Seasonal Carnival Games

[Aknoby]

Aknoby got tired of watching and wondered where he should start. Of course, with his father figure at Diarchy, Laphisto.

Reading the rules, he looks at Laphisto and gives him the most sincere smile he can muster.

"If I participate, you can trust me 100% that I won't cheat??"

He tilts his head slightly, careful not to ruin his zombie makeup, and uses the most casual tone Laphisto has ever heard the boy use in public with him.

Laphisto

 

[Ironwraith]

Republic Special Operations Division
The Haunted Hall – Shadowlight Festival


The holographic corridors buzzed and flickered as Ironwraith stepped inside, the entry arch spitting out fog and a mechanical scream:"ENTER IF YOU DARE!"


He exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. "Yeah, yeah. Been there, dared that."


Light bent strangely in the hall — panels flashing between durasteel and old stone. A holo-spectral rancor roared down the corridor ahead, its teeth phasing through the walls as it lunged. Ironwraith didn't even break stride. The claws passed harmlessly through him, distorting the edges of his Wampa onesie.


"Seen worse on Corellia after payday," he muttered.


Another corner, another jump scare — this one a squad of skeletal droids rising from the floor, their servos screeching. He walked straight through them, eyes half-lidded, sipping from his cup of caf. "Cute."


Then the lights dimmed.
A hush settled.
Something skittered.


He froze.


From the shadow beneath one of the holo-projectors, a tiny maintenance droid — barely the size of a fist — crawled out, its photoreceptors glowing an innocent amber. Its voicebox chirped out a high-pitched "Boo!"


Ironwraith flinched so hard he nearly spilled his drink. "—KRIFF—"


The droid tilted its head, emitted a confused beep-beep?


He stared down at it for a long second, heart thudding harder than he'd admit. Then he cleared his throat and straightened, forcing composure back into his voice. "Reflex. Tactical awareness. That's all."


The droid chirped again and zipped off into the darkness.

"Right," he grumbled, brushing holographic dust off his fur sleeve. "Battle-hardened veteran, spooked by a glorified can opener. Real stellar image, Ironwraith."

He took another cautious step forward, eyes flicking between the shifting walls. The holograms glitched in and out, throwing pale blue light across his Wampa suit. Somewhere deeper in the maze, something howled—a sound halfway between static and a scream.

He sighed. "Fantastic. Still not done."

Adjusting the hood over his head, he pressed on, the echo of his boots and the faint mechanical laughter of the maze's projectors following him deeper into the Haunted Hall.


Tags: Open

 

[Xian Xiao]

Xian's eyes flicked to the figure approaching, noting the way his long shadow stretched across the plaza. He was massive—imposing in every sense—but the tension in his shoulders, the careful precision in his movements, betrayed someone unaccustomed to moments like this. A rare smile tugged beneath her mask. So serious. How…predictable.

She let her gaze linger, curious at the way he carried himself like a soldier stepping onto a battlefield rather than a festival promenade. There was a bluntness to him that was almost charming, if one didn't mind a little intimidation.

Her attention shifted to the entrances beneath the plaza, where flickering illusions promised mischief and secrets. "If you're daring enough," she murmured, letting the words float lightly, teasingly, "there's a labyrinth called The Haunted Hall just below here. Fewer people, more…surprises. I thought it might be interesting."


Her head tilted slightly, a challenge tucked into her gaze. She let a soft, muffled laugh escape behind her mask. "Or we can stay with the crowd," she added, voice smooth, laced with amusement. "But somehow, I think the shadows are a better suit…don't you?"

The festival buzzed around them—the music, the drifting lights, the laughter—but for a heartbeat, all of it felt distant. The night had narrowed, if only briefly, to the two of them. And as Xian watched him, the tiniest spark of curiosity flickered: just how would someone so serious fare in a world built for play, illusion, and hidden corners?

Gavin Vel

 

[Liin Terallo]

The painting is finished. I set the palette down and balance the brush on top, being ever so mindful to not allow it to roll away so as to be stepped on. Or at worst; for it to leave traces of paint on the fabric of my dress.

And then quietly I stepped back from it, giving the canvas a polite bow. In some ways I felt like a ghostly performer myself. In a lot of ways for tonight; I was. No one could see me for who I am. Nor do any appear to sense me either. And that was perfect. To the gathered crowds I was but a ghostly artist there to enterain in silence.

