Faction Coruscanti Nights

[Astraea Tagge]

Coruscant ;; Jedi Temple ;; Great Hall
- Mingle -
Open to interaction

​

"Stop tugging at your dress, cousin," the sing-songy voice of Astraea's younger cousin brought the marine back into the moment. She had been absently tugging at the golden finery wrapped around her waist. It was digging into her sternum. Her cousin smacked Astraea's hand away from the gown as the two of them entered the Great Hall. Astraea felt much more comfortable in her uniform than in a gown, but she was not at the gala as a soldier tonight, she was there as a Tagge.

Everything about her outfit made her uncomfortable - the heavy fabric, the metallic adornments, the nonsensical wrap, and of course the heels. "Leave me be, Derrica," Astraea snapped as her cousin attempted to readjust a part of the gown for her. Across the room, on a slightly raised dais, she saw their uncle, Emmen Tagge mingling with a group of finely dressed and very important looking people. "Look, there's Uncle Emmen, why don't you go say hello?" Astraea snatched her dress out of Derrica's hand and pointed toward the Chancellor. Her cousin was unamused.

"Your mother sent me here to keep an eye on you-"

Astraea felt her eyes roll into the back of her head as the last hope of escaping her cousin's watchful eye evaporated. "I'm four years older than you, Derrica," she snapped as they made their way through the crowd, "I think I can handle a fundraiser."

"You mean like you handled yourself at Nana's ninetieth?"

The lieutenant had a sudden flashback to making a very loud, very public, and very drunken speech on a table about her parents not respecting her. Of course, since that time Astraea had carved out a very successful career in the military, but no one remembered that part. "They had it coming," she muttered.

"Astraea!"

"Oh, calm down, Derrica, it was a joke," the golden-haired woman snatched a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and stationed them close to the dais. Astraea turned away from the crowd and hiked her skirt a bit to adjust something on her thigh. A blaster. She caught a brief glimpse of the look of horror on her cousin's face. Luckily, it looked like Emmen was about to make a speech so she took the opportunity to shush her cousin to watch.

 

[Bernard of Arca]

Coruscant,
Jedi Temple, Great Hall
Actors: Errant , Rurik Fel
Blues

​

He was adrift at sea. Lost and alone in waters that should have been well familiar. The Temple of the Jedi was a place of learning, a quiet sanctum for what few servants of the light remained. Yet, today it was appropriated as a ballroom for the galaxy's most influential people. The temple's main hall was bathed in golden light, adorned with expensive furnishings and decor worth more than the entirety of the temple itself. The faint odour of alcohol hung in the air, barely overpowered by the wild mix of perfumes that drifted over the Grand Hall's floor. Idle voices calmly vied for attention while the melodies of the Galaxies Opera House's own philharmonic orchestra settled in between what little space it could find. He couldn't help but feel misplaced between the grand arcs of elevated walkways that enveloped the floor.

The order of importance in attendance was another matter that only served to make the already uncertain arkanian further ill at ease. The first time his eyes had locked with one of the guests he'd seized up, only remembering to bow courteously after several heartbeats' hesitation, quickly turning to stray from further contact. He could, ironically, find a measure of comfort when he stared down the red glow of a Sith's sabre. In those moments when life came under threat, he could act with clarity and agency. The threat was explicit; the course of action understood. Here, on the floor of the Jedi Temple itself, when he stood alone amidst the galaxy's elite, he felt powerless. The battles that were fought on this battlefield were so removed from anything he knew that it made his skin crawl merely attempting to imagine the scope of consequence every word they uttered carried; much less did he want to know what one misplaced word of his own might set into motion.

He felt overwhelmed by the entire evening. Not once did he imagine that he would find himself attending a gathering of such importance in service of the Jedi. It was only for his friends and the reputation of the NJO that he shouldered the burden of attendance. There were so few Jedi left in the Galactic Alliance, barely more than a handful, that he felt it inappropriate not to make an appearance. The only saving grace he had was the attire he had chosen. It didn't mark him as a Jedi outright, which kept much of the interest at bay, drawing the occasional disapproving side-glance instead. The archaic plate and cape he would have liked had been destroyed aboard the Embrace. These days, to better fit into the underworld of Coruscant, he'd taken a liking to a jacket bearing a luminescent golden dragon of arkania on its back and sleeves. In honour of the temple that he hailed from, he kept a piece of his former white-blue cape tied around his left bicep above the jacket, an addition he only mustered the courage for after he'd landed the killing blow on the traitor, Lanik. It was, perhaps, a gesture born of irrationality, but it held deep significance to him.

Though he stood taller than the average attendant, he felt slight as he tried to cross the main floor, pushing past groups of individuals dressed in fabric only the galaxy's finest tailors had to offer. He wasn't sure where his feet carried him, but the restlessness he felt kept him from lingering anywhere for long. He needed to keep himself busy with something, anything at all that wasn't the world immediately around him, else the chaos of it all would inevitably rush to his head. He had tried to put his mind at peace, silently reciting the Jedi mantra, but meditation only did so much in the face of overwhelming uncertainty.

He bumped into one attended absentmindedly, pausing as his mind snapped to the present and his eyes held the pantoran's inquisitive stare apologetically. Language failed him, words caught in his throat. He seized up as he stared at the woman, who shook her head expectantly, one brow raised. She flourished her glass between them to catch the arkanian's attention, who finally began to stammer forth a string of sounds.

"Sosorry, I err, I ... I have," he paused for a few moments, face flushed in embarrassment, "I need to ... the holocrons, they uh, ... they ..." he began to turn, but the pantoran placed a hand on his shoulder to keep him there.

"You're one of the Jedi, aren't you," she said.

Bernard nodded in response, expression still caught between panic and resolve.

"The lightsabre gave it away," she chuckled softly, reassuringly almost. "Loosen up a little, we're all here to celebrate your Order's future. The enemy's out there," she gestured vaguely to the ceiling, "not here, so try to enjoy yourself." She gave him one last smile before she turned back to her associates.

Bernard's heart was hammering in his chest as he walked away. He felt too many emotions that all seemed to collide and intertwine in a great intangible mess. He was grateful for the pantoran's understanding and words of kindness but at the same time, the embarrassment of their encounter kicked relentlessly at his pride. What he wouldn't give to just be alone in the training chambers with two dozen droids set to the Skywalker training regimen. At least the wounds from that encounter would take less time to heal.

He was about ready to try and find a familiar face to notify them of his early departure from the festivities when he felt the sensation of the Force brush against the edge of his senses. There was a subtle quality to it that didn't sit well with him. Normally, when he felt the Force employed by other Jedi, he could sense some notion of their intent. Whether it was to inspire, to protect, or simply to lift a rock, their weaving of its power always left him with the impression of honesty or noble cause. This time, however, the sensation carried a more duplicitous connotation. An intent that levied deception to its cause, rather than a nobler spirit.

The party around him began to fade from his perception as the source of this sensation became his singular focus. Deception almost invariable lead to trouble, and whoever had invoked the Force had done so in a manner he was wholly unused to. Beyond the intent to deceive he had perceived no other emotion. Yet, that did little to rule out the possibility of a more sinister plot already underway. There were very few instances where deception was a tool used solely for good and Bernard had no desire to let some act of evil proceed unhindered. Or perhaps the excitement of a mystery had simply gripped him with the promise of freedom from the anxious minefield of emotions amusing itself on the floor all around him. Perhaps, indeed, he was simply happy to have found something to anchor himself to.

