posted 05-20-13 09:43 AM EDT (US)
[This message has been edited by Empire of Darkness (edited 05-20-2013 @ 09:46 AM).]
[This message has been edited by Moff (edited 10-13-2013 @ 10:59 AM).]
Unfortunately, the lobby receptionist was able to quickly deduce that the incoming soldiers were not of Remnant origin, leading Zend to immolate his chest cavity for sounding the alarm. The security team was led by a female army officer; luck was both on her side and Riene's. The door she exited from was within arm's reach of the Chief Marshal, and instinct led Zend to club her with her rifle instead of setting up a shot. The officer went down with a bloodied face; her team suffered more mortal injuries. “Can you come along quietly, or do you need to be stunned?”Notably, she MOSTLY doesn't want to kill them (though, maybe a little) but will not hesitate.
“Why don't you kill me, traitor?” she sneered, her voice thick with pain and blood.
“Counter-productive. You're worth more alive... for now,” Zend stated bluntly.
The officer seemed unsure of how to respond. Riene wasn't: she took the binders from her belt and locked the prisoner's wrists behind her back before relieving the other woman of her sidearm.There's one bargaining chip.
As the lift ascended the great structure, part of her hoped she wouldn't need to terminate them, that they would see the light and accept their rightful place in the True Empire. A darker part of her hoped they wouldn't, and would pay for their treason and murder. After all, even if their original sin had simply been to be born outside of the True Empire's influence, or the lack of ability to join forces for those who were old enough to be alive during the Great Exodus, many had now also stained their hands with the blood of the noble warriors of the Empire.4. Assaulting said Remnant general due to improper remarks. (She is from a different Imperial faction)
...
She carried no fond memories of the old Galaxy, no flickers of romance or ancient ties. Her home was the void, the deck of the Fusilier, and the heart of battle. Mercy came to those who earned it, not to those who would butcher her soldiers and then raise their hands in surrender. Forgiveness required atonement, and a mere change in loyalty was far from the needed penance. And once one tasted treason, history showed that it had a habit of becoming a narcotic that preyed on the weak of spirit. The strong died before committing betrayal.
She calmed her familial outrage, then yanked the general to his feet. “Order your men to stand down... or I will pump nerve gas into every room in this tower, save this one. And you will listen, and you will watch, as they all die because of your pride, your arrogance, and your refusal to face judgment.-Purpose: Secure cooperation.
“And after them, it will be your family. And you can explain to them why they are dying: because their lives are less important than your image.”
She keyed her headset comm. “Bring in the prisoners.”
The wounded general looked bewildered. “What prisoners?”
The survivors of the lobby raids arrived as the words finished leaving his bloodied mouth. “Down on your knees,” Riene ordered them, ignoring the general.
There was some reluctance, nervous casting of glances. Riene nodded in acknowledgment, then produced her vibroknife. “I will not ask again.”
The first captured officer and a few others followed. One man, tall and powerfully built, sneered. “You're going to kill us anyway. I won't give you the satisfaction,” he said coldly as Riene around back of him.7. Decapitation of a prisoner.
“I'd rather not, actually,” she replied as she knelt down, as if to inspect something curious on the floor. “But, if it comes down to it... your comrades will at least have a shred of dignity.”
Her blade flashed, slicing across the tendons of his heel. The rebellious soldier screamed and drew up his wounded leg instinctively, and Riene's blade slashed though the tendon in the other leg. Falling flat, the bleeding soldier screamed and cursed Riene loudly. She simply looked at the other soldiers that still stood, watching their comrade writhe in agony. When they caught her gaze, both men and the woman dropped to their knees.
Riene opened her mouth to speak, but the screaming soldier continued to frustrate her efforts. She considered shooting him dead or cutting his throat, but decided he provided a very good psychological weapon. Instead, amid his thrashing, she put her foot on his throat. He moved to try to shift the pressure, and provided her with a stable target for a moment. Her toe dug into his trachea, reducing his screams to anguished gargling noises. “Now, then... General, please order your troops to surrender. These men and women have served the Remnant well. But the cause is lost. Would you condemn them to death for pride?”
