketplaces. Here, Cordae noticed, the Force - or whatever the Kynmarchers called it- was used with absolutely zero restriction or inhibition.. It seemed that in the city, force-sensitives kept their powers to themselves and even considered the open display of Force power a sort of faux-pas. In the Yonder, the Force was everywhere. Housemaids beat out rugs with blasts of invisible air, clay makers spun their wheels by their own volition, and children threw berries at each other without lifting a finger.

Cordae sidled up next to Eszrah. The dark-skinned Kynmarcher was perusing a cart which was full to bursting with flowers and field grasses of every make and variance.

"Eszrah, what are these people?" Cordae turned a huge yellow flower with large, blade-shaped petals over in his hand.

"Ah, the....em...they are called 'yonderlings' in your tongue..."

"No, not just them," Cordae interrupted. "Force-users." Eszrah stopped and looked at Cordae.

"Force? Howe cullthee it-..." Eszrah closed his eyes, catching himself after accidentally slipping into Kyn Voys. "...what is this 'Force' of which you speak?"

Cordae shifted his eyes over to a woman who was, as far as he could tell, actively flaying the rind from a ploin using the Force. Eszrah looked questioningly at Cordae, unsure as to why he was referring to what was to Eszrah a commonplace activity when the significance dawned on him.

"Ah! I see! You refer to the O'." Cordae blinked then nodded slowly.

"I should have known, of course it would be different here.."

Eszrah furrowed his brow in confusion. "Different?"

Cordae nodded. "There are...others in the universe. Other people who can do things like that." Eszrah turned to face Cordae.

"Are they of the taint?"

"The...what?"

"They of whom you speak, are they tainted?" Now it was Cordae's turn to look confused.

"I...some? Some are dark. If that's what you mean." Eszrah blinked.

"Dark...like.." he touched his skin. Cordae laughed in spite of himself and looked down.

"Well...some, I would guess...but no, not..exactly...Here." Cordae picked up a knife from the flower-seller's stall and held it up to Eszrah. "See here, this knife has two sides, yes?"

"Yes." Eszrah was quite noticibly confused.

"One is...well, actually they're both the same...Oh, feth it." He set the knife back on the cart. "I'm new to the concept myself, really."

"I....yes?"

Cordae sighed. "Evil."

"Evil?"

"Do you know of it?"

"Yes, we have evil. I trust you do as well?" Cordae winced. Walked right into that one.

"Yes....What I mean to....you know what, how about this." Cordae rested his hand on his belt. "Do your people....the ones who use the..."O' "...is there a moral code they have? Some sort of rulebook they follow? Like a religion of sorts?" Eszrah walked forward slowly, tapping his chin in thought.

"There is the O'Va. It is...not unlike your religion, I would suppose." Sarah hesitated as if looking for a word which wouldn't come. "The O'va is how we should act, how we should behave...How to treat others..."

"How to use your powers?" Eszrah turned around and looked at Cordae, his eyes narrowed.

"Why do you use the word 'power?' Do you not have power yourself?" Cordae opened his mouth, but words came haltingly.

"We...have power, yes, but not like yours."

"Not like mine?" Eszrah laughed. "Are we so very different? How much more powerful are we, man of steel and stone?"

Shit. Cordae straightened his posture. "You can do things that people like me cannot, Eszrah. This cannot be argued." Eszrah's eyes narrowed again. He was staring Cordae straight in the eye with a look made up of equal parts annoyance and interest.

"Cannot? Ah, it always falls into cans and cannots, does it not? Do you know that there is no equivalent to 'are' in the Alte Voys? 'Are' is always implied...unless something is specifically not. Do you understand?" he asked. Cordae folded his hands behind his back.

"Not even slightly," he answered. Eszrah sighed.

"It is a part of us, yes? This great thing of ours which you cannot have. Why is it always a strength? Srength and weakness are two sides of the same coin, are they not? Is this not what you tell your recruits in your 'schools?" Eszrah struggled with the word, but he spoke correctly. The old adage 'a strength is only so until it shows a weakness' was used commonly in the Royal Academy. Eszrah folded his arms over his chest, his head tilted back. He was examining Cordae similarly to how a teacher might question a student who he felt was skirting the cusp of understanding.

"There are those who are...and those who are not. Those who live within the O'Va...and those who do not. They of them out in the Outlands, they are not."

Without warning, he pulled a long metal tube from a sheath on his back and held it up to Cordae. The part which must have been  the handle was inlaid with polished darkwood and had a type of pearlescent stone laid within the wood. Along the sides of the weapon were dizzying spirals of black-lacquer patterns, interweaving vines and leaves, which folded in and among themselves as they wove their way down the hilt. Eszrah flicked a switch on the side of the steel housing and the pole instantaneously expanded to thrice its original size. Along the weapon's opposing sides ran two sections of what looked like the thruster vents of a starship. Eszrah pressed a button in the middle of the device and with a low double-hiss, the two fanned sections became obscured by an almost blinding white light, exactly of the same kind Cordae had seen on lightsabers.

"You know this weapon, yes?"

Cordae nodded. "A lightpole." Eszrah glared.

"A bastard name for a bastard tongue. This is a sova." His accent became instantly thicker and Cordae could not look away from his glare. Eszrah continued.

"Look you well upon it. This is earned by those who are," he said. "We choose to give our life to the Kyn and in return, it teaches us the way of the O'fvua. We become hunters and guardians, protectors and vouchsafers, watchmen and warriors. We are taught  the O' and are shaped by it. The O', the fviun, and ourselves become extensions of the other." Eszrah twirled the weapon in imperceptibly fast arcs and swipes in a display of beautiful and terrifying punctuation until, as quickly as he had produced it, the weapon was deactivated, collapsed, and back in Eszrah's sheath all in one quick, seamless motion. Cordae had seen it happen with his own eye and even then he had no idea what had just happened.

As soon as Eszrah had sheathed his weapon, he pulled the neck of his tunic down low. Across his chest, which was thick with lean, well-toned muscles, ran a long, brutal scar, knotted and severe. Cordae looked on it with solemnness.

"This was given to me by those who are not. They are a danger to us all. And so we fight them. You have not seen them, I think. They only care for those who are, they trifle not with the others. They know nothing of your Marches, I think. You would know if you had met them. Indeed, you would not be here if you had met them." Eszrah straightened out his tunic. He reached out to touch a flower bulb with his left hand. "We have been here for many cycles, watching, waiting for them. They come in the hinterlands, every few years or so. It is good that you do not know of them."

Cordae nodded. "To think we have lived so near to each other and yet we still know so little about each other. It is...shameful." Cordae looked down, then felt a clap on his shoulder.

"Are you not here now? Do you still sit in your high towers as though you were the kings of all? No, you walk here in our fields! You are here! You seek to learn and live with us. What else could we ask? It is never too late to learn, Cordae." Cordae smiled and clapped Eszrah's shoulder in return. Eszrah's hand fell away from Cordae's shoulder and went to a small stone which he wore around his neck. The stone, which was a deep blue in color and shone with luster, was set in a spiral of iron and hung from a band of leather.

"Every one of us has a thing such as this. I would ask a favor, Cordae," Eszrah said as he took the necklace off and placed it in Cordae's hand. "Give this to one of your O'Va'un. Your...I forget what you call them exactly. Maybe they will see why we wear them. If they do, then perhaps there is even more to be learned." Eszrah smiled. "Even if it must be learned from more stodgy outlanders."

Cordae grinned. "Oh, I think you'll find the outlander O'Va'un to be no less springy than your average woods-dwelling wildman." Eszrah's deep laughter filled the cluttered tents along the main road in the Yonder.

"And what's wrong with springy?" he asked as he bounded away from Cordae and down the road with ferocious speed. Cordae sighed and cursed his legs, still sore, and ran off after him.
« Last Edit: 12/23/13, 10:28:49 AM by Cordae »



Offline Cordae

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Re: The Keyis Legacy
« Reply #9 on: 12/23/13, 01:13:55 PM »
The "Wymarc Rising" Arc


ERINI EXPANDS MISSION TO REPUBLIC, EMPIRE
HoloNet Newsdesk, Coruscant – For the first time since the planet’s discovery (x) years ago, Erini, the mysterious planet found due Galactic West of N’Zoth, has decided to increase the size of its diplomatic presence in both the Galactic Republic and the Sith Empire. After the announcement, a press conference was held at the Erinian Mission on Coruscant. Our senior Intergalactic Affairs correspondent Salma Vali was able to reach the Erinian ambassador for comment.

###

The Erinian Mission, Coruscant

"No, we are not, as of right now, considering any move to formally enfranchise the planet of Erini with the Galactic Republic or the Sith Empire." He said, leaning toward a particularly adversarial reporter from the United Press Alliance and stared him down. "One last question on the expansion; Salma?" A dark-haired woman in a faded-gold suit stood and began to speak into her comm unit.

"Ambassador, what does this change mean for Erini's future diplomatic endeavors?" The whirring soundcloud of camera shutters and lens-whine increased.

"This expansion will give highly qualified Erinians a chance to serve their King and country while letting them see the galaxy and all that it has to offer. To that end, we plan on expanding our current area of operations both on Coruscant and in Kaas City. Starting at the beginning next week, the Erinian Missions will cease to function in their current state and will be upgraded to the status of Embassy at the end of the month. The Erinian Ministry of State will release the relevant information as that time draws nearer." Salma offered a curt smile and lowered her comm.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you very much for your time and courtesy. This concludes our press conference. Please direct any and all questions to the Republic Mission's press secretary Ms. Eilyne Wood."

Cordae stepped down from the make-shift podium and before he knew what had happened, his adjutant, clipboard in hand, had appeared at his side.

"Sir, you've a holocall with the Privy Council in-"

"Saints!" Cordae jumped and looked back at the man, interrupting his stride. "You've gotten good at the whole 'sneaking about in plain sight' business.

"It helps to be a normal size, sir," said Rifleman Ames Ricker with his usual grin. Cordae blinked at him, then waved him off and continued walking.

"Yes, well, not everyone can be so lucky."

"Certainly, sir." The grin persisted. "And even still, you've a holocall-"

"With the Privy Council. Thank you, Ricker. I can find my way from here,” he said as he walked off toward a turbo-lift.

Cordae's comm device beeped angrily as he walked down the gilt white hallway toward the Communications Room. He yanked the whining hand-held from the holster on his belt and activated it. A banner reading "APPOINTMENT - DR. ULALIA - CORUSCANT CYBERNETICS - 14:00" flashed on the screen.

"Well, that's not happening today..." he sighed as he entered the vaulted meeting room which housed the mission’s long range comm banks. He swiped the notification aside with a flick of his thumb and sealed the doors behind him.

“I mean, I did try. How was I to know they’d schedule a meeting of the Privy Council at the exact time that I’d picked for the consultation?” He spoke aloud to himself – or to his comm – and shrugged as he tossed the device onto the long metal table with a loud, resonant clang. Within seconds, the personification of the mission building’s VI appeared from one of the holo banks.

“Good day, Ambassador Keyis. You have a call waiting.” The VI’s voice was soft but it had a resolute quality to it which gave it presence. The VI’s design gave it the appearance of a thin middle-aged man with a thin, gaunt face and he wore the tapered, angular dress uniform of the Royal Erinian Army. Cordae ran his hand over his head, then plugged his dataslate into a receptacle on the desk. Documents, newsbriefs, and several still images materialized in front of him. He began to sort through them.

“Yes, thank you, Icon. Patch them through.”

“Very good, sir.” The VI bowed slightly and disconnected. Almost instantaneously, the array of holoprojectors which lined the walls of the room came to life and all thirteen members of the Erinian Privy Council – along with King Istvan Honorius – came to life before him in faded, shimmering blue. Cordae clacked his heels together.

“My King, Lords High Militant, and fellow conscript fathers, I salute you.” The King nodded his head.

“And we salute you as well, Ambassador.” Istvan’s voice rang with the authority only he could muster and one by one, the other council members nodded to Cordae in turn. “Congratulations on your success.

Cordae smiled and nodded. He had just finished explaining to the press why they could expect several new Erinian diplomats floating around the galaxy, but he didn’t have time to convey just how difficult a feat that really was. As the saying went, the only thing Erinians hated more than taxes is foreign entanglements. This saying went on to prove itself true consistently ever since First Contact. It had taken the Senate fifty-three years to appoint a real ambassador to the Republic and for another twenty years, the ambassador had no office or staff and, for all intents and purposes, was required to conduct his business from his ship.

“I owe my success to our people’s greatness, the Republic’s candor, and to this body’s good graces.” He smiled and nodded to Minister Rysz who nodded in return, a knowing half-smile decorating his fair-featured face. Suddenly, and with a mighty a-hem, the Lord Militant of the Army leaned forward and began to speak. He did not sound happy.

“Son, I have things to do today,” he droned in his plaintive Westmarch drawl. He leveled a flat look at Cordae, then turned to the King and softened his expression immediately. “My King, if we could…” The King’s sleeve fell down his arm as he raised his hand to the man, a small unit insignia tattoo slightly visible for those who knew to look for it.

“Patience, Giers, patience.” The King turned to look back at Cordae. “I’m sure the Ambassador’s request for this meeting is neither unfounded nor unreasoned.” Cordae widened his stance and folded his hands behind his back.