Whoever had employed the Force had done so just beyond the gala's floor. His eyes searched the entry area for newcomers, an invisible touch reaching out towards the area through the Force in parallel, seeking and probing newcomers for a greater connection to the all-encompassing field of energy. It didn't take him long to identify a potential culprit. A white-haired man already striding through the crowds with intent. That was his mark, then. With his newfound resolve, it didn't take long make his way across the hall to intercept the man.

He pushed aside a duros businessman to finally step into the stranger's path. Bernard stood taller than the stranger, looking down to evaluate the threat he posed. His eyes briefly lingered on the lightsabre at the stranger's side; reflexively, he brought one hand to his waist just above his own. Bernard couldn't sense anything concrete from the man, which only served to further sharpen his senses.

One brow arched as he prepared to speak, thankful for the sudden influx of confidence he felt in the face of a potential threat that was entirely tangible.

"You have entered the Temple of the Jedi. As one of its protectors I would know your purpose for coming to these halls of peace," he tried his best to echo the words his instructor had always chosen when he'd come to face potential intruders, borrowing some of the man's stern tone that yet lingered in his memory.

 

[Adhira Chandra]

Coruscant // Galactic City // Jedi Temple
Great Hall
Emmen Tagge // Mina Praji // Others

Adhira stood by the Staff Aide, Mina Praji as Emmen gave his speech to the assembly of well-to-do citizens of the galaxy. The good news was that the gala had been steadily raising large amounts of money all evening. Her own family had pledged a sizeable sum to the rebuilding of the temple, as had House Tagge of Tepasi. Still, the tinge of joy she felt as an attendant came up and notified her that they had finally hit their target fundraising goal was well worth it. She elbowed Mina, perhaps a bit too hard. "We did it, we just hit our fundraising goal for the evening," she whispered into the serious looking woman's ear.​

​

When Emmen finished speaking, Adhira raised her glass in a toast with him, draining the rest of her wine before stepping to meet the Chancellor as he retreated from the podium. "Well said, Emmen," her uncharacteristically happy smile was probably a little unsettling to someone who saw Adhira frowning most of the time, "and I have just been informed that the gala has met their fundraising goal. We will have more than enough to start renovating the temple. Now- where is Ryv? He was supposed to be speaking."​

​

The Senator moved aside and searched the crowd for the Jedi. Perhaps he had decided against speaking, but at the very least she wanted to share the good news with him. As she was scanning the room, however, Adhira could not help but feel a deep unease, like something was not quite right. ​

 

[The Bounteous Hunt]

The threads run red with Bounteous Opportunity, for those willing to take it.
​

As the celebration goes on this Coruscanti Night, agents move in the dark to take advantage of lower guards and the mix of all types collecting within the same place. Using Underground contacts and resources, with access to insider information (taking full advantage of the GAs hospitality), certain members of the Bounty Hunters Guild have accepted two separate hunts for one night only: against the Jedi, and the NIO. Knowing full well the possibility of danger, they gathered together with a plot.

For certain targets present within the gala, the Valet's for their personal transports were not as they first seemed. Hidden in plain sight, and counting on the mix of forces both dark and light preventing their presence being noticed immediately. Their focus was on recent victory and appeasing their allies to strengthen their alliances with their unlikely compatriots, making it easier to dismiss the common person thought to be working for the Galactic Alliance. In the brief time that any individual saw them, their attention was already diverted elsewhere to the pomp and excitement of the gala. Using holographic disguise matrixes, a team of several Bounty Hunters had just be given all the access they would need to get close to their marks.

When certain members were ready to depart the scene and call upon their vehicles, their Valet would bring it to them. Within these transports, however, would now be a trap ready to be sprung by heavily armed Bounty Hunters. By the time the trap is discovered, it would be too late for the rest of the gala to hear about it, their private transports already leaving the temple. Only when the news would arrive that certain members never made it back to their respective delegations after the celebration, or if something went terribly wrong, would anyone be the wiser of this sinister plot funded by the Sith Empire.

Other Bounty Hunters still, may roam the gala hidden as foreign dignitaries, collecting information for their fellow hunters on the movements of priority Marks and to perhaps find means to guide them where they want them. Or perhaps they observed from afar, out of sight, through other means. If all went according to plan, those present at the gala would never know until it was finished that there was any danger at all. If not, then the jubilance of the event may turn to fear... and then anger.

The night was still young, and the hunters were on the prowl...

 

[Cassus Akovin]

Mark: Would like an NIO, but down for anyone
Role: Valet

The last time Cassus was on Coruscant, he had successfully hunted one Val Drutin along with his friend and ally Enigma Iuda , while at the same time avoiding the crazed wrath of the terrorist Renn Garrick. It was an interesting memory, one of his first as a true Bounty Hunter, and this was before he joined the Guild. Despite the location, however, tonight evoked a different memory in Cassus: Geonosis.

He and a number of other Independent Bounty Hunters had come together to capture one Valencia Hadley , the Councilor of the Vicelord, during a special session of congress in the CIS. The plan had seemed good on paper, one team to infiltrate as couriers and separate Valencia from the meeting for capture, while a separate team to cause havoc in the city to distract local security forces for their escape... except the same Renn Garrick he had met on Coruscant had botched the plan by terrorizing the city far too early for the plan to work, tipping off the CIS and resulting in Cassus being captured. However, despite the failure, he jumped bail from the CIS and fled to Denon. Through a complicated encounter with Sam Rodarch , he had been introduced to the Bounty Hunters Guild, which had noticed the grand failure on Geonosis and underway a huge reform process to repair the now soiled reputation of Bounty Hunting.

That felt like forever ago, and despite earning money from hunting, it never felt like enough to save his dying mother. Until of course, The Open Bounty on the Jedi Order, which despite his mother's principles Cassus hunted down and captured the Jedi Master Elise along with hunters Siv Dragr , Vallaro Kindall , and Zivos, splitting the 10 million credits four ways. What followed was heavy guilt within Cassus Akovin, and rage that he sacrificed his principles for money... yet felt powerless to ignore his duty to his mother's life at all costs.

Tonight would be different, however. Tonight, Cassus would capture a Sith or an Imperial, and although the money came from the same pocket, at least this time he was hurting the forces of evil in the galaxy.

He hoped.

All these thoughts and more coursed through his mind as he played the part of Valet in a holographic disguise matrix (repaired since Geonosis), and brought it to the waiting area where his fellow Guild Hunters were waiting to board, one of them being Kozz .

"This is Cresh Aurek, parking transport now." Cassus whispered, intending to be heard over the communicator as he made the landing at their rendezvous.

 

[Elias Vati]

Location: Jedi Temple, Coruscant
Wearing: Last Minute Suit
Tags: FN-999
​

"Pretty much the same reason you're here. To represent my comrades and the Sector Rangers and the only Corellian so that probably means I'm here to also symbolize the 'reunification' of Corellia and Coruscant given their past as competitive siblings in galactic geopolitics. Who knows. They just told me to go so I said sure." Elias finally sipped his drink that was sweet and the taste of alcohol was nonexistent. Made sense probably, this was a party not some bar on the Coruscanti Streets. It did taste good though he wasn't going to deny that yet he couldn't really understand the use for alcohol in these sorts of drinks if no one was allowed to get shitfaced in front of all their rich friends. Talking to the stormtrooper for this long and reminiscing on his days when he could drink on Corellia almost made him want to be his friend, even though they could be enemies tomorrow. Stormtroopers always had some affiliation with entities who had conflicting interests with the core. It was weird that the two would meet on such friendly terms given history of their predecessors but that really was of no concern to Elias who didn't bog himself down with such petty characteristics of the past. He spent his whole life in Corellia and didn't pay attention to what was happening outside of it.