“It is a soldier's duty to die for the Empire. Apparently, your warlord didn't teach you that.”-Purpose: Break the enemy commander as well as prove she is not bluffing. He has no control and no room to negotiate. Note she does not
“She did. There also comes a point when further bloodshed serves no purpose than to mark a commander's cowardice,” Riene countered, then placed the knife at the throat of a prisoner. “I offer you one last chance, General.”
“Never.”
Zend sighed with frustration and plunged the knife home. She made sure the initial thrust severed the man's spine; only the general needed to feel his death. Then she turned the knife about in a circle... and placed the severed head on the general's planning table, the man's eyes staring into the General's horrified visage.
“My gods! You sick, twisted bitch!”
“One of your sharpshooters did something similar to one of my lieutenants not too long ago... only there was much less left of his head. War is suddenly less fun when it stares you in the face, isn't it, General?”
“You're only proving why I shouldn't surrender my men to your 'tender mercies.'”-Purpose: Secure the general's cooperation. She has shown the will to carry through on her threats, and to do so with horrifying effectiveness. And it firmly stresses that every second of delay by the general means more of his people dead. He just has to see their bodies instead of dead comm frequencies.
She looked up the line of prisoners. “Up until now, have any of you been harmed in captivity?”
Muted negative replies came from the prisoners, though none took their eyes off of the headless body. Even the man under Riene's foot had stopped howling in shock. “General?”
The general looked positively ill. But Riene didn't have the patience anymore. She placed her knife at the throat of a female captive. “Two questions, General. The answer is the same: does she live and do your men surrender.”
“I... I...”
“The next word from your mouth needs to be a yes or no.”
“General...” The prisoner said with a decidedly justified note of alarm.
“All right! All right!” He put his hands up, speaking quickly. “Please... I'll give the order.”
“Do so now,” Riene ordered.
The general quickly hit his comlink. “And no tricks, General. My knife isn't just at her throat. It's everyone in the building... and that's just within ten seconds.”
Shaking, the aged officer opened the channel. “This is General Lemurus. Soldiers of the Remnant... soldiers of the Remnant... you have fought hard this day. But...”
He cast a glance at Riene, as if he were plotting. Her knife never wavered from the prisoner's throat. He made his choice. “But the battle is lost. All troops are to lay down their arms.”
He took his finger off of the comm. “What assurance do I have you won't kill them once they do?”-Purpose: The lie was to reassure the other prisoners and avoid a revolt. The execution's reasons are spelled out: the general for not caving until one prisoner was butchered and another threatened. The loudmouth whose Achilles tendons she cut for being a likely agitator and more or less refusing the defection by default, and the other soldier who also refused to defect. They were too dangerous to be left with the general prison population.
“None whatsoever,” Riene shot back. “But... the Grand Admiral would much rather reconcile forces with the True Empire than wholesale slaughter. They will be given a chance for life, and only those who refuse will die.”
“And what does that mean?”
Zend narrowed her eyes. “It means they're prisoners of the Empire. It means if they try to pull off some stupid holomovie escape plot, they will die. If they behave themselves, they have a good chance of being set free and will have many chances for parole.”
“Will they be treated well?”
“They will be,” Riene said. “Inform them.”
Sadly and with the weight of the Galaxy on his shoulders, the general returned to the comm. “Lay down your weapons and yourselves in. I have assurances that you will be treated... fairly.”
Only then did the knife leave the captive's throat. “Very well. Now, you are all under my custody. General, please stand on the other side of the room. And someone bring the sergeant with him.”
The wounded man was unceremoniously dragged against the wall, while Lemurus stood next to him. “If any do not wish to at least consider serving in the True Empire, please move over by the general. You will be left for another patrol and taken to a prisoner of war camp for processing,” Riene instructed the prisoners.
There was some fretting. “Do not let peer pressure sway you. If you refuse this offer, you will not be permitted any chance of parole. Surely, you can at least consider joining the real Empire.”
