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Thread: Our Darkest Days: Sacrifice

  1. #1
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    Open Thread Our Darkest Days: Sacrifice

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    Our Darkest Days: Sacrifice

    Senate Hall - Monument Plaza – Coruscant

    "All rise for the honorable Procurator of Justice."

    The sound of thousands of men and women rising to their feet filled the Senate Hall as a single figure dressed in immaculate white robes exited a tunnel at the center of the hall. All throughout the oval stadium, from the row upon row of seats, they watched as the Procurator of Justice began a slow and steady ascent up the staircase which wound around the speakers podium, some thirty feet high. At it's summit there was a lectern, whose stand looked to the northern most stand of the hall, where the highest ranking members of the government were seated. Amongst them was Minister Sanya Tagge.

    Her eyes wandered upwards, to the domed ceiling and then to roaring flames of the purifying and ever-burning fire of justice whose huge cauldron sat between two equally monolithic statues of winged figures, prostrate in reverence. Stone columns whose size and construction defied imagination held the hall's roof aloft. It was a vast, cold space they found themselves – the old Senate Hall building having been constructed so long ago that it contained no artificial heating or lighting – yet this was not why gooseflesh rose on the back of Sanya Tagge's arms nor why she trembled, if only faintly, as she watched Procurator of Justice take his position at the center of the Senate Hall.

    "You may be seated," a deep and disembodied voice decreed and there was another rush of air, the sound of thousands sitting down in unison. Only the legions of guardsmen, present to ensure the security of the ceremony, remained standing. Brushing her palms down from her thighs to her knees, Sanya smoothed away the slight wrinkles in the fabric of her pale uniform. She, like every other governmental representative present, wore the colors and markings befitting of her station. Everyone amongst them was recognizable for what they were, thanks to what they wore – from white-suited Admirals of the fleet to the gray-clad Moffs and Grand Moffs, their colored insignia pinned proudly to their breasts.

    It was impressive, Minister Tagge thought - as she glimpsed represented in the crowd the many facets of the Galactic Empire – it was impressive, she thought with a smile, just how many of them had come to witness the death of one man.
    Last edited by Dasquian Belargic; Jan 18th, 2009 at 02:39:30 PM.

  2. #2
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    There was no doubt in his mind.

    It had been decided already, decided the moment they had been betrayed on Vjun. With a single, thankless gesture, Whill Shoashian had set into motion a chain of unstoppable events, beginning with his own death and ending in Monument Plaza with a trial only minutes away from starting yet whose outcome was a foregone conclusion. As he sat in the cold vaults beneath the Senate Hall – hands cuffed behind his head, eyes blindfolded – Dasquian Belargic found himself wondering how it had taken quite so long to come to this.

    In the end, he thought, it had been a good run. Almost thirty years old, he had spent just under half of his life in the service of the so-called Rebel Alliance. He had given his life to the cause, sacrificing personal endeavor and aspiration in favor of something far greater. In return, it had given him so much. Scrapes and bruises and scars that would stay with him for a lifetime – but more than that, it had given him hope. Throughout the years, he had met men and women from all walks of life, from every strata of society, humans and aliens alike, and in them he had seen something monumentally important: a desire to change, to improve.

    Hope. It was the one thing that kept the Galactic Empire from complete control of the galaxy, that held their near-ubiquitous tyranny at bay. So long as one person, no matter how near or far from the core, hoped – carried within them that desire to see an end to Imperial reign, the Rebellion would live on. Under the supervision of the Imperial Inquisitors, Dasquian had undergone torture and interrogation the likes of which could drive the strongest man to madness – yet he had never yielded, never surrendered.

    There were thousands of others like him all throughout the Galaxy, prisoners whose bodies were bound and broken, whose very lives were destroyed with an unthinkably ruthless efficiency, and yet they persevered in the knowledge that though their time had come to an end, through their silence and dedication the collective dream of a restored Republic might yet be made a reality. For every moment of agony he felt, Dasquian remembered these people and their sacrifices, remember every one he had ever met who would be willing to endure the same thing if it meant the resistance could continue.