Maybe that's why the Sector Rangers were brought here unlike their Marshal counterparts. The Sector Rangers work outside of the Alliance, to work with people outside of friendly space so they can cooperate with foreign elements to give the Alliance the results they need and want. So if anything maybe this was the closest Elias was doing to his job, socializing with allies so that maybe bridging any cultural divides that might get in the way of cooperation. "So got any good war stories?" Elias was becoming a bit too comfortable around the trooper though was probably blinded by the euphoria of the Gala.

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

Coruscant // Galactic City // Jedi Temple
Great Hall
Fox On The Run
Focus // Lucien Dooku

---

---

“Luc?” Lyra’s head tilted as she tested the alias, a measured hum escaping her. She idly swirling the last drops off her glass as the exiled prince puppeteer-ed some air of charm. Give a man an inch... The corner of her lip betrayed her at the antics, quirking up-his tone a source of amusement. “Humble of you..”

There was a certain culture among the Imperials and she raised a thin brow, he had character that many of her colleagues lacked; for better or worse. Though it was rapidly becoming more tolerable then following in the footsteps of the eccentric Lord, was this a breath of fresh air? Her purpose here growing fainter, she was not one to simply walk up and interject in to any intricate social circle..so maybe she ought to count herself lucky. Lyra was mute, swallowing her own scoff. Attention sweeping over the Gala, the burn of the contacts ever serving to annoy her.

There was an educated hunch that Dooku was here to partake in the social race like the rest of them. She was a poor assistant if that was the case. She almost missed her reports honestly, the music was too sophisticated and sincerity was lacking in theses crowds. In the lull between the pair of them, she followed the swirl of action toward the podium. Offering Lucien her ear as she tried to watch the circulation of representatives as the speeches poured over the Hall.

Their niceties were forgotten in seconds..now would it be blasphemous to donate a credit to the cause?

The heart of the galaxy, and standing amongst Jedi heritage. In contrast to Lucien, she seemed ever vigilant, caught in a bout of people watching-appraising the clusters of patrons who passed closely in all their finery. Cautionary as ever and there she was going again..still simply too sober for the occasion. As a waiter passed she deposited the empty glass in their care, retrieving a fresh glass of spirits. Idly brushing a knuckle at the corner of her eyes. Lucien was speaking again and she brought the glass to her lips. Making a noise as she acknowledged-

“And here I had hoped to forget that,” the woman complained, turning her gaze back on Lucien in an instant. Her neat facade unraveling as a terrible sigh followed, her shoulders sagging. He had to be teasing her, that cheeky drawl. Of all places..Lyra had recalled the transport she had seen him in passing but the Prism itself..Racing through the dark trapped between two questionable force users? She swore if she ever saw another mantle of the feathers..She took care not to break the glass in her servo. ”That fiasco..I blame the very presence of a certain cursed fire chicken-but yes I do recall you now. Please forgive me..and graced? Lucien there is no need to flatter..”

Sipping off the glass, warmth settling on her cheeks. Lyra’s composure relaxed as she crossed her arms, leaning toward him a fraction as she spoke up.

“I am surprised we had not met since then..but tell me, were you wrangled into diplomatic duties or are you being held against your will? Blink twice if you need someone to save you.”

 

[Lucien Dooku]

Coruscant // Galactic City // Jedi Temple //
// Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt // Darth Avernus //
MOJO SO DOPE~​

---

---

Humble wasn't quite the word that he'd use to describe himself, but in the face of good company, Luc wasn't such a fool as to reject the praise being sent his way. "Better humble than boisterous." He retorted, offering up a smile before their attention was drawn elsewhere in the room. The big-wigs of the Galactic Alliance had made their presence abundantly known with a series of speeches that served to do nothing for him, personally. Despite his Jedi heritage, Luc had no intention of aligning himself with this New Jedi Order, or any order of Jedi, for that matter.

While this new branding of the preeminent Order of Jedi hailing from the Core was blessed to have individuals that Luc found capable within their ranks, it didn't change the fact that he couldn't vibe with the idea of joining an order of Jedi off principle alone. The Chancellor even had the audacity to recite the code of the Jedi at the end of his speech, ending his rhetoric by commending them as Guardians of peace in the galaxy, a sentiment which visibly amused the dapper rogue based off the chuckle that escaped his lips. "Oh the irony." It was said loud enough that his present company would be able to catch his words, if she were paying attention.

The human eye is a wonderful device, and with a little effort, it can fail to see even the most glaring injustice from up close or afar. To consider the Jedi as guardians of peace was just as amusing as the thought of the Sith being held in the same light. The Jedi were not guardians of peace, but warriors who served their purpose within the perpetual war machine that fueled the war economies of plenty of nations across the stars. The Chancellor's pompous oratory was only fooling those who were too centered in their paradigm to consider the reality of the galaxy at large, and not just the relative peace and stability that this newfound alliance had brought to the Core worlds. Reality proved much more grim, and both the Jedi and Sith were too ingrained in their politics and ideology to see that they represented different sides of the exact same coin.

Ironic, indeed.

His amusement towards the Chancellor's speech faded as soon as the applause had finished. With the roll of his eyes away from the podium, his eyes regarded themselves back onto Lyra with an accompanying smile. Their conversation resumed whee it had left off, leaving him pleased to hear that she had remembered who he was after hearing him recall the time that the two had previously met-- chicken-suit man and all. His flattery didn't escape her own sense of modesty, either. "A little flattery towards appreciated company has never failed to help me break the ice." Was his reply to that, right before he finished the remainder of the liquor within his glass.

A passing waiter led to the exchange of his empty glass with another that contained the golden-colored champagne being offered to the guests socializing across the room. She lightened up a bit it seemed, and their conversation moved from talks of the past, setting aside talks of the chicken-suit man in favor of speaking on the present. "As much as I would've liked to introduce myself earlier, It wasn't that easy for some non-aligned merc to seek out a Legion Commander within the military for something unrelated to matters of war." A smirk followed. "Not that I gave a damn about protocol, but ambition requires prioritizing business over pleasure. As for my presence here--." Luc rubbed at the back of his head, peering across his shoulder for a moment before locking eyes with Lyra, offering up two quick blinks in succession.

"It looks good for the Order to have someone more closely aligned to the Jedi within their ranks, I guess. I'd rather eat a lightsaber's blade than hold a serious conversation with the majority of these bureaucrats though, but the free food and alcohol is a plus." A sip of the champagne followed as he shifted a bit closer to Lyra, angling himself to give himself a better view of the crowd whilst still giving her his full attention. "And what about you? You looked a bit stiff before I got here, Lady Lyra~" The playfulness of his demeanor never ceased to end.

 

[Kozz]

In the handful of years Kozz had been stalking prey throughout the Galaxy, nothing had ever felt like enough of a challenge. Only odd jobs and the occasional manhunt, mostly set in the Outer Rim. Never before had he been to the Core World of Coruscant, though many times in his adolescent years, he'd listened intently to stories of the planet. He knew it was an industrialized, civilized world, one where you might run into a rich group of senators, or a group of lowly beggars in the lower regions. Yet, even after hearing stories, fables, and legends, the Trandoshan was still taken utterly aback by the sights and sounds of the city world.