“Thank you, my King. Honored fathers, I’ve asked you here today to bring your attention to a problem.”

“It is not a problem in our country. The Allied Marches are strong and resilient, unflinching and unwavering, and especially so in the face of adversity. It is not a problem with our planet, for even now, our people work day and night striving to create a new future of peace and stability between all Erinian peoples.”

“The problem I’ve come to represent is a humanitarian crisis and it…is…dire. Cordae leaned forward and depressed a button on his console. One by one, each councilor’s personal holobank showed a picture of a host of Alderaanian killiks in the process of attacking a small homestead placed, until recently, rather serenely on a grassy hill.

“This, my Lords, is a Killik. It is a six-legged insectoid, it has invaded most of Alderaan, and it has, to date, killed hundreds of thousands of innocent men, women, and children.” Cordae switched to a picture of a Killik ‘castle hive’. “They build these which are essentially hives, though they expand into miles and miles of underground tunnel networks. I’m interested with one hive in particular – the Ukunuku – who have become rather more aggressive as of late.”

Cordae’s final picture was a map of Alderaan’s main continent. “This, gentlemen, is Alderaan.” He removed a stylus from a pouch on his belt and began to pick out territories with blue circles. “These three areas are controlled by the Houses Rist, Organa, Thule, Wymarc, Beilen, and some other minor houses.” He tapped a button on the stylus and drew a severe red line through a number of areas. “This is, at current knowledge, the extent of this new Killik invasion. The commander of the Navy shifted in his seat and the Minister of the Treasury seemed engrossed entirely in the previous picture of the Killiks invading the homestead. Cordae continued.

“Alderaan, as you may know, is officially a neutral world. Several houses have allied themselves with either the Republic or the Empire, but many still have remained neutral. Some have even redirected their efforts away from the Cold War to fight the Killiks. Some houses like Wymarc and Rist and threatened entirely by the incursion. House Beilen has made several please from Houses Organa and Thule – the dominant houses allied with the Republic and the Empire, respectively – but their pleas have fallen on deaf ears.” The Minister of State leaned forward and spoke, clearly puzzled.

“Ambassador, are you suggesting we invade Alderaan?”

“Only a very little bit, Minister,” Cordae answered. The Minister of Intelligence chuckled.

“Ambassador, have you quite taken leave of your good senses?” asked Lord Militant Giers.

“My Lord-“

“No! No, don’t even. You want us to send our soldiers off to invade some far-flung, remote planet in the middle of Saints-know-where to fight angry bugs?”

“That’s not exactly true, my Lord Militant,” Cordae blinked. Giers leaned forward. “They’re not quite bugs.” More than a few goans echoed throughout the chamber.

“This is completely outlandish,” began the Lord Militant of the Navy. “What’s the force estimate of these…Killik things? How many are there? Can we even know?”

“No sir, but latest estimated put their fighting numbers at anywhere between two and nine thousand. This does not include millions of Killiks which hold auxiliary, non-combat roles. My contact on Alderaan is ready to guarantee a friendly force at the fighting strength of around seven thousand men.”

The Minister of Labor, a small, fat man with perpetually squinting eyes spoke up. “What does that matter to us? The forces seem even enough. Seven thousand men is not small change. Why are you dragging us into this, Ambassador? We are not beholden to these…people.”

“Minister, these people are free, independent people – just like us. They have no one else to help them; every other house is fighting against its brother in a deadly proxy war,” Cordae answered.

“Good! Let them bleed. We’ve no need of their wars and killing,” The Labor Minister responded. “Or have you forgotten that you’ve spent so much of your time with your little peace projects here on Erini? You seem awfully eager to throw in the gauntlet with these…others, Keyis.” The man’s tone had emulsified into something barely resembling a human voice, so sweet and poisonous had it become. Cordae looked the man straight in the eye.

“How very like a Linota, Thom; You do your House proud. As I recall, we had to twist your arm quite fiercely just to keep your house from going over to the Eresari during the war,” Cordae crooned at the man whose eyes, he was sure, were about to explode from their sockets. “ ‘Why should we help those poor Southerners with their sad little ‘problems’? We don’t trade with them all that much anyway....”

 “You impudent little-” Thom abruptly rose from his chair and was immediately cut off.

“Sit. Down,” said the King in a low, menacing rumble which he then turned on Cordae. “Enough.” Cordae sharply nodded his head and the Labor Minister returned to his seat.

“Ambassador, I fail to see where this is any of our concern,” The King began, his voice rent with annoyance. “You of all people should be familiar with our views on intergalactic policy. No foreign entanglements. What are these people offering us to ensnare you so? Money? Trade concessions?”

Cordae shook his head. “No trade concessions and no money. I don’t think the Alderaanian houses have the money to pay us even if they wanted to.” The King blinked.

“I trust you’ve got something better to offer us than “I feel very badly for them”?” asked the King.

“A new bacta formula. Several weeks ago, I was approached by one ‘Baron Wymarc’ of House Wymarc. He offered this formula as payment for out services in eliminating or disabling the Killik threat. As far as I’ve been able to tell, this formula is genuine and exceeds every current bacta formula in terms of efficacy, speed, and applicability.” Besko Numri, Head of Royal Intelligence, rested his head on his fist and rolled his eyes.

“He came to you weeks ago and we’re learning about this now?” he asked.

“Keep better track of your mail?” Cordae asked. Several voices laughed. “My Lord-“

“We can’t just throw men in with Wymarc. Their whole family was destroyed by Rist several years ago and now they’re fighting together against the Killiks? That’s asking to be throw into the middle of some god-awful noble blood feud and we all know how those can be,” Numri interrupted as he was greeted with several murmurs of ascent.

“…Which is why I suggest that we come into contact with House Beilen. So far, they’ve spent most of their time decrying the human rights abuses and refugee problems associated with the invasion. If we send troops, we can intervene as humanitarians. Doing so would increase our standing in the galaxy while also gaining us the favor of several thousand free Alderaanians. If we want to continue trading with both sides, we need to keep on both sides’ good graces or this whole thing falls apart. You know that, I know that.”

“What would you have us do with the formula?” Rysz asked.

“Yes, if we suddenly developed a new type of bacta, the Empire would come swinging through our windows and the Republic would counter-invade under the guise of freedom, democracy, and all that feth,” added the Minister of Security.

“Yes, you are right, which is why we must send aid to the Alderaanians, acquire the formula, and immediately release the formula to both sides at no extra cost.”

Silence hung in the air.

“You want us to give it away?” asked Linota. “For free?”

Cordae nodded. “We’ll have the formula in hand once we commit men. From there, we can wait a few days – hell, however long we want – and release the formula as if we had made the discovery all along. No one is any the wiser and we come off as heroes not only to the thousands of Alderaanians we’ll help save but to the Republic and the Empire as well. How do you suppose they’ll thank us? It could be that vysint may all of a sudden become legal in Republic space. That’s not inconsequential.”

The King stood, followed by all in attendance.

“The Republic will not speed up the vysint legalization process. We’ve tried that for years. As for your request for aid to Alderaan, we require more time to deliberate. I must ask, should we decide in favor of your request, who would you pick to lead the garrison? Your choice would naturally affect our decision.”

“My King, I would recommend mobilizing the entire 78th Royal Bannermarch Regiment under Captain Erastes Montorq with compliments of the 281st Peiqrow Artillery Battery and the 34th Armored Corps. The 78th saw extensive action in the Ghent Savannah during the Pilgrim War and the terrain in Ghent is not dissimilar to the terrain they would face on Alderaan. I would also suggest their kit be altered to include heavy additions of flamer weapons, anti-personnel rounds, high yield ordinance, earth-breaker artillery shells for collapsing Killik tunnel networks, and other such implements.” The King nodded.

“Is there anything else, Ambassador?” the King asked.

Cordae stopped, then began to nod slowly. He looked up at the King. “My King, if you find it fitting to approve my request, I would further request that I be sent with them as brevet-Commander to oversee their field operations and deployment. As many have said, the rift between Houses Rist and Wymarc might prove to be…disadvantageous to the humanitarian cause and I would not see our forces swept up in the middle of a noble blood feud. With myself as Commander, I would ensure that our forces cooperate with our Alderaanian allies while further ensuring that they are kept clear of any inner conflicts.”

King Istvan folded his hands behind his back. “On the matter of Amicus Request 1290 by Lord Ambassador Keyis, this council adjourns until such a time that we might reconvene and render our decision on either its implementation or its dismissal. This meeting is hereby dissolved.”


___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___


Three days later


FROM: HIS MAJESTY THE KING
TO: Keyis, Cordae # LAMP
SUBJ: Pursuant – AR1290

Dear Ambassador Keyis,

In accordance with Royal Executive Decree 172, the following measures are hereby put into action:

1.   The immediate mobilization and relocation of the 78th Royal Bannermarcher Infantry Regiment, the 281st Peiqrow Artillery Battery, and the 34th Armored Corps to Fort Victory at Vytranq for training and rearmament pending their redeployment to Alderaan in conjunction with Joint Congressional Resolution (JCR) 2175; “The Alderaan Humanitarian Aid Declaration.”

2.   The official designation of this task force as the “1st Royal Army Expeditionary Corps."

3.   Your immediate brevet promotion to the rank of Commander without increase of pension or pay.

4.   The temporary suspension of your Ambassadorial rank and duties which shall continue for the duration of your assumption of the duties of the rank of Commander.

5.   Your assignment to the 1st Royal Army Expeditionary Corps as its Commanding Officer.

These measures are so ordered by the King of the Allied Marches, Istvan Honorius Keyis.

Have a nice day,

   General Armandt Giers, Lord Militant of the Royal Army
        Admiral Luzic VanSeqt, Lord Commandant of the Royal Navy
        Minister Vonya Estri, Minister of War
       
        HRH King Istvan Honorius Keyis



Offline Cordae

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Re: The Keyis Legacy
« Reply #10 on: 12/23/13, 01:24:34 PM »
The Giers Compromise

_ _ _ _ _

OOC: Herein is the edited and slightly altered transcript of the mini-event that Orell and I acted out between Cordae/Vyla and Quarasha. These scene contains the events that outed "Cordiil" and led to the intergalactic media firestorm and pursuant "Jedi-Keyis Hearings" wherein Cordae was questioned at an All-March Assembly hearing to ascertain whether he had, during his relationship with Shaantil, committed treason or any such crimes.

This has long since happened already and I've just now gotten around to finishing the editing. Enjoy!


_ _ _ _ _


The Erinian Embassy to the Sith Empire, Kaas City, Dromund Kaas, Main Lobby

[Ambassador Heqtor Vfond has requested Quarasha's presence and can be seen waiting in the lobby on a bench. He is dressed in full Erinian ambassadorial regalia - Every fur has been brushed and even perfumed, every metal has been polished to a shine. Inside the embassy, staffers rush to and fro.]

Quarasha approaches the ambassador in her normal Sith Lord robes, a gleaming tiara perched on her head and her lightsaber secured on her belt. A few Imperial officers, armed only with datapads, entered behind her. Their number included one Lieutenant Rylar who brought up the head of her security detail. Quarasha bowed her head to Vfond in greeting. “Ambassador.”

Vfond, who had apparently been watching the door, stood immediately upon her arrival. "My Lord, a pleasure as always," he said, offering a short, stilted bow. He had been about to launch into his usual niceties when he regarded her advancing retinue. "And...guests. I'm sorry, I'm quite at a disadvantage,” he said, giving the group of soldiers a penetrating, if cursory, once-over.

Quarasha chuckled slightly. "Two Imperial marines and my own adjutant, Lieutenant Rylar." Rylar nodded at Vfond upon his introduction but maintained the utmost silence.

After a brief, awkward silence, Vfond nodded. Before long, his default expression - a smile with only trace amounts of detectable sincerity – returned to his face. "Ah yes, very good, very good." He nods once more. "My Lord, if you would kindly accompany me to the shuttlepad? We must be on our way."

"After you,” said Quarasha.

Turning on his heels, Vfond led them through the cramped embassy, up a set of stairs, and through a DNA-locked to the embassy’s roof. There sat rather unceremoniously an Imperial shuttle which was there on loan from the most gracious Imperial Navy. After a brief flight and customary light-show courtesy of Dromund Kaas’s unique menagerie of atmospheric pressure fronts, the party docks with the ERN battleship Damocles.

___ ___ ___

As the loading ramp extends downward to allow the guests to exit, they would be greeted by a group of Royal Navy marines in full dress as they stand at attention. Vfond would lead the group down the gangway, past the line of marines, and finally to the waiting captain of the Damocles. A young man with roughly-hewn features and short-cropped blond hair, Captain Lorei Santovai hardly needed the medals on his chest to show his experience – a ghastly fissure of a scar which vertically divided the right side of his face, claiming with it the whole of his right eye, more than outdid his service stripes and theater medallions. He cut the air with a crisp salute and held it as Quarasha advanced down the gangway of her shuttle and into the Damocles’ main hold.

Quarasha bowed her head to the captain. "Permission to come aboard, Captain?"

The Captain ended his salute and dipped his head reverently. "Permission granted, milud. The men ‘nd women of the Damocles salute you. I trust the flight over was unuhventful?" His thick, peaty Pallimarch accent clipped his words, but projected them with a satisfyingly earthy inflection.

