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Faction Dawn of a New Era || Open to CIS and her Allies

Strength till the End


It is the end of the era. And the dawning of a new one. After several long decades of loyal service to the Confederacy, Isley Verd Isley Verd has seen the final day of his tenure as Vicelord. Amid whispers of Sith Loyalty, the people of the great nation he had built demanded that he step down. And so he did. With his head held high, Metus bid farewell to his creation, and abdicated the throne. There was a turbulent period of uprising and unrest, many demanded the complete expulsion of Sith, or any loyal to that fallen nation. Some planets overthrew leaders suspected of being traitors. And all amidst the looming threat of the Hypergates and realm of Oblivion.

It is not an easy task that Daegon Corvinus Daegon Corvinus has undertaken, and yet undertaken it he has. Selected as the interim Vicelord until such a day as the new head of state could be properly elected, the Thyferra Viceroy has finally returned home with good news. The election has been held, and the people have spoken. Daegon Corvinus has been elected Vicelord of the Confederacy. Though he may have been sworn in to office on Naboo, there is no better place to celebrate his new achievement than the comforts of home. And so, the finest resort known to the Thyferrans has been opened to the people of the Confederacy to celebrate the achievement of their new leader...

All good victories deserve recognition. What good is achieving new heights if one does not take the time to revel in their accomplishments? To this end, the chief ballroom of the resort has been decorated to the extreme in celebration of Thyferra's achievement. It is here that Daegon will make his victory speech, surrounded by his closest friends, family, and the influential people of the Confederacy. The head-table was lined with such figures as his darling wife, Seraphina Corvinus Seraphina Corvinus , his new Exarchs, John Locke John Locke and Srina Talon Srina Talon . Even the notable individuals of the Ministries and other facets were there. Gerwald Lechner Gerwald Lechner , Lord Commander of the Knights Obsidian. Kiff Brayde Kiff Brayde as the Minister of War. Hester Shedo Hester Shedo , the cunning and beautiful Minister of Influence. Alessandra Creed Alessandra Creed , the numbers-savvy Minister of Commerce. And finally, Shuklaar Kyrdol Shuklaar Kyrdol , Mandalorian warrior, and interim Minister of Science. Though some speculated if he would even show up, given the legality of armor at an event such as this.

Invitations are precious and hard to come by. If you find yourself standing within this room, consider yourself to be among the elite of the galaxy. Obtaining one is easy enough, if you know who to speak with. After all, when have you known a Viceroy to travel without entourage? Or perhaps you know a business-being in great enough support of the nation to have warranted an invite? Or, perhaps your actions speak for themselves, and your name is legend among the community. Whatever your reasons, come eat and drink, and celebrate the dawning of a new era. Vicelord Corvinus is preparing to give his speech...

Not everything can be celebrated by words alone. For some, a trip through the virtual holo-worlds is an exciting getaway. Featuring tours of the other planets celebrating the appointment of a new Vicelord, the Holo-suite is ready to take you on an instant tour of the Confederacy. Or perhaps you are a simple individual, and just want to know where the bar is? While the largest and grandest of ballrooms is dominated by Daegon and his victory, the next best thing is still available. After all, what self-respecting member of high society would not celebrate with a ball? Should this not strike your fancy, there are a number of other pursuits that may hold your interest. Several casino games, a Sabacc table, and even a few hologames are available to the patrons. For those who have booked a night at the resort, even more items are available to you...

Perhaps the banquet is not for you. Or perhaps your character is neither resourceful nor important enough to warrant an invitation. Or perhaps you merely got caught on a bar run. The night is yours, and news broadcasts are filling the halls with coverage of the election, interviews with the other candidates, broadcasting the new Vicelord's inaugural speech, and other such topics. The night is dedicated to celebration, however you chose to spend it. The night is yours, just be mindful of your surroundings. Some of those dresses are quite expensive, and do not play well with spilled drinks...

Independence is a big theme in the Confederacy. And some spirits are too free to be chained to the indoors on a night such as this. The resort is perched upon the beaches of the largest lake on Thyferra, and the water feels great. Don't feel the need to stay inside with all those stuffy politicians all night. Take some time for yourself and get some fresh air. After all, a single night of victory does not a war win. The galaxy is a turbulent place, and some may find the gentle waves calming. Use this opportunity to relax, to clear your mind. Not every problem must be solved in one night.