Without a word I stepped away, making no more of noise than the whispering of the folds of fabric that made up my gown. It felt nice to paint again, although the subject matter was far darker than I would normally gravitate towards. Yet the spirit of the evening and recent events led me to do so.

Who knows? Maybe it is but a portrait of what I really look like deep inside.

 

[Diarch Rellik]

Rellik gave a small nod, the corner of his mouth lifting at Aiden's words. Simply letting his expression do the talking. Nights like these were what it was all for and tonight was perfect. He looked between the two of them, the noise of the crowd swelling around their small circle. People from the entire galaxy able to simply live and have fun. Then as he focused back in on Iandre and Aiden he realized he also had the same thing on a personal level. He had people he loved and there were many in the galaxy under the right circumstances could be good friends.

Letting Iandre reply to the Knights last comment before chiming in. He glanced toward the row of glowing booths down the promenade. Serene in joy. "We were just about to walk the games. You're welcome to join us if you would like. but BewArE" There was a faint grin at that, dry humor returning to his voice.

Aiden Porte Iandre Athlea

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Iandre inclined her head, the faintest smile softening her features. "Aiden," she said, calm and measured, yet warm. Her gaze swept briefly over both men, noting Rellik's steadiness and Aiden's easy openness. A quiet thread connected the three of them—subtle, undeniable, woven through shared history and mutual respect.

She gestured toward the row of glowing booths along the promenade. "We were just about to walk the games. You are welcome to join us if you would like." As she spoke, her hand brushed lightly against Rellik's arm—an almost imperceptible touch, intimate and deliberate.

Her eyes flicked to Aiden as he followed, and she offered a brief nod, both welcoming and reassuring. "I see he warns you well," she murmured softly, her tone carrying humor. Yet even as she spoke, her glance returned to Rellik, lingering a moment longer than necessary, the subtle warmth in her expression betraying her feelings.

As they moved toward the games, the three fell into an easy rhythm—Iandre stepping slightly closer to Rellik, Aiden naturally matching their pace. A shared glance, a half-smile, a quiet alignment of movement—all whispered the unspoken connection between them. The thread binding the three pulsed gently beneath the din of the crowd, intimate yet expansive, familiar and alive, understood without a single word.

Diarch Rellik Aiden Porte

 

[Rokul]

Tags: Zara Saga

"Do we...have to be here?"

For as much as Rokul was doing his best to become more social, and be better at talking with people, this...idea of dressing up in some kind of costume didn't suit him. Adjusting his necktie for a moment as he felt all stuffy inside of his "sangnir" costume. Something about him being able to "suck the life out of the party" inspired him to get into the costume as he took in the sight of all the various carnival games. What would be the first one Zara and himself headed over to? Well...He was spoilt for choice. Of course they could have headed over towards Laphisto's range...but Rokul felt that Zara, weapons and Laphisto were a bad combination. There was the whole holographic fighting yourself challenge that could be interesting...

Making something artistic didn't suit him either. His hands were made for farming and violence. Not for crafting. Same reason he wouldn't try to make anything at the cauldrons. The only thing that seemed the best for him was the haunted experience. Ghosts weren't real in the first place, so he'd be fine with that. And yes, the man who had faced against the undead did not believe in Ghosts. What were they going to do? Haunt his house? The joke would be on them! He didn't have one.

"If we...must stay here, what do you want to do first? I'm new to this festivals."

​

 

[Zara Saga]

Zara tilted her head up at him, that wry little smile blooming across her lips like a victory. He looked perfect: grumpy, tall, and awkwardly pulling at his necktie like it was a noose. He was the picture of reluctance, which was precisely why she loved it.

"Of course we have to be here," she said, slipping her arm through his with practiced ease. "I can't exactly have the Diarchy thinking I'm miserable without them, can I? Consider this simple public relations." Her tone was light and teasing, but something sharper, something defiant, lay beneath it, far brighter than the glittering lights strung above the promenade. Zara had learned to wear her freedom like a deliberate, dazzling gown. Tonight, Rokul was part of the ensemble.