None of his father's tales had been able to paint the full picture, completely capture the incredible essence being on the planet endowed into him. Remarkably, being here allowed Kozz to indulge in a sensation of pride, muted as it was. Not many of his bloodline had ever visited this world without a pair of cuffs slapped to their wrists and ankles. Kozz stood alone as the last survivor of his lineage, the legacy of every hunter before him resting upon his broad, scaly shoulders.

Joining his BHG cohorts for his first large scale hunt, Kozz could not deny the excitement he felt, the hunger that rumbled deep within his stomach. Never had he imagined so young in his career that he would be working such a large job.

While he hadn't orchestrated the plan, the reptilian knew what was required of him, and the determination to succeed and prove himself a successful member of the Guild guided his every action. Intently, he watched as the transport piloted by a disguised
Cassus Akovin touched down on the pad for pickup.

"Roger."

The lone word slithered from his mouth like a snake from its den, even being accompanied by a lone hiss. Kozz boarded the transport, slinging his trusted Relby-V10 over his shoulder. Quickly, he found a compartment large enough to fit in without being squeezed like a juicy fruit.

"See you soon." His words came off less friendly than they might sound out the mouth of another species. Still, they were the last words he spoke over the communicator, before sliding the compartment door shut, and going silent.

 

[Zephyr Krayt]

Objective: Capture NIO bounty
Equipment: Beskar'gam, grappling line, flamethrower, repulsor, dart launcher, shield emitter, whipcord thrower, vibroknife, 2x WESTAR-35 pistols, 2x shock grenades, 2x flash grenades (Links in bio)
Tags: Cassus Akovin Kozz
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________


Since joining the guild, Zephyr had relinquished his role as an independent bounty hunter and occasionally took on jobs for the mutual benefit of himself and the Guild. He wasn't foolish enough to believe he could do all jobs on his own which was what led him to the Guild in the first place, though the teamwork that followed was something the formerly lone bounty hunter had taken time to adapt to. However, experience had taught him that working alone left much to be desired and having the support of others tended to increase the success of hunts.

The last bounty he had sought on Coruscant had ended with his Alor helping escape the situation after it escalated beyond what it was worth and the second time he had come prepared with allies so given the number of hunters that were present today, he felt pretty confident about their chances, especially as the bounties were expected to be caught off-guard.

The Mandalorian hoped for the opportunity to snag an Imperial as he wasn't keen on helping The Sith Empire by taking out a Jedi, though it would be pretty nice to take a few hundred thousand credits from his enemy so they could fund their own downfall when the Mandalorians would eventually rise up against their tyranny on Mandalore.

The plan didn't seem particularly high-risk as it involved a lot of lying-in-wait, nor was it particularly ambitious as the bounties had no reason to suspect anything was amiss - It seemed fate was on their side. Upon receiving the signal, he located the ship at the agreed location and boarded behind the Trandoshan. He found a suitable place to remain discreet before confirming his presence with the pilot. "All set." He said over the comlink.

 

[Vallaro Kindall]

Navi [Version 10.0.18363.752]
(c) Locke and Key Mechanics. All rights reserved.

Target:> Preferably Jedi but willing to go for any.
Objective:> Scope the area.
Team:> Leon Amun Vher Nall
Equipment:> augments in bio and concealed Holdout blaster

---

Money was the grand motivator. On this night, credits would swell in the pocket of those willing to go the extra mile. A gala, an effort to rebuild once more what had been destroyed so many times. An alliance of opposites. Foes joined at the hip believing that the enemy of their enemy would for now be a friend. In this place money and power gathered with a common goal. But where there is money, there is opportunity. The Sith had promised enough credits to make sure that any hunter worth their salt saw the opportunity in this night.

Infiltration was easy enough. In the gathering of the galaxies most wealthy and elite, there was always room for celebrity. More so when that celebrity could bring a substantial contribution to the cause despite his eccentricities. Mixed in with the list of attendee’s names was that of Leon Hawke, CEO and Heavyweight Champion of the Intergalactic Wrestling Federation. As any good celebrity would, he brought his own security. Two bodyguards always watching his back just out of sight. Nobody’s in a sea of clout. Just as invisible as the wait staff that wandered around.

Vallaro readjusted his cufflinks before settling back into his ridged ‘at the ready’ posture. Despite years of being out of the military, his body still knew just how to slip into that demeanor. Coupled with the use of a holographic disguise matrix the hunter was virtually unidentifiable. His usual jet-black hair appeared to be salt and pepper while his youthful face was replaced by that of a more grizzled veteran. He’d even gone as far as to by a different brand of cologne for this mission. The scent was far muskier, something he’d smelled on a Mando before. They liked to smell of death.

Tapping the small comm unit that sat in his left ear Vallaro spoke softly. “I’m going to do a quick sweep of the area. Stay on Mr.Hawke while I do.” Simple yet effective double entendre carrying the meaning of “Check my visual feed for marks, I’m moving around”

He scanned the room as if to look for threats. Ocular implants toggled from thermal to backscatter x-ray then back again to regular vision with an occasional zoom in on anyone or anything that crossed his eye. The room was filled with the dull drone of chatter accentuated by high notes of glasses clinking as agreements were made. Nerve impulses transmitted the input of his eyes and ears to his brain where the hydra implant he treasured so much was running a single parallel line of thought processing. Darkwire agents had set up a line from his senses to the comms of the other hunters that laid in wait.

“All Clear. I’ll standby here until Mr.Hawke moves.”

 

[Vher Nall]

Prey: Whoever
Fellow Hunters: Vallaro Kindall Leon Hawke
Equipment: Mah mitts
Role: "Bodyguard"

---

Have you ever seen a Dashade in a tailored suit before? If not, kick those feet up and watch as a giant mound of muscle traverses the stage of tonight’s entertainment, a gala in the grand hall of the Jedi Temple, in a truly pissed off fashion. The beast found his attire stifling even when compared to his regular armored vestments. He was a predator pretending to be anything but in a field of prey. Prey that mixed and mingled under their own guises of friendship with those they'd kill a minute after their joint war. Weakness, the air was rank with such weakness. A clawed finger itched at the neck. How did these tiny fragile beings tolerate such pointless garments that limited one's mobility so?

Staring back at his "charge", a man that nearly met the Dashade in size and stature, he said as low as a giant could, "I got it." As the other hunter he'd partnered with went his way. These were the only two contacts on mission he'd been even slightly familiar with, one from his escape from the pits of the arena, the other from a particularly odd heist. Normally the Shadow Killer preferred to work alone but on this night, even the beast accepted the adage of safety in numbers.

Clinking glasses and resounding laughter muffled the Dashade's sigh. The earlier racing anticipation for the hunt had been replaced by indignation as he was forced to walk among the masses. Luckily, a bodyguard need not play friendly with other attendants. Ostentatious theatrics were as the carrot he'd forsaken for an all stick approach to his work. Unfortunately the game they played this night required a subtlety the beast simply wasn't equipped with and it was eating at him, spreading like a virus begging him to break character and lash out at the any of the myriad prey. Still, under the cloud of gathered darkness interloped with the light, his gnawing urges were just another smoke stack piercing a bleary sky.

Trained eyes scanned over the room, this faction of Jedi, that manner of dark sider, the Dashade could smell his quarry far better than he could see them. The iconic robe and saber signaled many of the former, to be expected in their temple. Still, the beast wished all these fake skins could be shed and that the inevitable bloodletting between all parties commenced. Why waste each other's time rather than engage in glorious battle. To the victors, the spoils. To the losers, an honorable death.