Though night has fallen upon Thyferra, the beach is well illuminated with Tiki torches, as well as the occasional campfire. An outdoor bar features prominently in the main drag, and the patio of the resort has been converted to a dance floor. Not everyone prefers the stately and elegant form of movement those politicians would call dancing. Some times, you just have to move your body in new and unique ways. Dotting the promenade are several hot tubs and spas, and mere yards from the festivities, the beach melts away into darkness and solitude. Perfect for those starlit walks upon the beach.

As always, do not feel bound by the opportunities laid before you. This is a party of the people and for the people. A celebration of freedom. Of progress. Today is a new day. Follow your heart's desires. Enjoy the night. Tomorrow can wait a few more hours...

Art courtesy of Kiff Brayde Kiff Brayde
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"I'm your worst Nightmare!"

Diocletian had headed to the beach as soon as he was able to clear security. He didn't fancy being indoors, it felt confining. It was also far too fancy in there, and he didn't really have fancy ballroom clothing nor did he know how to dance either, he wound up doing an Octagon Step rather than the Foxtrot. So, he bypassed that aspect of the event altogether, as it saves him the embarrassment of trying and failing. Besides, he hated dancing, hated those who can dance and those who ''Encouraged'' him to take lessons.

At the beach itself, the sand didn't bother him too much, of course, he'll need to shake his feet free of sand afterwards though. He had to admit, the night was lovely and it was peaceful, which made a change from the ever fitful Galaxy outside. Walking to the outdoor bar he ordered a drink, particularly those with the miniature umbrellas and shiny decorations.

The Ubese always liked the small umbrellas, they were fun to collect, he's got a collection of them already but what's the harm of collecting other cocktail decorations too, especially the paper fruit.

Since joining CIS there has been a definitive change in his life, he stayed in one place for longer. He used to go bouncing from place to place which as he is doing less of kinda cut down on the fuel bill considerably. The Vampire is a far better ship than his old one but it sure guzzled fuel on the regular, rather have a guzzler than a ship that barely has any space.

Being out in the air, well out in the open gave him time to think, mostly as his brother is off dealing with Omni, he has no one to talk to at all stupid hours in the morning. Secretly, Tovald might have liked it, even if he did complain and they both hurled insults at each other. Diocletian shook his head as he observed people walking along the lit paths on the beach.

For once he was content with it all.
Vylmira's Wrath

Kyyrk was attending this event out of a sense of duty. Nothing more. He was not particularly loyal to this new Vicelord, but then he'd barely been loyal to the last one. Kyyrk had long ago realized that his destiny did not lie in following the whims of nations. But time would tell. Daegon stood at his side during the agent wars on Siskeen. And for that, he would have Kyyrk's respect.

His loyalty was another matter.

But that would be a matter to concern himself with another day. Tonight, Kyyrk was dressed in his best tunic, and patrolling the resort with drink in hand. Between the efforts of himself and his master, he had few he would call friend. And thus, he was attending this event single. He could think of a few names in the back of his mind that might have attended this event with him, but none he knew well enough to bother. No, for tonight he would venture alone, same as he always had.

This was a feeling that had slowly begun settling in his bones: Solitude. Though he had returned, he had not been able to rekindle the friendships he'd once had. But more than that, people kept him at arms length. He was a stranger to them. Alien. For all his resemblance of an inversion of the Sith Pureblood, many still saw him as that vile species. Even worse still were the looks he got when people realized who he was. Voph. That name still carried a horror with it. The man who failed the Confederacy. The man who led the Knights Obsidian to their doom. The disgraced Former Lord Commander. Some looked at him with disgust. Others, contempt. But he did not let it bother him.

Not visibly, anyway.

Kyyrk paused near the Sabaac table and his attention turned to the gathering before him. He watched with a vague interest, but soon turned back to continue wandering about the gathering. Perhaps he might have earned a spot in the primary banquet hall by virtue of being Srina's apprentice. But tonight, he wanted no such formalities. Tonight, he was content to be his own person. Even if he had no idea who that person was. But all in due time.

