Faction Chaos Is a Ladder | THC

[Hapan Hour]

DJO FORTRESS​

| Post 902 ABY |
Chaos, A Ladder in a Marketplace of Ambition​

The sea winds carried the smell of salt through the open galleries of Djo Fortress, rattling banners that had flown over House Djo long before there had ever been a Hapes Consortium to unite. For centuries the fortress had endured where kingdoms had not, serving as a refuge and getaway through plague, succession, civil war, and exile. Now, with the Cluster under foreign occupation and another queen seated upon the Throne, its ancient halls had become something they had not been in generations: the seat of a government in exile…one that was determined to reclaim a kingdom.

Word of Cortana Djo's coronation had spread farther than any Restorationist courier could have managed. It traveled through noble salons and military barracks, along smuggling routes and encrypted hyperspace relays, carried by whispers that the bloodline of House Djo had not ended after all. Some dismissed it as another pretender's claim. Others saw an opportunity. More than a few saw a threat.

Over the days that followed, Djo Fortress became the destination of those willing, or desperate enough, to gamble on the future of the Hapes Cluster. Loyal houses arrived quietly, careful not to be seen committing themselves too early. Rival claimants and ambitious nobles came to measure the woman now claiming House Djo's legacy against their own ambitions. Military officers carried reports from occupied worlds while merchant guilds weighed profit against principle. Pirate captains sought letters of marque as readily as opportunity, and syndicate intermediaries came to determine whether a restored Hapes would prove a profitable partner or an inconvenient obstacle. Others arrived bearing only information, old grievances, or carefully concealed intentions. Few trusted one another. Fewer still trusted the woman holding court.

Some sought a queen. Others sought leverage. A handful sought only confirmation that House Djo still lived. And at least one among them almost certainly intended to sell everything they witnessed before the week was over.

Every audience carried the possibility of alliance, betrayal, or assassination. Every pledge carried risk. Everyone walking into that room knows the stakes. Cortana received them all.

The First Throne Hall no longer resembled the ceremonial court of old Hapes. It had become a war council disguised as one. Beneath banners older than the Consortium itself, alliances were forged, grievances aired, debts collected, and loyalties measured. Every visitor understood the same unspoken truth: should any of the powers that be discover the full extent of those gathered beneath House Djo's roof, every soul in the hall would be marked for execution.

 

[Tala'ri Djo]

The salt of the sea air stung the back of Tala’ri’s throat as she stood at the precipice of the great overlook, watching the waves crash against the cliffs far below. Beyond them, the ocean rolled towards the horizon until grey water met grey sky.

It was a welcome taste. One that reminded her of childhood and simpler times. Before the blood of the throne had been spilt across Hapes again, and again, and again.

History had a way of repeating itself. Like a datachip caught in an endless loop, playing the same tired story with different names. Different faces. Different dead.

It was almost exhausting. Yet this was Hapes. This was how it was done. How the status quo remained. How families rose and fell while everyone pretended the throne beneath them wasn't slick with blood.

It is how Tala’ri kept herself relevant.

She sighed and absently flicked a loose piece of stone from the wall. Her eyes followed it as it turned upon itself, tumbling silently down the cliff face before disappearing into the swell below and for the briefest moment, she considered following it.

It would certainly be easier.

No choosing sides. No blood. No watching people she had served beside for years suddenly discover that duty meant something different to each of them. She made the thought pass before pushing herself away from the wall.

She had yet to declare her allegiance openly. That was becoming increasingly difficult. She was Chume’doro, after all. A Captain of the Royal Guard. Her oath was supposed to make questions of loyalty remarkably simple.

It hadn't.

Already there were those amongst the Guard quietly taking measure of one another. Old friendships suddenly mattered. Family names mattered more. Conversations stopped when certain officers entered rooms. Duty rosters were being studied with an attention they had never warranted before. Everyone was working out who would stand where when the order finally came.

Nothing drastic had happened yet. There had been no weapons drawn or turned upon their own. Tala’ri knew the women beneath those uniforms too well to believe it would remain that way. She gave it days, perhaps.

Someone would force the question.

Another ship passed overhead, engines briefly drowning out the ocean as it banked towards the fortress. Another arrival. Another noble house coming to declare itself before the family.

Tala’ri watched it disappear beyond the grey mass of the Djo Fortress.

So it began.

She bottled away thoughts of easier endings, straightened her jacket that was not that dissimilar of the Chume’doro she might soon be accused of betraying, and turned back towards the fortress proper.

Today was going to be interesting.

 

[Cintra Thane]

As she approached the formidable Djo estate, two voices competed for supremacy inside Cintra’s head. One told her to turn back and board her shuttle, that it was far too dangerous to be seen associating with the present company. The other simply reminded her of her station and the legacy that drove her line ever deeper into greatness.

