“Who called this assembly,” Oligarch Morinth barked as he stormed into the meeting hall out of breath and disheveled. Caught off guard, the remaining members of the Oligarchy, and one other person that Morinth looked surprised to see, all turned towards the door.
“I called this meeting,” Patron Sylvus said with a grin. “It has been brought to Patronage attention that this attack was not what it seemed.”
“Has it now?” Morinth asked as he slowly stepped further into the room and straightened his tunic. “What could you possibly mean, Sylvus?”
“I mean,” Sylvus replied as he motioned behind Morinth into the exterior corridor to see two guards dragging Marcus Orn towards them. “That you conspired with the PlanetFallers to attack Horus Prime, though to what end or for what gain we’ve not yet surmised.”
“And this fairy tale you weave,” Morinth scoffed, “Who taught you to spin it?”
“The Magi told him,” Oligarch Orsen said. “Magus Diomedes said we’re all involved, but… tell the Patronage this is foolish. Set the record straight, Morinth!”
Morinth tipped his head towards Orsen before entering something on a data pad on his wrist. Suddenly the meeting hall doors slid shut and locked as a yellow mist began to emanate out of the air ducts and slowly fill them room.
“What is this, Morinth,” Patron Sylvus asked as he reached for this throat. “Some sort of trick?”
Morinth placed a small breathing device over his nose and mouth and watched the men begin to choke and cry out for help. The echoes of the guards trying to pry, then shoot, open the door echoed throughout the room.