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29-06-2025, 06:00 PM
(This post was last modified: 04-07-2025, 06:29 PM by Krassus Horuset.)
Part II: The Governor and the Moff
... And so the Journey continued, past rows of glass cabinets filled with dismembered alien hands labeled by species, social caste and occupation. Petrified Trandoshian skeletons strung lfrom supports in the ceiling, and a Herglic skull, cracked in two and polished like marble.
“Do you think he shows his guests this on purpose?” Kemma asked softly, her voice razor-sharp beneath its velvet. “Do you think he walks these halls alone, at night, admiring his collection?”
“I think he sleeps better with them here,” Reina replied. “And dreams of owning the rest.”
They passed beneath a grand arch decorated with what appeared to be a chandelier—until one noticed the bones, bleached and carved into ornate shapes. Closer inspection revealed they were not animal.
Before, at last, the throne room.
Not the meeting hall with conference tables, holo projectors and ample chairs where Moff Graush usually met his delegates. No, this meeting was to be held in the very heart of the Moff's authority over the sector.
The squad of Imperial soldiers halting on either side of the large black doors, giving the Confederate president a final salute before the entrance groaned open and Kemma Ralter and her Ambassador were let into the inner sanctum of the Moff's Palace.
The ceiling arched like the belly of a warship, domed with transparisteel glass that let the dimmed light of the system's sun shine in through the clouds. Offering a distant few of the Imperial warfleet and the Bloodwyrm which hung like a sword above the world.
By each of the various support pillars holding up the glass dome stood an Imperial Commando in full battle dress. Blaster held in hand, standing still and statue-esque like glorified sentries.
Moff Maximilian Graush sat upon a raised throne forged of black iron, its frame inlaid with markings in old Sith Ruins that neither the Confederate president or her Ambassador could read.
The Moff sat at its heart, not rising when the Confederate president entered. Immense and repulsive, sunken into the chair that groaned slightly beneath the weight of him.
Graush was a mountain of a man, bald but for seven strands of greasy hair that clung desperately to his blotched scalp. His dark eyes were small, deep-set, and glittering with cruel amusement.
His cheeks spilled over his collar, his skin seemed pale and sickly even in the light of Horuz' sun. And across his vast chest was draped a custom sash of pure albino Wookiee fur, fastened in place by the golden jawbone of a Trandoshan skull, sharpened into a clasp.
A thin layer of sweat beaded across the rolls of his flesh but he made no motion to wipe it away. A Twi'lek slave girl, horribly emaciated at best or of questionable maturity at worst , stood besides him with a wide ceremonial fan painted in the red and black of the Imperial banner. Her face was blank, her body thin. She moved the fan with Mechanical rhythm.
On his other side stood an Imperial Officer. An Ensign by what Kemma could discern from his rank tab. Older than one might expect from one of that rank, his uniform impeccable and all according to regulations. His short blonde hair combed backwards neatly, his facial features sharp and pale; Ziost Born. Marked by his nametag as Ensign Cestus Loring. Quiet, effiiciet and ever watching. Son of Director Garrick Loring of the Empire's Alien control initiative, and perhaps the true keeper of order behing Graush's cruel theatre, she had been told by her Ambassador during the flight.
His hands holding on tightly to a suitcase bearing the black seal of the Empire, remaing unmoving outside of acknowledging the pair of Nam'tees delegates with a polite bow of his head. Only then did the Moff finally address the pair that had come to a halt before him on the large red rug strewn across the polished obsidian floor between the door and his throne.
"Ah, my dear Kemma... How lovely to finally see you in person. Your Ambassador has always spoken so kindly of you, but how wonderful it is for you to finally come to Horuz yourself." Graush said with a welcoming gesture of his arms, an uncanny imitation of a smile appearing on his face. Only for his expression to harden again almost instantly. "But you are late. I had expected you some time ago." He said, his voice thick as tar. "I hope the sight of the Bloodwyrm and its escort did not unnerve you, my dear President?"
Ralter did not flinch.
