Jump to content

Recommended Posts

The Ship's innards were massive and exotic to the young humanoid as he disembarked the transport and first laid his feet upon Imperial Durasteel. His eyes wandered in both amazement and fear as he gazed around, feeling as if he could be sucked away in a mere fraction of a second. Only looking up at the stars had he ever seen such spacious holdings and he felt minute in comparison. Taking a deep inhalation of the recycled air, he followed his escort forward.

 

"Next! Shiro heard from the corner of his gaze as his escort shifted him forward in line, his gaze shifting to meet that of a burly man that towered his own figure both in height and mass. With a chew of his sandwich that laid across his podium, he leaned his gaze in close to Shiro. "Name? 

 

"Shiro." Shiro replied, his crimson eyes gazing solidly back into that of the man's, a semblance of the glare he often gave in return in the Arena on Krayiss II. "Shiro what?" He questioned. Shiro stood briefly in disbelief as he shot a gaze toward his escorts in wonderment. Shaq'teel had told him they would be expecting him, yet this did not feel like the case. Fearful to reveal the name Shaq'teel had revealed to him, especially in Imperial territory incase some grudges were still harbored as apparent on his face when he gazed back toward the man, Shiro instead used the name he had always claimed. "Seven...Shiro Seven."

 

"Like the number? Interesting" The man jested as he handed Shiro the enlistment forms, Shiro pointing toward the Imperial Prison number that laid tattooed to his face. "Ah. Imperial Penal Colony." He spoke as he took the signed forms back from Shiro and handed over an ID badge. "I heard rumors some descendants took up the numbers as names over the years on the older worlds. Either way, welcome to the Empire, Soldier. Step that way Private Seven."

 

Without a word, Shiro stepped past the burly man where others had began to line up and receive their uniforms and hand over personal effects. With one last look behind him, Shiro noticed his escort departing and he turned back to the life that was beginning in front of him. Though he trusted Shaq'teel, he still doubted his purpose here. But either way, at least here with the Empire, he held a semblance of Freedom in his grasp.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

If not hundreds, thousands of naval warships swarmed with extraordinary life around the metal wreath of Kuat. A sparse few turned into a great many, and as laboring crews worked to prime the Armada, vessels from all abroad appeared in ever-increasing numbers. Dozens of warships drifted eeriely through the vesper gloom, sub-light thrusters burning colorfully against a backdrop of a dismal star-field. The largest among the flotilla were the capital ships of the Sith-Empire's upper crust, each one capable of fielding a powerful offensive all their own. For now, they simply listed lazily above a hoarded ringed world with a vaunted wheel-shaped dockyard. Cargo freighters moved about the stations expeditiously, stopping at one station before moving onto the next, and so on and so forth. The lush expression of the raw planet started to blot with the smear of black and crimson. Mammoth works-of-art spread across the high-orbiting ring, Sith-Empire encrusted battle-fleets haunting the mere spectacle of the celestial body. Commandants and Masters of the vast flotilla shared a common interest, one divine purpose delivered to them by their unyielding Emperor. 

 

"The rate of death is catastrophic! The sellswords attack with impartiality; there is no halt in their advance. The Alliance, the Jedi, they have abandoned us! Coruscant is dying, I beg of you——"

 

The holo-matrix deactivated abruptly, and the small-scaled frame of the distressed public official, collapsed back into the home of the pocket-device. Such miserable whimpering slowly peeled at the patience of the Emperor, and he could stand it no more. A heavy yawn escaped both his manners, and his mouth. A creature nearby leaned, not of humanoid distinction and swamped in the usual blackened robes, lowering himself to where the Dark Lord sat among peers.

 

“The Fleets are assembled, your Excellency. They are ready to move on your order.”
 

It was time.

 

The coy infiltration of the future repeated itself inside of his mind, churning a boiling anger within his blood until the air around him stifled. The neediness of the weak. The squealing of sentient life-forms that chose shame instead of glory, far too helpless to protect what it was that they most cherished. Their hands reached out, begging for an answer that they themselves could never provide. Exodus and the Sith sacrificed more than their share for this power, and now these panhandling worlds would seek them out for it, pleading to their new saviors. 

 

“Alert all commands, prepare the jump.” 

 

Soon after, the mighty armada converted their formations and began a powerful transference of energy, winking away one after another into the depth of hyperspace. Kuat had served a purpose, now battle was upon them.

 

(Sith-Empire Armada Departs for Coruscant.)
 

Edited by Exodus

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Bakra chuckled. "Actually, I was out of the system during the fighting. I was running escort for some politician or other, can't remember his name. No one important, evidently, because I didn't see any fighting. But yes, my commitments are towards my paycheck."

At Delta's comment about the Dark Lord, Bakra leaned back in his seat, watching the man before him. Dangerous, and well connected.

 

"I'm a pilot. I flew at Dark Sun most recently. I suppose I'm not any more qualified than any other mook here except that what I lack in definite loyalty I make up for in experience and expertise. How about you? What's got you such a cushy job with the Sith? I assume you were a mercenary, a criminal, or both if you had ties to Black Sun. Not that I mind, of course, gave me plenty of business."

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

×
×
  • Create New...