    There was no doubt in his mind. He would die today, but his dying regret was not that he had joined the Rebel Alliance to begin with or that he had shown Whill Shoashian compassion or even that no help had been sent to retrieve him from captivity - only that he had just one life to give in the name of the Republic.
    Last edited by Dasquian Belargic; Jan 18th, 2009 at 02:50:42 PM.

  3. #3
    It was early in the day, early enough that the Biscuit Baron based in Monument Plaza was still serving Bantha Breakfast Biscuits. As he pushed his way out of the restaurant, back into the plaza proper, Dashiel Starborn balanced the cardboard boxes of his Jolly Meals - their sides emblazoned with a huge bold B - in the crook of his arm. The line coming out of the door was at least twenty minutes long and more people were joining by the second.

    A short distance away, in the shadow of a statue, there was a woman watching him. He moved towards her and when he was close enough, jerked his chin upwards as if to acknowledge her.

    “...I got you some extra blue sauce.”

    Dash shuffled the boxes in his arms until he could lift one up and give it a little shake in her direction. She didn't look particularly impressed. With a shrug, he strode past her and sat down at the foot of the statue. It was much smaller than the other towering monuments which crowded the plaza and evidently wasn't one of the most popular attractions on show. Someone had sprayed some crude graffiti near its base and though efforts had been made to clean away the damage, Dash could still see faint traces of the words xeno scum.

    Opening his meal bag, he pulled out the plastic-wrapped bantha burger inside and, after a glance at his wrist chrono, unwrapped it and took a big bite. It was a guilty pleasure on so many levels, but it tasted good and eating calmed him, giving his stomach something to do other than back flips and somersaults. Chewing hungrily, he glanced up at the woman. She was scanning the area, her eyes shifting from the Senate Hall to the center of the plaza, where a raised platform had been erected on top of the Umate peak and surrounded by deflector shield generators and Stormtroopers. It had all been put in place two days ago.

    “Nothings changed,” Dash said finally, after swallowing down a mouthful and wiping a little blue sauce from the corner of his mouth. “Even I can see that.”
    Last edited by Dashiel Starborn; Jan 18th, 2009 at 04:31:17 PM.

  4. #4
    "Not quite true," Jane replied, accepting the burger and giving her cousin a half smile of thanks. Monument Plaza was reputedly the one place on the planet where you could touch the bare rock of Coruscant's surface. The peak of Umate, one of the highest peaks in the Manarai range, thrust up through the duracrete in the center of the bowl shaped arena.

    Usually thousand of tourists flocked to the Plaza for that reason alone, but the crowds in the park seemed to have more than sightseeing on their minds. Jane squirted blue sauce onto her burger and took a bite. "The stormtroopers have changed their patrol today. Its running more often." She looked at Dashiel, "I already let Girlscout know. Shouldn't affect us that much."


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    The door to Belargic's vault opened loudly, with a clang and then a number of metallic screeches as the lock was moved and the hinges scraped together. Into the vault strode two Inquisitors, both wearing the traditional grey uniform with a maroon shoulder, and dark red capes. Behind them stood someone that Belargic would know as soon as he spoke. And he did.

    "It is time, Director," Inquisitor Atrapes said as he stepped inside. After him came two stormtroopers, who unshackled his hands, and pulled him up. Then they placed his arms behind him, and placed the binders on his wrists. Obediently, the Trooper who had locked the binders placed the keystick in Atrapes' hand. He looked over the prisoner, remembering the moment he knew that the man wouldn't break, and seeing the scars that he himself had placed on the former Director of Rebel Intelligence. If there had been more time, perhaps... But now was not the time for what ifs.

    "Now," he murmured, "do behave as we enter the Courtroom, as Minister Tagge wishes your death to be public and inspiring Imperial loyalty and warning of Imperial retribution." His voice carried a distinct sarcastic note. "And she would no doubt be very disappointed to find that I have struck you down before your sentencing."

  6. #6
    Kyran O'Hurn
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    ~30 hours before the trial~

    It was definitely not traveling in style, but that didn't matter. In reality Ky was just another piece of cargo sitting in the hold of the beat up transport that was nearly done it's run to Coruscant. 12 hours ago he had been pulled out of a training mission suddenly and told by his CO that he was being Temporarily Assigned to Duty to the rebel intelligence agency and that he would receive more information on route. He was then stuffed into the back of a transport en route to meet up with the transport that he was now on. He was laying against what equipment he had brought, his eyes closed letting him fall into a trance like state. He wasn't quite sleeping, but close enough for his body to be able to store up energy that he would soon need. But that state was interrupted suddenly when the pilot came on the comm.