"Perhaps only in its paintwork," She replied coldly. "Serpents are poor symbols of loyalty, and we do not often present such imagery to our allies." She said before clicking her tongue off the roof of her mouth. "Alas I know your Empire sees such things of symbolism differently... No, it was the rebellion that kept us waiting I'm afraid your Excellency." She explained. "There was paper work I had to sign off on before I could depart in earnest."
Graush chuckled, his cheeks rippling like pudding. "Serpents make for poor allies indeed, Kemma, but they constrict and do not let go of their prey." He said, leaning forwards on his armrests. "A lesson your Security Forces cannot seem to take to heart when dealing with this rebellion you speak of... Tell me, what is the status of the current fighting again, My dear?"
"Containable." She replied, meeting the Moff's gaze with her own. Her painted lips thinning as she joined her hands behind the small of her back, hiding her hands in the wide sleeves of her emerald robes. "The Republic's Withdrawal has wounded them and severely curtailed their maneuverability. However, due to your Navy's inability to prevent Republic supply landings, they have weapons and conviction. To defeat their little band will take time, nothing more."
"Containable?" The Moff repeated. "Is that so? For my spies report it as anything but containable Miss President." Graush said, leaning backwards into his throne before he continues. "My commanders in your system report that the fires of rebellion consider to spread like a cancer. That alien, Barracas fancies himself as Grand Marshal now... With more and more Rebel cells uniting under his banner." He said, clicking his tongue in disappointment. "And 'Senator' Stendarr's ancient bones still rattle in the Senate with each passionate speech she makes on the behalf of 'Free Nam'ta, gathering support for renewed intervention every day."
At that Graush made a gurgling sound, laughter presumably, and gestured lazily toward the Imperial warfleet in Orbit. "In fact, President Ralter... Darth Zudikas and his Master on the Dark Council believe your Government no longer capable of containing this mold of dissent under the floorboards of Nam'tees society." With that he snapped his fingers, the ensign stepping forwards with mechanical precision. Opening the suitcase and displaying its contents to the President and her Ambassador. Within it a small, intricate sigil. Obsidian trim with Red rank markings... The Badge of office of an Imperial Governor.
"Take it." Graush said. "Your patience, loyalty and usefull have been noted, but you will not leave Horuz as President any more, *Governor* Ralter. The Dark Council no longer believes there is a future for Nam'ta without direct ascension into the Imperial Fold." The Moff Spoke, joining his hands in front of him as he narrowed his hatred filled, dark eyes with cruel amusement.
Kemma's jaw was tight, her eyes didn't blink. "I didn't come here to sell my soul to sell our indepen-"
"No," Graush interrupted, rising partially from his seat. His Hands gripped the arms of his throne, lifting himself enough to loom like a wall of pale flesh and hate. His jaw tightening as his eyes narrow. "You came here because you already have, *Governor.*"
The silence that followed was cold, Ralter clenching her fists, but saying nothing. Simply locking eyes with the Moff, who again slowly sat down.
"Smile, Governor. This is a moment of triump for you. Your People and the galaxy have already been informed at this very moment that this was an initiative of your choosing. That, realising the Confederacy cannot defend itself against the Republic's threat alone. And that you, as the wise leader of your people have come here to petition the Empire for your planet's official annexation." He said smiling, approvingly. "And the Empire *Graciously* accepts your petition."
Graush again motioned to the box held out by the Ensign. "Take it. You will be the Emperor's Voice in the Nam'ta sector, and hero of your people..."
Ralter took it, her fingers closing around the rank slab like a trap. Hiding her fury behind her cold expression. 'Governor', She thought to herself, 'A servant's Title.'
"And what of the Rebellion?" She then asked.
"Oh." Graush Breathed. "They will be Crushed."
He said, leaning forwards again. And despite the rolls of flesh and puffed breath his tone turned Glacial.
"The Conquest Consolidation Corps awaits your official request for deployment, Governor. Thirty Thousand strong. Its commanders Proven on Balmorra, and a dozen planets after. Every man among them traiend to pacify a world in rebellion. Exactly what you will need... Soon there will be no Grand Marshals, no more 'Free Nam'ta' to have Senators, no more alien coalitions and no more rebellion... Only Cinders will remain."