The fretting continued, then one of the prisoners who didn't kneel immediately joined them. “I stand by the Remnant,” she said.
Riene turned to her sergeant. “Take them to the nearest collection point. I'll be along shortly.”
The sergeant saluted, then took the rest of the squad out of the room with the prisoners in tow. It was just Riene, Lemurus, and the two rebellious soldiers. She hit the door control. “I'm afraid I had to tell a white lie to your friends.”
She unholstered her E-19Z. “You have rejected the offer of life; you have chosen death, instead.”
“Now, wait! I was never—” Lemurus cried.
“You sealed your fate the moment your indecision caused that,” Riene hissed, referencing the decapitated soldier. “Last words?”
“I—”
“This—”
“YOU—”
The stream of bolts from the autocarbine ripped through the three doomed rebels' bodies. “Unfortunately, you are not entitled to such a courtesy,” Riene said to the now-silent room.
She holstered her sidearm, donned her helmet once more, and walked out of the room.
Riene's bootheels clicked on the deckplates, acting as a steady metronome that heralded her arrival. The massive cargo bay had been converted into a prison compound, complete with guard posts and barracks, some basic facilities for the prisoners, and of course, the ability to lock it down and vent or poison the atmosphere, making it far more inescapable than a conventional, ground-based prison. Granted, the idea wasn't exactly pioneering: Ysanne Isard had done it nearly forty years before. But this time, there was no need for subterfuge. Knowing there was nowhere to go but into the airless void was a very useful morale-breaker.11. Threatening a badly wounded prisoner.
Of course, they had one other option. Their only option, really: join forces with the True Empire. But then, there were the zealots and partisans, chanting about death before dishonor and whatnot. Fortunately, even they had a use to serve in the True Empire: examples. Terminate a few of those that would vocally refuse amnesty and the rest would fall in line. Improperly done, however, the technique could backfire miserably. Fortunately, the True Empire had gained a good deal of practice in proper cowing of resistance and showing that further attempts were beyond futile without going too far. And, as part of her studies, Riene had made herself intimately familiar with all the grim calculus.
It wasn't until she entered the makeshift field hospital that she found more prisoners. Most wore Army uniforms, though the medical staff were all naval. Given every trooper who could stand was already doing so, all of the cases still within the hospital were either missing one or both legs or unconscious, connected to fluid drips, and covered in bandages. Riene turned to one of the doctors. “I want these people outside, with the rest.”-Purpose: This is a bit of a darker moment in terms of justification. Mostly, she's annoyed with the doctor's hemming and hawing and intimidating her into cooperation. However, she is in the middle of an extremely hostile population (there's a full battalion of Remnant Army prisoners outside and she has six guards and inspectors with her) and attempting to conduct legitimate business to provide support for the prisoners.
Before the doctor could give her reply, a nurse grumbled, “They can't stand at attention for your parade.”
Zend speared the impudent man with a glare. “Can they move or be moved to be counted? Or would you rather remain short on supplies?”
The doctor nodded, then pointed to one soldier so heavily swathed in bandages that Riene could tell nothing of gender or affiliation. “That one can't be moved.”
“What's the patient's condition, Doctor?”
She shook her head. “I can't say for certain.”
“Will they survive or not?”
“Possibly. Possibly not.”
Riene chewed on the inside of her cheek. “Doctor, I shall ask you one final time. If you cannot provide a satisfactory answer, then I'llattend to the case myself. Do the odds favor survival?”
Riene moved along as the doctors and nurses began to move the conscious patients onto stretchers and simply wheeled out the beds of those who were unconscious. “Major13. Ordering and overseeing the mass and thorough execution of the army personnel after they rally and convince their CO to reject Riene's offer.[in command of the army prisoners in the camp; it contains both army and navy prisoners], please wait with your personnel. I need to talk to the Admiral [in command of the naval prisoners] for a moment.”
The major gave an obedient nod and, with a couple of guards, walked off toward his tattered command. The Remnant fleet's chief representative asked, “What is it you wish to discuss, Chief Marshal?”