Quarasha chuckled softly. "As uneventful as any flight through Dromund Kaas' weather is. I believe I saw a clear day once, many years ago." Captain Santovai smiled. His was a strange, lop-sided smile that coupled with his severely scared face to resemble a wry smirk, although it was quite bereft of any ill will or annoyance.

"Very good, milud. My homel’nd experiences comp’rable weather. The elders look ‘pon the “Day of Clement Weather” with much fondness ‘ndeed.”

"My deepest sympathies towards your farmers, then. Shall we proceed to the council?"

Vfond clears his throat and couples it with a slightly pointed look. Santovai doesn't react outwardly, but dips his head to Quarasha once more. "If you'll follow me, milud, I've taken the liberty of arranging for you your quarters."

Quarasha smiles at the Captain. "Of course, Captain. Lead the way."

After a few short words about safety protocol to his distinguished guests as he led them led to their quarters, Captain Santovai took his leave for the bridge and left Vfond with Quarasha to brief her on the Shared Advisory Board and what sort of reception she could expect. After several hours, they found themselves in Erinian and began docking protocols.

After a few more requisite displays of maritime tradition, the Damocles entered drydock at Kalyuz Spacedock. Once all of the pomp and ceremony befitting their stations had been dutifully followed by the officers of the Kalyuz, the band of diplomats and their details boarded a small inter-system shuttle bound for the Shared Advisory Board’s meeting place.

The Shared Advisory Board met in a building set almost exactly in the middle of the Prueq Sea between Eresar and the Allied Marches on a tropical island named South Dreiq. Chosen over its cousin island North Dreiq for its proximity to Eresar – a “good faith” concession made after the close of the most recent war only a few years prior, South Dreiq proved to be the vastly superior of the two if for no other reason than the fact that North Dreiq had a booming population of Erinian Armored Bears. South Dreiq had, in comparison, only small marsupials and the occasional istu – a quick, flightless bipedal avian creature with a penchant for attacking taxiing shuttlecraft – to worry about, making it the obvious choice.

Within minutes, the party had touched down and were led with all due haste into a lavishly decorated hallway. As Quarasha approached, a deep, thrumming note issued forth from inside the main chamber. Somewhere far off in the complex shook softly as the resonant note washed over the island, ushering in the board’s 27 delegates – 9 for each country present.

Almost immediately, Quarasha recognized one of the Marcher delegates as the King of the Allied Marches, but there was no time for any interaction. Indeed, she had barely recognized him before his security detail whisked him into the room.

Also in the lobby, taking up a spot off in the corner, Quarasha spied Lord Ambassador Cordae Keyis and his adjutant Lt. Ames Ricker. Cordae, dressed in the best of his ambassadorial finery, dipped his head to her. "My Lord."

Quarasha nodded to Cordae. "Lord Ambassador," before raising an eyebrow at Vfond who had since taken up a middling position behind Quarasha and her men.

Cordae bowed his head to Vfond as a matter of course. "Ah, Lord Ambassador Vfond. Good to see you as well." Vfond returned the already stilted gesture with one of his own before turning to Quarasha.

"The meeting has been called to order," said Vfond, looking between Quarasha and Cordae. "I expect we'll be summoned sho-" Suddenly, Vfond was cut off by a footman as he pushed aside the chamber’s two large, gilt wooden doors and approached the group.

"Lord Ambassador Heqtor Vfond?" Vfond smiled and gave the man a curt nod. No sooner had he done so than had the footman then turned on his heels and escorted the Lord Ambassador into the chamber. Cordae had enough time to turn to Quarasha and open his mouth in an attempt at small talk before the exercise was repeated for him. After another half-minute, Quarasha found herself summoned and, in a matter of seconds, standing before the Shared Advisory Board.

The Hall was circular with a high, concave ceiling walled in with large, spotless windows and aesthetically pleasing linework. Three tables sat at the far end of the room, one for each delegation and each one next to each other, all curved inward toward the center of the room. At the center sat an upraised speaker’s area which was in turn flanked by three sets of tiered wooden benches arrayed like those of so many arenas.

The left and center tables were filled with the delegates from the Allied Marches and the Eresari Dominion accordingly. However, the right table sat in stark contrast to the other tables as it was in fact noticeably less populated. The table was entirely empty save one man – a lone Kyn Roca whose high station was indicated by his long, plaited silver hair and his equally illustrious shimmering robes. Behind him stood a Kyn warrior in full war dress.

Once she was inside, the footman set about securing the large outer doors. After a brief silence, the man went to stand directly before the three tables. "Lord Quarasha, Lieutenant Rylar, Sergeant Kearn Tasn, and Private First Class Enzies Duffont of the Sith Empire,” he said as he introduced Quarasha and her retinue.


After her retinue had finished setting up the myriad datapads and other devices they had brought along, Quarasha ordered them over by the wall as she approached the speaker’s bench. Before taking her seat she greeted each table of delegates, first as a group, then each one collectively according to all proper ceremony and custom.

From left to right, the delegates from each table stood and bowed. The solitary Kyn Roca stood with the rest of did not bow. Not one to disrespect the esteemed guest of his Marcher allies, however, he managed to give what shall forever be known as the most stilted, forced inclination of one's own head ever to have been given in modern history – done more to recognize the plain fact of Quarasha’s physical existence rather than anything else. If given form, the frown which graced his long, equine face would have been sufficient to stun a team of oxen in its tracks. In response Quarasha only smiled, recognizing the Kyn’s greeting in the same manner as she had those of the other delegates.


"We welcome you to our world, Lord,” said Tu’usak Baloi, Szejuk of the Eresari Dominion. A pale-skinned mountain of a man, Szejuk Baloi bowed his head to Quarasha in the customary way before returning to his full height. “Ambassador Vfond is held by this chamber with high regard. Naturally, this esteem is of right to be granted to all who he has brought before us. We would hear your proposal, if it pleases the Board." The other members nod their assent in various ways. The Kyn says nothing and does not respond at all, opting instead to eye Quarasha and her retinue with distrust.

"Thank you all for allowing me this time,” she said as she took her place at the speaker’s bench. “As you all know, I am here to propose an expansion of the Sith Empire's diplomatic mission to your world, for the benefit of both Erini and the Empire.”

Quarasha tapped her datapad and a holographically projected globe of Erini flew to view. A single green dot appeared in northwest Ernmarch – Vysberg, the capital of the Allied Marches.

"I loathe stating the obvious, but this is your world, Erini, home of 1.78 billion sentient beings, spread out across a vast continent. And that dot is the sole representation of the Sith Empire, an Embassy with a staff of twenty people. I of course mean no disrespect towards the hard working staff of the embassy, but this minimal representation does little more than aid with minor tourism coming from the Empire, and even then they are of little help to those visiting or attempting to trade with groups outside the Capitol.

“This means, of course, that your own citizenry have little chance of meeting with a representative of the Empire, either to help with trade, tourism or emigration. We are all aware that trade with other groups enriches both societies. Both in base material terms, and in social and cultural terms as well. As such, my proposal is twofold."

All in attendance - save one - listen as Quarasha speaks. The Eresari delegation seems slightly disinterested given this particular subject matter. At her mention of the proposal's two-fold nature, one of the Marcher delegates finds a brief pause in the presentation and exploits it.

"My Lord, I think before we speak at length on the other sections of your plan, we would be better served by elaboration on this particular facet. Could you speak on your proposals for the embassy specifically?"

"I was just going to." She said as she tapped her datapad, bringing up a map view of the area around the Embassy, with the current embassy in blue, and a larger section in green.

"The first proposal is that, to aid better trade and relations with the Erini people, the Embassy be expanded to 300 personnel in total, into a building capable of allowing them to perform their work." She tapped the datapad again, bringing up a list of the count and roles of the embassy staff. One of the sections, and a rather large one, was be listed as Consulate Relations.

"I will note that these numbers are best estimates at this point, actual numbers may vary slightly."

The Marcher delegates leaned forward as they inspected her plans. Meanwhile, the Eresari delegation began to engage themselves in quiet discussion. One of the Marcher delegates spoke, his voice taking on an annoyed tone. "We have had no problems with relations between Erini and the Empire that could not be resolved with the current staff or building."

He was answered by another Marcher, Advisor Tolsant. "Rolq, have you /been/ to the Imperial embassy? It's the size of a thimble."

Delegate Rolq responds, condescension clear in his voice. "And they do very well despite their hardships, especially considering the burdens of diplomatic immunity and access to central-district housing. The point, gentlemen, is-“

"She's not asking us to build them a castle-" interrupted Tolsant.

Suddenly the King hit his hand against the table and all fell silent. "I believe we have rather missed the point, gentlemen." He turned from his delegates to Quarasha and smiled politely. "Increasing the size of the embassy is not inherently problematic...we will revisit the issue when the matter is opened to actual debate. Please proceed, ambassador."

Quarasha bowed her head to the King. "Thank you, your highness." She turned back to the display and tapped the datapad again, highlighting the Consulate Relations section. "The primary focus of the expansion, however, is the second part of the proposal."

The Marcher delegates murmur quietly.

"Even if we had fifty thousand staff in the Embassy...which is not being proposed..." she said in a half-joking manner. "...we would not be able to help Erini citizens and businesses, as well as Imperial travelers and businessmen, in areas outside of the Capital."

The joke received no reaction. Off in his seat, Rylar shook his head softly.

Quarasha tapped the datapad again and the map of Erini returned with the green dot in the Capitol and an additional ten blue dots spread out across several major Erinian cities including four in Eresar, five in Ernmarch, and one in Kynmarch. She held her tongue for a few moments, fully expecting to be interrupted.

A different Marcher, a large older gentleman with thinning black hair who appeared to be almost entirely rotund, spoke. "What business do the Imperials have outside of the capital city anyway?" He said, seemingly unsettled.

Another delegate turned toward his spherical colleage. "It's a fairly large planet, Cromwyn." Another advisor interjected with a snide comment, but is cut off before the punchline is heard.

The lone Kyn Roca looks at the display. His frown deepens. The Eresari delegation, in contrast, had become extremely interested in her proposition and began to quite down.

Quarasha smiled at the older gentleman. "The business is, frankly, that there are businesses all across your world. Farmers, smiths, brewers, artists, crafters... this is a large, vibrant world. The beverage Vysint has already made a splash, pardon the pun, on Nar Shaddaa, and that is only the barest glimpse of the potential that the goods crafted on your world can have on the galaxy as a whole."

One of the Marcher delegates seemed supremely entertained to hear about the galaxy's thirst for vysint. "Ah, careful lads. We'd better hide the good stuff or there'll be Harrowers and Hammerheads knocking down our doors." The quip earned a chuckle, but the Eresari delegation - which had remained relatively quiet throughout the proceedings - seemed to be getting increasingly more annoyed with the Marchers.

 "How comfortable for you to know that /your/ goods are well known and lauded by the galaxy at large,” said one of the Eresari advisors. An uncomfortable silence descended, but it was eventually broken by the Eresari Szejuk.

"We would hear more, please," he said as he nodded to Quarasha with deference.

Quarasha nodded at the Szejuk. "And, of course, there is the aid that the Empire can bring to your world, especially to the regions that the Capitol's embassy simply has no hope of reaching. We have knowledge and expertise on increasing crop yield, uplifting industry to the modern age, improving and stabilizing the basic services upon which civilization depends most on..."

"These are not things that twenty people in a small building half a continent away can accomplish, ladies and gentlemen."

As Quarasha spoke, several delegates from both tables were either listening intently or writing things down. The Roca remained frowning throughout her presentation.

"Of course, these Consulates would only be raised with the permission of the local government. We do not wish to force our presence upon your citizenry." She smiled at the Kyn delegate.

"One additional addendum regarding the Kynmarch consulate? If it would help your people feel more at ease, I will personally assure you that no Sith or others talented in the Force would be stationed there."

Roca Szamel stood - as was customary for the Kyn - and spoke. "There will be no foreign embassy in Sorqia or Kynmarch." His words, rarely heard in this chamber, were met with a brief, uneasy silence.

"As she has said, Roca, it is at the discretion of the local governments," said King Istvan.

Szamel glanced over at the King, then to Quarasha. His expression hadn’t changed in the slightest. "And so have I spoken whereall.” He said, sitting.

"Very well," Quarasha said, bowing her head to the Roca before going back to regarding the King and Szejuk.

"Each consulate would have around thirty staff, plus or minus some based on the local needs. In truth, the precise arrangements would be best handled on a case by case basis, as the needs of some cities are vastly different from others, and I imagine there are some questions about this part of the proposal."

"Yes, I imagine so," said the King, standing as he prepares to address the room. "I present the motion to begin debate and review of the proposal. Who shall second?" The Szejuk raises his hand, seconding. The King turned to address Quarasha specifically. "Because you are unfamiliar with the style of this chamber, I take it upon myself to elaborate. Here, no outside party may speak - which includes Ambassadors Keyis and Vfond - unless explicitly called upon by this body. You may request a chance to speak and it may be accepted by any member and vetoed only by a head of state OR, inversely, you may be vetoed by anyone and given the floor by a head of state, effectively ignoring your veto. Do you understand?"

Quarasha noded.

The King turned back to the advisors. "The debate shall proceed." Just as soon as the King sats, a Marcher beains to speak.