....
... And so the Journey continued, past rows of glass cabinets filled with dismembered alien hands labeled by species, social caste and occupation. Petrified Trandoshian skeletons strung lfrom supports in the ceiling, and a Herglic skull, cracked in two and polished like marble.
“Do you think he shows his guests this on purpose?” Kemma asked softly, her voice razor-sharp beneath its velvet. “Do you think he walks these halls alone, at night, admiring his collection?”
“I think he sleeps better with them here,” Reina replied. “And dreams of owning the rest.”
They passed beneath a grand arch decorated with what appeared to be a chandelier—until one noticed the bones, bleached and carved into ornate shapes. Closer inspection revealed they were not animal.
Before, at last, the throne room.
Not the meeting hall with conference tables, holo projectors and ample chairs where Moff Graush usually met his delegates. No, this meeting was to be held in the very heart of the Moff's authority over the sector.
The squad of Imperial soldiers halting on either side of the large black doors, giving the Confederate president a final salute before the entrance groaned open and Kemma Ralter and her Ambassador were let into the inner sanctum of the Moff's Palace.
The ceiling arched like the belly of a warship, domed with transparisteel glass that let the dimmed light of the system's sun shine in through the clouds. Offering a distant few of the Imperial warfleet and the Bloodwyrm which hung like a sword above the world.
By each of the various support pillars holding up the glass dome stood an Imperial Commando in full battle dress. Blaster held in hand, standing still and statue-esque like glorified sentries.
Moff Maximilian Graush sat upon a raised throne forged of black iron, its frame inlaid with markings in old Sith Ruins that neither the Confederate president or her Ambassador could read.
The Moff sat at its heart, not rising when the Confederate president entered. Immense and repulsive, sunken into the chair that groaned slightly beneath the weight of him.
Graush was a mountain of a man, bald but for seven strands of greasy hair that clung desperately to his blotched scalp. His dark eyes were small, deep-set, and glittering with cruel amusement.
His cheeks spilled over his collar, his skin seemed pale and sickly even in the light of Horuz' sun. And across his vast chest was draped a custom sash of pure albino Wookiee fur, fastened in place by the golden jawbone of a Trandoshan skull, sharpened into a clasp.
A thin layer of sweat beaded across the rolls of his flesh but he made no motion to wipe it away. A Twi'lek slave girl, horribly emaciated at best or of questionable maturity at worst , stood besides him with a wide ceremonial fan painted in the red and black of the Imperial banner. Her face was blank, her body thin. She moved the fan with Mechanical rhythm.
On his other side stood an Imperial Officer. An Ensign by what Kemma could discern from his rank tab. Older than one might expect from one of that rank, his uniform impeccable and all according to regulations. His short blonde hair combed backwards neatly, his facial features sharp and pale; Ziost Born. Marked by his nametag as Ensign Cestus Loring. Quiet, effiiciet and ever watching. Son of Director Garrick Loring of the Empire's Alien control initiative, and perhaps the true keeper of order behing Graush's cruel theatre, she had been told by her Ambassador during the flight.
His hands holding on tightly to a suitcase bearing the black seal of the Empire, remaing unmoving outside of acknowledging the pair of Nam'tees delegates with a polite bow of his head. Only then did the Moff finally address the pair that had come to a halt before him on the large red rug strewn across the polished obsidian floor between the door and his throne.
"Ah, my dear Kemma... How lovely to finally see you in person. Your Ambassador has always spoken so kindly of you, but how wonderful it is for you to finally come to Horuz yourself." Graush said with a welcoming gesture of his arms, an uncanny imitation of a smile appearing on his face. Only for his expression to harden again almost instantly. "But you are late. I had expected you some time ago." He said, his voice thick as tar. "I hope the sight of the Bloodwyrm and its escort did not unnerve you, my dear President?"
Ralter did not flinch.