"I grow tired of this," he spoke in his closest equivalent to a whisper - to nobody in particular.

Clawed digits balled up then retracted several times over. From his core to his every extremity the monster thirsted for battle and the herd was so plentiful. Subduing his innate nature, Vher Nall bound away his hunger and followed hunter Hawke through the plethora of prey. He'd continue to abide the rules of the game for now.

 

[Lunafreya Solidor]

L O C A T I O N | The ball.
T A G S | LT-137 , Rurik Fel ​

“I’m sure your ladyship can agree with me when I say that change is coming. For better or worse it is coming, it wasn’t the first time your lord father placed his trust in the wrong person.”, as lord Tarsus Adasca moved his lips and dangled his tongue to gush his poisonous words at her direction, Lunafreya could not stop wondering how dry his lips were, like two lean pieces of leather slapping against one another. At his side, the man with a eye-patch could not stop himself from smiling and she could not stop looking at him every time Tarsus finished a sentence. Tall he was, elegantly he dressed to be among the nobility of Kaikielius and the one in that ball. Corona was used by to the lifestyle the nobles had, once she knew he used to judge them and curse their names for they had it all, but now he understood how good that felt. To possess wealth, to hold such power and influence over others and even bend the law to do its own bidding, he was small in court, but he seemed not to care, he was in her father’s grace as one of his ‘favorites’.

“What is done is done and cannot be undone, brave Adasca. Would you leave your king to the hyenax like a vermin from the Outer Rim?”, she immediately answered in a sharp tone of voice, there were many issues between herself and Iedolas Solidor, but Lunafreya protected the honor of her House above all things even her own pride and despite, dressed like a queen, Lunafreya rose her head high. “Or has House Adasca forgotten that when your kin was banished from Arkania it was the Solidors that gave you shelter?”

Adasca smiled proudly to her, a gesture with no true feeling whatsoever that the arkanian could pretend to have with his fancy manners of decorum.
“No, I do not forget that, my princess, as I must highlight that this display of ‘altruism’ from your ancestors was not freely given but it was paid in advance.”

“Semantics.”, her mouth snarled towards him as she placed another crystal goblet above another tray that passed through them. Perhaps seeing how far he was going, Tarsus changed the expression in his face, choosing a more subservient posture.

“I am loyal to Kaikielius and to the Suncryst Throne, princess, that is all.”, Adasca corrected his ways. “But we are worried about where things are going and also… oh, forgive me, I must take my leave, escorting lady Nastascha is my duty for the night. Pleasure to see you, princess.”, as soon as he said that the Arkanian turned his back to Lunafreya and rushed towards a old woman dressed in fancy clothing. So, she was left alone with lord Corona Marian and the male with long auburn hair approached her with a friendly smile on his lips.

“Forgive him, my princess. He is a proud fool that likes talking too much about what he doesn’t know, but he is harmless, Adasca has no teeth to bite, not even himself.”, Corona held a glass filled with champagne but did not drank it. For a coward like Adasca to speak his mind was probably because that meant things weren’t as great as she thought they were in her home planet and her father was not biting as hard as he used to, even in a closed system like Kaikielius it was necessary to maintain the balance between fear and fear of its nobles with the one who held the throne, or chaos took over the planet as in different dark periods in history. She raised her hand to dismiss Nelacar in search of another full cup for her, taking the time to look back at Lord Marian. “But there is truth in what a fool says. There is hurt and discontent among the Great Houses for the union that his father insisted he failed.”

“Idiots and cravens every single one of them, do they not know that I am a proud member of the New Imperial Order? A warlord in the service of his imperial majesty, the Sovereign Imperator? And here they are, friends with the Galactic Alliance while the Sith crumble into ruin and madness. The three greatest powers in the galaxy join hands and resources against their common foes, the mad Sith and those Bryn’adûl monsters.” She also had her own resentment about what had been lost, not just by herself but by irritable shame, Lunafreya had never been rejected by anyone before and it hurt her pride in a hideous way. Pride was everything for a woman like her, he was the reason why she got up every morning, why she wore beautiful ornaments on her slender body, which was why her very existence had any meaning.

“I know that… Your father is wise . Now that Galactic Alliance approaches our doorstep, the Great Houses are anxious, most of the Tapani Nobles are divided. Some are begging for better deals with the Alliance, others are being proud about it, while the worst bunch have closed their borders and rumor has it that they are preparing for war but what of Kaikielius? Last frontier of the Protectorate, some want that same war in our lands while others hope Iedolas will sue for peace.”, his words were so filled with a sincerity that made Lunafreya shrug her shoulders, although she disbelieved that there was any other truth than that. Males like Corona Marian weren’t famous for telling the true, but then again which noble or politician was? “To champion democracy is no brave thing. For eons, politicians and nobles have done so as naturally as they draw breath. To suggest there is a point beyond which democracy collapses on itself, yielding stagnation and eventually ruin? That demands a degree of political courage so rare as to border on the theoretical."

Her violet eyes showed that she was very impressed with his words, more than anything she never expected someone like him to say something with such beauty.
“Never thought of you as a poet, lord Marian.”, her mouth immediately replied with a grin on her lips, would not be something to destroy all politics in the galaxy and alongside all sense of nobility? But then again, kings and queens were as right to ascend as long as beings could think and separate their better selves from the rest, like separating chaff from wheat.

“By all means, no, never. I'm just repeating what I once heard your father saying. His Radiance is worried too, especially with you.”, The male got a little closer before saying anything else, almost too close for taste, not enough to be rude but close enough so she could smell his expensive cologne. Had it been in another time and in another place, she would have clenched her jaws against his throat, ripping it away. “Your time is running out, princess, the High-King Inwë lies ill, Ashelia is with the Confederacy, the stars are almost in position, the days of yore are set to return.”, He pulled away from her again and nodded his head in a polite gesture, “It was wonderful seeing you, my princess, but I must be going, keeping our interests safe is my duty in here and I must attend to it, I shall send word to your father about our meeting, ya rato nea!”

He bowed to her slowly, but quickly got up and fled her sight as quick as he appeared. The male should have found joy in giving her such prophetic words right from her father’s lips, Lunafreya could only think about the news regarding her sister and the more she thought about it, the more she would feel anger growing inside of her, to the point where she closed her fingers as a fist, tight as the jaws of a rancor, while her lips turned in a frown of despite. ‘May your soul join the Realm of Death, Ashelia.’, she could feel her fist shaking out of anger as she clenched it, nothing could make her feel any more anger than her sister, that upright, self-righteous little hero, always with a smile on her face.

As Nelacar dared to show his ugly mutt in front of her with a glass of champagne, Lunafreya took his offer and decided to think about this later on tonight and concentrate on finding entertainment for herself on that party. That gala in Coruscant was much different than what she could have hoped, in Kaikielius they had majesty and grace all around their ranks, as the nobles dressed in flamboyant outfits that would shame the most modest king in the galaxy. But in that place, they were too different, too exoctic for her taste as if they allowed anyone inside the hall and not only the ones worthy of such an event and perhaps after hearing to her desires, the gods of her people decided to intervene, as her eyes catched a glimpse of two people she knew, one better than the other. Gently she raised her free and swinged her index finger towards the two males, gossiping to the old steward with a low voice.

“Isn’t that the dreadful little human in the service of the one-eyed?”, almost immediately translating her way of speaking to a proper question, Nelacar cleared his throat before answering his mistress.