    "Mr. Smith. We're exiting hyperspace. Entering the Coruscant atmosphere in 20 minutes and on the ground in 40."

    Only the first number really mattered to Ky. Getting up he grabbed the pair of bags that he had been sitting on and leaning against and made his way toward the middle of the ship and stopped at the inner door of the airlock. Pulling a black jump suit and some other equipment from the smaller bag he put it on quickly and stuffed his civilian clothes back into the bag before grabbing the larger bag and slinging it onto his back before clipping the smaller one to the staps over his chest.

    Just as he finished that he felt the transport shudder violently as it slammed into the atmosphere of the planet giving Ky his cue. Pushing the button to open the airlock Ky stepped in and closed the door behind him before reaching down to attach the straps between his legs to the rest of the harness of his backpack. By the time he had finished doing up the clasps it was time.

    In the cockpit the only thing to alert the pilot that something was up was the light flashing to tell him that the airlock door had suddenly opened at 30,000 feet above the ground.

    The distance to the ground was both the longest time anyone could imagine, but also the shortest. As Ky screamed through the sky at high speed he scanned in front of him through the goggles for any vehicle that might come into his flight path. After 10 minutes his altimiter began to beep in his helmet signaling that it was time to deploy his parachute, but instead Ky waited for almost another two minutes before finally pulling the cord, deploying the large black canopy above him and slowing him instantly as the atmosphere filled it. Beginning the slow descent Ky now began to scan the rooftops for the signal from his contact. Finally spotting the infrared strobe in his goggles Ky steared his rig toward the building and 5 minutes later he silently landed on a wide open rooftop.

    Immediately he had pulled his chute down and gathered it up. He'd have to find someplace to dispose of it, but for now he turned looking for his contact.



    ~6 hours before trial~


    Looking at his chrono Ky decided that it was time to don his urban ghillie suit and move out onto the rooftop from his hiding spot in the stairwell before the sun came up. It would still be a long wait, but it was far less risky to move before the sun came up then it would be once the sun rose and security began to tighten around the square.

    Slowly moving out into the open Ky found the best spot on the roof to set up. Laying down his bag to use as a rifle rest he lay down behind it and popped open the sights and began to scan the high points around the square. It was too early to make radio contact with the rest of the team, but it was never too early to make sure that no counter-sniper teams had been deployed by the Imperials yet.

  7. #7
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    30 hours before the trial

    "Flashy. You Pathies all like that?"

    Way to go! Insult the man right off. Good job, Charles, good frakken job. Wonder if he's gone and read up on you. Doubt it, he'd probably have begged the gorram spooks to go along with them than deal with your- Gods, shut up already.

    The voice came from O'Hurn's left side...and it certainly was not the best way to introduce yourself, nor start off a mission that was practically begging for some sort of hitch to throw it all off. At least everything on her end had gone exactly as planned. Maybe not quite as impressive as the entrance she'd just seen, but just as affective. After all, there was more than one way to get to the top of a building and she'd preferred the more practical approach rather than dropping out of the sky. A wonder what stairs could do for a person. Not that it'd been exactly easy gaining access to them, nor had it been fun attempting to convince someone that she was just a bored college student on vacation and she was just dying to get an awesome view of the buildings around there. Said she loved heights and so on and so forth. Being young, blond, and able to amazingly pull off that dazed look of delirious giddiness had paid off. Nope, it hadn't been fun at all standing there, twisting a strand of hair, chewing a piece of gum and pretending to - ugh - flirt. Not that she was against such things, but if the rest of her Reg had seen her...just ugh. Best they weren't there.