“A chance for those under your command to still have a future, Admiral. You are their commanding officer: you hold a good deal of influence. Persuade them to join forces with the True Empire, and their lives will be spared,” she explained as the two walked down the split ranks of Navy personnel. One officer briefly caught Riene's eye; not particularly tall, but with a minor bit of scruff on his face and piercing blue eyes. He just seemed... different. “But, any who refuse...”
“I see.”
“And should you refuse to bring the offer to them, Admiral... you forfeit your life and all those of your men. So, no kneejerk heroics, please. You hold their fate in your hands.”
“May I discuss it with them?” the older man asked nervously.
“You may. Give a speech, interview them individually, it doesn't matter. Just be sure to have an answer before the good major gives his,” Zend replied curtly.
“Thank you, Chief Marshal.”
The admiral peeled off and soon Riene heard him give a plain, uninspired, but rather accurate dissertation on the choices before them. She walked across the massive bay and beckoned the major to her. “As you can see, the Admiral has been offered a choice between giving up serving the so-called Remnant to join forces with the True Empire, and the consequences of refusing such an offer. I offer you the same choice: life in Imperial service, or you die as traitors, here and now.”
The major's eyes widened at the stark bluntness of the offer. “Chief Marshal, I am not certain how my troops will react to such an ultimatum.”
“Then perhaps you should try to persuade them, Major. If you die here, you die for nothing. You do not give your lives to win some victory for your false Emperor, you do not die to defend the innocent. You die for arrogance and stupidity, only.”
“It seems you gave the Admiral a chance to talk to his people. Might you extend the same courtesy to me?”
Zend nodded as one of the Navy captives, a real Army trooper in tow, ran up. “Of course.”
A deep breath prevented any unnecessary outburst from the young chief marshal. She merely turned and stepped away several paces, her face a concealing mask. But when she spoke to the Stormtrooper guard on her flank, the seething anger both blazed in her tone and put a lethal chill in her words. "Shoot them. I want every last Army captive dead."14. Formed a volunteer PsyOps unit with the express purpose of befriending and seducing prisoners.
"What about the Naval personnel?" the trooper asked calmly.
"Detention. And shoot any that get in the way, too."
The trooper seemed to stare off into space as Riene walked away. But she knew he was relaying her orders. The raucous singing and stamping of steel-shod boots drowned out the sound of charging levers being pulled on blasters of every size. But, as they finished their fourth time around, the guns opened up. Over the din of blaster fire and the agonized screams of dying men and women, Riene calmly to the open lift and rode it to the gun deck where rifle-armed soldiers and emplaced E-Webs, T-21 repeaters, and a few ancient Z6 rotaries rained emerald death on the formerly eight-hundred-forty-strong population of Remnant Army personnel. After a solid minute of firing, there was no one left standing among the defiant armor troops. A vast pool of blood slowly spread on the durasteel deck: with no incline to the surface, it had nowhere to run. The air was charged with the reek of ozone, burned flesh, and death. The deck was clear of Naval personnel, too. They'd begun to be herded out as soon as Riene gave the order.
Riene extracted her comlink. "Sensor control? I need a detailed bioscan of the cargo bay. Feed the information to the helmets of all Stormtroopers in here."
"Yes, ma'am."
There was a pause, then the E-Webs and light repeaters and rifles swung toward the fallen mass of bodies. Tight bursts tore into the heaps until no further life could be detected. It was almost all done. "Trooper, call maintenance and tell them to bring a large-scale clean-up crew. And break down that camp; it won't be needed anymore."
The hatch to the cell chimed, and Riene stiffened her posture. A petite Stormtrooper captain with her blonde hair pulled back—and slightly mussed on the sides of her black cap—and in the midst of buckling her sable belt stepped forward. Her gray-green eyes fell upon the other woman, only a couple of years older but vastly senior in rank and authority.15. I was going to put up the full post... Riene found a prisoner with a prior relationship to the new Remant royalty. He is the scruffy person mentioned Point 12 and the subject mentioned in 14. This actually occurs prior to 14, and is the "stick" part mentioned. Basically, during initial interrogations, the prisoner (one of Crazed's old characters from past RPs that fell out of his creators good graces) is resistant and a couple times tries attacking Riene. He makes some crude remarks about her gender, suggesting she "doesn't do it for him." In response, he is beaten and...