"Friends, I am no enemy of the Empire or the Republic, but I am not in favor of this plan. Although the galaxy currently enjoys peace, in whatever we shall indeed call "peace", Erini is no less at risk now than we were a century ago or even five centuries ago." This elicits moans of annoyance from a few Marchers.

He continues. "We need look no further than the Empire's illustrious and most adventurous exploits on Balmorra and Corellia. And yet the Republic is not innocent either, as we can see on Ilum and Quesh. These powers seek only to control us. What better way to accomplish this means than through the slow suffocation of poisonous diplomacy."

A thin Marcher with a cane stands and with a nasally voice responded, "We have had a Republic and Imperial embassy on Erini for years and I haven’t seen any of the poison to which you refer, sir." Several members offer enthusiastic here-here's. "The exchange between us and the galactic factions has only made us more prosperous." Suddenly, an Eresari interjects.

"/You/ have been made prosperous, sir. Not us." Several boos come from the Marcher delegation and the thin man responds.

"Oh? And have you forgotten the successes of the Sukhoi'a venture in your own Southlands? The materiel to make those harvesters came from Republic warehouses and the expertise was acquired from Imperial contractors."

Quarasha kept a straight face, doing her best not to react to any of the statements made....... although a very brief, very slight smirk could be noticed by a practiced observer at the Eresari's objection.

"And the Eresari are the cheap, expendable labor needed, yes sir, I see very well." More groans and a response.

"It is not our business to dictate safety regulations to Eresari foremen."

A different Eresari responds, obviously distressed. "What Eresari foremen!?" This response is met with agreement from the Eresari and disapproval from the Marchers. One Marcher delegate remains silent. Vfond is off in the corner next to Cordae. He can be seen with no expression on his face while Cordae is obviously annoyed and has taken to massaging his temple.

Quarasha raises her hand.

One Eresari moved to recognize Quarasha, but he is immediately vetoed. Amidst the rising din, the Szejuk bangs the end of his large staff against the stone floor, the percussive bang echoing throughout the room calling down strict silence. The Szejuk, after a quick glare at several of the Marchers and a few of his own people, overturns the Marcher veto and recognizes Quarasha.

"I have two notes,” Quarasha began. “First, every aspect of this proposal is negotiable. This is, in fact, your choice, and I have no desire to infringe upon your right to self-determination. As for the Republic, if they wish to expand their diplomatic presence on Erini, that is entirely between you and them. The Sith Empire entirely respects Erini's neutrality.”

“That said, I do not see the relevance. The Empire and the Republic are at peace.” At ‘peace’, several expressions were heard from the Marchers, a mix of incredulity, amusement, and cries of falsehood. “This proposal includes no alterations to the any of the treaties involving the Empire, Republic or Erini. If war were to break out tomorrow, your neutrality would still be respected, with or without an expansion of the Empire's diplomatic presence on your world." She lowers her hand, nodding at the delegates and then at Cordae.

A previously unheard Marcher delegate speak or rather blurts amid his colleagues’ cries "Do forgive our extreme and well-reasoned doubt concerning the Empire's inner altruism." His quiet voice is bolstered by the encouragement of the delegate to his right - a large, ruddy-faced man - who claps him on the back. He continues, slightly rattled.

"The...the fact of the matter is, my esteemed delegates, that while the Empire and the Republic are at peace, their actions on numerous battlefields - yes, battlefields - bespeak a more fluid definition of the word "peace" than I think we are all accustomed to.” The advisor, building momentum, is encouraged by several Marcher delegates by bangs on the table and other such things.

Furthermore, the bellicosity of both factions is obvious in the extreme. Voting for this proposal will only further involve Erini in this conflict which we more than anyone have absolutely no right to enter."

Quarasha managed to keep a straight face at the "Fluid definition of peace" bit that she actually found pretty funny, meeting the marcher with a soft, practiced, understanding gaze.
Having said his bit, the delegate sheepishly conceded the floor, his face burning red. An Eresari quickly picked up the slack. "That is all well and good, sir, but if the Republic has not seen it worthwhile to expand its relations with us, why should we come to them with hands outstretched and refuse their industrious Imperial friends?" He received a fair amount of agreement from both sides. The King speaks.

"Ambassador Vfond, your expertise on Imperial policy is, I think very earnestly wanted in this chamber. I welcome your thoughts.” Quarasha turned to Vfond, smiling politely and encouragingly at him.

The suggestion was met with no opposition and Ambassador Vfond stood up. Cordae stood as well, allowing him to exit the separated amicus desks and nodded to him as he did so. Vfond took a position slightly in front of the desk and addresses the assembly.

"Honored delegates, I have served our planet in representing us to the Empire for many years. In all of my years, I have only found that the Empire has been a loyal ally to those who seek its friendship. I have found that their people are a noble people worthy of respect and admiration - a respect and admiration that I have myself come to appreciate in my dealings with them. In my many years, I have come to see clearly that in a galaxy full of treachery and betrayal...and secrets...that we must guard ourselves most cautiously. However, we have only tried to do so when we see a middle road to walk.”

Vfond began to casually walk around his side of the open central space, never walking between Quarasha and the delegates. "Never giving more to one over the other..." He came to a final stop in front of the amicus benches and turned to the Marcher table.

“...This is truly dangerous, my lords." He stopped briefly to look around the room. "Some would dismiss this modest proposal simply because there is no Republic counterpart being offered to counter it. In fact, any such Republican proposal is, I think you shall all soon find, quite unnecessary." Vfonds words earn several murmurs which the King silences with a wave of his hand.

Quarasha's smile remains, but a note of confusion betrayed her and became slightly visible after Vfond's speech.

The King pursed his lips and leaned forward. " May I ask what exactly you might be suggesting, Ambassador?" Vfond nods.

"Yes, my King, I shall explain, of course. You see, honored delegates, the state of affairs between Erini and the factions is not as balanced as we have oft-times suggested. In fact, the balance is tipped heavily." Cordae begins to raise an eyebrow, never taking his eye off Vfond as he makes his rounds.

Suddenly Vfond turned to face Cordae. He displayed an expression that, with days of earnest care, could have one day approached true disappointment on his face, then turned back to the delegates.

"I have reason to believe that my honored colleague has entered into a secret alliance with the Republic."

Quarasha's smile began to fade with haste.

Cordae blinks. "What in sacred fe-" Cordae is immediately interrupted down by his King.

"Ambassador, you have not been recognized by-" the King is interrupted.

“No! No, absolutely not. I will not sit here and be insinuated against like a criminal!” Cordae turns to Vfond. “Accusing me of treason are you, Heqtor? I admit, I quite wonder what had taken you so long…”

“I quite wonder how I didn’t see it sooner, Lord.” Vfond shrugged, deliberately choosing to address Cordae by his hereditary title and not his position. Cordae’s face, previously rent by a sort of battle-ready sneer, quickly gave way to something with the tiniest spark of cold rage.

“Lord Ambassador.”

“You are one of those, certainly,” answered Vfond as he straightened his posture and held his hands behind his back. Cordae stood up, his eyes wild and a retort ready in his throat only to be interrupted by King Istvan’s gavel.

“Ambassador Keyis, you have not been recognized!” Cordae looked back at the King with a distant remnant of the look he had given Vfond, but quickly stifled his feelings. From the corner, a bailiff had begun to approach Cordae to read the rules of the room – customary in cases where amicus interruptions had been taken note of.

With one large, calloused hand, Cordae shoved the man back. “Oh feth off, I’ll be quiet,” he said, more annoyance in his voice than anything else. Finally, Cordae took his seat, nodding to his King.

The King looked back at Vfond. His expression betrayed his curiosity and suspicion. "Continue, ambassador."

Quarasha’s gaze was caught between Vfond and the King, now fairly certain of where her Erinian colleague was going. Deep in thought, she pursed her lips and listened with great intent.

Vfond, being stared down by Cordae all the way, reached over the amicus bench wall and retrieved a dossier from his spot. After holding it up for all the room to see, he handed the file off to a bailiff who, in turn, surrendered it to King Istvan.

"My colleague has perpetrated a great farce of his office,” continued Vfond. “He has, in fact, betrayed his oath to serve only his people over all other masters foreign or domestic...Or should I say, knights?"

Quarasha smacked her forehead with an open hand in visible frustration, immediately raising her other hand in a request to speak.

"Vetoed," answered the King as he opened the file and began thumbing through its contents. He waved a hand toward Vfond. “Continue, sir.” The Szejuk remained silent, curious to know what could possibly be happening.

Quarasha, meanwhile, has given up, tossing her hands up then folding her arms across her chest. Cordae breaks his gaze and sees Quar's expression. Briefly, confusion surfaces, but it is immediately stifled by rage as he looks back at Vfond.

"My friends, I shall be frank. The good Ambassador Keyis has been carrying on a secret relationship with a knight of the Jedi Order, the sworn protectors of the Galactic Republic - Knight Shaantil. I do not know how long this has been going on - though I'm sure his Highness could say - but I do know that it represents a fundamental failure in our government to take into account the neutrality which we greatly admire.”

“Has Prince Cordae been acting in the interest of this planet? Can you give me an honest answer? Approve this proposal, my friends. To some, it may seem to throw our priorities sharply askew, but in truth, I seek only to correct the imbalance which already exists."

Cordae and Quarasha simultaneously raised their hands to speak. If Quarasha projected any sort of calm-headedness, her aids certainly did not as they began scrambling around at their posts, trying to make heads or tails of what had just happened.

The King leveled a calculating look at Quarasha, studying her, then turned to address the chamber. "If it pleases this assembly, I would defer recognizing Lord Quarasha until immediately after Ambassador Keyis has had a chance to defend his himself against the charge which his colleague has just levied against him." Cordae looks at his King, then at Quarasha, locking gazes. Finally, he speaks. "...I withdraw my request to speak and cede to Quarasha provided my immediate recognition afterwards."

The King nodded and looked Quarasha with an interested expression.

Quarasha shot to her feet as she fixed Vfond with a death glare, then turned to Cordae. "Ambassador Keyis, let me first personally apologize that I provided the venue for this unwarranted smear directed at you. I assure you, I had no knowledge of Vford's plans on this subject, and if he had told me I would have expressed my most sincere disapproval that he would even consider making this manner of claim against you."

“Oh, very good of you!” said Cordae as he leaned back. The bailiff approached him once more, but was immobilized by a particularly pointed glare.

"As for you,” Quarasha said, turning to Vfond.” All you have is a claim that Ambassador Keyis has had a private relationship with a Republic citizen. You have provided nothing resembling any evidence of any "Secret Alliance". You should be ashamed of yourself for this smear against an honorable man." Turning, her voice recedes to a somewhat into a more diplomatic tone.

"For the sake of full discretion, I have spoken to Ambassador Keyis several times in the past, and at no point have I seen him act in any way that would validate any of Vford's claims, beyond the mundane relationship itself. I strongly urge you to ignore Vford's comment. They are not remotely relevant to this discussion." Quarasha nods at the King, indicating she had finished before glaring once more at Vfond.

 Rylar, through the din of the chamber, looked up from his datapad to gauge the Kyn's reaction to all this is. To his amusement, he found that Roca Szamel was rather busily counting the number of dots on the ceiling and had almost entirely removed himself from the excitement.

Cordae looked at Quarasha, not daring to show what appreciation he felt for the fear of seeming as if he needed rescuing from a man like Vfond. However, certainly not unthankful, he offers her a curt nod, dipping his head to her ever-so-slightly. He raises his hand once more and the King looks at him. Quarasha returns the very tiny nod as the King began to speak. "I recognize Ambassador Keyis."

 
“My...colleage,” Cordae began, his tone one of extremely forced evenness, “Has suggested that I am a part in betraying this planet to outside interests. I will not defend myself against these allegations because they are baseless, the last attempts of a petty, little man to discredit me in an effort to reduce the sheer mass of his own ponderous, glaring inadequacies. I have done nothing wrong." The room is dead silent.

"I will say that I have participated in a romantic relationship with a private Republic citizen. My colleague suggests, however wrong-footed and shamefully, that I have not acted as an impartial ambassador from this land to other foreign powers. This. Is. A. Lie." Cordae spat the final word out like a curse. Vyla, sitting behind the two ambassadors' seats, looks around, partly out of confusion, partly in awe.

Cordae took a very slow breath and continued. "To the point of the proposal - I recommend postponing a vote until such a time when the Republic has proposed a similar deal of equal value, for the imbalance that Ambassador Vfond has spoken at length about is not, in fact, real. Therefore, I see no reason to upset it so.” As Cordae ended his response and sat down, Quarasha shook her head and raised her hand.

The King immediately stands. "As the sovereign ruler of the Allied Marches, I will speak." The Eresari Szejuk, not really knowing what to make of any of this, glances at Quarasha, holds his hand up, then respectfully nods to the King who then continues.

"Honored delegates and esteemed guests, I feel I must immediately respond to the events we have just witnessed.”

“It is not illegal for a citizen of the Aliied Marches to enter into a private relationship with a citizen of the Galactic Republic or the Sith Empire. While this right is not guaranteed by treaty, it is very much a tacit and understood agreement between our peoples.”

“However, it should be said that a Jedi Knight is no ordinary private citizen. That is simply a fact.” The King turned to his Eresari colleague and nodded to him, then to his own people.