    In fact she couldn't quite figure out why the frell SHE was there. Leave it to the folks in Intel to get themselves in this big of a mess. ....Okay that was a big laugh and the thought of it crossing her mind and being all serious about it made her smile and shake her head. Truth be told the rumors of what happened to the Director had been sketchy at best and it wasn't until the rather young Corellian had essentially been handed a datapad with a when, where, some overly basic info on who she was going to be working, along with a "It's bloody suicide." and she'd done the girlie squeal that always set her superior's teeth on edge and run off to prep. But that was how things always seemed to go with her and anyone that'd run into her had known it. Though it wasn't her ability to be cutesy and irritate her commanding officer that made her the choice. Nope, she knew why and apparently someone else did too and in the end that's all that mattered to her.

    That was...until the birdy boy dropped down. Then all the musings over the past few days had to be stopped and it was time to move right on with everything.

    "So you gotta be Archangel."

    She didn't wait for a response, there was no point in it, it was more to just get the name out in the air and essentially signal her previous comment had been nothing but in jest rather than her actually looking to start something. She gave 'Archy' a few more moments to finish dealing with his gear before scooping up her bag which really was detestable in all its bright pink glory - but it had fit that bogus gig about being a student and somehow had managed to hold most of what she was going to need over the next day or so. Everything except the most important factor, the pair of DC-15Xs she'd been entrusted with and had gently shoved into another bag that was meant for the transport of a Quetarra. All in all, completely unconventional. But again, it got the job done.

    And just to prove she wasn't a complete laser-brain the signal to move out was given in silence with what was probably a familiar hand gesture. Fun time was over, and while they had night to cover their movements the next few hours were still going to be hell. They'd be together until they reached the Plaza, then they'd be on their own, keeping total radio silence until in position. She wasn't too worried about getting to her place, but some part of her was wondering if her new cohort was going to be able to pull his weight. It was all risky. Almost too risky. Almost...which was just perfect in her mind.

    30 minutes before the trial

    'Ryschcate', as she'd amusingly dubbed herself, had been ready to go since before dawn, cursing the piece of dren rifle she'd gotten stuck with but thanking herself that it would at least do the job. The scope had been the worst though, but after fiddling with it for a good solid hour it was right where she wanted it to be, sighted in and gave her a grand view of the entire Plaza. Now all there was to do was wait for the dren to hit the fan. It was on the Intelligence folks to get the ball rolling, and her and 'Archy' would just have to sit tight until then. But gods was it a boring wait...and she was having to avoid every childish urge to start plinking off the noses on the statues down below.
    Last edited by Charlotte Tur'enne; Jan 21st, 2009 at 09:22:07 AM. Reason: fixing typo...

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    Atrapes. The unseen yet ever-present voice inside his mind. The Inquisitor had been Belargic's constant company for the past week, whether in the flesh or otherwise, and so it did not surprise Dasquian to hear the man's voice calling him towards his fate. As he was pulled to his feet, his stiff legs ached, thanks to having spent the last... Force knew how long, shackled to a chair.

    “You know me, Inquisitor,” he said quietly, the playful edge of his tone somewhat dulled. “By the book, well-behaved... no nonsense.”

    One of the guards – Stormtroopers, judging by how rough they were being – nudged the prisoner forward a few stumbling steps. Over the past week, it had become apparent that what they desired wasn't execution, but to have Belargic readily on hand to act as a punching bag whenever a member of the Imperial Military had some aggression to vent.

    After a few moments of silence with no further coercion from his keepers, Dasquian straightened his posture, looking to where he thought he had heard the Inquisitor's voice speaking from.

    “Shall we get moving, then? Justice awaits.”

  9. #9
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    “Shall we get moving, then? Justice awaits.”

    "Indeed," Atrapes' voice hummed through the air. "Justice awaits."

    There was silence a moment, and then a sudden metallic smash. Sounds filtered through his ears, and the rough hands of the Stormtroopers were suddenly gone.

    "Hand me the bag," Atrapes' voice rang out again. After that, there were a number of sounds: clicks, cloth rustling, and the soft tap of weapons swinging against leg armour. And then, silence.

    The door opened again with a metallic screech, and hands roughly grabbed Belargic's arms again as they dragged him out of the cell, and into the hallway, and from there down to his end. Vaguely one could hear the sounds of shouting in the distance, the waves echoing in the enclosed space of the corridor; the sounds were getting louder with each passing second.