She led him forward, weaving between the crowded booths and the laughter. She pretended not to notice the way he stiffened at the noise and the vibrant colors. Every now and then, she caught him looking, a perfect mix of curiosity and horror, and it just made her grin all the wider.

"The Haunted Hall?" she mused aloud, pretending to consider it. "Or maybe the Gauntlet. You could show off, win me something shiny…" She paused mid-sentence, spotting the painted banners of the Maker's Row, and her eyes lit up with mischief. "No. I've got a better idea."

Before Rokul could object, Zara pulled him through the crowd, her skirt swirling, and stopped at a table completely crowded with pigments and brushes. "This," she declared, planting her hands on her hips. "You, my terrifying little sangnir, are going to paint me."

He looked like she had just asked him to dismantle an active bomb. Zara perched gracefully on the edge of the bench across from him, chin lifted, her eyes bright with amusement. "And make it flattering," she added sweetly, folding her hands in her lap. "I'd hate to have to haunt you for eternity if you don't." She gave him a look that was half dare, half promise, and waited, entirely too pleased with herself.

Rokul​

 

[Rokul]

Tags: Zara Saga

"So instead of them thinking you're miserable without them...You want it to seem like I'm miserable with you?"

Rokul raised an eyebrow at at his own question, letting Zara link her arm with his. He knew part of this was meant to be a statement. An act of defiance in a way. Defiance wasn't his way, but he wasn't going to ruin it for her.

"If that is the case, you'll be sorely disappointed. I can never be miserable around you."

Which was an ironic statement, considering how miserable his face always seemed to be. Though there was no denying that the only time he seemed to smile, or show any expression apart from annoyance was around Zara. Which was perfect for this moment, as he kept internally flinching at the noises and the colours. It was different to being out in a battle. Rokul was used to the sound of explosions. Of blaster fire. He could react to it. But here? It was all meant to be show. For fun. Yet Rokul struggled to see what enjoyment there could be out of being scared.

And then he was brought over towards the Maker's Row. The colour slowly draining from his face as Zara sat herself down onto the bench and didn't even ask Rokul to paint her. No. In a way, she demanded it. Ordered it. He stood there for a moment, staring down at all of the paint supplies, sighing to himself.

"Sometimes I feel like you're trying to make me hate you."

Though with a smirk, Rokul sat himself down across from Zara, turning his gaze onto her. Waiting for a moment before he said what was he was about to say. There was a part of him that wished he had a camera, because this was a picture he was going to want to keep for a long time.

"Unfortunately all it does is make me love you more."​

 

[Kito]

//: Ayra Lowe //:

Ayra appeared again, still disappointed in the Shaper. Kito looked towards the girl for just a moment, then away. It was already annoying enough to feel how she was feeling, but to know she was ruining the evening for the Echani was another disappointment. Maybe she should have stayed home? At least at home, she'd be able to hide and deal with the turbulence of her emotions without dragging anyone else through them.

"Sorry." She apologized. It was the only thing Kito knew to do at this point. She sighed softly and then forced a smile. It was easy; she did it quite often when she didn't know what else to do. Right now, I'm one of them. Her goal for the evening was to bury the ache in her heart somewhere else.

"You look really pretty in your costume…" Kito nodded, her smile widening in the hope of pleasing the Echani.

She couldn't ruin the night any further for Ayra; she seemed to have looked forward to it.

The smile remained on her face as her arm was looped and she was dragged along. Surprising strength from the Echani, but Kito did her best to keep in step. Kito thought quietly about the question: what did she want to do? Her first answer would only annoy Ayra, so she didn't say it. Instead, she glanced around, trying to see what attractions or games drew her attention.

She watched one game, in which someone threw rings onto bottles, and another in which strength was measured. "Hmm," she thought, a hand once again playing with the ears on her head. Still unsure about them, and very uncomfortable with them.

"That one," she pointed towards a man using a hammer to strike a plate that would shoot a ball upward to a bell. If the bell rang, it seemed the player would get a prize. The prize was the reason Kito wanted to do it. It was a bear of a decent size; she wanted to win it… and give it to Valaine.

"Let's play that, there are prizes." Excitement returned to Kito as she now dragged Ayra carefully through the crowd, keeping her as close as she could, making sure not to lose her. Happily, Kito exchanged the credits needed and was given the hammer.