“As it is only right, I shall submit a petition to the All-Marches Assembly that Ambassador Keyis be summoned to a hearing, the purpose of which shall be to ascertain if any laws have been broken or if his mandate was exceeded through collusion with an outside power against the express interest of our planet.”

Vfond blinked and stood suddenly. “My King, I can understand a father’s need to protect his children, but this really has gone too far. Lord Keyis has-“

Lord Keyis is an ambassador and minister plenipotentiary of the sovereign peoples of the Allied Marches and you would do well to remember that,” the King interrupted. Vfond took a small half-step forward.

“My King, he is sleeping with a Jedi. The time for inquiry is long past. This problem requires action!”

“Do you presume to tell a King his business, Vfond?” the King asked, rising to his full height.

“I presume to serve my people which is more than what is being accomplished here-“

“Who is doing the greater disservice, Vfond, you or me?!” Cordae yelled, slamming his hand on the bench divider. Vfond whirled around to face him.

“A wet rock could do more in the service of Erini than a whining, entitled cyborg with a Jedi whore-“

“Ambassador, I have heard enough from you!-“ Vfond wheeled around to face King Istvan.

“Are you so afraid of the truth about your son, King?”

“I will have order in-“

“Will you tell us justice is blind?" he asked, addressing the chamber with his voice raised as he held his arm straight out pointing toward Cordae, "Or is it merely half blind?!"

“ENOUGH!” The King’s words were hewn into a auditory, percussive shout that cut into the chamber and echoed off the walls. Vyla Giers jumped slightly in her seat. After a beat, the two Royal Army guards in full dress stationed beyond the doors stormed into the room, arms at the ready and altogether unsure of the cause of their King’s distress.

King Istvan threw his outstretched hand forward, ordering them to halt which they did immediately. The Marcher delegates looked anxiously between themselves, Vfond, and their King wondering what would happen next. They hadn’t long to wait.

“By royal executive order, my right proclaimed by the constitution of the Allied Marches, I hereby strip you of the title Ambassador."

"You can’t-," Vfond began to stammer, but the King cut him off.

"Silence. In this chamber, you have tarnished, perhaps irrevocably, the name of ambassador. Because the fault lies solely with you and not your office, I remove you from your office, that it might be given time to recover.”

"This is not a response to the…fiasco we’ve seen here today but a series of poorly chosen remarks and allegations made by you concerning our allies, the Eresari." At this, the Szejuk turned to give Vfond a particularly harsh look before returning to the King.

"Those remarks will not be aired publicly for the sake of the harmony this Board at one time espoused, but shall be shared with Szejuk Baloi for his approval." The King said, turning to the Szejuk. "I implore you trust me on this." After a moment, the Szejuk nodded carefully and bade King Istvan continue. Vfond, by the point, had begun to shake.

"Furthermore, because you have seen fit to besmirch the name Lord - a title which was given to you in recognition of your service to the Royal Army of the Allied Marches during the Great War and the Resurgence War - it shall also be taken from you in hopes that it also may one day recover from this egregious slight. Your conduct is unbecoming of a Lord Militant General in the Royal Reserve Guard, and so you are hereby, at my leisure and command, disbarred."

Quarasha bit her cheek to stop herself from adding any snark, smiling with dark pleasure at Vford's dressing down.

"Finally…” The King addresses the guards with a smile. "Orleaq, Sustara, remove him. I don't care where you put him, though do  aim for solid ground." he adds as Vfond is forcibly removed from the chamber, causing a stir which the King and Szejuk allow to go uninterrupted. After a few seconds, Quarasha raises her hand and order was restored.

The King, rather pleased with himself, his fists resting on his waist, turns to Quarasha. "Ambassador.”

Quarasha blinked, slightly put off by the King’s proud stance but continued regardless. “…The Sith Empire of course requests that Vfond's seat be filled as soon as a viable candidate is found.” His fists still on his waist, the King remained standing.

“We shall appoint a successor to Vfond in our own good time. Proceed,” he gestures for her to continue as he takes his seat once more.


 “As for the proposal? Neutrality is not simply precisely equal treatment to both parties. That sort of rigid thinking can lead to problems of its own, as we have all recently observed. My request is that this proposal be considered on its own merits, independent of the Republic's actions regarding Erini.”

The King, about to speak, suddenly noticed the hand of the diplomat behind Cordae, sitting next to the Allied Marches Minister of State. Vyla Giers, a young, thin woman with long black hair and a scar over one eye sat forward, her eyes widened in eagerness. He nods at her. "I recognize Diplomat Giers." With slight hesitation, Vyla stood to address the assembly.

"Honored delegates, I am Vyla Giers. I hold the rank of official Diplomat with the Allied Marches Ministry of State. I have been assigned to research Erinian relations with both the Republic and the Empire and consider myself well versed in the subject. I believe my superiors will agree with my assessment. " Minister Rysz nods and she continues.

"As it stands, I believe the Allied March delegation to this Board will only vote for any offer which can be easily reciprocated by either faction. This has less to do with promoting neutrality - for indeed, voting to improve the embassies of one faction invariably links us to them - and more to do with keeping Erini away from the center of the galactic conflict. This conflict being of course the same one which Lord Quarasha denies - and correctly from a legal standpoint - but is being discussed daily as if it were a real thing. I need only mention the recent increase in hostile exchanges between the Empire and the Republic."

Vyla’s words earned a frown from Quarasha, but she remained quiet, allowing the Erinian to continue.

“At the same time, my brothers in the Eresari delegation will vote for any proposal which will encourage Eresari growth and revitalization. This is a worthy goal and is to be commended. However, this leaves us at an impasse in terms passing this vote. If it pleases this board, I propose a compromise.”

“First, the Imperial embassy in Vysberg is expanded according to Lord Quarasha's original proposal. Second, the Republic embassy will be expanded along the same lines and notice shall be sent to the Republic regarding their newly upgraded facilities. I doubt they will waste the opportunity to fill a new building that we've upgraded for them. Third, in the interest of promoting the revitalization of the Eresari economy and with the goal of promoting cultural exchange between Erini, the Empire, and the Republic, an Imperial and Republic embassy of equal or lesser size - though the size of one shall be equal with the other - shall be constructed in the city of Sistisani, the capital of the sovereign nation of Eresar.”

“Again, with the building and means already provided to both faction, I have no doubt based on previous studies of Republic and Imperial diplomatic on Quesh and Voss that the vacancies and positions afforded to each posting shall be filled with particular haste,” she said, finishing and sitting down.

As Quarashed raised her hand to speak, Vyla's eyes went wide. Hastily – and loudly, she added, "If that proposal is in keeping with the Imperial ambassador's original mandate and orders!...Provided that-…" She opens her mouth to say something else, but decides to shut up.

"I have been granted wide latitude on this issue,” Quarasha chuckled. “As for the revised proposal, while hardly my preference, I believe I could convince my superiors of the value of it. I would like to ask, however, that physical size explicitly be stated as what is matched, and not the personnel count. You would be providing both sides equal opportunity to expand diplomatically, but that the Empire should not be punished for any inaction by the Republic. Additionally, I would like for it to be known that I would want to revisit this discussion after a few months, to ensure that no additional consulates need be created elsewhere on the continent. Is this acceptable?"

Minister of State Rysz beamed at Vyla from his seat in the amicus benches, pride very much in his eyes, but quickly snapped out of his complacency and left to approach the King. The Eresari delegates spoke amongst themselves in hushed tones. The single Kyn, still solitary, apparently hadn’t moved in a long while.

Finally, the King spoke. "The Allied March delegation is ready to put this matter to a vote." Only seconds later, the Szejuk nods.

"The Eresari delegation accepts the vote motion."

"All those in favor of the compromise proposed by Diplomat Giers, vote by count of hands.”

Exactly seven delegates on each side raised their hands, totaling seven of nine for each delegation. Roca Szamel voted no and the remaining eight Kyn delegates were forced to abstain. The motion had carried.

"Having reached a majority with those present in favor of the proposition, this agreement shall be put to paper and signed into mutually-recognized law at some future date to be determined." The King and Szejuk Baloi rose, followed by their delegates and the chamber audience. Quarasha gave a quick, curt nod to Lt. Rylar, who then began the task of relaying the outcome of the meeting to the diplomatic corps.

Quarasha bowed before the delegates. "The Sith Empire thanks you for your time, and looks forward to a mutually prosperous future together."

As the delegates and heads of state began to file out of the room, Quarasha moved to quickly intercept Cordae. "...Ambassador,” she whispered, “I'll keep things as quiet on my end as I can, but this will hardly remain quiet forever. Best hurry, if you understand my meaning."

Already on edge, Cordae greeted her advice with a sharp look, but immediate retreated as began to exit his belligerent frame of mind. “Better she hear it from me than a newspaper,” Cordae conceded. “Know any good assassins?" he asked, earning a smirk from Quarasha.

"No comment, Lord..." said Quarasha. They both exchanged nods and exited the chamber.

Once Quarasha made her way to her ship - and after checking that she was alone - gripped the bridge of her nose and muttered to herself, "Force save me from helpful idiots."



Offline Cordae

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Re: The Keyis Legacy
« Reply #11 on: 12/23/13, 01:34:51 PM »
Hindsight/Foresight: Visions in the Ruins
______

OOC: This is a scene that played out between Eszrah and Telline.


    Telline frowns as she surveys the ruined Jedi Temple on Coruscant. Once the grand center of the Jedi Order, it now stood as a shattered reminder of their great losses suffered through the war. As she leads him through what remains of the Temple, a clearly awestruck Eszrah looks around.

    "Only our most sacred places are as this..." He whispers as he rubs his thumb over the pendant of his necklace: a clear crystal fixed with leather cords.

    "This was our temple...once. Our home." Telline continues walking through the rubble, looking for a particular room. Eszrah frowns, still surveying the wreckage. He is using his spear, the mysterious symbol of Kyn might, as a walking stick.

    "How did it come to this..?" he wonders as his eyes fall on a crest of shattered marble pillars which he surveyed from atop a fallen slab of ceiling.
   
    "The Sith." Telline answers. After a time, she seems to find what she was looking for - a meditation hall. She opens the door and peeks in. "Here we are! It looks solid. There is a Force nexus near here that help us see."

    "Do you remember the story I told you? About the origin of my people?" asks Eszrah as he enters the room with Telline. He breathes deeply as though trying to inhale the sheer ancientness of the great hall through its old, fell air.

    Telline smiles. "I do. I have my own suspicions that your spring is also a nexus."
   
    Eszrah breathes in and holds, then releases. "The feeling is...similar." He says, finally smiling and nodding at her. "I assume the Jedi use this "nexus" as the Kyn do theirs? Meditations?" He looks back at the center of the room, at the place he can feel with his physical and non-physical senses. "Visions?"

    "Yes. It also helped younglings as they first learned to use the Force."
   
     Eszrah smiles. "Very lucky ones. I wonder if we should not try that with ours.."

    "It is easier to hear a shout than a whisper," Telline says as she approaches the nexus. "And it was a useful teaching aid. Shall we get started?" Telline kneels in a meditation position.

    Eszrah nods. "Is there...a ritual you perform?"
 
   "Ritual is perhaps not the right word. It's a deep meditation. All you need do is kneel or sit across from me. And take my hands."

    Eszrah takes another deep breath before kneeling with Telline. Taking her hands, he meditates..
 
    "Clear you mind of all thought. All emotion. All being. Let the Force flow through you without resistance. Then reach out. Feel my thoughts. Follow them. Hear them. Dive into them."

    Eszrah rolls his shoulders as he begins...Telline might be able to sense him mouthing something, words only just audible on his tongue. It is reminiscent of a chant, but in some strange way, unlike any chant she is likely to have heard.

    Whatever it is, it seems to work. Eszrah's mind is clear and he reaches out to her through the Force. Telline and Eszrah both settle gently as their consciousnesses turn inwards.

    The temple falls from their senses, leaving the stark stone of the Moriae base on Belsavis. Their allies and enemies do battle there, but they are all shadows but one. Lord Seselis stands before them, lightning dancing between her fingers. Telline steps forward and ignites a lightsaber, holding it in a Soresu guards, hilt at her belt and blade extending upwards. It shines with a vibrant purple light.

    Eszrah instinctively enters his own distinctive stance - low to the ground, his legs bent an coiled with his spear extended and held behind his back. Though, he quickly remembers why he is there and whose vision this is. He stares Seselis down and enters a form of Kyn pre-battle meditation. Usually shared amongst a cadre of Kyn warriors, Eszrah attempts to channel energies to Telline. Eszrah does this while sitting cross-legged, his spear open and ignited, but resting evenly on his knees over his lap.

    Lord Seselis extends her hand and lightning leaps from it. Telline catches it on the blade before leaping at Seselis, attempting to bring her blade down on her shoulder. The Sith sidesteps, her hood falling back to reveal her bare head. Telline turns again, instinctively catching the next burst of lightning on her blade in an inverted block. There is the trickle of a stream in the background, on the edge of Eszrah and Telline's hearing, but growing louder. Eszrah's chant continues. Telline lunges deep at the Sith who again steps clear. Arcs of lightning surround the Jedi as she presses her attack. The vision slowly splits, showing multiple actions and outcomes.