Kyyrk's hair was tied back in its usual ponytail, though the once jet black hair was beginning to show signs of grey. Be it his age catching up with him, or a consequence of his new species, he did not know. But, he was still growing accustomed to this "color" thing anyways. His robes were a pleasant mix of browns, with white sleeves protruding from beneath his tunic. His leather gauntlets covered his hands, but left his fingers unprotected, displaying the smooth white metal of his cybernetic left hand. Currently, these fingers were wrapped around a glass of whiskey. One day, Kyyrk would have someone to attend gatherings like this with. But for now, he contented himself with a perch on the railing, overlooking the guests gathered in the lobby.

In spite of all that? Tonight would be a good night. Of that, Kyyrk was sure.

Open to interactions
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Feisty One

Tag: Open to Interaction
After checking with her sister if she was going to the banquet, Dreidi learned that her sister didn't receive an invite due to her rank in the CIS not being high enough. Dreidi was shocked and was so sure her sister was lying that she went into Asaraa's room after her sister had gone out for something, checking the room for the hidden invite. Amazingly, the room was empty well it had Asaraa's stuff and some other trinkets that Dreidi didn't really care about but it was empty of the important invite. Was Asaraa not that important? Well damn, that's just not good enough, she was Dreidi's sister and Master, she had to be super important otherwise Dreidi was going to miss out on all the cool and fun events, something Dreidi swore not to do since FOMO was real and not a fun experience to suffer from! What was she going to do?!

When Dreidi stepped into the ballroom, she was still making adjustments to her dress, it was weird wearing a dress since the teenager had been mostly in her training gear in order to train and get better so she could feel more confident in the field. The dress was black with red hues, puffy and awkward to wear, the sleeves felt weird and tight. Her hair was in a tight, decorative bun that Dreidi was constantly checking and making sure she had gotten it right, this was the first time she had really put in the effort herself to her outfit and she was nervous about it being ruined or not looking like it did in the tutorial videos she watched. Her make-up was the real challenge and in her opinion the highlight of her attire. She spent ages looking in the mirror to get the right look, it was a thick, black wingtip style that Dreidi totally didn't spend hours and like 700ish attempts to get right...

Feeling a little too confident in her appearance, Dreidi wandered over to the bar and ordered something alcoholic. It was a risk but she was a teenager and life was all about taking risks, surely! However, as she ordered the beverage, the bartender looked at her, raised an eyebrow and shook their head. Clearly not accepting that she was of legal age. Dreidi had a plan for this though, "look! Here's my ID that shows I'm of legal age!" Dreidi called out brandishing a fake ID she had a friend make.

Bartender curious, takes the ID and inspects it closely with a smile on their lips, "So, it says that you are from Dressel, how long have you been on Dressel?"

"8 years, moved there for my studies." Dreidi lied in a cool tone, trying not to give anything away.

"Really? Weird, because Dressel isn't part of CIS space, so clearly this is fake." Handing the fake ID back and pouring Dreidi a soda.

Dreidi stared at them incredulous, "it isn't?! Damnit! I knew I should have checked Sean's work, he is so sloppy with checking CIS borders." Dreidi grumbled and took the soda, it was fine she guessed. Looking around the place, she wondered what else there would be to do...​
Darth Xiphos
Wearing: Jedi Temple Guard Robes (Armorweave, Duraplast, black color)

Armed with: De Lifte Crystal (Double Bladed Lightsaber Pike, Dual Phase)

Lightfoil (Blue Blade)

Heavy Sonic Blaster

M-8 Shotgun

Personal Energy Shield (007 Uses)

With: Arianna Belasko Arianna Belasko (Sorceress of Ardasa Persona, See Bio)

Equipment: Naiad Combat Armor , Blood Leach (Double Bladed Vibrosword)

Alicia (Remote Function Prototype)

(Equipment: Light Foil (Green Bladed) Double Bladed Lightsaber (Black Core, Green Aura), S-5 Officer Pistol)

Miranda (Plus Prototype)

(Equipment: Lightfoil (Blue Bladed), Double Bladed Spinning Lightsaber (Black Core, Blue Aura), S-5 Officer's Pistol)

Objective: BYOO (Lay low, explore Thyferra)

Jumping to Thyferra in: The Strangled Hiss (Assassin Class Corvette)

Darth Xiphos, Light Side Sith Marauder, stared down at her newly finished creation.