A strength contest was nothing for the K'paur as she exhaled and focused every ounce of her body and weight into the overhead strike. The hammer struck the plate as the metal ball shot up like a rocket, causing the bell at the top to ring.

The man looked at the girl and handed her the large bear. "Winner!!" Kito grinned happily and looked at Ayra with the bear. "I won!"

Reaching out, she showed the bear to Ayra, who almost laughed at seeing that the stuffed toy was nearly three-quarters as big as the small Jedi.

"It's cute, isn't it?"

 

[Oleander]

//: Riven //:

Oleander had found a lovely place against a pillar to wait. Her arms slipped into her coat pockets, and her eyes closed, resting for the first time in what felt like ages.

It seemed this time of year was when assassins and brutes alike enjoyed blowing each other up for fun. It kept her busy — and her pockets full — which she supposed she should appreciate. Maybe, if things went well, she could even spend some of those credits doting on a small assassin… assuming she decided to show up.

The familiar scent of tobacco reached her before she realized someone was close. One eye cracked open lazily, and the first thing she saw was a headband ruffled with fabric, then ashen hair, and the pointed tips of ears she'd come to recognize. Riven had, in fact, come to the event. And she was dressed as something Oleander hadn't expected.

She stayed quiet, content to take in the sight of the elf in a skirt. The maid costume did strange things to her stomach, and she tried — unsuccessfully — to reason with herself about why that was. Thankfully, the beaked plague-doctor mask she wore hid most of her expression, giving her a few precious seconds to school her features.

A part of her, annoyingly, wished the cigarette in Riven's mouth was in hers instead.

…That was not how she wanted to think about that.

Pushing off from the pillar, Oleander lifted the mask from her face. Her hood fell back, and her red hair tumbled loose over her shoulders. Clearing her throat, she rounded the elf and smiled.

"Cleaning expensive mansions is probably a more profitable... and safer line of work," she teased, her tone light and amused as she took in her companion's attire.

It was difficult to keep her eyes on Riven's face and not on the length of her exposed legs. It wasn't as if she hadn't seen them before — she had operated on the poor girl after the explosion, after all.

Still, that had been work.
And this… was something else.

Hopefully, the heat rising on her cheeks would go unnoticed; Riven rarely made eye contact anyway.

Oleander tried to focus, tried to catch those crimson eyes — and failed. Instead, she found herself looking everywhere else.

"Thanks for coming, I—" she started, then stumbled slightly over her words. "You look really nice. It, uh… suits you."

She stared down at the ground for a moment, internally wincing. Was that even a compliment?

"I'm sorry, I'm—" Oleander stopped herself and exhaled. "Well. Did you see anything you wanted to do?"

 

[Liin Terallo]

My painting is finished. I had done it in silence. No questions asked by any observers; that is if there even were any. With this mask on it is difficult to see. But it is finished. I do not sign it. Afterall, with this white costume I am more or less a ghost. And so like a ghost I disperse from the people and the carnival as a whole.

I do not have an outgoing personality anymore. It is safer to be alone. And while that can get rather lonely; I find that it is far better than to become heartbroken over being unheard, cast aside and forgotten. This is what life has taught me everywhere that I go. But I do not weep. Instead I bury it deep inside where none can find my vulnerabilities to exploit. And where none can see the pain that they can inflict.

The Galaxy is a coldhearted and unforgiving place. Hope is but an illusion. And those not within the powerful cliques survive alone.

Somehow....

-----Exit-----

 

[Ronhar Tane]

CAPTAIN RONHAR TANE, TK-3301
BASTION, BRAXANT RUN, TINGLE ARM
SHADOWLIGHT FESTIVAL

Ronhar had never felt more ridiculous in life than he felt now!

Seriously, how had he allowed himself to have been talked into this situation? "It'll be fun", they said. "It's an outreach mission", they said. "You need to be as nonthreatening as possible", they said. Well, if nonthreatening was what Ronhar was going for, he was certainly succeeding. His inflatable Tauntaun Costume was getting more than a bit of attention, and several small children had already ran up to him asking Ronhar if they could feel the costume. Just where the hell had they found him such an absurd article of clothing to wear? Ronhar couldn't imagine any self respecting person would deliberately choose to don such a baffling piece of kit, yet here he was, doing exactly that.