  10. #10
    Faris Cul'utaan
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    The members of the Ministry of Truth sat arrayed around their leader. To the left of Minsiter Tagge was one of her foremost aides, a man whose pristine white attire mirrored that of his superior: Faris Cul'utaan. He glanced down at his wrist chrono and then out across the hall of the old Senate chamber once more. All eyes were drawn towards the tunnel from which Dasquian Belargic was soon to emerge to begin his sentencing, yet Faris did not share the vindication or relish that many of his peers felt. The ear-piece he wore - a discreet sliver of technology - was buzzing with noise. Something.. wasn't right.

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    The crowd was gathering strength in numbers and voices, some fervent in their desire to see the traitor Belargic killed for high treason against their Empire. The Ministry of Propaganda had worked their magic in riling the people, making them desire bloodshed. Minister Tagge should be proud of herself, even though she lacked the delicate verbal spin that Tarkin used to tug at heartstrings.

    Dasquian, the leader of Rebel Intel, rummaging through her kitchen! Please! What an idiot! Grace would love to really put at test to that Sub-Adult Group training if she ever had the pleasure of getting Sanya alone ...

    She pushed her way through the mostly human crowd, though there were a smattering of curious aliens on the outskirts of the gathering, not wanting to be too close in case a riot broke out. The Empire had stepped up their patrols as well, ensuring a peaceful observance of the execution and deterring anyone from speaking out against the ruling. Everyone was either too scared to say anything or was in passionate agreement. The New Empress was working hard on increasing the later by making an example out of Dasquian.

    Now she was elbowing her way closer to the front, trying to get into a good position to see the execution podium. Jane Starborn thought it suicide for her to be up front where the Troopers would be the heaviest, but that was before she had seen the transformed Grace Van-Derveld



    Make up had darkened her skin - making her look older as well, contacts changed her eyes from green to brown, and the wig she wore transformed her into someone completely new. Even one of the patrols had passed her by without a second look. Now she stared at one right in the helmet, finally making her way to the front, and looked passed him towards the center where the famous tip of Umate Mountain poked out. Millions visited this location just to touch it, but today they will watch as Dasquian Belargic is executed on top of it. They had built a platform over the monument, big enough to hold Belargic and the firing squad assigned to execute him. Currently it was barren, only Stormtroopers and uniformed Imperials making their rounds to ensure that everything was secured.

    Arms crossed, Grace hugged herself to avoid knocking elbows with strangers. At least she told herself that. She was dreadfully nervous. Even the slightest miscalculation in the plan could find themselves captured or killed. Reluctantly, the new Director of Rebel Intel, had agreed to bring a small team to Coruscant for Belargic's extraction based upon the Intel of a man she had never met before: Faris Cul'utaan. He was so deep undercover that Grace had to weed her way through so much red tape, and burn through a few favors, to make sure he was legit. And he was. She had learned of Dasquian's execution before the Alliance did.

    Her eyes drifted up to the Senate Hall, fighting back tears that had no place her, but the Rebel couldn't stop her heart from pounding in anticipation.

    I'm coming for you, Dasq ...

  12. #12
    Kyran O'Hurn
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    The audience had begun to gather. Men, women, even children. Who in their right mind brought a kid to an execution...? Only in the Empire. Ky would have shaken his head if he didn't think it would give him away.

    He'd been stationary for several hours, almost in a meditative state until the sun had begun to rise and more and more people began to enter the square. It had been then when he had begun to scan the crowd and buildings looking for obvious threats. Nothing but the usual storm trooper guards jumped out at him, but he was sure that the unseen enemy was there, mingling with the crowd.

    Slowly he moved his sight upwards. Their greatest threat was the scout trooper snipers that were no doubt deployed or soon to be deployed. Slowly he scanned the rooftops making sure not to miss any hidden troopers.

    As he scanned he mentally made a note of all of the white armoured scout troopers he saw dotted along the roof. So far he had seen 4 sniper teams on the opposite side of the square keeping their eyes on the crowd... And then he saw it. Not much, but just enough movement to give the Imperial sniper away. He wasn't wearing the usual white scout trooper armour but dressed in black to help try and blend him into the shadows.