Another black, metallic skeleton, laying on a slab in the med bay. Weeks, months of work, more work than had even gone into Miranda. It would be a true test of what Nine had taught her. Her most advanced daughter yet.

Today was it's trial run.

She had requested time alone to activate it. As she stared down at it, she felt a combination of excitement and fear. If she had done everything right, it would be as smart as Westenra herself.

She had packed the most sophisticated tech she possibly could into it. It was more than capable of killing her if she slipped up in a fight. Xiphos took it as a mark of pride crafting someone so ridiculously deadly.

She leaned down into it's audio receptor.


Silvery, liquid, like mercury, flowed out of select ports, smothering the Skeleton completely, forming into the shape of a woman that quickly gained definition and color.

What stood up resembled a rather curvy female in a metallic silver catsuit, with rather bronze skin and short, very dark hair.

Silvery irises stared at the unmasked Xiphos, dressed in an all black version of Jedi Temple robes.

The deadly Assassin Droid smiled.

"Mother?" The Droid asked. "You look sad
May I ask why?"

"It's not you, I assure you. Welcome to Life. Be prepared to kill. Any questions?"

"Only who our target is."

"Our target is Lobsters, and anyone who stands in the way of their defeat. Would you please sit in the chair, Alicia?" Xiphos offered.

Alicia smiled and nodded, her Westenra-grade intelligence allowing her to realize what happened next was an attempt at family bonding.

The deadly Droid slinked over, artificial Nanite sheath that allowed her to mimic the appearance of a human rippling a bit as it processed new stimuli, and sat in the chair. Xiphos took a nearby brush and began running it through Nanite forged locks.

"May I ask from where you derived the source of this tradition?" Alicia questioned, her hyper advanced Droid Brain registering the sensation of having false hair brushed as pleasant.

"Because no one ever did it for me...". Xiphos answered. She had done the same for Cameron Crownwraithe Cameron Crownwraithe almost immediately after adopting her.

"This is important to you. Deeply." Alicia realized.

"Yes, my Daughter."

"Respectfully, Mother, just at a glance, my databases have allowed me to detect the symptoms of severe combat stress. You should rest.

"I would, but I can't. I have a goal. But what we do will not be too stressful this day..."

Fifteen minutes later...

Arianna Belasko, currently in the form and persona of the Sorceress of Ardasa, headed with Cameron's Sister, Miranda to Cameron's quarters.

Arianna had delighted in spending time with Xiphos and Cameron, Cameron in particular because it gave the lethal Force Spawn the sensation of being a doting aunt...

Due to the upswell in Anti-Sith Sentiment within the CIS since Darth Metus stepped down, everyone was going to Thyferra in disguise. It was simply too dangerous to move out in the open. Especially with the loads and loads and loads of chit Xiphos had pulled.

The Sorceress, who naturally believed she had always been part of the family, and was not aware she was simply a puppet of what was inside her, tended to behave like a bit of a stickler for doing things right the first time. She loathed plain incompetence yet was forgiving of inexperience, and despite a seemingly dark and murderous aura, seemed slow to anger. When in control of the body, she tended to hold up Cameron to higher standards, and expected the best. That said, she liked Cameron.

"Cameron, are you nearly ready? We need to head out soon?" The Sorceress called out.

"Thyferra looks lovely..." Miranda mentioned, using the voice Cameron knew but altering her appearance to that of a blue skinned Twi'lek woman in a metallic black catsuit. "And Mother has something in mind for today..."
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Jhira Mereel

LOCATION: The Finest Resort in Thyferrans, the Ballroom
Objectives: Save the Nexu. Don’t die. Dance with [ Shuklaar Kyrdol Shuklaar Kyrdol ], get secret of his shoes. Dodge the High Marshall’s Wrath [ Verin Oldo Verin Oldo ]

TAGS: [ @ Kyyrk Verros ]

Somewhere in the distance, a piano was playing. An old song, full of beautiful sorrow and hopeful loss. Jhira paused at the base of the stairs leading to the Ballroom, caught up in the haunting song. Whoever had written it, that melody most surely deserved a place in any Mandalorian’s heart. Fully shaking off the mood that the music drew her towards was impossible. Yet even before that, Jhira had not been able to touch the sense of wonder and delight that ought to be present today.