Still, he couldn't help but smile as he saw all the excited children happily running about the festival grounds, their somewhat tired looking parents and guardians keeping a close watch all the while. It was nice, this festival. Calm. Peaceful. Something Ronhar was getting to experience less and less these days. Between the Sith, the Empire, and of course Mahporeem's induction into the Imperial Confederation, things had been proceeding at a hectic pace for Ronhar. It really was nice to take it easy for a chance, to do something that didn't involve a life or death situation.

Maybe that was why Ronhar had been ordered to go on this "mission" in the first place.

Regardless, this peace was exactly what Ronha was fighting for, whether it was on Bastion or Mahporeem or anywhere else in the galaxy. This was what it truly meant to be a part of something greater, to provide the galaxy with the stability and prosperity it truly deserved. The fact that others would do anything to shatter such a sense of peace truly baffled Ronhar, which was why more than ever Ronhar would continue to do anything that he could to further the goals of the Confederation, and to crush those upstart interlopers once and for all!

But of course, that could wait for another day. Today, Ronhar was here to enjoy himself and the festival, and he was ready to take full advantage of that fact. As he continued to pace the grounds in his silly costume, he came upon a number of carnival games, one of which immediately drew his attention:

The Phantom Range!

It appeared to be, for all intents and purposes, a shooting gallery themed to the festival's atmosphere. Ronhar thought about the last shooting demonstration he had given during the Confederation's previous naval conference. It had actually been kind of fun, getting to show off his skill and not worry about being fired upon in the process.

Oh, what the heck? Why not?

Ronhar sauntered up to the gallery, his costume bouncing all around as he looked for the vendor, person or alien in charge of the establishment. Such a gallery would normally not be any sort of problem for Ronhar in the slightest, but his excessively large costume could make things just a tad bit difficult for him.

No big deal. After all, Ronhar was never one to shy away from a challenge, and this particular one seemed right up his alley!

TAGS:
Laphisto
ANYONE!

 

[Riven]

Tags - Oleander

Riven was somewhat startled as the figure besides her suddenly pulled off their mask and let their hood fall to reveal bright red hair. Crimson eyes gazed up towards Oleander before the initial surprise faded from her expression. She couldn't quite tell what the doctor had come dressed as, but whatever it was she was certain it was something fitting to her typical profession.

"Cleaning expensive mansions is probably a more profitable... and safer line of work,"

Riven's eyes shifted to meet the redhead's before she noted that her gaze was wandering elsewhere, it made looking at her somewhat easier with the lack of direct eye contact that she typically avoided. "... In a way I already clean up the messes of rich people..." she spoke in response as she glanced down to her own attire, brushing down the fabric with her hands. "... Not used to wearing clothes like this..." she muttered before looking back towards the doctor. "... What are you...? Some kind of crow person...?" she asked as she gestured towards the plague doctor mask. "... I couldn't recognize you at all...".

The short elf noted the rising blush on Oleander's face as she tilted her head lightly in response. Her first thought was that something had embarrassed the doctor, but the more she looked at her the more she noted she wasn't staring directly back at her. Was she avoiding their gaze meeting for the pale assassin's sake?

"You look really nice. It, uh… suits you."

She offered a light smile and a nod in return. "... Thanks... You look good too, and it's fine, I didn't have any work or anything anyway..." she replied before she couldn't help but ask what was at the front of her thoughts; "Are you okay...? ... You seem kinda different than usual..." she asked. Riven took a moment to glance around the passing crowds once more, perhaps looking for where they might head to if Oleander wasn't going to be guiding them. Though honestly it was probably in their best interest to have the doctor lead... "Mm... Nothing yet... You...?" she spoke softly in return as she let out a puff of smoke from her cigarette. She paused to lightly pluck it from her lips and offer it to the doctor.

 

[Laphisto]

Laphisto was walking up and down the small range, setting up the five firing stations in neat order and letting the current shooters have at it. The targets hovered well above his height far enough that he didn't have to worry about anyone accidentally putting a bolt through him.
Unless someone did it on purpose.

He gave a faint huff through his nose at the thought, the ghost of a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. The air was thick with mist and the faint hum of the repulsor targets drifting through it, lights flickering between white and gold. Lanterns from the nearby promenade cast a soft orange hue across the durasteel barriers, giving the whole place a strange mix of festival cheer and firing drill discipline.