    "Gotcha!" Ky said to himself. He wasn't surprised that the Imperials had deployed a counter sniper. There was probably another one or two hiding in the shadows too. For the time being though, the poor bastard on the other end of the scope that was looking for him and Ryschcate would be the first to die.

    Talking softly he let his voice key the whisper mic around his neck.

    "You awake over there Ryschcate?" He didn't stop long enough to allow her to answer. "Counter sniper located, I'll take him, but check the shadows, I'm sure he's got friends."

  13. #13
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    For frak's sake, Archy...scare me half to death why dontcha?

    She wanted to blurt out the words, wanted to - but didn't. She held them much like she managed to keep still despite the sudden sound of someone essentially talking in her ear as if they were right by her. That was going to take some getting used to. Usually she was on her own on this sort of thing, maybe keeping an eye on her boys from afar but talking while completely getting into that zone where the rest of the world faded and all that was left was her and what she saw was just outright foreign. Damned Pathies. And what's worse it seemed this one had a gorram itchy trigger finger. Was he daft?

    "Company, huh? Well now...isn't that just sweet of them?"

    It wasn't quite the response to him so much as testing her own volume level in speaking through the comm. Yep...gonna take some getting used to.

    "Don't go dropping the guy just yet. Keep an eye on him, but I wouldn't be surprised if his buddies on patrol have him wired up. He kicks the bucket and you'll be setting off alarms before the Intel folks even get a chance to cause a ruckus. He starts lookin like he's got a bead on one of us though, feel free to shut him down."

    Great...just what they needed. She figured the Empire would have their own set of shooters. Something this big would no doubt have tons of unseen security. Some sort of action from the rebels must have been at least somewhat anticipated. But the longer they could keep themselves relatively unseen the better. No need to start the party without the guest of honor even being out in the open yet.

    "Let the ground make the first move..."

    She'd be damned if SpecForce would get called on mucking things up on this one. Whatever, Intel had things handled on their end for the moment, quiet as it was down there, and at least this new little epiphany gave her something new to do. There was some strange thrill in finding one of your own type on the other side and getting to them before they got to you. The living bit of that equation probably had a whole lot to do with it.

  14. #14
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    The Imperial Palace

    Despite the Inquisitoriate’s reputation of ruthless wraiths that hunted mercilessly on prey in the night, Karl Valten along with many Inquisitors maintained an aura of serenity and reason. The search for knowledge and a clear mind in duty decreed that one remain free from the debilitating effects of rampant emotion. But this day, the Grand Inquisitor burned with rage.
    “This is blasphemy!”
    At current his vengeful eyes fixed upon a single figure amidst the holo-cast of a certain trial and execution of one of HIS. A trial and execution that he with no doubt did NOT authorize. But Valten’s gaze did not fall on Dasquian Belargic, no his wrath focused on someone else: Sonya Tagge in her pristine garb amongst the ranks of officers and nobility. The fool had known the Inquisitoriate would never willingly give up their greatest prisoner. So she used every aspect of her power as Minister of Truth to whisk him from under Valten’s nose and made certain that the Inquisitoriate would be unable to openly attend the proceedings.

    An image of the woman burning alive within the Citadel played over and over in the Grand Inquisitor’s mind. Valten had not been this enraged in a very very long time.

    He had only just found out hours ago and by then it had been to late to stop this idiocy.

    “This is a mistake, that..(Valten burst into a tirade of Rodese, the only language he knew that could describe his anger at the Minister of Truth)..has gone over my head and yours.”

    And there was nothing that Valten could do but watch. The Inquisitoriate could force their way into the hall and disrupt the trial, not with a public proceeding of the size or the attendance of so many government and military officials present.

  15. #15
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    Tarkin had been sitting behind her desk, rather relaxed and calm in a simple, but flattering, black suit while the proceedings played out before them on the holoscreen. She didn't need anything quite so formal since this was a private meeting between her and Valten. Of course the Inquisitor was quite colorful and creative with the use of Rodese to express his contempt for Tagge, unaware that his Empress was fluent in the language. She had learned it as Moff of Doldur, seeing as Rodia was nearby, she had thought it a prudent skill. Sorsha was the perfect teacher too, seeing as it was practically a second language for her.