“So?”
The captain immediately came to attention, her gloved hands falling to her side once her belt had been properly fastened. “The prisoner is definitely more responsive, Chief Marshal. One might even think he's enjoying his newest rounds of interrogation.”
A wicked smile tried to play across Riene's lips, but she suppressed it. Deep down, part of her found this whole matter utterly nauseating... but it was damned effective. And the captain was a veteran and volunteer for this special task force; the entire unit was all volunteer, right down to their targets and methods. But the captain always had a special knack with a particular set of prisoners, perhaps due to an unfortunate deformity she'd borne since birth. And if her interrogators enjoyed what they were doing, it did soothe her concerns somewhat. Just as long as it was kept within reason; attachment was strictly forbidden. There always was the unfortunate case of the interrogator who got too sympathetic with his or her charge. After all, they were only human... and a few other alien races.
Some of her Chiss mentors frowned upon such direct methods, preferring mind-games and analysis to pluck thoughts out of an expression, a sigh, or even simple bodily carriage. It made for lovely holodramas, but when time was of the essence, there wasn't time to pussyfoot about with psychology manuals and readouts. If violence was needed, then it was applied. And if friendship, or a sympathetic shoulder to lean on would give the best results in the shortest time, then her special unit would go into action. She'd let her interrogation unit try the stick with this prisoner early on. Now the carrot was producing the desired results. Then again, that was another lesson she'd learned from her mentors and through experience: brutality followed by kindness had a synergistic effect. And it worked beautifully both with individuals in the interrogation cell, and with entire subjugated planets. A bloody conquest would always cause burning anger... but if the roads were simply left to rot, and the damaged buildings to crumble, then resistance had symbols to latch onto. Rebuilding the devastated cities, employing the people in their reconstruction (that it was voluntary was a key caveat), feeding the hungry and sheltering the war refugees not only undercut the frothing rants of the revolutionaries and radicals, but also engendered real affection for the conqueror and made the people less liable to rise up against those who helped them rebuild a home, or provided the food to their children.
Riene intended to share this lesson to the Galaxy... indeed, it was key to making sure there wouldn't be an Alliance to Restore the New Republic or some such nonsense. The Final Victory would be necessarily bloody, as would justice for the terrorist leaders and their murderous thugs. But if the people underfoot could combat the bloody images of war with memories of reconstruction and the Empire's potentially boundless magnanimity and munificence... then true hope and progress would flourish. And the Galaxy would enter a new golden age... guided by the firm but loving hand of the Empire.
The detention officer saluted crisply as Riene entered the control room for the block. She wordlessly handed over a data chip. The black-clad lieutenant plugged it into the console reader, and his eyes widened. Zend's only response was “Open the cell.”17. Shoots said guards.
A pneumatic hiss echoed down the corridor... along with voices. Riene gripped her sidearm and strode confidently down the corridor. Shouts of anger and pain, jeers... “What is going here?”
The cell fell silent, save for quiet, pained groans. The pistol rose from its holster, and fell back to her side. Her thumb flicked the safety catch off. Her pace quickened, durasteel-shod boots thundering off the durasteel grates. She peered into the cell, and was enraged.
Her prize prisoner was the floor, with a pair of guards looming over him. One held a sack, the outline of a rigid, weighty object visible in its distended bottom. The other merely had his fists clenched, and a small trickle of blood coming from one nostril. The two men looked contemptuously up at the hatch, then blanched and snapped to attention so hard that Zend was mildly astonished they hadn't fractured their hands on the brims of their helmets. “I'll ask again. What... is going on here?”
The two men glanced nervously back and forth between each other. “Eyes front! I asked you a question, Corporal!” The chief marshal snapped as she read the man's rank off the plain white twist of fabric on his shoulders. “Or would you like me to conjecture? Because to me, it looks like a junior non-com and one of his lackeys decided to abuse a prisoner, with no idea who they were getting their jollies with.”