When Aknoby stepped forward, Laphisto raised a brow, glancing down at his apprentice with quiet amusement before giving a small chuckle.
"You're free to grab a spot in line and wait your turn, lad. I'm sure you've got more honor than to cheat."

The comment carried the weight of expectation but was softened by the smirk that followed. The Range had its own personality tonight every shot echoing through the fog like distant thunder, every cheer swallowed by the haze.

It wasn't long before Lord Mettallum and eventually Ronhar Tane made their way up through the small crowd. Laphisto motioned them toward the empty stations, each marked by faintly glowing floor panels that pulsed in rhythm with the background hum. He reached under the counter and drew out two LO-22S pistols, the metal catching the lanternlight in a pale shimmer.

He handed one to each man, grip-first. "Weapons are live, but they're running EMP slugs. You'll still feel the recoil, but they won't do much more than sting if you get careless." His tone made it clear that 'careless' was not an option he wanted tested.

Straightening, he rested his hands behind his back and looked over the line of targets drifting ahead of them faint outlines moving through the fog.
"Rules are simple," he said evenly. "You've got one magazine twelve shots. Normal targets are worth ten points. The final phantom the one with the red ring is worth fifty. Hit one hundred and you get a prize. Hit one-seventy, you walk away with the medallion."

He paused a moment, letting the numbers sink in before glancing over toward Mettallum. a brow rising curiously as if to silently ask what he was supposed to be dressed as The High Commander took a step back, giving the shooters room to breathe. "All right. Once the bell rings, you're clear to start. Try not to shoot each other I'm running low on patience and spare medkits."

 

[Aknoby]

Laphisto used one of the best tactics to give you a teenager, I know you can do the right thing without disappointing me, that broke Aknoby's mischievous smile and made him stand in line waiting for his turn.

He watched the others shoot, trying to understand the minimum standard that the ghosts had in their movement, and completely forgot any silly idea of using Force to cheat.

Laphisto

 

[Zara Saga]

Zara froze halfway through her smug little pose, his words hitting her like a splash of cold water. The brush she had picked up, purely for show, stilled between her fingers. Her gaze flicked up, sharp and startled, then narrowed into something tightly guarded.

"Shut up," she said softly, the words cutting through the noise around them. "Don't say that." There was too much weight in that word, too much it could unravel if she let it linger between them. Love wasn't a thing you said out loud, not when everything about her entire life was built on the delicate balance of pretending she didn't need anyone. She looked away, pretending to be utterly fascinated by a bowl of blue pigment.

"You wouldn't," she murmured after a moment, her tone light but her eyes harder. "You wouldn't love me if I actually left the Diarchy. If I walked away from everything, you wouldn't follow. You would simply stay, being a good little soldier." Her lips curved, but it wasn't quite a smile. "So don't throw words like that around, Rokul. They sound good, but they always make terrible promises."

For a heartbeat, her mask slipped, and something nearly vulnerable flickered in her expression. Then, as quickly as it came, it was gone. Zara leaned back, crossing her legs, the teasing returning to her tone like armor. "Besides," she said, arching an eyebrow at him, "you're stalling. You think if you say enough dramatic things, I'll forget I told you to paint me. But you're wrong."

She gestured to the brush, her smirk finally returning in full. "Keep painting, Sangnir. You've dug yourself in deep enough; might as well make the portrait worth it." Her voice softened, teasing again, though her eyes lingered on him a second too long. "And if it's awful, well," she tilted her head, her grin sharpening, "I'll just assume it is abstract art. Or revenge."

Rokul​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Diarch Rellik Iandre Athlea
​

Beware?" he echoed, an eyebrow lifting as the corners of his mouth curved in a smile. "If I can't survive these festival games, I should probably retire early."

The light from the lanterns caught in his eyes as he glanced toward the promenade. The air smelled of spiced sweets and laughter; the hum of the crowd was a living current. For once, there was no mission, no looming shadow just the pulse of life around them.

He inclined his head in quiet acknowledgment, a faint smile ghosting across his lips. "I'd be honored." he said, voice low and even, but touched with genuine warmth. "Lead on." he added, turning slightly to fall into step beside them. "Let's see if the games are as formidable as your warning suggests."