The Confederacy of Independent Systems had asked a Sith Lord to step aside, and he had.

He just … did it.

That baffled Jhira, profoundly. So certain had she been of betrayal and mayhem awaiting that she’d arrived at the Resort several days early, and had mapped the layout of the grounds, including escape paths. Even hidden arms and armor for several people along three different paths through the city!

Yet there was nothing happening here.

It bothered her, quite deeply. The action simply didn’t fit how a Sith typically behaved. Distracted by these thoughts, Jhira forgot to approach the first well-dressed couple she passed. The second couple was far too happy in each other’s company to disturb. Why hadn’t she listened to the Admiral, and avoided the senators altogether?

Well. If nothing else, she ought to manage a dance or two out of the evening. Jhira squared her shoulders, told herself firmly she was not naked, not unarmed, and not helpless. Two out of three wasn’t bad, and in a pinch her pure beskar mythosaur pendant could qualify as a weapon, even perhaps parry a sorcerer.

As if conjuring a Force Wielder merely by thinking of one, Jhira saw a very unusual looking man in formal Jeti’s robes. Try though she might, she could not place either his race, nor his likely origin, from the scant clues provided. A nagging sense told her she ought to recognize his race, at least, even if she could not place him, specifically. The cyberlimb, robes and powerful build suggested he was a proper warrior; the silver at his temples spoke of wisdom. Likely hard earned - it had been a rough decade.

Still, he was alone on a balcony, and sipping whiskey. Both were good signs; she had no doubt people just a bit drunk would react better to her proposal than sober ones. Need warred with fear. He wielded a power she distrusted, yes. But … the Jeti tended to not like mass-destruction. Or extinctions. And he couldn't be a Sith; they had just voted the Sith out, right?

So Jhira approached him with a half smile, telling herself firmly that it didn’t mater that the red
Nanosilk wasn’t Beskar, because no one was going to hit her.


Pardon me, Sir. But do you know about the situation with the Nexu?” A faint twinkle in her dark eyes assured him she knew it was an odd question. The soft lilt of the outer rim and the cadence of her Mando’a-colored Basic spoke as eloquently of her origins as the old plasma burn upon her shoulder and the Iron Heart bound to her arm.




You did what you had to do.

Hester had always been somebody who could convince herself of anything that she needed to believe. She could coax herself from any position, deliver herself to any conclusion necessary if it meant her own survival and own progress was assured. The recent ousting of the Vicelord that had given so much to her, supported so much of her cause, elevated her and her agenda to the glittering heights of Ministerial service had taken its toll on her. She was tired. Hungry to survive. Somewhat...afraid. Afraid of repercussions. Afraid of judgement.

She had thrown him to the baying wolves when the chips were down. She had failed to stand by him publicly. And it stung.

Guilt. Worry. Fear

But, like others before, she would move on. Pick herself up again, or whichever version of herself was ready to emerge from the ground. She had survived many a powerful man and made it his far. Viceroyalty. Minister. What next...

Hester's gown was decoratively purposeful as ever. She wore a creamy mustard dress, startling in its soft textures and fur lining. Her hair, draped down for once, was burning red and drew attention to her well-made face, her eyes darting about the place as she made her way to her seat in the banqueting hall. She was in the place where decisions were made. She was one of the great ministers of State,one of the key allies of the new Vicelord. She would be sure to make conversation with as many as could muster the courage to approach her. She took a frosted glass from a waiter and sipped gently, savoring the taste. She had all but lost her taste due to a lack of sleep.

Guilt. Worry. Fear

She looked around for a friendly face but could see none that she knew yet. Perhaps they would come later? Perhaps they would abandon her. Who wouldn't?

Guilt. Worry. Fear. Panic

She swallowed a little and smiled her smile, the one that could cause all sorts of trouble. She wondered; if nobody saw you smile, did you ever really smile at all?