    "Are you finished?" she asked, not in annoyance or anger, just Tarkin wanted to make sure Valten was done venting his anger before speaking her peace.

    He stiffened upon realizing with whom he was with! Such vulgarity, even spoken in another language, was not proper before his Empress and turned to face her. "Apologies, your Majesty, but I'm justified with how Tagge blatantly disregarded our positions," he said with focused rage, but the apology was sincere.

    She could still sense him stewing, but at least Valten was in control and they could talk about this situation rationally. "To be honest, I'm unclear as to why Sanya failed to speak with me about this matter."

    Valten could not mistaken the disappointment etched in Tarkin's voice. "I know she wanted to make an example of her capture, and by rights, she does have a claim. However, a week of interrogation is not enough time to break a man like Belargic. I don't care what stroke of planning and luck brought him into her lap, it is unacceptable to ensure an execution without talking to me first."

    Unfortunately by the time Miranda had gotten wind of Belargic's execution, local and planetary officials were rejuvenated that their new Empress had authorized such a display of power so soon after her coronation. Yes there were some officials that thought this needlessly barbaric, but with her rousing public speech about punishing the Rebellion for their crimes against the Empire, how could she rescind the order and not made to look the fool?

    When this was over, Sanya would have to explain herself quite well or there would be hell to pay.
    Last edited by Miranda Tarkin; Jan 28th, 2009 at 12:11:23 AM.

  16. #16
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    They marched him onwards, from corridor to corridor, until at last only a stone tunnel way separated the prisoner from his fate. In his mind Dasquian had tried to assemble a floor-plan of the network of rooms and hallways beneath Senate Hall, but had his suspicions that his captors had been mindful of his efforts to map out an escape route and had compensated by using indirect and ever changing routes to lead their prisoner around the makeshift holding area. Now, however, they seemed confident that his fate was etched into stone and in pausing at the entryway to the main hall, removed his blindfold for the first time in what must have been days.

    The light at the end of the tunnel hurt Belargic's eyes and when he paused to adjust to the sensory shift, a blaster muzzle nudged at the back of his neck, forcing him forwards. A whispering silence awaited him, a stillness only barely disturbed by voices in hushed speculation, yet as he emerged from the tunnel into the Senate Hall proper, every conversation became muted and every gaze shot towards him. Amongst the vastness of the chamber, he was a small thing. With a weeks worth of stubble on his chin, bruises on his temples, a black eye and a split lip, no attempt had been made to hide that he had suffered. The black clothing he wore was plain in style if a little large size, so that he hung around his elbows and ankles in broad cuffs, creating the impression that he was far too slim. Somewhere far above, sitting amongst her peers, Sanya Tagge thought how like a slave he looked: a desperate man about to face the trials of a gladiatorial ring, or be thrown to the lions.

    “The Procurator of Justice summons the accused forward... let the judgment commence.”

  17. #17
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    "There he is."

    A pair of eyes narrowed as they watched Belargic, flanked by two stormtroopers, was marched up to the proper position while the Procurator of Justice stood ready to pronounce his sentence.

    "Do we take out the 'troopers?" came the sniper's voice through his earpiece. The leader of the operation nodded to a man on his right, and that man quickly shuffled off downstairs to make the others ready for his signal.

    "No," he replied. "Orders were to make some noise and pick off a few around the perimeter, only kill those who try to stop the extraction physcially. I expect they're trying to take him back, and don't want anything to go wrong."

    "I wouldn't miss."
    He grunted a laugh.

    "I'm not saying you would. But orders are orders, hey?"

    "Yeah." Durran's disappointed sigh filtered through the speaker and he grinned a bit wider. "I caught some movement on the far side of the plaza. Ain't Imperials by the look of 'em. 'Nother group, you think? A bit sloppy, but not bad."

    "Where?" he asked, looking intently at the general area his sniper had indicated.

    The sniper gave him a more detailed description of what and where he'd seen the movement.

    "Ah," he murmured. "I see 'em now. They're well hid. Dressed like us, too. We weren't told that they'd gotten another group for this mission."

    "Would they have told us?" another voice whispered. He grunted another laugh.