    In one Telline cuts down her opponent. In another she severs her hands and takes her prisoner. Eszrah furrows his brow, immediately sensing the shift into multiple concurrent realities. He opens one eye...then the other, watching. In another Telline withdraws. Leaves the Sith to flee. In another she meets the Sith's lightning with her own, falling into rage. The roar of the stream is steady. Eszrah's jaw lowers only a centimeter as the confluence of time is laid out in front of him.

    Suddenly the visions converge again into one reality. Telline turns to watch as the water bursts through the wall, falling puddle-less onto the floor. As she turns, the Sith's lightning lashes out and catches her around the throat, dragging her to her knees. Iaera's lightsaber shuts off as it falls. It shatters like glass as it strikes the floor.

    The water is suddenly silent.

    Seselis walks slowly over to Telline. She reaches out a clawed hand and rips out her throat. Telline collapses, though her throat shows no sign of damage. Back in the Temple, Telline's body falls sideways and lies limp on the ground. Eszrah's suddenly breaks his meditation to glare at Seselis.

    In a whirl of motion, he leaps back into his previous action stance, then takes a defensive stance in front of Telline's astral form. Seselis inspects her claws one by one, taking her time, seemingly not noticing Eszrah's challenge. Seslis finally looks at him and begins toward him, stepping over the projection of Telline which disappears instantaneously in a puff of wispy vapor.

    He levels his spear at her and yells, "Flee, Sh'aas! There is only one chance!" Eszrah had meant to yell his words in Kyn'a, the common tongue of the Kyn...but what comes out of his mouth is anything but common. He is speaking Kyn'a'i, the multi-planar tongue of the Roca. He seems not to have noticed.
 
    She twirls her lightsaber as she walks, but is stopped cold by his words. Suddenly, Seselis grabs her head as if struck and emits a shill, keening scream birthed in rage and fear. She leaps forward and strikes out at him in a downward slash, but the figure advancing on Eszrah is no longer Seselis...not exactly...gray vapor pours from her face, eating away the red visage of a Sith. Eszrah hops to the left and thrusts his spear up to meet her saber. They connect.
 
    White light. Golden sounds. Fire, smoke, and straw.

    In one picosecond, the world of the Moirae base is flung far away from him and he is transported to a place he knows, though it is foreign to him in so many ways. Eszrah has locked blades with the Sh'aas known as "Scream-Break", a middling battlelord and the leader of over 3,000 Seven-Mountain Sh'aas. Scream-Break wears a helmet made of some majestic antlered animal's hollowed out skull, the swept back bone growths molded into one plait through dark-side magick which curls at the end.

    The scene before him seems to stop, then slowly increase in speed - as if Eszrah were in control of it with a remote and had paused it from some far-off place. The scene is brought back into full alignment with time. Without hesitation, Eszrah inverts his grip and tucks the end of his spear under his arm. While he holds the battlelord's weapon with his spear, his free hand slices along the Sh'aas' side, a small push-knife wedged between his middle and ring fingers. The man's skin splits from waist to pectoral and he cries out. With a Force blast, Eszrah pushes the Sh'aas away from him and into a tree. He explodes into ethereal dust.
 
    Eszrah turns to behold the scenery around him. It is Northern Kynmarch, beyond the line. Far beyond the line. Shadows converge from behind him, but he knows they are his shadows. His men. They do not touch him and go to engage with enemies. As his shadows fight the enemy, Eszrah reaches out with his mind. He feels Telline in the same way that he feels his own world, nearer to him than anything. He feels the pull of battle, to protect his brothers and sisters with his life - tendons and steel. But he feels another pull...it draws him to a cave.
 
    Eszrah enters. Telline is there, but she is sitting. She does not stir from a meditative trance. Indeed, she seems as though a statue, an imprint. He walks into the enclosure of the cave and looks up through the blown-out ceiling ages old. He sees the stars. As he ventures forward, a figure comes from the shadows. It stands on the other side of a pond which resides in the middle of the cave. A stream bisects the cave and flows through the pond. The figure says nothing, but he speaks. Words of color and tone, disturbed molecules and Force ability. It is a challenge. Eszrah holds his spear as one might hold a staff. He answers the challenge with one word.

    As his word is spoken, a sound like roaring water begins and strengthens into a torrent. The pond between Eszrah and the figure explodes into the worn, dusty blocks of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant.

    Eszrah is smacked back into reality with the force of the pond-torrent. He is rocked backwards and smacks his head against the floor. He shuts his eyes and rubs the back of his head. "Kah..." Telline slowly opens her eyes and stares at the ceiling. "Eszrah? Are you with me?"

    "...Yes..."

    Telline lets out a breath as she continues to stare at the ceiling. "Thank you."

    Eszrah still lies on the floor, but is fully aware and in-the-moment. "Thank me?"

    "For helping me with this. I will need to think about it, but I think it will help."

    Eszrah rights himself. "Much thinking...for myself as well...Were you..erm...there for mine?"

    "I... was not. But I think I can remember it. Like a dream."

    Eszrah sits cross-legged as he nods, thinking. "I wonder if you will think of me the same way...We have spoken often on the war among my people...To see it first-" He blinks. "...Second hand."

    Telline frowns. "I am no stranger to war."

    Eszrah purses his lips. "Not to your war..." He looks at her, coming out of his 'daze'. "If there are parts too private, I understand, but I would like to help you understand your vision. It may help with mine."

    "I don't mind. But not yet. I need to do my own thinking first. I would like to return to Tython."

    Eszrah nods, then stands somewhat shakily at first. He offers a hand to her. Telline reaches up and takes his hand, using it to steady herself as she rises to her feet. Telline and Eszrah leave the room, closing the door behind them. The room is still, the only movement the shimmer of dust in a sunbeam.



Offline Cordae

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Re: The Keyis Legacy
« Reply #12 on: 01/01/14, 02:30:33 AM »
The "Surely You Can't Be Serious" Arc
Indignation


Vyla sat in her office, scowling as she leaned back in her chair. A cigar sat smoldering in a crystal ashtray perched atop a stack of holo-slates yet unread. Her workload has tripled in only an hour; those slates would likely remain unread for the rest of the week.

Suddenly, her office door chimed. Knowing who it was already, she sighed and sat up straight, smoothing out the creases which had since formed in her diplomatic uniform. With a push of a button, the doors came open and Quarasha, Lord of the Sith and ambassador to Erini stepped in.

"I have been meaning to talk with you regardless," Quarasha began as she walked over to Vyla's desk, "but I sense you have something specific you wish to talk about."

Vyla looked up at her and nodded as she picked a notepad up off of her desk and held it, skimming it. She began, “Do you know one…Admiral Eldarus Villem?”

“…I have met the man.”

Vyla studied Quarasha with intensity and after a beat of uncomfortable silence, continued. “Do you know anything about the man? His dispositions? His ambitions?”

Quarasha peered back at Vyla, keeping a largely blank expression, trying to sense what exactly was going on. “Of course, I cannot speak with too much detail about an Imperial military officer, but the man seems interested in becoming involved with helping Erini." Quarasha readjusted her seat. "If I may ask, why do YOU know the name?”

Vyla exhaled a half-chuckle. “Help,” indeed…” she muttered under her breath before addressing Quar directly. “I know the name because I just came out of a meeting with him. Kaas City has been abuzz with news of him. Something about returning from the Outer Realms. I stopped by to introduce myself.” “I think you two are about to become…fast friends.”

“I am the Imperial ambassador to Erini. I somehow doubt that I could avoid working with his efforts to help Erini… and Outer Rim is the proper term.”

Vyla made an impatient face and waved her off in response to the correction. “Oh, whatever,” she said, losing the slightest bit of her cool exterior. Composing herself, she lifted her ashtray and delicately pulled a file from the top of the stack, handing it respectfully to Quarasha. “I’ll need you to read this before we proceed.”

Quarasha took the file and began to read. As she did so, Vyla plucked the smoldering cigar from its tray and stood to gaze from her office window as she puffed it softly.

As she took in the document before her, Quarasha's even, blank expression fell steadily into disbelief. She read it over several times, if only to make sure that yes, it was exactly what she’s afraid it was.


As issued by Joint Naval Command, subject to Imperial Ordinance 5517.12, and in accordance with the previously agreed upon subsections of the Treaty of Coruscant, namely sections V.22 and V.24;

Imperial Naval Command (hereafter referred to as INC) proposes Security Treaty E001 in conjunction with the free, independant system of Erini. This Security Treaty (hereafter referred to as E001) is presented in full to the Erinian Council (hereafter referred to as EC)
[/font].

E001 proposes no less than the following;
  • An immediate presence of interdiction vessels as determined by the INC to patrol and protect the hyperspace corridor E070811 (hereafter referred to as the Eri Gap). Such vessels will include as a minimum one Harrower-Class Dreadnaught, or three Oppressor Battle Cruisers, and accompanying support craft.
  • The interdiction vessels will immediately secure flight traffic along the Eri Gap, and conduct random, persistent inspections of all incoming and outgoing ships to ensure no contraband, banned weapons of distinction, or at-large criminals of note are present.
  • The interdiction vessels will only ensure the safe, uninterrupted passage of trade goods, medical aid, and support personnel via the Eri Gap.
  • The interdiction vessels are not responsible for the protection of Rhos IV (hereafter referred to as Erini), and defer all planetary defense to the Royal Erinian Navy (hereafter referred to as the REN).
  • The immediate and ongoing assistance of the INC to provide personnel, training, support craft, and direct supervision of any REN space operations and relief efforts. Such assistance stands ready at the behest of the REN.
  • The immediate and ongoing assistance of the Imperial Army to provide personnel, training, support vehicles and direct supervision of any Erinian ground operations and relief efforts. Such assistance stands ready at the behest of the REN, and will be coordinated with the Office of the Imperial Generals.
  • The relocation and safe habitation of any or all Erinian nobility, diplomatic staff, and political servants to a protected world of the INC choosing. Such assistance stands ready at the behest of the REN or the EC.

E001 also proposes the following ancillary conditions, to be fulfilled upon agreement of the primary treaty conditions;
  • Immediate, consistent, ongoing shipments of medical aid, raw materials, and support personnel to assist with the recovery and reconstruction efforts of both the REN fleet and civilian targets of terrorism.
  • Upgraded trade designation with the Empire, allowing for priority trade and first point of refusal for trade negotiations, including but not limited to the Republic, and the Hutt Cartel(s).
  • The permanent establishment of a sovereign embassy site on Dromund Kaas, to be afford all the rights and privileges as native Erinian soil.
  • The establishment of first point of refusal for trade negotiations for the Empire, including but not limited to the Republic, and the Hutt Cartel(s).

Signed this Centaxday;

Admiral Eldarus Villem
HCD Rancorous

Admiral Augustus Grice
HCD Omnipotence

Admiral Hagun Orun
Imperial Naval Command

General A.R. Quist
Imperial Army



“...I…assume that you have verified the authenticity of this? That it is not an…unfortunate prank sent by an unaffiliated party?” Quarasha asked, hoping against hope.

“I assure you, it’s quite genuine,” Vyla answered, not turning back to look at her colleague.

Force, it doesn’t even refer to the world as Erini until halfway through….”Quarasha mumbled, staring at the document. After reading it over once again, she spoke. “…First, let me be clear. This is the first time I have laid eyes upon this, and no one in my office would send this…this, without my consent.” Quarasha looked up at Vyla. “Understand, Imperial Admirals are known for their keen strategic mind, devotion to the Emperor’s cause, and their ability to outwit enemy forces intent on killing those under their command, as well as the citizens of the Empire. Diplomatic finesse is not a trait they practice in large amounts.”

“I AM curious," said Vyla, her tone even, but gaining acid, "however, about this….we’ll call it a “request,” and how it did not come from the Imperial Diplomatic Corps, but rather the Imperial High Command. Do they know something I don’t? Do they know something you don't, Lord? I am deeply concerned about the Empire’s seriousness with your office if you didn’t know about this until now.”

“The Admiral is a very powerful, well-respected man in the Imperial Navy. He has shown an interest in helping your world with its recent troubles. Hardly a great deal of malice here…Though clumsiness, certainly.”

Vyla blinked. “Exactly what sort of idiot do you take me for? "Hardly a great deal of malice?" Are we reading the same treaty? Do our homeworlds have differing definitions of the word malice?”

“What I am reading here," countered Quarasha, attempting to keep the conversation at an even pitch, "is an offer, by the Empire, to secure the only hyperspace route to Erini which, if I am not mistaken, would eliminate the possibility of further attacks like the one that recently defaced your world.”

Quarasha takes a breath. “It appears to be the sort of degree of security that a soldier would think of: eliminating all potential threats before they occur.”
 
"Is that what you’re reading there? Because I’m reading the precursory steps to vassalage and an Erinian protectorate. Though, very generous of the good admiral to volunteer his mighty warships to vouchsafe the charming, yet delightfully quirky planet of Erini this, its greatest hour of need,” she struck once more, her voice swelling with anger - a rare sight for anyone who knew Vyla. “Does this request stand by itself or does it come with a complimentary dagger?”

"This is not the sort of treaty that comes with a dagger in the back, Vyla, and I cannot comment on the intentions of this treaty before speaking to the man behind it."

