Cransin waved off the five troopers and then stood. The table obscured his legs—thankfully. They were visibly shaking. “Good day gentlemen. I hope that we can continue with a prosperous relationship.” The five men left their seats and were ushered out of the Conference Room by Imperial aides of the Moff’s. Imperial aides, Lieutenants, Commodores, Directors, Brentaal Economic Leagues and Pacts. It was more than a little overwhelming for a Moff who had seven day’s experience in the position. And that was beginning to catch up with him. Wilhad allowed a minute to pass and left the room. His head was spinning and had developed a rather severe headache. He walked down the somewhat opulent corridor until sickness struck him. A certain churning began to come to a head in his stomach. Checking to see if no one was around to see him, Wilhad ran into the nearest refresher, locked the door, and(just in time) vomited into the toilet. About half of his breakfast just kept coming up. His eyes teared up as his body convulsed completely. Then a brief respite. But only brief. The other half of breakfast forced itself up, nearly filling the bowl under him. “Moff Cransin,” an inquisitive voice said, from outside the ‘fresher. “Go away! I’ll be out in a moment!” Cransin yelled, allowing no room for argument. He was a Moff damn it. He could make these decisions. For another couple minutes, Cransin breathed heavily, clutching the toilet. This was hardly a respectable position for a Moff and the Chair of the War Committee. And a father of two on Chandrilla. And a Nobleman. “Get up, Moff Cransin,” he said to himself. “Get up. And go home for a bit. You’ve got work to do.” The Moff pushed himself up off the floor and regarded his visage in mirror. No more worse for the wear. A bit of a stain on the collar of his uniform. But it wasn’t as if he’d wear that home to Chandrilla. The rank plaque, of course. But and Imperial uniform wouldn’t be all that appropriate. His loyalties lay at home. And that’s where he should be. So he opened the door and went back to his office, sending word to Chandrilla of his arrival. He then showered in his private quarters, adjoined to the offices and through on a Chandrillan traveling robe of blue and brown. Just as the Moff was attaching his rank plaque, someone entered his office. The Lieutenant. “Ah, yes. What can I do for you?” “Sir, what shall…we do?” the Lieutenant, apparently named Darnier, asked; a look of question on his face. “Lieutenant…Darnier, is it?” “Yes, yes, Moff Cransin.” “Lieutenant Darnier, do you know that your face is almost permanently dumb-struck?” “Sir?” “There, that’s it,” Cransin said, point straight at the young man’s face. He was falling into a rhythm, and now that he had no reason to be ill—mainly because he had nothing left in his stomach to expel—he gained a sort of energy. He’d had plenty of practice at this sort of sparring, and it was highly unlikely that the Lieutenant had. Wilhad walked around his desk, picking up a handful of datacards. “That’s the look. We’re going to have to work on that one if you’re ever to be of any use to me, Lieutenant Darnier.” “Use to you, Moff Cransin? I don’t follow.” “You fall under my chain of command, Lieutenant. I’m making you my administrative assistant.” “Sir?” he asked, more than visibly worried. “Sir, I have no training…” “You’ll learn. From these,” Cransin said, shoving the pile into the young man’s hands. “This is everything you need to know. And your assignments. Follow them. I’ll be back in a week or two.” “A week or two?” the Lieutenant asked, incredulously. “Lieutenant, not only do I have Chandrilla to manage, but I am also the Chair of the War Committee. I will not always be here. Follow those orders, and you will do just fine. If you don’t, I’m only a HoloNet away.” Wilhad placed a rust-colored cloak over his shoulders: it was cold in space. “Good day to you, Lieutenant,” Wilhad finished, walking around the stunned boy and made his way to the landing platform, picking up a shuttle that was open to his use. “Sir, wouldn’t you care for the Chandrilla Fire to take you home?” Commodore Gernsi asked over the comm. “Commodore, the shuttle is just as fast. Besides, we haven’t conquered Chandrilla.” “Of course sir. Have a pleasant trip. We will be waiting for you.”
Sitting down apon the floor, the Sith was calmly meditating in a corner, not even making a movement. As the young soldier bound around the corner, the sith didnt even open an eye to the heavily panting man. All the movement that was made was a simple raise of the hand to acknowledge his presence. "Speak." "Mr. LeBlanc, Viceroy Jusila requests your presence immediately!" "Very well. Please, lead the way." Following the man up to the upper levels of the complex, Jean began to feel something different around him, some former constant didnt seem the same. He felt, pain, and suffering. Normally, he felt that inside of himself, but here, it was from someone else, from Hope. Grabbing the soldier by the shoulder, Jean quickly turned him around and pushed him up against the wall. "Where are we going! Where is Ms. Jusila?" "She...She's in the sickbay sir."cried the soldier. "Please let me go!" Throwing the man down onto the ground, Jean quickly began to run flat out towards the Medical Bay, to see what had happened to Ms. Jusila. Rounding the corner, he pushed a nurse out of his way to enter into the bacta tank room. Inside, he saw what remained of Hope herself. A very burned body sat suspended in the liquid infront of him. She obviously was in some sort of explosion. From where or why he did not know, but he could tell that she had been through something horrible. Walking up to the tank, he bent down on one knee, and addressed her from outside the tank. "I have arrived as you have commanded Ms. Jusila. Please, tell me what has happened here!"