She chose the latter, echoing the voice inside through parted lips.

“Lady Cintra of House Thane,” she said to the guards outside the entrance. Surname alone was enough to open the doors, through which she tread with careful confidence.

The hall was filled with a strange collage of personas; nobles and pirates, bankers and enforcers, loyalists and those who hadn’t a crumb of knowledge about the Consortium and its delicate politics. Cintra felt strangely at home and juxtaposed at the same time, and for a moment, the uncertainty was almost… normal.

Almost.

There was certainly nothing normal about three women vying for the Fountain Throne at the same time. Luckily, only one of them had a legitimate claim—and luckier still, that woman was the host of this precarious affair. Cintra would certainly exchange words with Cortana Jade before the evening was through, but for now, she sought a beverage. The future Queen Mother was not the only powerful player in attendance tonight.

 

[Quelisse]

Location: Djo Fortress - Dreena
Attire: Red Dress
Notable Equipment and Personal Effects: FAE/M-02 Energized Forearm Vibroblade Mk. II - Concealed │ Phase III "Force Avenger" Energy Shield - Concealed │ SR-57 Holdout Blaster - Concealed
Tag: Tala'ri Djo Cintra Thane

It was Quelisse's first day of duty at court. And a momentous day, she knew it would be. Word had spread quickly across the Hapes Cluster. The Ereneda had been announced and coronated, albeit within exile.

As a Fountain Sniper of the Chume’doro, it was Quelisse’s duty to protect her, and her Royal House.

Quelisse did not intend to shirk her responsibility. And she hoped that the other agents of the Chume’doro would be ready to make the same commitment when the time came. If not, there would be difficult choices to make. Allies, enemies, and neutrals assessed for potential loyalty. Spies to root out. Traitors to purge. And, rebellious noble houses to be crushed.

Only after that work was done, could the Hapan throne be reclaimed from the Mandalorian puppet ruler.

Thus attired in the red dress that served as her outward cover as a lady-attendant of the Queen Mother’s court, Quelisse watched every guest that stepped through the entrance with a gaze that was equal parts scrutinizing and critical. She studied their gait and movements for the subtle tells of concealed weapons present on their persons. Then, she assessed them for flaws. Her eyes narrowed as a lady with a slightly slumped posture laughed in a way that was grated against her ears. She picked out another with dry lips, her smile tight as if she had not tasted water in hours. And then a third lady with poorly shaped, ragged eyebrows, grooming far too careless for a woman of her station.

She watched them all, knowing that any outward blemish of the physical form could betray a stain of the spirit.

 

[Rixa]

Aboard the Wayward Star
En route

The holo projector on the console flickered to life with a soft chime. Rixa was halfway through a bottle of something cheap and vaguely alcoholic when she leaned over and accepted the call.

Her mother’s torso resolved in blue light.

Lysara looked every bit the Hapan naval officer. Her uniform was crisp and her hair set perfectly. Rixa wondered how Hapan soldiering worked, that a senior officer and minor noble had to remain so presentable.

"Rixa."

"Ma." Rixa tipped the bottle in a lazy salute. "You’re looking terrifyingly respectable. What’s the occasion?"

Her mother didn’t waste time. "Things are moving on Dreena. House Djo has declared. Cortana is gathering support at the fortress. The occupation is not as solid as the Mandalorians would like everyone to believe."

Rixa raised an eyebrow and took another drink.

"And you’re in the middle of it, of course."

"I am a naval captain and a noble of the Consortium. Where else would I be?" Her mother’s tone stayed even, but there was an edge under it. "We need people who can move freely. People the occupation does not already have files on. People who know how to fight dirty if it comes to that."

Rixa snorted. "You mean pirates."

"I mean you." A pause. "I want you to come to Dreena, now, so that I can present you to our leadership and get letters of marque for your crew. Your crew, and any other mercenaries you can bring to the fight."

"I might be busy," Rixa snapped. She glanced down at the bottle. She had the last half of whatever this was and then she was out of both alcohol and work. Her least favourite state to be in."

"Are you just trying to be difficult now? I am asking politely."

Rixa rolled her eyes and sighed. She had only known she had a living mother for six months now. She was infuriatingly prim and proper, but she had also acted with patience and kindness. It was infuriating.

Rixa shook the bottle where her mother would be able to see it on the holo.

"Will there be booze?"

Lysara sighed. "You know there will."

"Alright, suppose I can make a detour," Rixa replied. It irked her that her mother's sigh as her patience started to wear was the same as her own.

"And for the love of the stars, I will be presenting you as both a pirate and my own blood. Could you try to look presentable when you arrive?

Rixa glanced down at her scuffed boots and the half-empty bottle, then back at the holo with a crooked grin. "You want me in a dress, don’t you?"

"That would be ideal, yes. I want at least prefer you not to look like you just fell out of a dive bar."

