Quoted By:
<span class="mu-i">The three of you watch, horrified as Marcs’ skin begins to ossify. Pink and soft flesh ruptures and breaks, giving way to dull, brown layers of what looks like bark. It’s disturbingly organic, and fast as it acts, enveloping the clone within an exoskeleton of mutating, twisting fibers. With a hand that’s more branch than not, he manages to stand, giving you one last look at his face.
“...can't scavenge...a GoOd..." he strains as he somehow grips his pistol and aims towards you. His eyes are glassy, unfocused and empty, weeping just before they’re completely sealed by the wooden helmet. “...sOlDiEr...fOlLoWs...OrDeRs...rEn...” </span>
You don’t say anything. The Force bond between you speaks volumes beyond what words can. Inexperienced as you are in the arts of romance, you can still show solidarity. Delicately extricating your hand from hers, you bring your arm around her shoulder, and pull her against you. Arotta doesn’t struggle, even as she scowls and sulks.
After a profound silence, she speaks, first flatly, then plaintively: “…revenge isn’t the Jedi way. So’s possessing stuff. But…they were <span class="mu-i">my</span> men. They didn’t deserve that.”
…if it’s any consolation, Tarkin’s Base Delta Zero would have instantaneously killed anyone caught in the blast zone. If there’d been any cognizant thoughts left in the Children of Jombaral, they wouldn’t have felt the pain of the bombardment.
But you do not say those things. You merely pull Arotta closer against you.
>>Line Break
Much to your surprise, the Kakari had salvaged the Obsidian Throne of the Chieftain-King from Nest’s End. How they managed to fit its considerable mass into one of Octavia’s Sheathipedes is nothing short of a mystery, but it would be the “Wise King” who would have accomplished it. And as befitting of such a throne, the gathering hall of the Chieftain-Kings has been lovingly and carefully built with nothing short of the finest craftsmanship.
The incumbent king holds his court, sitting atop the throne with a keen and hawkish eye. Troxl has foregone the elaborate headdress and ritual clothing he’d worn to that meeting with Sanada. Dressed in flexible and comfortable linins, the Kakari and his court observe a holotank demonstration, presented by an MSDF engineer. You’ve come in at the moment where the twi’lek launches into the benefits of having working electricity.
But your arrival, quiet as you intended it to be, does not go unnoticed. As the presenter pauses to take a deep breath, Troxl raises a hand. “Break for recess. Thirty minutes.”
As one, the court stands and disperses, breaking into cliques and whispering about what they’d just learned. The engineer is left flustered, but recovers quickly enough, slinking away after he turns off the projector.
Troxl stands, descending from his throne. “Sings-of-Devouring-Darkness! Here, in the flesh before me.”
“Your majesty.” You and Arotta both bow.
(cont.)
