For the last few weeks, tensions have been boiling over. People are getting desperate, they know that the Pact will strip them of who they are. They believe in themselves and their neighbors alone.
The Hand walked about the corridors, dressed in their frayed but brilliant golden robes. Those who boo'd them were brought under an uncomforting heat until they either dispersed or burned. When the emergency broadcast frequency came online throughout the halls, everyone stopped. Jeers, cries, screams, and hollers all fell silent.
On the screens, a live feed winked into view. A trio of scrappers, two were Chairs. The one in front, carried a slab of metal carved off a ship. A new ship based on how shined it was. The group walked as they read their intentions. Everyone watching could recognize the palace of the Hand, gilded citadelic structures akin to the temples of Valuser'rh.
The Trio stepped to the front door, "This Declaration of Sovereignty brings with it our demands and our commitment. We are free, we are unbreakable!"
The door opened, sliding with the symbolic power of two tectonic plates. Behind it stood the one and only Tas'suvera. She stepped into the open with a gait that was equal parts dramatic and graceful.
She did not see it fit to even regard the trio when she shook her head, dashing with her gesture any hope of a peaceful transition of power. The tension snapped, the two chairs cast their hands forward, hurling the metal scrap declaration into the neck of the Tas'suvera. The war had begun, and the feed was cut, but everyone aboard the ship heard the explosion of revolution.
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