"Perhaps only in its paintwork," She replied coldly. "Serpents are poor symbols of loyalty, and we do not often present such imagery to our allies." She said before clicking her tongue off the roof of her mouth. "Alas I know your Empire sees such things of symbolism differently... No, it was the rebellion that kept us waiting I'm afraid your Excellency." She explained. "There was paper work I had to sign off on before I could depart in earnest."
Graush chuckled, his cheeks rippling like pudding. "Serpents make for poor allies indeed, Kemma, but they constrict and do not let go of their prey." He said, leaning forwards on his armrests. "A lesson your Security Forces cannot seem to take to heart when dealing with this rebellion you speak of... Tell me, what is the status of the current fighting again, My dear?"
"Containable." She replied, meeting the Moff's gaze with her own. Her painted lips thinning as she joined her hands behind the small of her back, hiding her hands in the wide sleeves of her emerald robes. "The Republic's Withdrawal has wounded them and severely curtailed their maneuverability. However, due to your Navy's inability to prevent Republic supply landings, they have weapons and conviction. To defeat their little band will take time, nothing more."
"Containable?" The Moff repeated. "Is that so? For my spies report it as anything but containable Miss President." Graush said, leaning backwards into his throne before he continues. "My commanders in your system report that the fires of rebellion consider to spread like a cancer. That alien, Barracas fancies himself as Grand Marshal now... With more and more Rebel cells uniting under his banner." He said, clicking his tongue in disappointment. "And 'Senator' Stendarr's ancient bones still rattle in the Senate with each passionate speech she makes on the behalf of 'Free Nam'ta, gathering support for renewed intervention every day."
At that Graush made a gurgling sound, laughter presumably, and gestured lazily toward the Imperial warfleet in Orbit. "In fact, President Ralter... Darth Zudikas and his Master on the Dark Council believe your Government no longer capable of containing this mold of dissent under the floorboards of Nam'tees society." With that he snapped his fingers, the ensign stepping forwards with mechanical precision. Opening the suitcase and displaying its contents to the President and her Ambassador. Within it a small, intricate sigil. Obsidian trim with Red rank markings... The Badge of office of an Imperial Governor.
"Take it." Graush said. "Your patience, loyalty and usefull have been noted, but you will not leave Horuz as President any more, *Governor* Ralter. The Dark Council no longer believes there is a future for Nam'ta without direct ascension into the Imperial Fold." The Moff Spoke, joining his hands in front of him as he narrowed his hatred filled, dark eyes with cruel amusement.
Kemma's jaw was tight, her eyes didn't blink. "I didn't come here to sell my soul to sell our indepen-"
"No," Graush interrupted, rising partially from his seat. His Hands gripped the arms of his throne, lifting himself enough to loom like a wall of pale flesh and hate. His jaw tightening as his eyes narrow. "You came here because you already have, *Governor.*"
The silence that followed was cold, Ralter clenching her fists, but saying nothing. Simply locking eyes with the Moff, who again slowly sat down.
"Smile, Governor. This is a moment of triump for you. Your People and the galaxy have already been informed at this very moment that this was an initiative of your choosing. That, realising the Confederacy cannot defend itself against the Republic's threat alone. And that you, as the wise leader of your people have come here to petition the Empire for your planet's official annexation." He said smiling, approvingly. "And the Empire *Graciously* accepts your petition."
Graush again motioned to the box held out by the Ensign. "Take it. You will be the Emperor's Voice in the Nam'ta sector, and hero of your people..."
Ralter took it, her fingers closing around the rank slab like a trap. Hiding her fury behind her cold expression. 'Governor', She thought to herself, 'A servant's Title.'
"And what of the Rebellion?" She then asked.
"Oh." Graush Breathed. "They will be Crushed."
He said, leaning forwards again. And despite the rolls of flesh and puffed breath his tone turned Glacial.
"The Conquest Consolidation Corps awaits your official request for deployment, Governor. Thirty Thousand strong. Its commanders Proven on Balmorra, and a dozen planets after. Every man among them traiend to pacify a world in rebellion. Exactly what you will need... Soon there will be no Grand Marshals, no more 'Free Nam'ta' to have Senators, no more alien coalitions and no more rebellion... Only Cinders will remain."
....