"That’s a big ask."

"Could you at least....cover your midriff."

"No."

"Cover your tattoos?"

"No."

"Leave your ugliest blasters behind? Just the sword and appropriately sized duelling pistol."

Rixa made a finger gun at her mother. "Deal."

Her mother almost smiled. Almost. "Just come. See if there is work that suits you. Mercenary rates if that makes it easier to swallow."

Rixa stared at the blue image for a long moment, then sighed and set the bottle down.

"Fine. I’ll come. But if anyone tries to make me curtsey, I’m shooting them."

The holo cut out a moment later. Rixa spun the pilot’s chair and raised her voice toward the rear of the ship.

"Voro! Plot a course for Dreena. And Sial, if you’ve got anything that looks even vaguely respectable in the cargo hold, dig it out. We’re going to a party."

She muttered under her breath as the engines began to warm.

"A proper Hapan party. Stars help us all."

 

[Tavian Djo]

Amidst the crowd in the First Throne Hall stood a young man of not more than twenty, with bronze-gold hair so perfectly tousled, a jawline so defined, and features so finely crafted that he appeared to be a carefully refined statute come to life.

In the Hapes Cluster, amongst their nobility, he was just another man.

Tavian gave a wistful sigh as he looked over the bright banners. He missed the fountain palace. Not that he'd really spent much time there after Aurellia took over. Djos were most unwelcome. Now someone else had done to her what she'd done to them. He wondered how that must feel, then realized his thoughts on it probably did not matter at all.

Squinting at the people filing in, he tried to figure out how many of them were relatives. So many fourth or fifth cousins. So difficult to keep track, yet his tutors had been insistent as a child. He must know the lineage, even if he was just a man and not destined to inherit anything. Did he spy Tala'ri Djo ? He thought that might be her, but couldn't be sure.

So many faces...

Glancing up at the patterns on the ceiling, his mind drifted and a slight smile curled the corner of his lips as he thought of a girl in a green dress.

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

Where I have passed, grass will never grow again.

Behold.

The Vahlans came.

None among them uniformed, but each as unique as a mote of whispering flame. They strode from their shuttles, bedecked in stolen gold and stolen gems, wearing plundered silks and sporting plundered weapons. No two appeared alike. They had hard eyes and cruel smiles, these world conquerors, these void reavers, these corsairs. Every one of them a cultist of the Ember of Vahl, crackling with the power of the Dark Side in their very marrow.

Spoiler

Accompanying the central band of nomadic Vahlans were pirates and corsairs of every ilk and alien breed imaginable, all come together in a forsworn court of captains which came from Telkur Station deep in the Transitory Mists.

At the front of the entourage strode the titanic figure of Hasuras na-Gerra, wearing golden armor and a cape of crimson. He wore not crown, for what had he need of such a symbol? His very presence oppressed those around him as though it were a physical weight. His heavy booted feet rung loud upon the ground and his booming laughter was heard as he jested with the other corsairs long before they ever reached the gates of Djo Fortress.

Figures of legend amongst the approaching band might be spotted to those keen of eye and knowledge who sought out familiar faces from bounty posters across the galaxy. Young hapan boys and girls watching distantly from the ramparts grew restless as they searched the group. whispering among themselves. Did Makar Clyne number among them? The Red Rixa ? The Jolly Walker ?

Herald their coming.
​

Zev Corrin Aurellia Vatrës Dhalis

 

[Irulan Al-Zahir]

Location: Djo Fortress - Dreena
Attire- Dress
Personal Effect- Ornate Spice Smoking Pipe
Tags: Open!

Information travels fast. It travels even faster when your home planet sits on a major intergalactic trade route. Word of recent political happenings in the Hapes Cluster as spurred quite the activity amongst the Sikarran nobility. With the Sikarrans being Hapan colonists from many years ago, there was always view of fondness and friendship with the Hapes cluster, despite the cultural differences that have occured. Yet Hapes was always undera foreign jurisdiction and thus Sikarra kept its distance from their cousins. But now things have changed and many back on Sikarra wish to reconnect with Hapes.

Irulan, heiress of Sikarra, arrived to the Djo Fortress in a rather luxurious yacht ship. First impressions are important and only you get one after all. She walked down the ramp in her nice dress, with four servants attending to her at all times. Her Royal Guards from Sikarra also accompanited her, but they would stay outside of the meeting area itself to show proper respect to the Hapan security already there. Irulan entered the scene properly as she took a look around.

Various faces she didnt know. Other ones that looked important, and others that could easily be forgotten. Some of the presence of males made Irulan raise an eyebrow. Perhaps they were consorts to the powerful women here? Servants? Aides? Irulan let those thoughts fly out of her mind as she then walked forward, her eyes searching as she examined her Hapan cousins. The servants followed duitfully behind Irulan.

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