Vylmira's Wrath

Kyyrk chuckled, looking down into the glass of whiskey. "Would you still persist if I told you my cred stick was in my other robes?" His tone was dry, but it was still evident that he spoke in good humor. As his face turned towards Jhira Mereel Jhira Mereel , it would become obvious that he was every bit the warrior she thought him to be. His brow was adorned in scars, including a particularly deep one running the length of his face just to the left of his nose. He had certainly seen his share of combat. It raised but one question: Given the quality of his dress, why had the scars persisted? He certainly could have afforded better medical care than to allow the scars to remain.

But most notable was the soft glow. The lobby was dimly lit, offering a subtle mood for the party-goers. And yet there was a distinct violet glow about the man's eyes. They roamed the figure of the Mandalorian before him, before he turned back to the balcony, his gaze returning to the crowd below. "Though I am curious. What am I meant to have heard? Nexu as in many of them? Or do you refer to one specific Nexu?" His voice was deep. Commanding. Laced with the wisdom of a thousand ages. "I am afraid I would be of little use to you, child. Lest you seek to kill one."

He did not speak with malice. Simply a statement of fact. He had his suspicions as to why she asked him this question. And he suspected that he was correct in being unable to help her. "I think you would be better served in the crowd below. But please," Kyyrk gestured to the empty railing beside him with his empty and biological hand. The small ticks of his head, the posture hunched over the rail, almost suggested he was hunting for something, or someone. "Do not take this as an urgent dismissal. Simply a suggestion should you feel your duty more important than fellowship. A sentiment I understand in its entirety."

Jhira Mereel

LOCATION: The Finest Resort in Thyferrans, the Ballroom
Objectives: Save the Nexu. Don’t die. Dance with Shuklaar Kyrdol, get secret of his shoes. Dodge High Marshall Ordo’s wrath.
TAGS: [ Kyyrk Kyyrk ]

A fierce smile flared, his gentle, dry good humor luring her to dare to tease Kyyrk Kyyrk back, just before he turned to face her fully. “
I am on a sworn Hunt; nothing will dissuade me-

A beat passed, while she studied the truly stunning visage turned to her. What she’d meant to say was lost, as she seriously considered the evidence of survival carved into his face. She’d hunted Sith, been hunted by them, but she didn’t think this was Dark Side distortion. It could be; she was no expert. And she still could not guess his heritage; somewhat Chiss, somewhat Miraluka, a little Falleen, maybe.

All of it warrior.

What lessons did those scars mean to him, that he kept them? What message was he giving, and to whom? Amongst warriors - serious warriors, who meant to live and die by the blade - scars were an entire language as clear and concise as any Clan Tattoo. But Jhira was a pilot; her expertise explosives and missiles, point-blank shots of deadly precision. She could not read the meaning encoded into the riddles of his flesh. Only after she had seriously and gently considered his old wounds, did she allow her gaze to meet the lavender glow of his.

Who was he?

What was he?

As easily as she’d assessed him, she accepted his return appraisal. His voice struck her, then; a dangerous voice. One that could lead millions to either their death, or their salvation. It impelled her to trust him, not for any Force-compulsions, she didn’t think, but for the pain of a wisdom that had outlasted time.

It was very, very good that he wasn’t a Mandalorian.

Even so, he was warrior, so she did him the honor of offering him a Warrior’s arm-clasp, not a handshake, and the information her current state of undress concealed from him. “
Jhira. Captain Jhira Mereel of Clan Awaud.”

Despite his counsel, she seemed content to be company, even if he had no answers for her. Sometimes the journey was the answer, right? A soft sigh escaped her, all of her carefully rehearsed speeches dismissed in an instant.

Their Territory is occupied by the Bryn’adul, but I need to acquire 500 of them.” Amusement danced through her voice, and she angled her head at him, as if cautioning him. “Alive, I’m afraid.” Hip resting against the bannister, Jhira kept her back to the room below, in favor of watching the warrior.



Whoever he was.

I was hoping you knew someone … several someones … who have them. Either bonded them, or keep them for fights, or … a zoo?” A breadth of hope accompanied the final word.

I’m really here hoping some idi-, ah, indulged! noble has a vast private collection of deadly, exotic animals and wants to be famous for donating a bunch of Nexu to the restoration of Mandalore.”