“Rurik Wymar, Knight-Commander of the Imperial Knights in the service of the Sovereign Imperator, yes, princess.”, she swinged his hand towards him twice, dismissing his company as she started to slowly walking towards them both, the entire time wondering what she would say once she approached them. Rurik Wymar was not someone she had ever even nodded towards him, but the male with him, the thyrshian demon of the Sun Guard was someone she knew quite well. When close enough, Lunafreya raised her free hand and openly touched the thyrsian’s shoulder, humming towards him.

“If it ain’t the scourge of the stars I see before my eyes. Brave Amon, how are you?”, after only saying that Lunafreya looked towards Rurik Wyman and gave him a short, harsh nod with her head and saying with a polite tone of voice. “Knight-Commander.”

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

Coruscant // Galactic City // Jedi Temple
Great Hall
Fox On The Run
Focus // Lucien Dooku

---

---

Over the round of applause and the consecutive clinking of glasses giving toast, Lyra had caught the comment he had breathed. Irony. It had a personal touch to it but Lyra said nothing on in the moment. The blissful buzz that had been creeping up on her and personal disinterest in debate stalled her tongue. There was a vicious cycle that was easy to fall into, the debate of the galaxy and it’s trillions of cults.

Whatever he had meant..well Lyra was a present sort of woman, who was she to really judge here anyway. The weight of the galaxy, whoever it belonged to, and Guardian’s of Peace? They seemed to have a greater weight on and for a soldier, she was thankful it wasn’t her personal job at the very least. Peace itself was almost laughable in this day and age and she rather pitied the fools.

There were plenty of others who’s heart strings could be plucked and moved though, the passing thought of blasphemy gone and Lyra would be short nothing.

Maybe she was just getting old, but it dawned on her the growing friendliness of the situation and she made a choked noise behind her glass. Long accustomed to the attitude of the twelfth and it’s old soldiers. Thrumming her fingers in repetition against the glass with a soft click to manage her nerves, reeling herself in. He had her there, the circles of operation were on opposite spectrums-

“Right well Lucien I think you spoke too soon. Your boisterousness is in fact showing,” Lyra interjected carefully, musing and as he blinked with a certain gusto. Right of course. Lyra chuckled, well she couldn't spare him from any duties but keeping company was hardly a crime. A merc though? It didn’t seem to fit the bill but there was still time yet to be proven wrong. Lyra tried to prune any judgment, but time again the profession had left a bad impression. Airing caution in fact, she hummed thoughtfully taking note of his own scars as she appraised him. The faint concern of buyouts and loyalty passing through her thoughts despite. With all his antics and Lyra found a slim smile on her lips amidst her slipping discipline.

“Ah..you are a force user then, in league with the resident Jedi?” the woman teased, but the underlying question was there. Gesturing with the glass in hand to the grand architecture that surrounded to further the inquiry, curiosity too great to ignore she tilted her head. Lyra truly hadn’t paid that much attention to anyone during Diab Six’s encounter with the numerous abominations crawling about, ire for Avernus aside. “either way if you offer us some credence I can’t argue that. We can’t let them know we’re actually an intolerable bunch of degenerates. That said if the delegates do come for you, I fear I can’t stop them from parading you around on display. Apologies.”

Lyra brought the glass of champagne to her lips, taking a measured sip. She had burned through the last one, the vice scraping it’s claws at the door. Numbing herself up at the very least-If he was unconcerned with titles, she could do with the stifling air. Poor them. Her brows pinched and Lyra considered his question. The truth of it was a bit more embarrassing than dare consider admitting, but Lyra pointed a finger wagging it at him.

“Oh Lady is it now? You're not playing by the rules..but right..I had the honor of escorting one of the Order’s illustrious financial investors,” her tone hinted at the lack of joy in the duty. “I’d call my presence a paradox however-” She raised a hand to massage her brow. “Wherever I go I represent the Order, but that is if someone was to actually talk to me. Maker forbid. However I am a guest of Sunreva by technicality, first. He was so eager to split as you can see. Hopefully he’s doing something productive, I was supposed to look intimidating on his behalf though..I’ve settled for the free champagne and tiny cakes in the mean time. Cheers?”

Lyra held the glass aloft, tilting it toward him to salute the odd predicament they both were in.

 

[Zaavik Perl]

// I'm In Your Area //
// Allyson Locke Maynard Treicolt Loske Treicolt Ryv Warchief Waddles //

Zaavik looked down at himself and back up to Allyson before repeating the gesture as second time. "Well, I'd sure hope so. 'Waited almost all day at the store for the garment fabricator to finish this, and the creepy Ugnaught lady had to 'retake' my measurements like ten times," Zaavik recalled with discontent. If he didn't get at least five compliments on his getup, he'd be asking for a refund. He was supposed to get a haircut too, but by the time the tailor had finished, he only had to change and grab something to eat. There'd probably be food at the gala, he was sure, but after an experience like that he really just needed a Big-Hutt with cheese.

He frowned slightly when she insisted, again, that he just call her by her name. There was no helping being sympathetic, he could tell how much it seemed to bother her. It was a force of habit, really. Hard to kick a habit that had been drilled into his head since he was a kid. He hated the formality too, deep down, but the mask of tradition was always glued on among other Jedi. "Right. Allyson, got it," he replied reassuringly. Flinching backward, he loudly brushed himself off hard than before when her hand reached forward "I got it, I got it," he muttered defensively under his breath. He tried to play it off as she hadn't just tried to do that. "You trying to embarrass me?"

The reality was, she was probably trying to stop him from embarrassing her. Considering the first thing she did was bring him over towards other members of the New Jedi Order. A young Padawan with fast food on his suit probably didn't make for a good impression, nor did it reflect well on the mentor. Zaavik squinted slightly as they approached the massive mountain of a Human and the three, much smaller Jedi. The kiss on the cheek received by the Kiffar was a good enough giveaway to who he was. "Good to meet you, my guy," Ryv's casual demeanor was rather diffusing of the growing tension that had built up within Zaavik. He was nervous as hell to meet the 'crew', truthfully, but had been acting as natural as possible.

Maybe it was just the way he spoke so laxly, or maybe it was the friendly gesture of the fist coming forward. Whatever it was, be it sheer presence or gestures, it helped put the Padawan at ease. He smiled naturally and brought his fist up to reciprocate the requested gesture. "Ryv Karis IN the flesh? With everything I've heard about you, I almost thought you were a myth." That's when the full weight of a realization hit him. This was Saber Squadron, wasn't it? Oh shit. Alright, stay cool. Act natural. All he could do was smile and nod as Maynard and Loske also extended a greeting. Casual and slightly delayed 'nice to meet you's to each of them were just barely able to save him from looking like an idiot.

He watched as the massive individual took his leave after exchanging a small pleasantry to Allyson. He didn't know who that monster was, but for a brief moment, he wondered if he could achieve a physique like that for himself. Not likely, of course, Zeltrons were generally known for being soft and feely. Chalk it up to bad genetics. Allyson then, as well, suddenly took her leave as well. He didn't particularly buy the excuse, at least not after a moment. He could feel embarrassed frustration from her as she left. Something had clearly just went wrong, but exactly what happened was beyond Zaavik.

The sudden influx of awkward feeling that arose from being left in front of a group of near-total strangers, coupled the nervousness of standing before even more of THE Saber Squadron almost made him sweat. His hands shifted from his pockets, his hips, being clasped in front of him, to behind his head. Really, he couldn't figure out what to do with them, the secondhand embarrassment coupled with the awkwardness sent him into an odd, hand-dancing panic.