A flash of indignation in the junior enlistee's face fanned Riene's anger. “Or... youdid know.” Both men glanced off to the side. “You knew?!” Zend's voice tore through the silent cell, her mind quickly calculating ways to salvage the situation. Even as her azure eyes blazed with genuine rage, the tendons in her neck tightened into durasteel cables, her brain assembled the perfect solution. “Get out of the cell. Now.”
Noting the pistol still clutched in her grip, the two guards hastily obeyed. “Open the vents,” she barked down the corridor. The lieutenant had to be complicit as well; guards at their level had no access to prisoner manifests. She began to ponder if he'd been ignorant of their intentions, but then she recalled his reaction to her orders.
With a click, the vents to the cells in the block opened. After one too many escapes during the first war against the Rebel scum with knocking on walls, pipes, beds, floors, and other fantastically stupid ways to cut around the isolation of prisoners (Why wasn't it addressed after the first time? Or before that, with a competent engineer?!), the True Empire had retrofitted its prisons to prevent the use of semaphores and other codes to communicate between cells. However, there were times when the jailers needed to communicate with multiple prisoners without tediously delivering the message to each individual or risking prison break by opening multiple cells or gathering a large knot of prisoners in one place. The solution was the vents that had just opened; they also nicely doubled for air circulation in the event of a primary life support failure... or ensuring any airborne remedies to problem blocks could not be thwarted by a prisoner somehow damaging his cell's life support systems.
“So, you illegally looked into the prisoner manifest, and found a high-value prisoner. And then what? Decided you've have a little fun, show the traitors what happens when high-value prisoners come into our grasp? Hmm?” she snarled. “Throw him a little party in his cell? Make him feelspecial?!”
“We—urg!” The guard private started to speak; Riene's fist interrupted. The guard fell back, clutching his bloodied mouth.
“You are both idiots. This man is worth more than the rest of the scum combined! And you jeopardize the Grand Admiral's plans for some moronic, boot-camp hazing?!”
“It's my fault ma'am. I'm the senior trooper, I shouldn't have—” The corporal began. Riene stared directly in his eyes, her gaze never wavering as the pistol came up at her hip. “No, you18. Seduces the Princeshouldn't have.”
The report in the confined corridor drowned out any scream. The junior trooper watched his superior fall. And made his last mistake: he reached for his own sidearm. Whether it was reflex or revenge, Riene didn't know and didn't care, either.No one raised a hand to a Zend. Her pistol spoke once more, then slid back into the holster with a soft whisper. With the prisoner safe, and importance—even superiority over the rest of them—established for all to hear, Zend calmly strode back to control room. The lieutenant stood there, staring at the two bodies on the grate. “If this happens again—look at me when I address you,” Riene said softly. The man slowly, haltingly turned his face to meet hers. His gaze, however, fixed on the ground. “If this ever happens again, I'll hold you just as responsible... private.”
She reached up and ripped his rank bar from his chest. “Call your relief, and pray you never darken my path again.”
After all, there'd been so much more to educating the prince than reuniting him with a familiar face in his captivity. A minor disturbance in the main body of the True Empire had been serendipitous. Governor Dreman's jam hands had finally left enough residue to attract serious attention. The fool had been quietly stealing ships and selling them to vagrants and corsairs. Riene had to give him credit; he kept his takings low and used a rather roundabout method. If he'd simply been sticking his hand in the till, that would have set off alarm bells instantly. Instead, indications suggested that he'd begun his skimming as soon as the main fleet departed for Muunilinst and Bilbringi. But he'd become too greedy, and Riene was sent to deal with him, which in turn provided the perfect opportunity to educate the false prince in the ways of the Empire. Justice had been swift but fair.-Purpose: Plant an emotional connection. Previously, his captivity centered around the idea of "educating" him in the ways of the True Empire.
