Dwight's eyes narrowed in frustration as he peered straight ahead, watching the shapes and distinct outlines of starships over the distance of Jutraal's twilight hours move in their almost rythmic motions. He could make out no distinct features, but their shapes were unmistakeable, like twisting and rolling clouds hazed by the stratosphere and atmosphere.
The sky which he watched through was a rolling canvas of blue and purple, the beautiful artistry thrown upon by the setting sun and the twin rising moons. A beautiful work of art fashioned by the Force that was obscured by the sight of Imperialistic vessels.
The commandant remembered when that texture had been erased completely, replaced by black and red as smoke and fire reached up and licked the sky, almost tearing it it seemed. When missiles replaced rain, and rays of bombard cannons replaced rays of sunlight.
When the planet was forced from the grip of the Galactic Defense Initiative during the Alderaani War. It was with the assault laid by General Hastings and Emperor Fearsons that the planet succumbed at last in one vicious stroke, though the loss of life had been enormous.
But in the end a planet who did not need to live under oppression was rescued, though at the expense of Imperial aggression. The two became, more or less, enemies from that day forth, as if their pasts had not been enough.
And now the Chiss were coming through the skies for some kind of a convention, to discuss peace or alliance or emperor knows what. Weren't they supposed to be xenophobes?
"Be at ease General," he heard from his right, the emperor's smoothe and monotone voice catching the stressed and tensed marine off guard. Sitting in his chair, one foot against his own knee resting lightly, Dwight turned to his majesty, who was casually sipping at his drink.
The pitch-black PeFauna at his side were like omnipresent statues, they stared straight ahead, as if they did not even exist beyond mere decoration, and yet they had an aura of fear, of violence, they would not hesitate to kill for the sake of their emperor.
They were almost like marines.
"My apologiest Majesty," Dwight bade, bowing his head. Fearsons waved a hand dismissively.
"Perhaps you should welcome our visitors no?" the emperor responded, placing his cup down on the table nearest him before resting his hand gently against it. Every motion was fluid and almost measured, each movement one of finesse.
Judging by the man's age it was not surprising he had acquired such skills over the years of military and political service.
The commandant of the marine corps rose from his seat, offering a bow. The emperor nodded and the man dismissed himself.
Fearsons turned back to the window, staring straight ahead into the twilight.
***
The sight of the Chiss was somewhat unnerving to the commander to say in the least, holding an uncanny resemblence to Admiral Screed during the Civil War. The entire right half of his face was mechanical, probably due to some kind of a war accident, and the right eye seemed to be glowing almost an obnoxiously bright red.
Dwight adjusted his uniform a bit, straightening it to make it at least appear to be more crisp, as though the countless medals, patches, and ribbons were not enough to do the job. He stood straight and firm, though his hands were tucked in a relaxed position behind his back. His honor guard of marines on either side of him stared firmly at the incoming Chiss, as if they were measuring them up, and the blue-skins seemed to be doing the same.
Inch for inch they were on about the same level of military skill, and probably military minds, but in sheer, close quarters brawling the marines could have easily barelled over the smaller Chiss. In sheer, raw, power where it would matter if shots were exchanged, these marines had it all and more.
Dwight too was measuring up this apparent emperor. He had never heard through any of the emperor's lessons about the Chiss that they had ever had some kind of a dictator. It was strange, unnerving almost, something about this cyborg that just made him want to shudder.
But then again, Dwight was not a politician, his field always involved the tactical and strategical minds.
"Emperor," he said with a half-bow, custom in Jutraalian society to indicate that while they respected royalty, none but the emperor and his family received a full and gracious bow, "I am General Dwight, commandant of the Jutraalian Marine Corps, I am here to escort you to his majesty's chambers."
The emperor only nodded, seeming to have a portrayal of arrogance, a visage of iron and steel, unnerving and uncaring for those of lesser stature such as this military man. It was the kind of man the marine knew he would not have to worry about launching some kind of a sneak attack, especially in the bowls of the Jutraalian Palace.
Dwight turned slowly and began a brisk pace across the durasteel floor, until they came to some slight stares and a turn, where they proceeded again until they came upon more stairs. For several levels they went straight up, and Dwight only smirked and the constant grumblings of the Chiss emperor.
Fearsons only had one lift up or down to his chamber and it was for personal use only.
And surprisingly, at the fifth level up, there stood the emperor, brisk and firm, his PeFauna on all sides as usual, and yet there was something oddly different about him. His glowing red eyes bore down onto the Chiss emperor, sparing him only a glance.
"Emperor Fearsons," the other stated, "I've heard
good things about you." Dwight did not like where this was going.
The paler emperor nodded. "I wish I could say the same about you, though where you heard such from me is a mystery. You are here for the meetings, no?" he asked casually, keeping red, pupiless eyes locked on red, pupiless eyes.
The Chiss nodded. "Well you will need to go straight up for four more levels and have one of my droids show you the way, I came merely to welcome you, I shall be there shortly." With that Fearsons simply...disappeared.