Yet another obsidian signal--Iaius was getting really tired of these disruptions. Iaius was in the middle of eating lunch, and another signal came through. He swore--if something else had gone wrong, he would march into Mon Cal that instant, Intel support or not. He marched out to his holopad and stepped on the platform, this time using a standard sized hologram. "Speak," he commanded irritably as the connection began.
Emperor Iaius I The Emperor inclined his head for some moments in mourning for Dugal. It wasn't much, but he reflected that it was better to save for his funeral. Someone from Intelligence might not gain a state ceremony--but he'd certainly be buried with full honors, and the Emperor would be there. The man had done so much for him--and the Empire. "This is truly a tragedy for Intelligence and the Empire... but such is the nature of brigands like the Rebels. The area is to be secured, of course, and I'd like a through examination of all Intelligence assets and functions. We need to know how badly we've been comprimised." Iaius' lips compressed briefly. That was all that could be done for the moment: he just hoped that it wasn't as bad as they all feared. "That will be all, captain. Dismissed."
"See what I see. Peer inside." Reaching out to her, he saw the few final images of the scene with Dugal, Hope,and Thredo. In the image, the skin suddenly shed from the man's face, and a scarred and tattooed skin remained. An alien of the likes he had never seen, lunged for the director, with some sort of explosive on his chest. This was the man resposible for the death of Hope, he and his kind would pay for what they had done. As he focused to memory the image of this alien, he felt something once again. The strength in which was Hope, began to fade. As he looked up into her eyes, he could feel her fading away. "NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" The anger began to build inside of him. He would have his revenge. But he could not do it alone, if he was to get it properly. There was only one man left in the galaxy, that could work with him again, Obdurate. Reaching for his lightsabers, the very angry Sith looked directly twards the two men still standing in the room. They just happened to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time. "Ah Crikey! My arm!" Other than that, no other noises could be heard from the room except for the hum of the two lightsabers swinging. Out from the doorway, Jean began to ran. Heading straight for the hanger bay, the Young Sith knew the knowledge he held must be broughten to someone higher up in the chain of command, Isard Herself and of course, the Emperor. Comming into realspace outside Bastion, the small and stealthy ship quickly moved towards the planet, waiting for someone to acknowledge his presence. Though normally, he would not expect them to catch him on the radar screen, he would hope that his own commanders could do so.
Imperial Academy, Carida "Captain Draug Layor, Captain Rhys Varn, and Lieutenant Dasnei congratulations on your appointments and graduation from the Caridian Imperial Academy." Their Instructor praised the three recently graduated recruits of the Imperial Army. He then handed each one of them their new assignments and told them to pack their belongings and report to the spaceport for departure. Captain Rhys Varn was to report to Landing Bay 39 where he was to join a group of recruits waiting aboard the shuttle. The shuttle would then travel to Taanab where it would dock with the Victory Star Destroyer Inseperable. Already on board the shuttle was Captain Zanis Ulmar, another recent graduate of the academy. Captain Draug Layor and Lieutenant Dasnei were to report to Landing Bay 12 where a shuttle would take them to Brentaal to join with Field Marshal Maximilian Veers army group on the surface in the pacifying of the locals.