Vyla straightened her posture, gazing at Quarasha. “It is either evidence of gross, in my opinion criminal miscommunication on the part of the Imperial Diplomatic Corps or obvious Imperial encroachment.”

Quarasha looked up at Vyla. “Believe me, I understand why you see it that way. I am simply trying to see things from the Admiral’s position. Believe me, I am displeased as you are at this turn of events.” Vyla seemed ready to renew her attack following that assertion, but Q quickly added. “Almost as displeased, that is. I doubt I can truly be as angry as you, but do not think it a lack of effort on my part.”

Quarasha sighed. “Even still, I need to confer directly with Admiral Villem over this before commenting further.”

“Ambassador, you may confer all you like. I think you should. You’re going to need a far better story than whatever –this- is supposed to be when the Erinian Council asks for clarification on what exactly…” Vyla pulled a piece of paper from the stack. “…First right of refusal” is supposed to mean for Erinian sovereignty.”

Quarasha rubbed the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. “I believe I know what this is supposed to be…And yes, I think it is as idiotic as you believe-..” she trails off, looking away, then at Vyla.

“This has gone to the Erinian Council?” she asked.

Vyla nodded. “I’m required by law to submit any request that falls under any of several particular categories. This, I’m sure you’ll understand, falls under several. I’ll be sure to mention your surprise to the Council. It does you immense credit.”

Quarasha went back to rubbing her temple. “Is there a category for “So bad it’s almost funny?"

Vyla offered a conciliatory smile. “When a request hits several categories at once, it usually lands that title, yes.”

Quarasha nodded. “Then let me make something else clear. In my official opinion as Imperial ambassador to your world, this is not a treaty that should be tossed aside lightly. Instead, it should be flung with great force. Additionally, I recommend that any proposed treaty to Erini from the Sith Empire that does not bear the ambassador’s signature should be discarded until it can be confirmed by said diplomat. Just to…prevent this particular brand of idiocy from happening again.”

“That’s something I think you’ll have to work out with the Imperial Naval Command. As of right now, naval commanders holding a rank higher than vice-admiral can treat with us…Though, they usually do not take…-advantage-…of this right.”

Quarasha nodded slowly, looking down and away. “I see…Ambassador, I trust you have a good amount of spirits in this office?” she asked, looking back at Vyla.

Vyla flashed a winning grin at Quarasha. “We…might. Would you care for something, then?”

Quarasha sat down. “Something strong, please…”

Vyla nodded graciously, as though a waiter taking an order, and went to retrieve a bottle of vysint reserve from a nearby oak-hewn cabinet. She poured two measures and set the bottle on the table. Its special black “reserve” ribbon hung limply from the bottle's neck.

“All said, there is one ray of light to come out of all of this,” Vyla offered.

Quarasha canted her head slightly as she took her glass. “Oh?”

“When I heard the news, my ashtray suffered an unfortunate accident," Vyla grinned. "My new one is much more resilient."
« Last Edit: 01/01/14, 02:33:05 AM by Cordae »



Offline Cordae

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Re: The Keyis Legacy
« Reply #13 on: 11/23/14, 11:19:18 PM »
Previously: "The Battle of Erini"

A Walk in the Garden

@recoveringgeek, as Ambassador Whispr Villem of the Republic
@Cordae, as Ambassador Cordae Keyis of Erini

On Coruscant, hours after the Battle of Erini

“The garden across the promenade is called the Garden of Equality,” she said as she walked toward him. Somewhere in the middle of the busy schedule that had been created as part of his “official state visit” to the Republic on Coruscant, his aides and their aides had picked out just enough time for Cordae and Whispr Villem, Republic ambassador to Erini, to meet privately. “It remains one of my favorites.

Cordae nods at her. He had been strolling along the edge of the garden platform, watching the endless stream of shining traffic as they poured in from everywhere. He steps aside slightly, accommodating her presence.


This garden is the Garden of Justice. A more fitting setting, I think, for you and your people today.”

Cordae smiles sadly. “I think my father is curious to know if there is also a Garden of Revenge.”

“I am certain we can review the galactic travel guides for Dromund Kaas. I hear the jungle itself is rife with such landmarks.”

Cordae smirks. He remembered the rainforests of Kaas and had no wish to revisit them, especially not now. “Well played, ambassador… I think stepping foot on Dromund Kaas would be a decidedly bad career move for me.” he hums in amusement.

“Your highness, are you and your family safe at least? If such a word is even appropriate.” Cordae gazes off to the right, taking in the massive bulk of the Senate Building.

“My family is all accounted for, and thank you for asking.”

Whispr gestured to a section of the city as it sprawled off toward the sun. “You see those skyscrapers there? Climbing ever higher? That is Erini. Even now it builds on the past, reaching ever higher into the future.” Cordae stares straight ahead, not really looking at the glittering skyscrapers.

“I’ll point out that, as an extension of your metaphor, those skyscrapers were the first to be hit when the Empire invaded. Hence, their…” Cordae finally turned to look at them while walking, eyes falling on their strong bases and visible superstructures near the top. “Reconstruction,” he chooses, ending his dour comparison on a moderately high note.

“Those who stand fast against tyranny risk being bloodied, yes. I am certain his Highness your father would attest to that?”

Cordae nods. “Mm. Indeed he would. Tyranny is…something of a recurring theme in Erinian history. Though, thankfully, so is the downfall of said tyranny.” He folded his hands together behind his back as he walked. “Several Throneguard and some palace staff were killed in the attempt on my father’s life. We’ll be asking for Quarasha in chains in exchange for normalized relations with the Empire.”

“I thought you should be aware of that ahead of our…conversation,” he said, looking at her.

“Ambassador Quarasha? She was directly involved?”

Cordae smiles, his lips thin and wry. “That depends rather on who you ask. The security footage from around the areas affected is…strangely absent. But, of course, several Throneguard running around, following the explosions and strife, saw a ‘black shape with a misshapen head for a human.’ Their augmetic eyes recorded that part of the incident. And, of course, there’s the testimony of my wife…” Cordae added off-handedly. He did not want to use Shaantil’s testimony in any of the public releases. Though it was unimpeachable, it wasn’t the sort of damning, independent evidence they would need to unequivocally, in the eyes of the galaxy, accuse Quarasha.

“Princess Keyis saw her directly? Was there…an encounter?”

“There was. Of which no evidence remains… I trust I can confide something in you?” he asks, glancing at Whispr as they walked through the Garden of Justice. “Something we would prefer not to come out. Not until we need it to.”

Whispr nodded resolutely. “Of course.” Cordae continued.

“The attack was perpetrated with a Jedi blade. Jedi Master Soldin’s old blade, in fact. Saints rest her well.” Whispr hesitated. “That’s how we know we have her, you see. Unresolved suspicions over a murder we know her to be at least remotely involved in…and now this… Damning evidence, I believe. Though, I am sure the Empire will somehow find the means to object most strenuously…” His voice adopted a healthy measure of poison at the end.

“Master Soldin…Shaantil’s old master? Her mother too…oh my. This really was more than just violation of your sovereign space. This was designed to strike at your heart. She is a twi’lek Sith Lord, assigned to a backwater system that a season ago they barely acknowledged as ‘civilised’. They will frame it very differently, I am sure.” Whispr straightened her back, adopting an air of something like regality as she walked, thought, and spoke.

“They will own it and discard her as desperate to hold on to her power. Or, cast her under the bantha herd and blame much of this on her machinations and subterfuge…Or, they will celebrate her…”

Cordae nodded. “That does sound more in line with what I’ve come to expect from the Sith Empire, yes. In my opinion, they will protect her. Not much point continuing the guise of diplomacy with a planet under the clear protection of the Republic, I wouldn’t think.” Cordae smiled at her, amused. “Do give Colonel Vastar my regards…”

“Colonel Vastar took great initiative and utilized some veryobscure Republic emergency powers. I can file an official complaint with the Senate…though, in truth, there are many here who feel Republic warships might deter any rogue Sith from a repeat visit to the system.”

Cordae smiles as they stroll idly down the garden’s edgeway. “There are many on the Erinian Council who agree with the Colonel’s intuition. I, personally, agree with them…But as a representative of Erini, I have to make known our discomfort as such an announcement showing up in our newsprints before my own desk.” Cordae cocked an eyebrow at her.

“So noted, Ambassador. The ‘spacer crew,’” she began anew, changing the subject, “I met with recently was a unique bunch. Quite a lot of…character to them.”

He nodded quickly. “That’s what I wished to speak with you about foremost. Is…here a good location?” he asked.

“Many of my people feel that there was no justice for Coruscant when the Sith came. Few here visit this garden, as a result….”

“Then perhaps,” he began slowly, gauging her response, “there will be a reason for it to win back its name.” Whispr hummed with approval and Cordae continued earnestly. “The documents you were given, our ‘Articles of Affiliation’, were ratified in a secret session of the Erinian Council with all heads of state present. However, as the ambassador, I’ve been given the power to oversee all negotiations. I was hoping we might…negotiate! Hear your terms, hear ours, et cetera.”

“Then, please begin, ambassador. I’ve found nothing about Erini to be ‘standard’ in any way…why would our negotiations be any different?” she asks with just a hint of levity. Cordae chuckled, then took a step forward and sat down at the edge of the garden, letting his feet dangle over the lip of the platform.

“I knew there was a reason why I enjoyed your company, ambassador.” Far off, a Republic cruiser, Thranta-class, was just cresting one of the city’s massive domiciles on its way to a berth in space. “I’ll go first.”

“As I’m sure you know, as you’ve no doubt done your homework on us and possess the ability to read, vysint is…’not yet legal’ in Republic space. I think the reason has something to do with its…rather concentrated nature?” Whispr nodded. Vysint’s alcohol content had gained something akin to legendary status among the spacers of the galaxy for its high potency. The Erinian people possessed a natural means of processing out most of the substance’s effects but species without redundant liver systems found any night involving vysint to be short and ill-remembered.

“It could also be related to its rather flammable nature. Either way, I think this process would be…infinitely easier if your regulatory bodies’ thoughts on our national drink, or to some, a pastime, could be guided speedily to a decision.”

“Well,” Whispr began, “Let me say that I have an agreement in principle with twelve systems within the Republic ready to accept Erinian foodstuffs without any tariffs or restrictions.”

Cordae had been about to continue, anticipating the same kind of push-back he’d found from the Republic in previous instances, but stopped immediately. He looked over at her, blinking away his disbelief. “…Is that so?”

She nodded. “There are a few notable holdouts that have their own spirit manufacturers by the scruff of their Wookiee hairs that will need some coaxing. For now, they will only permit vysint as a sacramental import, permitted on Erinian national holidays and days of remembrance.”

Cordae shrugged, weighing this new development. “Annoying…but fair, and to be expected. We’re encountering similar problems. In fact, there’s been a rise of smaller “Corellian whiskey” distilleriest in Pryze and Millehan. Much to the annoyance of local business owners, I should say…But that’s commerce! You secured these promises on your own initiative?”

“Tariffs and taxation, your highness.” Cordae nodded his head as he looked out at the cityscape.

“I swear…It’s not as though the moral imperatives of the Republic are lost on us. We don’t appreciate the Empire’s warmongering, genocidal ways at all, but independence has made us wealthy. Economists are rarely the sort to begin rocking boats…”

“Give it a full sitting in the Senate and a few private gatherings of Senators where vysint is offered as a ‘cultural artifact’ for study and sampling. Your freighters will be delivering from one end of the Core to the other in just a few seasons.”

More parties? I’ll be sure to invite you to benefit from my schmoozing.” Cordae was grinning, but he made sure to inject a bit of mock-weariness.

“You need a good party, Prince Keyis. We all do. Erini’s next condition?”

“Mm. Before I continue, could I ask you to elaborate on the Republic’s…safety guarantees? Militarily speaking, I mean.” Whispr nodded.

“As a full member in good standing, any future breach of Erinian space entitles you to the full protection of the Republic armed forces in coordination with any other military campaigns underway. However, it is balanced by the fact that from time to time, Erini can and will be asked to lend her battlecruisers to the air of other member systems, regardless of your planet’s security needs when not in direct conflict with another government. We can also negotiate an enclave for the Jedi Knights to permanently reside there, if your Council – and your wife – would see benefit to it. I have…some small insight into their feelings on such things and can negotiate on behalf of Erini if so asked.”

Cordae shifted his position slightly, trying to figure out the wording to a question that sat heavily on his mind. “If we agree to the Republic’s terms…what is to become of our armed forces? I understand that we would be periodically asked to aid you, but are they our armed forces or the Republic’s?”


“First,” said Whispr, her artificial voice-box tinting her speech with a hollow tang, “let me assure you, ambassador, that Erini’s forces will remain sovereign. We may ask for them as part of a Republic declaration of war, but the Erinian Council will still vote on their participation.”

Cordae nods, his face solemn as he listens. “That all sounds quite…agreeable. There are many in my regional government that are worried about Erini being turned into a soldier-mill to fund the Republic’s wars with her young men and women. I can tell them that won’t happen?”

“On the contrary. Your recent military engagements will draw member systems to you. Those with a vested interest in hurting the Empire will want to coordinate training exercises for their own forces. They’ll want to learn first-hand what the latest Imperial tactics are.”