"So, uhhhh... how about that Limmie game last night?" Damnit, Zaavik, you're already blowing it.

 

[Leon Amun]

Prey: Whoever
Fellow Hunters: Vallaro Kindall Vher Nall
Equipment: A suit worth more than a super star destroyer, Himself
Role: The Murderhawke


There was nothing that Leon Hawke liked more than a good suit and a night full of entertainment and alcohol. The Murderhawke had almost certainly recieved an invitation from the gala because of his newly appointed position as the owner of the IGWF. Now that he had more credits than he knew what to do with, which meant there were now people were trying to worm their way into his good graces so he would donate to their various charities or organizations. Leon dreaded conversation with those kinds of people, they were never any fun, no fun stories, no cool tricks, hell they couldn't even fight! But the Galas and Banquets that these people threw? Second to none. These gatherings were the most fun Leon could have that wasn't inside the ring or a combat zone. Though he never really felt at home in this new arena of combat, the alcohol sure helped it on it's way.

By the time Vallaro had gone off to do his scouting mission The Murderhawke was already 15 drinks in, having successfully drank Three ambassadors, two senators, and one very insistent Nautalin under the table. If Leon was going to be honest with himself, he had completely forgotten about the mission until Vallaro spoke up "Just be back in time for one dance with me, I need someone pretty one my arm" He spoke, ordering around the one person he could call his best friend. That was another perk the Mandalorian now got to enjoy: Giving orders. While it might all be an illusion to catch some targets Leon had certainly never heard of, he would indulge himself in the fantasy while he was in it.

Strutting off away from his Dashade escort, Leon pressed further into the sea of senators and diplomats, striking up laughter filled conversations wherever he went. The laughs were mostly from The Murderhawke himself, his bellows echoing through the gala only to be joined briefly by nervous chuckles of those unfortunate enough to be stuck in conversation with him. Every now and again he would receive a compliment from someone about the quality and craftsmanship about his suit and Leon would launch into a long rant about how the suit cost more than a super star destroyer and that it was one of a kind because the species the suit was made from had gone extinct during the tailoring process.

Eventually though, the excitement of intermingling with the elite wore off and Leon began to get impatient. "I swear to god Vallaro, if one more senator comes up to me and asks for a donation BEFORE they ask about my next title match, I'm throwing them through the god damn window" The Murderhawke grumbled into his mic before downing another large glass of something strong enough to take out a wookie.

It was at that point The Murderhawke heard the voice of an angel. Through the hustle and bustle of the Gala crowd, as clear as day, Leon heard it "Knight-Commander" It was a tone that was cold and commanding and it sent an oddly pleasurable chill up the Mandalorian's spine. As soon as he had located the source of he headed off to intercept the wondrously dressed damsel from an undoubtedly boring conversation. No, someone of her grace and elegance deserved better than simple conversation. She deserved the Murderhawke.

"That title sounds rather dull, If I may be so bold" Leon spoke directly to Lunafreya Solidor , ignoring anyone else who might be present "Certainly someone of your grace deserves more...Entertaining company, I doubt you'd find what your looking for talking treaties with some nothing 'Knight-Commander" The Mandalorian grinned and bowed gently towards the Princess "The Murderhawke Mandalorian Leon Hawke"

 

[Athena D-13]

Mark: Allyson Locke
Objective: OOCly knowingly commit suicide for this character Capture first target for the Guild
Selected Appearance: https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/i..._JOU4UyzjmKkhFAejej6BknmE1AJ4lk5weYijHCeV8C6S

Spoiler: Selected Appearance:

This Unit had only been active within the Guild for the past 4 months since its construction, and though it had made smaller hits, this was its first support role among other traditional Bounty Hunters. The persona it had to create was going to be far more complicated than all of its previous renditions. It was not difficult to acquire an invitation for herself and the other Bounty Hunters that needed one.

It was selecting the face the Assassin Droid found the most difficult. It was easy to replicate uniforms and helmets without issue, but crafting believable unique faces was more... challenging. Given her relative inexperience, This Unit had to improvise by taking faces memorized over the holonet and running them through a mixer program to arrive at a face that was believable. The trouble was, being a machine, she was not in the most adept position to figure out what faces were believable or not. They all seemed the same to her. Luckily, the droid managed to find a kind of "cheat code" for unique appearances. Apparently, according to data she had collected independently, many species indicated that the Echani were often claimed to be similar-looking to one another. This, added with the public data available on her target Allyson Locke , provided the droid the perfect cover for any flaws in her "uniqueness". Copying and mimic the fabric details of those in attendance was also a tricky ordeal, as none of the observed outfits were uniform, and just as unique as faces. Her solution was rather simple, however, by observing all those in attendance, she was able to quickly pick any outfit located on the net that did not have a match within the gala.

Then came the true challenge...

Socializing.

On most any other mission, her ability to small talk was limited only in copying orders and mannerism of others who actually existed, so as to allow her to get past a door or fool a guard to go elsewhere. In this case, she had to possess her own distinct voice, and use it to find, and lure a target within acceptable parameters to subdue. This is something that may take a while. Nonetheless, the droid dutifully uploaded its information to the same network which Vallaro Kindall was connected to.

After some bumbling and awkward looks, the droid eventually spotted Allyson Locke walking away from a group of others and decided now was her time to pursue... slowly. No need to aggressively beeline for them in such a way as to tip them off that her behavior was not exactly normal. She meandered around the crowd and borrowing visual information to guide her into the target's direction. Some time would pass, and eventually, the droid would come from behind where Allyson Locke had retreated to in order to breathe.

"Oh, pardon me. I didn't realize someone would be out here too." The droid said neutrally, believing that to be an appropriate non-confrontational response.

 

[Spencer Varanin]

//: Queen Aesthetic //:
//: Coruscant //: Jedi Temple //:
//: An Evening Out //:
Vaulkhar LT-137 Errant Aston Jacobs

​

Spencer mused over his comment about the new generation of Jedi. Unlike her, he seemed to be blind to what potential they had, or he didn’t feel it. Every generation had their moment, they had their group, a core of individuals that made the necessary changes. At every core, there was the nucleus, the individual that holds everyone together. In her era, she had been something similar, but her time had passed as well as Vaulkhar’s. This time’s heroes were in this room, and she hoped it included their son. Though the mother knew that her son needed to find his own way.​

The woman moved to speak to her escort, but as she turned to him, she realized something happening. He was struggling, and she sighed softly. The hand that wasn’t wrapped around Vaulkhar’s arm moved and pressed against his bicep. It was the most she could do to comfort him as he worked through the struggle. Despite her not wanting the Jedi’s help to deal with Vaulkhar’s wound, Spencer knew she would be up against an impossible task. After he started to speak again, she relaxed.​

Vaulkhar motioned towards the group of youth, a small smirk curled at the corners of her lips while he introduced each and every one of them. The vibes she felt when they had arrived came from the group of Jedi. “They do show promise. I look forward to seeing their progress.” ​

Spencer glanced around the room, trying to see if there were any faces she recognized. Several of the senators she had remembered from the gossip columns she followed, none of the Jedi had familiar faces nor did the NIO. Each face, she attempted to lock into her memory, knowing that they meant something to the galaxy if they were here.​