Room 216, Palpatine Memorial Hospital - Imperial Center General Thane sat up in his bed on his own for the first time since he had been brought into the hospital. A doctor was present and currently examining his injuries for infection or other difficulties that could happen during the healing stage. Most of his injuries had been healed by the bacta, but the rest had to heal on their own or could not be healed. Like his left eye for example. "Now cover your right eye." The doctor asked and Thane complied. "What do you see?" "Nothing." "No light?" Thane shook his head and lay his hand down at his side. He was not surprised that he was now blind in one eye. He had taken notice of the difference in the room's light as it gradually darkened as each day passed by until there was nothing left but darkness to see. With his good eye he examined his left hand and grimaced at the twisted and scarred appendage. The scars from the burns did not stop at his hand, they ran up the length of his arm and across his chest and back. The explosion had left an intricate network of puffed and pink tissue that sometimes ached or burned whenever he attempted to move. "You are a very lucky man, General." The doctor commented in awe. "Most men would not have survived that explosion. In fact, very many did not." "Another reason why the rebellion should pay for their crimes." Thane said bitterly. He would make them pay for crippling him and murdering so many of his men, good men that had only wanted to protect the Empire which they lived in. "Well your plans for vengence will have to wait until you have finished rehab, General." The doctor put the brakes on and Thane scowled at him. But before he could remind the doctor who had the say in what he could or could not do, the man was saved from the reprimand by a nervous orderly entering. "My apologizes, doctor, but a Colonel Covell is here to see General Thane. I tried to tell him your orders that the General is not to be disturbed, but he insis..." "You will allow the Colonel to enter!" Thane shouted in his General's voice and the orderly glanced nervously at the doctor. The surgeon sighed and nodded at the orderly and then excused himself to leave the two officers alone. "General, it is so good to see that you are alive!" Colonel Covell exclaimed happily as he entered the hospital room. "I wish I could say the same for feeling alive, Freja." Thane replied with a soft smile, the scars on his face twisting it into a wicked grimace. He firmly shook the hand of his second in command. "How are the twins?" Eavesdroppers. Thane mouthed and gestured about his room. Covell blinked for a second, then nodded in understanding. "They are fine. The twins are growing up so fast that sometimes I wonder how I can stay caught up with them." "Thats good." Thane repositioned himself in his bed before continuing. "And the watchdog? How is ol' Joruus?" "Joruus? He's happy to have been let out of the doghouse and roam free in his territory again." Covell coughed inconspicously. He remembered how angry the Dark Jedi had looked when he was told that he was to be confined to the Emperor's personal quarters in the mountain. He also remembered how angry Joruus had been when they had finally released him and told him the planet was his again but to expect visitors wanting access to the mountain every now and then. The Dark Jedi had relunctantly cooperated with the Imperials. "Though I don't think he likes either of us anymore." "Too bad. I was growing tired of dealing with that disobediant animal anyway." "Why didn't we just put him to sleep? Then we wouldn't have to worry about him biting us again." Covell asked. "Because although he may have a problem obeying commands and behaving, he is still a good watchdog." Thane pulled back the covers of his bed and slid his feet to the floor. He wanted to get out of bed and most importantly he wanted to leave the hospital. He hated sterile places, it made him sick to his stomach and uncomfortable as well. "Hand me my jacket." He asked. Covell reached over and grabbed the uniform piece from the chair and handed it over to the General. Thane stood up and slipped the jacket over his shoulders and then carefully walked over to the window to take a look at Imperial City. "So what else has happened while I was out?" "Um...the war is on again and the Field Marshal is currently on Brentaal cleaning up after helping to liberate it. Oh and the creatures are secured." "The creatures?" Thane turned to face Covell again. "The slugs, sir." "Ah those. Secured you say? So you made a deal with him?" "Yes, sir and there is a small problem with the deal." "What?" "I granted him immunity and the other thing you wanted." General Thane was silent as he stared expressionlessly at the Colonel. Minutes passed by and he turned away to stare out the window again and watch the hovercars and ships pass by. "Do not worry about it, Freja. You did well. Did you also obtain a momento of your visit with him?" "Yes, sir." "Good."
"Yes ma'am, i do have knews of the Ass. Director. He, was assasinated, along with that of Viceroy Jusila. I alone, hold the image of whom was responsible. It is of a creature i have never seen the likes apon in all of my life. Madam director, i believe the rebels have found themselves a new toy race to play with, perhaps even better than the bothans. They have the ability, to have fake skin on their epidermis, to make them look like anywone. We need to bring this up to the emperor." Continuein on, Jean told her all that he got out of Hope before she had perished. His memory was golden, and thankfully, he listend to as much as Hope could show him. "Madam, if i am to continue out my orders, i must find my former Sith master. If anyone can help me do this for the empire, it is he, Lord Obdurate."
Emperor Iaius I Was a good night's sleep too much to ask? Following Mylenko's late transmission, the Emperor had began to work on figures for fleet deployments and asset management--he figured that he mustn't let the battle at Mon Cal remove his attentions from other concerns. He'd then gone to bed late, only to be woken up in the middle of the night. He had a mind to ignore the call, save for only an Obsidian level transmission would have awoken him. He swore that he needed to make a higher priority level, just so that Obsidian wouldn't interrupt his sleep. A massive hologram of his face would've been a bad idea, considering that he was asleep, so Iaius plopped the full Imperial Crown on his head. He hated the bloody thing--it was nice, sure, but it was heavy and overly ostentatious: even for him. He only wore it because his laurels wouldn't cover the mess of his hair. He also draped himself in his red silk and ermine blankets, since they looked sufficiently like his royal mantle. He needed to keep up impressions--though a part of him realized that he was becoming vain. That was alright: even Palpatine was, though in other respects. He stepped into the transmission ring and keyed for a normal sized transmission. "Speak," the Emperor commanded.