    "Likely not," he replied. "Wait. We'll wait for this to carry on a bit longer, and then we'll make our move. Don't want the Imps knowin' anything 'til it's too late."

    ***

    The Procurator of Justice stood proud and straight-backed while Belargic was led into position. This was a crowning achievement for the Empire; especially after the coronation of the new Empress. All would see this, and tremble.

    "Dasquian Belargic," he intoned deeply, aware of the publicity of this moment, "You are charged with numerous crimes against the Empire and its Empress. Three charges of Murder in the First Degree; Two charges of Murder in the Second. You are also charged with Bearing Arms against Imperial Stormtroopers and Citizens of the Empire, Evasion of Arrest, and are an Accessory to Treason in the aiding and abetting of certain individuals, notably one Grace Van-Derveld, and the terrorist insurgent organization known as the Alliance to Restore the Republic. Lesser charges include Grand Theft of numerous starships and privately owned speeders, Arson, and Impersonating an Officer of the Imperial Navy. You have been found guilty on all charges."

    He looked up from the flimsy he'd been reading from, and gave the accused man a solemn look; grave, but not one of sympathy, or disdain, but of professional disassociation and detachment though aware of the gravity of the situation.

    "How do you plead?"

    ***

    "We're in position. Awaiting your command." He replied his understanding.

    "Find your mark, Durran," he ordered. The sniper didn't reply for a moment, but soon radioed his sights set on a patrolling Stormtrooper near the crowd. A good choice to get them all panicking and lowering anyone's ability to stop their own mission and escape.

    It was even more of a waiting game now; only the tension had risen since the end of the waiting was in sight.

  18. #18
    Jane finished off the burger, and burped. Dashiel laughed, and she threw the wadded up wrapper at him. "I hate waiting."

    She looked at him, adding, "The longer I stare at monuments the more my headache grows."

  19. #19
    Dash ducked to the side to dodge getting a greasy wrapper in the face. Truth of it was, he hated waiting too – but it was all they could do. Wait and watch. Jane was too restless to sit down so he stood up alongside. The area around the peak was getting crowded now. It was busy at the best of times but the difference between the idle curiosity of tourists and the barely restrained fury of an executioners audience was palpable.

    “Something's gonna kick off with them,” Dashiel observed. Jane gave him a quizzical glance and he nodded towards a group of similarly dressed beings scattered around the edges of the crowd. They were jostling back and forth, trying to break through the wall of bodies, but having very little luck. Their outfits had an almost monastic look to them, limbs wrapped in dark orange cloth which was belted at the waist by a leather strip. They had hoods, but they were down on their shoulders instead of shrouding their unshaven faces. All in all, the Flames of Umate – as they called themselves – looked as if they had just stepped off the last transport shuttle from back-rocket nowhere. That, however, was exactly what made such religious cults dangerous. They looked harmless enough, but if they didn't get what they wanted...

  20. #20
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    “You have been found guilty on all charges,” the Procurator proclaimed. “How do you plead?”

    In reply, Dasquian could only smile and wonder if he was the only one who saw the farce in all of this. There was a white bantha in the room that no one was willing to acknowledge, and that was the fact that although the gathering was a trial in name, it certainly was not in practice. Imperial justice worked on the basis that it was best to kill a man first and then provide some conveniently placed evidence of his guilt later.

    Then again, it was no secret that Belargic had committed many of the 'crimes' listed. Certainly, whether by his hand or another's beneath him, he had been the death of number Imperial soldiers. He recalled the precise number of those he had murdered himself; in many cases could bring to mind their names and faces. He was not proud of what he had done, but it was done and there was no changing it now. Truth be told, there was little of it he would have changed. Certainly, the account of treason was something he would never regret. For one, it was not treason in his mind so long as the Empire was in power, and for another, that treachery had brought Grace to the Alliance.

    Gazing up at the featureless face of the Procurator, high high above, Dasquian smiled.

    “I have already been deemed guilty, your honor,” he called out, his voice a very small thing, almost swallowed by the sheer size of the chamber. “So, shall we dispense with the formalities and proceed to the main attraction?”
    Last edited by Dasquian Belargic; Feb 9th, 2009 at 12:17:46 PM. Reason: bump ttt

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