Private AEGIS GALACTICUS // The Search for Gianna Sal-Soren

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

Tag: Darth Sycophantia
Attire: Link​

Stepping off the dimly lit, elegantly decorated elevator, Brandyn found himself confronted by a milieu of the most patrician crowd he had mixed with in many a year. Most had their hoods down and faces exposed, yet they still spoke in hushed tones as though an eavesdropper lurked in the shadows. Such was the nature of this meeting.

Having secured an invitation under the pseudonym Gaelid Ca'Nostra, Brandyn felt a flicker of gratitude for the facial plate that marred his appearance. It was a constant, painful reminder of his failures, but it served a purpose. Facial recognition no longer registered him as Brandyn Sal-Soren. For someone adept at spycraft, it was a dark gift from the Force itself. Being outed as the son of Baros Sal-Soren would ensure a swift and violent end to his day.

With his hood up and the pointed brim pulled low, Brandyn glided through the room. The air was heavy with a thousand competing scents - expensive perfumes, burning incense, exotic spices from the Arkanian dishes lining the central banquet table, and enough pheromones to drive a lesser man to distraction. Fortunately, Brandyn was in no mood to be distracted.

The atmosphere in the room shifted. Brandyn instinctively coiled his Force presence even deeper within himself as a man in a golden, embroidered robe entered. The newcomer moved with a grace and dignity that commanded instant authority, despite his face being hidden behind a tribal ceremonial mask Brandyn did not recognize.

"Patrons of the Aegis Galacticus," a formless voice boomed, its low, rumbling monotone sending a chill down Brandyn's spine.

"Non vis, sed civis," the crowd chanted in quiet, practiced unison. Brandyn mumbled only the final word, catching it just as it was being formed. He could only hope no one noticed the slight delay.

"Non vis, sed civis," the low, steady tone echoed back. "Seek answers among friends."

The room fractured into idle chatter once more. Attendees broke off into small clusters, though everyone seemed to look over their shoulders more often than they looked at the people they were speaking to.

Brandyn continued his understated tour of the room. If his intelligence was correct, a certain scientist, formerly of the Unblessed, was present tonight. And Brandyn had a few choice questions for her.

 

[Darth Sycophantia]

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Comfortable Liar - by Chevelle​

Tag: Brandyn Sal-Soren

The doors of the elevator groaned apart before me like the opening jaws of some ancient leviathan, and I stepped into a chamber vast enough to berth a warship beneath its vaulted ebony ceiling. Wisps of incense coiled through the air in silver ribbons, mingling with sweeter aromas of exotic wines, spiced meats, and perfumes expensive enough to ransom a moon.

Banners draped from towering pillars carved with golden sigils of their organization while orchestral hymns whispered softly beneath the layered conversations of these cultists; gathered in mass beneath shimmering chandeliers forged from fractured kyber crystal.

I could feel the hundreds of eyes brush across me as I advanced deeper into their decadent abyss, yet none dare lingerd for long. They knew predators when they see them. Tonight I came not for spectacle, but to broker two pacts that, with success, would conjure long damning effects for the galaxy.

The first is simple in concept, if not scale, financial backing for a project so secretive its existence survives only in fragmented whispers and encrypted ledgers.

The second pact interested me far more. Scientific exploits concerning the nature of the Force itself. Not theology. Not Sith mysticism whispered by corpse-priests in forgotten tombs, but dissection, experimentation, understanding. The invitation had omitted the female scientist's name entirely, which only sharpened my curiosity further. Anonymous brilliance is often far more dangerous than celebrated genius.

I accepted the gathering knowing full well that if even half the rumors surrounding her work proved true, then indulging this invitation would be well worth sating my appetite; for knowledge, for power, and perhaps for something far more intoxicating hidden beneath the surface of this beautifully corrupted assembly.

Off to my left, the corner of my peripheral captured a man rise above the chittering sea of bodies, his voice sharpening into something almost ritualistic as he began rilling up the crowd into a prideful frenzy only they seem to understand; spitting out a mantra drenched in manifest destiny and self-anointed prophecy, I think. The chant caught like wildfire through incense-thick air, prompting me to roll my eyes slowly, the motion heavy with disdain as their devotion curdled fervently in my stomach.

"I despise religious zealots and fanatics no matter what umbrella they seek shelter from," I said in cold and cruel, measured tones, "they are best purged before their rot spreads further, but they do, for now, serve a purpose to me."

Then as the chant slowly faded into mere hushes, the crowd began fracturing into smaller pockets of conversation, the grand hall's once unified fervor dissolving into clusters of scheming voices and glittering ambition and I casually observed the shift with quiet satisfaction.

"Time," I said in dark, venomous tones, eyes drifting across the bloated assemblies of pomp and pretense, "to thin out some of these overly swollen, self-important leeches' accounts before they convince themselves they matter more than they do."