Hazel eyes fell on two individuals after she peeled her gaze away from the senators and politicians. One was the dark-skinned man with a golden glow. She raised an eyebrow seeing how decorated he was, especially for this event. Khonsu never changed, he was a proud man, and she held high respect for him and what he had done for his people. Memories of the Mandalorian terrorization weighed heavily on her mind and heart. “The man, the Thyrsian. That’s Khonsu Amon, he’s the Golden Company leader, also the man who leads the Thyrsian. He’s a bit of a legend.” ​

The woman mused with a smile as she tilted her head. “I remember at one point he wanted so desperately to kill me. Hopefully, that’s not the case anymore.” A hand went to her lips as she felt the final familiar pull of her mind, their son had arrived. The former monarch had not expected to see the boy, memories showed that he didn’t enjoy the events of parties and galas. They might have been growing on him, the more she thought about it. With a finger, she pointed towards the boy who seemed to assume he could hide from the woman.​

“Our son has decided to come, as well. I’m surprised, I remember as a boy he would give me such a fit every time I tried to get him to interact with the other children in the court.” Spencer pouted as she remembered the young Prince throwing fits and deciding to try and argue his way out of attending. She felt Aston in the distance but decided to keep that to herself. Her personal life had been such a secret from the rest of her family, Vaulkhar and Errant were unknowns, and she liked it that way. Spencer kept them safe that way.​

“Errant determined about something.” She commented as she looked at him and felt him through the Force. Spencer decided to let him think she didn’t notice him and continued to look to Vaulkhar. Before she could address the moment he had, Aston seemed to have spotted her as well. “It seems my brother has arrived.” Through their connection, she welcomed the man over so that he could come and meet Vaulkhar, and if Errant wandered up as well, it would be a family reunion.​

 

[Vaulkhar]

// Lord Executor Incognito //
// Jedi Temple // Coruscant //
// An Evening Out //
// Spencer Varanin //

​

While Spencer sought out someone familiar to answer his question, Vaulkhar closed his eyes and focused on closing himself off from the noisy world around him. The hundreds of footsteps taken at any instant reminded the fallen Jedi of an army marching out to war, ready to strike out and kill thousands, if not millions in the name of some senseless cause. A woman's sudden laughter put him on edge immediately, his addled mind likening the piercing noise to an animalistic screech of pain only brought about from a grievous wound. Bodies pressed against bodies, people wandering to and fro across the close-quarters battlefield, hands dragging at wrists, forms twirling, feet carefully prancing about to carry their ever-moving masters. Though Vaulkhar knew the truth of the ball, his mind's eye saw only endless battle. The shattering of a distant glass replaced by a booming explosion, while elsewhere in the room, a growing argument between two visiting nobles spoke of a violent exchange of orders meant to bring about death within the chamber.

The hallucinatory war faded away as Spencer's voice broke through it all. Vaulkhar said nothing in response, nor did he open his eyes. Instead, he further listened and turned away from the crowd. It wouldn't do for others to gaze upon the former Queen's escort, only to see a strange man with closed eyes. The Lord Executor felt somewhat confused as Spencer mentioned Khonsu, detailing his history as if Vaulkhar hadn't heard of the man's long list of extraordinary feats.

"You know, Spencer, while I've never directly interacted with the Thyrsian, I have shared more than one battlefield with the Supreme Sunguard. He is the favored mercenary of the Sith Empire," Vaulkhar opened his eyes, allowing his attention to fall on the distant monarch. "Though, I do not imagine that will remain the case," the duelist's hand deftly shot out, nimbly snagging one champagne glass, followed immediately by a second. He held one out to Spencer while clutching the second between his pinky and ring fingers. "It will not be long until even the Thyrsians realize their folly in supporting the Sith-Imperial Regime. In due time, Khonsu Amon, alongside his battle-hardened people, will take the fight to the Sith Empire. And if things go as I've foreseen," he lifted the glass to his lips, taking a sip of the bubbling liquid. "Eshan will stand with them, not as enemies, but allies," Vaulkhar finished the thought with a cursory glance towards the Queen.

Errant's presence did not go unnoticed, even before Spencer could bring the child up. Vaulkhar lacked the same bond his son and partner maintained, given the lack of time spent with the boy. Still, the two were linked by the Force in ways only a parent or child could understand. He knew the young Knight felt Vaulkhar's death years prior; it likely spurred him into action to begin with. Vaulkhar understood his son's desires to become something more, to live up to the legacy of those before him. As Errant's father, it made Vaulkhar proud. And yet, it scared the hell out of him. Both walked a similar path, one that led to a bloody and horrific war.

"If I had to guess, he is likely wondering why his mother is on a stranger's arm. The boy is rather protective of you, it seems," Vaulkhar shifted back to face the crowds. "I do not think it is a good idea to encounter him this way, but I do not imagine there is much choice in the matter. Especially with your brother interested in this endeavor as well," he sighed, shaking his head faintly. "I should've stayed home."

 

[Ryv]

// Sword of the Jedi //
// Jedi Temple // Coruscant //
// Fornicate with Women // Acquire Currency // Surfin' //
// Allyson Locke // Zaavik Perl //

It didn't take long for Ryv to feel Allyson's sudden embarrassment. A part of him felt wrong, sure, given his reaction ultimately caused her momentary meltdown. Yet, at the same time, the young Jedi Knight couldn't help but feel she'd overreacted. Maybe it had something to do with his more casual nature, alongside his place in the relationship, but it all seemed out of place. Neither Maynard nor Loske had a noticeable reaction. Isaiah disappeared almost immediately, likely disinterested in the small group of orthodox Jedi. And the latest addition, Zaavik, appeared far more caught up in the anxieties of meeting new people than Ryv's brief response to her open display of affection. The Kiffar looked over his shoulder, following the route the Corellian took as she disappeared. His body moved on its own, already guiding the Jedi to follow after her. The desire to comfort and support her ingrained into him by this point, their bond having hooked deep within him. It wasn't until Ryv took the first step did he stop.

"I'm not doing this tonight," Ryv muttered, shaking his head slightly. "I've got enough shit going on. This is the one night I get to just be a person," he straightened and turned back to his friends. It didn't take an empath to realize how out of place Zaavik felt. The nervous fidgeting and ceaseless movement of his hands, to the strange question in regards to a nearly-irrelevant sport on Coruscant, made it all too clear how the Zeltron felt. "Honestly, it wasn't a terrible game. My old man and I used to catch the Limmie games way back when. Tickets on Coruscant have always been cheap too, considering how few people actually like the game," Ryv leaned his back against the walls, arms crossed over his chest. "Team Coruscant made a few good pickups last year, so the team is looking stronger than ever. I'm not surprised we got smashed by Team Alderaan. They've got straight killer, no filler there, man," he reached into his pocket, pulling out his sleek holodevice.

"Even so, my fantasy-Limmie team? Doing way better than Team Coruscant," Ryv pulled up the fantasy league's stats, showcasing his third-place standing in the ten-person league. "I knew sticking with Coruscant's defense had to be the play. Its the goddamn offense killing us game to game," he flicked up with a thumb, shifting his focus from his defensive roster to the offense. "Team Fwillsving is nothing but heat. Picking up a few of their guys worked wonders on my standings the last couple weeks. Not sure why my buddy picked up my Ord Mantrell goons. Great players, yeah, but definitely not Fwillsving level," the Jedi Knight chuckled as he slid his holodevice away.

"What about you, Zaavik? You got a favorite team, or you more just into watching it whenever it's on display?" Ryv lifted his head and gently banged it against the wall, grinding his teeth together behind the overwhelmingly positive display. For one reason or another, he found himself getting more and more pissed off the longer he considered the situation at hand.