Adi likes this
Apr 7, 2018 0:41:04 GMT
Fear is the ideology of the future.
Fear of not serving The Empire.
Fear of those who do not serve The Empire.
Fear of a galaxy without The Empire.
Fear of thought itself, should it not be thought by leaders of The Empire first.
This is the fear Tarkin did not understand.
To control through fear is not merely to wield terrifying power.
It is to wield the fabric of reality between your fingers, so life itself is what you make it out to be.
And life without The Empire must become a nightmare.
- Lucien E. Irridius, On Fear
The fingers of each man were tight around the arms of his chair, but they might as well have been holding knives. And in silence, they sat, the weight of what had been done crushing in on them.
The last gasp of death might have been over with, but that didn't wash the blood from the table, or air the putrid reek of vomit and bile from the room. Perhaps none of them had expected his last moments to be so mercilessly violent. For even now, in final death, there wasn't anything peaceful about the passing of the Chiss. Lying facedown on the floor, covered in his own blood, both hands had been curled so tightly into fists that the thumbs had snapped and knuckles caved under the pressure, creating balls of twisted bone rather than discernible hands. He'd choked and gasped, grabbed his neck and pleaded for help as his eyes began running rivers of blood as if melting inside his skull. Even when he started crying their names and cursing their children, not one of them had made a sound. Not one of them looked away.
"Disgusting, even unto death I see." And then there was Admiral Lucien Irridius, who stood from his seat opposite the table from the bloody chair of the victim, "then it's done. Our Empire is swept clean once more and we can finally begin our rebirth."
Folding his black-gloved hands to the small of his back, the admiral cautioned his way towards the corpse lying beside the chair; carefully stopping feet from the nearest expulsion of blood or bile. Scowling, he reached into his pocket and retrieved a sanitizer bottled in a spray applicator. He rinsed both hands in a shower of the chemical cocktail, placing the sanitizer back and proceeding to roughly apply the solution to wrist and glove alike. He continued doing so as he addressed the other men,
"Grand Admiral Nimitz's policies will be redacted immediately upon the announcement of my succession to his title and from there we can begin to lay our further plans."
"What if the men don't accept your appointment? We could be facing a large-scale mutiny that The Hand can ill afford." the concern came from the oldest of the men at the table, Admiral Gorian. Where Irridius' skin was fair, smooth and flawless Gorian's ran deep canyons of cracked skin, hidden only by wrinkles of age and a thick, white beard that ran from ear to ear.
"The swift application of loyalty officers will more than suffice to quell the majority of dissidents. Do not forget, Admiral Gorian, that intelligence resolves that the men were just as displeased as we were."
"There are still officers who agree with Nimitz's strategy." pointed out Admiral Keeg, a middle-aged man with bronze skin and a styled hair
"Inconsequential. I have already made arrangements to have them relieved of their posts and restationed to assignments that will keep them closely monitored."
The admirals exchanged glances and murmured whispers, to which Irridius would take little of, "Gentlemen before you all lay the corpse of an alien traitor. whom you have all conspired to kill. If you are having misgivings now, I suggest you save us all the displeasure of wasted time, pull your sidearms and execute yourselves now. Every wasted second brings this ship closer to mutiny, so I strongly suggest you all act like the Imperial officers you are."
The chatter stopped and the room fell back into silence. No one pulled their sidearm and after a moment, Irridius' crooked snake of a smile opened his features, "Good. Then Admiral Gorian, relay the message. I shall retire to my quarters to dress for the occassion."
The last gasp of death might have been over with, but that didn't wash the blood from the table, or air the putrid reek of vomit and bile from the room. Perhaps none of them had expected his last moments to be so mercilessly violent. For even now, in final death, there wasn't anything peaceful about the passing of the Chiss. Lying facedown on the floor, covered in his own blood, both hands had been curled so tightly into fists that the thumbs had snapped and knuckles caved under the pressure, creating balls of twisted bone rather than discernible hands. He'd choked and gasped, grabbed his neck and pleaded for help as his eyes began running rivers of blood as if melting inside his skull. Even when he started crying their names and cursing their children, not one of them had made a sound. Not one of them looked away.
"Disgusting, even unto death I see." And then there was Admiral Lucien Irridius, who stood from his seat opposite the table from the bloody chair of the victim, "then it's done. Our Empire is swept clean once more and we can finally begin our rebirth."
Folding his black-gloved hands to the small of his back, the admiral cautioned his way towards the corpse lying beside the chair; carefully stopping feet from the nearest expulsion of blood or bile. Scowling, he reached into his pocket and retrieved a sanitizer bottled in a spray applicator. He rinsed both hands in a shower of the chemical cocktail, placing the sanitizer back and proceeding to roughly apply the solution to wrist and glove alike. He continued doing so as he addressed the other men,
"Grand Admiral Nimitz's policies will be redacted immediately upon the announcement of my succession to his title and from there we can begin to lay our further plans."
"What if the men don't accept your appointment? We could be facing a large-scale mutiny that The Hand can ill afford." the concern came from the oldest of the men at the table, Admiral Gorian. Where Irridius' skin was fair, smooth and flawless Gorian's ran deep canyons of cracked skin, hidden only by wrinkles of age and a thick, white beard that ran from ear to ear.
"The swift application of loyalty officers will more than suffice to quell the majority of dissidents. Do not forget, Admiral Gorian, that intelligence resolves that the men were just as displeased as we were."
"There are still officers who agree with Nimitz's strategy." pointed out Admiral Keeg, a middle-aged man with bronze skin and a styled hair
"Inconsequential. I have already made arrangements to have them relieved of their posts and restationed to assignments that will keep them closely monitored."
The admirals exchanged glances and murmured whispers, to which Irridius would take little of, "Gentlemen before you all lay the corpse of an alien traitor. whom you have all conspired to kill. If you are having misgivings now, I suggest you save us all the displeasure of wasted time, pull your sidearms and execute yourselves now. Every wasted second brings this ship closer to mutiny, so I strongly suggest you all act like the Imperial officers you are."
The chatter stopped and the room fell back into silence. No one pulled their sidearm and after a moment, Irridius' crooked snake of a smile opened his features, "Good. Then Admiral Gorian, relay the message. I shall retire to my quarters to dress for the occassion."