“I would imagine so,” answered Cordae. If nothing else, Erini had become battlefield experts on Imperial naval tactics. “It’s…” He smirked in spite of himself. “I’ve spent my evenings here reading old Republic newspicts. Erini has found itself in something of a…niche role in Republic culture. Proud warriors and patriots with impressive drinking habits who develop powerful weapon systems…”

“…Any more conditions, then?” prodded Whispr, her breathing soft, but mechanical. Cordae nodded.

“Yes, one last thing. I think this one will not rest well with you. I have used my official station as ambassador at the behest of my planet to form a solid business relationship with the Darth ‘Taelios.’ In return for my efforts, Taelios Genetech Industries has done a great deal of good for my people. Free implants to veterans, community initiatives, that sort of thing. Not to mention, he’s brought a great deal of money and employment. He’s a very rare case in which a non-Erinian has succeeded in on-world business. I would like for Erini to be given the ability to designate him as “Amicus Erinii,” an official friend of the state. Not an ally, just a friend. Someone who is still allowed on planet and allowed to do business there. And, in return for this undoubtedly awkward request…a trade.”

Whispr watched Cordae through electronic lenses.

“In the course of securing the planet during and after the battle, we ordered Erinian special forces to seize all Imperial assets on the planet, save for the TGI premises. That includes, among other smaller businesses, the Imperial embassies and consulates scattered everywhere.”

“In exchange for allowing TGI to continue business on Erini, we will give you the captive Imperial agents, diplomats, and Marines found in these places, plus all information we’ve been able to mine out of their databanks.”

Whispr sat silently for a moment, thinking everything over. “I have heard and considered your terms. Shall I present ours?” she asked, turning to Cordae. He nodded, his posture relaxing.

“By all means, please.” Whispr nodded.

“The Republic accepts that trade. We learned long ago that attempting to restrict the travel of Darth Taelios was…problematic at best, and dangerous at worst. Our council to you is that even if you negotiated contracts for credits, nothing is free from TGI. Further, Taelios is not to be afforded any additional rights or privileges beyond your current corporate contracts without the express permission of the Galactic Senate.” Cordae nodded eagerly.

“Ha. No, I wouldn’t have expected the Republic to give Taelios much more than that, nor would I advise it. I understand the reality of the times we live in. That is entirely acceptable.”

“Next. The Republic is given direct access to your senior commanders of the military forces. We’ll call it a formal debrief. A sharing of intelligence. The truth of the matter is simple – we need to interview them to ensure they are not under the influence of either the Sith or any other more mundane masters…Hutts, crime lords… Normally we wouldn’t be so draconian about this, however the recent conflict could mean some of them secured their own survival if the battle turned against your forces.”

Cordae stroked his chin. “There are many Erinian officers who are, decidedly, fops, cowards, and idiots, but very few of them are traitors, I wouldn’t think. Even still, I think that should be acceptable. Were I in your shoes, I can assure you, we would have similar concerns…”

“Next, and this may be a point of contention, Erini remains far too tempting a target to the Sith Empire. We need to understand the situation better without using diplomatic channels, which may have been compromised. The Republic requests the placement of a Strategic Information Services listening post on Erini. The location will not be known by any Erinian officials or even the Royal Family. This is a non-negotiable article of inclusion to the Republic.” Whispr’s expression was stoic, nearly unreadable. Her augments certainly helped her in negotiations, that much Cordae could easily tell.

“This is done to protect Erini?”

“This is done to protect the Republic. We need to know who else on Erini is sympathetic to the Empire. You would have our promise that any threats to Erini or the Royal Family would be shared immediately. All other intelligence of value would be shared after we vet it. This agreement would not be documented in the Articles of Inclusion and you would be the sole verbal agreement to it.”

For the first time in their conversation, Cordae had reason to pause. “Many people on Erini have participated in trade with the Empire, ambassador. What assurances can you give that the SIS isn’t going to sit down, get comfortable, and then start rounding “suspected persons” up and putting them into camps? ‘Imperial sympathizers’ can be made to rhyme closely with ‘Republic criticizers.’”

“Any such activities would only draw attention to the presence of the SIS. Rest assured, if we have suspicions or concerns, they will be brought to light in private settings. We want Erini to police itself. We just want our ear to the ground without a holo-communicator between us as the intelligence.

“Who will see the names of people the SIS deems a target?”

“If someone is a target of interest, we’ll want you to know. This trust goes two ways, Prince. We might discover a communication feed between your security forces and one of your own spies. We don’t want to disrupt your security operations, but until we feel that the Erinian government isn’t compromised, we have to our own digging.”

Cordae turned his body more toward her. “Where does that leave our own intelligence services?”

“Where they should be – focused outward. The amount of free trade that occurs each cycle on Erini is enough to rival some of our biggest systems. We won’t get in your way but you just need to know that we’ll be there, watching for the unusual that to your people might have been mistaken for the ordinary.”

“…Will you accept the condition that your SIS agents inform our agents should they get too close to SIS investigations? I don’t like this, but I’ll like incidents of avoidable friendly fire even less.”

“…Agreed,” she says, nodding. “We could have done this without your permission, ambassador. I want all our negotiations to be in good faith. It won’t be comfortable, but it will always be honest. Now, the next item is fully negotiable, but it comes highly recommended that you let us do this. Let the Republic place a military garrison on Erini. The location would be negotiable but we would prefer something close to the capital or a major resource cache. This would help facilitate any military training or coordination exercises and would give us another channel to communicate discretely.” Cordae crossed his arms over his chest as he considered her words.

“When I was given authority to negotiate on this, I told my superiors to expect an offer like that. They were certain there would be friction, but they also saw the value in such an agreement. At least, most did. I am for it, though it brings up a question of legal systems. Under these Articles, we would be considered full Republic citizens and Erinian citizens, unless I’m mistaken…but which legal code do we use? Are we able to keep our own laws or will we be required to use yours?”

“Our laws extend to broader concerns of trade and policy. No slavery. No unapproved declarations of war. No agreements in principle with the Sith Empire without approval…I’m sure you see where this is going.”

He nodded. “I think you’re saying that localities have a certain degree of autonomy in regard to their legal systems…But more to the point, are Republic troops held only to official Republic laws? Let me be frank, I don’t anticipate this being a problem, but I have to have something to bring back. I was a soldier too, once. There is an…unsavory bent to some of the men in such a service, it has to be said.”

“Any Republic soldier who commits a crime outside the garrison is subject to the laws of Erini. Garrisons themselves are protected as a sovereign territory just as embassies are.” Cordae nodded deeply.

“That’s exactly what I wanted to know. We have no issues with that clause.”

Whispr nodded in return, standing still. “There is one final article. The Senate requests a complete working set of schematics of your ion super cannon. Erini will not be compensated for this exchange, however, the Republic does share all non-classified military technology among its member systems.”


“Counter-point,” Cordae said, stopping next to her, facing her. “Will we be allowed access to the facilities at Kuat to help rebuild our defense fleets?”

“I’m sure the Kuat shipwrights would be positively giddy to see an Erinian battlecruiser pull into dry dock. You have our blessings, ambassador.” They stood there, silently looking at each other. Finally, Cordae grinned.

“Several of the more cynical members of the EC referred to that cannon as the “price of admission.” I’m glad to see it came up last on the list…”

“Culture because we should. Trade because we can. Defense because…we must.”

He hums in agreement. “Pithy, but correct. I’ll inform the Corps of Military Engineers. You’ll have the schematics once the paperwork is signed. In addition to the military garrison, should we expect a naval presence?”

Whisper nods, looking forward. “Rotation of troops and delivery of Republic supplies will keep our cruisers there for some time. If the Colonel is going your way, the least he can do is bring some shipments with him…” She extends her hand to him, turning back to the Erinian prince. He takes her hand firmly, shaking it.

“I’ll report back to my superiors, then be in your office tomorrow to sign the documents. Or, must a show be made of it?”

“Erini has been on the Holonet too much as of late. Let the Empire find out through their spies and their slicers. Let them be the ones guessing for a change.”

Cordae grinned, teeth bared. “I personally love that idea…though, I don’t think it’ll take very long. Oh, to that end…Like I said earlier, we’re demanding Quarasha’s head for normalization. I’m almost certain we won’t get it, which is…I’m sure, you see, the point. I just didn’t want you to hear that on the news and wonder what the hell we were doing.”

She nodded. “Understood. I wish I could say I am sorry I didn’t get to enjoy some joint negotiations with the former ambassador…but that would be a lie. I already promised you good faith, after all..” Cordae grinned once more, looking up at the busy sky.

“I hear the reward on her head will be quite magnanimous. If you’d like to try your hand at intergalactic bounty hunting, I’m sure you’d be able to get to know her…”

“I already failed to complete my training as a Jedi, ambassador. I prefer head hunting of a different sort now. Pass along my best wishes to your wife and to his excellency, the King.” At that, and having come to the end of the garden, Cordae bowed gently at the waist, grin stuck stubbornly to his face.

“The chance to see Jedi stationed on Erini will no doubt pull some reaction from my wife…Until tomorrow, ambassador…”

« Last Edit: 11/23/14, 11:40:08 PM by Cordae »



Offline Cordae

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Re: The Keyis Legacy
« Reply #14 on: 11/24/14, 09:18:17 PM »
Previously: A Walk in the Garden

Status Report



Coruscant Memorial Starport, Dock AA-228...


Cordae grinned. "You know, your Highness, one of these days you'll have to make the trek out here yourself. You can't keep tossing your sons at diplomatic events you don't wish to attend." He stood in front of the holocommunication bank aboard his ship, the diplomatic vessel ENV Reclusiarch, a snifter of sraq, a sweet Erinian brandy in his hand. He sloshed the liquid idly in the small copper glass.

"Hm! The ones I have left have grown very lippy of late. I may just have to. If only you would just admit that you enjoy shmoozing with bureaucrats," replied King Istvan as he sat reclined in a very comfortable-looking leatharis chair.

Cordae scoffed. "I don't shmooze, I pursue the art of statecraft. Besides which...I think you'll agree, sir...few are more qualified than I," he droned, reveling secretly in how posh he could make himself sound. "My resume is most impressive.

"Bah. You're hogging the limelight, you Keyis. I ought to send your beautiful wife with you to undo all of the offenses I'm sure you've heaped on the Republic by your uncouth, soldierly ways."

Father and son stared at each other. The silence of a joke taken much too far rings around the halls of the Reclusiarch.

"...On second thought," the King began. Cordae nodded, hiding his face in his sraq. "If our options fall to that, you should kill me first - and don't think I don't know you haven't thought about it, young man!" Istvan stood up and paced out of holo-range, presumably toward a drink cart.

Cordae snorted. "For all of the Throneguard listening in, he was joking just then," he replied sarcastically, earning a laugh from his father.

"Anyway! I've received the results of your meeting with Ambassador Villem...Two words I never thought I'd hear in that order, I'll confess..." The King walked back into range, drink in hand. "I haven't had the time to give it to anyone in the Council, Erinian or Royal, but I'm certain it'll be accepted and moved on to a day in public session. Well done about the vysint."

Cordae nodded. For how easy it was to convince Whispr to back vysint legalization, it was easily one of the most important clauses in the treaty. Though Cordae loathed the stereotypes which had been thrust on his people by the galaxy for their love of their own brews, he knew full well that a great deal of the Erinian economy came from the growing, manufacturing, and selling or vysint. The whole meeting with Whispr rang with back-and-forth give-and-take...but the vysint matter was, although slightly silly, critical.

"Not at all, Lord. I wouldn't have come back with a treaty that made us weaker for signing it. Have you been able to give any thought to where the Republic garrison might be located?"

Istvan gestured toward a window with his drink, toward just south of Vysberg. "Hmm, yes. Berghoff seems a good place for it. Close by, easily accessible...Defensible even, if you tuck it in next to the hills." Cordae nodded. Berghoff Plains was a logical choice for a garrison. Indeed, it had been transformed into a make-shift field hospital in the hours and days following the battle with the Empire. It could be converted for Republic use with little effort.

"A sound tactical move, Lord." Istvan nodded readily.

"Yes, I'm very, very good." Cordae manages to keep his snort from growing too audible. "Meanwhile, I have an assignment for you. Another one. You recall Ialdon, yes?"

He did. He'd been able to spend all of one day on Ialdon and had successfully organized a trade delegation between several of their guilds and several Erinian counterparts and lent his part of the Grand Diplomatic Hall to do it. It still smelled of vysint and that curious local food of theirs...

"You'll be going there once more. My councillors have decided, and I agree with them, that Ialdon's proximity to our own star system has made securing good, friendly relations with them is a matter of national security. What's more, if we're able to start warming things up, it'll win us further favor with the Republic. Go to Ialdon, meet with their ambassador, and inform them of...events. Try to keep us there. Salvage what you can."

Cordae nodded, eyes glancing toward the deckplates in thought. It wouldn't be impossible but it would take some doing. He'd only gotten in the door, he assumed, as one neutral power speaking with another...Now that Erini would align with the Republic, that could potentially make his position less effective.

But even then, he'd managed to build up what he fancied as a small rapport with Brother Therem of Ialdon. Perhaps all was not lost.

"It will be done, my Lord."

"Speed of the Saints, ambassador."

The holo image of King Istvan Keyis cut out.





 

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