Jendob had been suitably impressed. No bureaucracies loaded with cronies to slow or reverse the wheels of justice, no lengthy processes to give time for influence peddling. Riene had returned to Muunilinst with a sense of having accomplished both of her missions. In a sense, the evening's escapade had been something of a reward for the false prince taking to his lessons.
The day was drawing to a close, but there was still much work to be done. Fatigue was beginning to wear on the young Chief Marshal, but Riene knewSo... she does lots of bad things. But, in every case save one, she has a reason for it. And in the bulk of those, it's pragmatic and functional. Normally, she will employ cruelty as a means to an end rath than for its own sake, like every other Star Wars villain.[the Grand Admiral, Daara Zend... her mother] would be most disappointed if she permitted only minor fatigue to impede the performance of her duty. And that... that was a punishment more cutting to her than every other prescribed by the Imperial law codes.
So, she labored on, scanning reports and various other pieces of data that kept her up to date on the status of the Stormtrooper Corps. And what better place do so than on board the flagship of the Corps.Her flagship. The Fusilier was one-of-a-kind, built from the keel up to serve as a mobile training center, officer academy, and command ship. Riene would have liked to think her mother had her in mind when it was built, but it predated her taking the reigns of the Corps by about five years. In any case, the vessel more than suited her own needs and allowed her Stormtroopers a degree of training that probably surpassed any in the known Galaxy.
Carida used to be the main training world for Stormtroopers, thanks to its high gravity and varied climate that allowed the Empire to train tough and versatile troops. Of course, that all changed when some Jedi child decided to vaporize the planet... and of course got off with nothing more than a guilt trip for also killing his brother in the process. Riene shook her head as she pondered that old line of thought: the Rebel terrorists had actuallyannihilated more planets than the Empire, and killed more than twenty times as many people in the process. Indeed, the vaunted Jedi Order was responsible for an act of genocide against the Caridans. And yet, Alderaan was considered the pinnacle of all crimes and atrocities? It made no sense to a logical, thinking person.
Riene would enjoy rubbing the noses of the Rebel slime in that fact when the Empire reigned supreme across the Galaxy. It might even be worth sparing their lives in order to remind them, every remaining day of their miserable lives, that they actually spilled more innocent blood than Tarkin. She especially hoped to have an Alderaanian to remind—and eventually break—with that knowledge. It would prove a very useful propaganda tool to snuff out any lingering fires of rebellion once the Republic serpent was decapitated.
[This message has been edited by Moff (edited 10-13-2013 @ 02:14 PM).]
The panel, hosted by Lucasfilm's Pablo Hidalgo, focused on the Empire and how it is central to the story of Star Wars Rebels. Hidalgo revealed that the series takes place about 14 years after the events of Star Wars: Episode III Revenge of the Sith, a time in which the Emperor's rule is secure and the Empire is seeking to expand its power to Outer Rim territories.Well, so much for that extremely interesting chapter of EGTW about the reconquest of the Rim. Which actually read like good military fiction and made sense and was consistent...
That leads Imperial forces to Lothal, a poor planet that initially welcomes the Empire on the promise of security and prosperity. It soon becomes obvious, however, that the Empire does not have Lothal's best interests at heart, as the Imperials exploit its people and begin recruiting young citizens to join TIE fighter and Stormtrooper academies, or to work in the Sienar Fleet Systems factory -- which builds TIE fighters -- in the planet's capital. Hidalgo showed new art focusing on Lothal, including the planet itself, a town, and alleyways, as well as an Empire recruitment poster.GASP! PEOPLE ACTUALLY THINK GOOD THINGS ABOUT THE EMPIRE FOR A NANOSECOND?!
If anything was made clear at today's panel, it's that the Empire is back -- thanks to Star Wars Rebels.And about to be screwed silly. I already noticed the obese Imperial officer (because ha ha fat people are funny)... with the sidenote of "Please note that the hat does not come off." Which... okay.
[This message has been edited by Moff (edited 10-13-2013 @ 03:07 PM).]
So, is Dee Bradley Baker going to make all of the Stormtroopers sound like Aussies? <_<
[This message has been edited by Moff (edited 10-13-2013 @ 03:12 PM).]
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