He was looking for something. Someone, perhaps. She searched for a question she might ask, that he might answer. “
What are you hoping to find, down there?
Vylmira's Wrath

Kyyrk straightened up as the woman extended an arm. The gesture was returned, and Kyyrk nodded in greeting. "Kyyrk. Vylmira's Wrath." An odd title. And one that Jhira would almost certainly have never encountered before. The Miraluka did not often make friends with the Mandalorians. And with so few of them left after the Cataclysm, the likelyhood that she'd encountered a Guardian before Kyyrk was slim to none. He took a sip of his drink as the girl continued to speak, informing him of her quest to recover Nexu to rebuild Mandalore with.

"So go get some." The hint of a smile and the twinkle in his eye suggested that Kyyrk was only half serious in this instruction. "The Bryn'adul aren't nearly as scary as they look." He turned back to the railing, and leaned against it once more. He was aware that the Mandalorian was still watching him, but he didn't mind. They all thought he was a freak, and after what had happened in the Netherworld he was inclined to agree with them. Mandalorian, Politician, Civilian, it didn't matter. They all despised him all the same. Most just couldn't look away much like one could not break their gaze from a speeder crash.

The girl stumbled over her words, stopping herself from calling the nobility idiots. Kyyrk shook his head. "No you had that right the first time. Idiots." He took another sip of his drink. He'd gloss over the fact that he was nobility of Vylmira. For now. After all, what good was nobility when your birthright when it was nought more than wildlands and ruins? Then she asked him the million-credit question. "Answers. And if I'm lucky, I'll find a question to go with it."

His brow creased slightly as he looked over the crowd below. It was an answer equal parts snark and truth. He didn't know that he was looking for anything specific. But then again, he indeed sought....something. What, exactly, was beyond him. He knew who he was now, right? That was all he needed to find. He was Kyyrk Verros, the prodigal son of Vylmira. Yet elements of his past still haunted him. There were reaches of his mind that demanded to know what had happened to him. "I've always heard people say that the older you become, the more you know. Some days I doubt the validity of that statement..."

Jhira Mereel

LOCATION: The Finest Resort in Thyferrans, the Ballroom
Objectives: Save the Nexu. Don’t die. Dance with Shuklaar Kyrdol, get secret of his shoes. Dodge High Marshall Ordo’s wrath.
TAGS: [ Kyyrk Kyyrk ]

It was odd, the feel of cloth beneath her hand, instead of metal-on-metal. A bit startling, to be honest. Jhira wasn’t used to such intimacy anywhere but aboard her own ship, with her family. The name Kyyrk Kyyrk offered left her without anchor, and she had no notion what a Vylmira’s Wrath was. Maybe a very, very angry wife? She’d hazard a guess it was some sort of military or pseudo military organization, anyway. Discreetly, she typed a query into her wrist COMM, and let her onboard NavSystem figure it out. Ah! A CIS sector … and a planet near Kamino. It always gave her pause, that particular world, and she spared a moment to worry for her time-displaced kinsman.

A puff of laughter greeted his irreverent advice to simply go face off against the Bryn’adul. “
We’ll just go do that, then. Want to come?” A razor sharp smile flashed, then faded as she considered the galaxy’s most recent threat. On occasion, the Bryn’adul’s quest to destroy all life led them to sterilize worlds in their control. “If my probes find any next sweep, anyway.

Though Jhira regarded Kyyrk-Vylmira’s-Wrath with wary curiosity, there was nothing in her demeanor to suggest that she thought him a freak. Out of place, perhaps. A threat of course, for the strange powers he wielded could not be set aside at events like these, yet everyone else was expected to leave their weapons and armor behind.

He caught her diplomatic misstep, and this time her warm chuckle carrying sorrow with it. “
I’ll never really understand the concept of an inherited nobility. What if your child is unsuited to it, or doesn’t want it? A vast list of who and what they cannot be, and a prescribed destiny already planned out for them feels like some sort of civil rights violation to me.”

A stillness came over her, when he answered her question. The sense that he was out of place here - more-so even than she - grew stronger. Both her hands came to rest upon the banister, and she stared neither into the gala beneath them, nor into the man beside her, but into darkness. “
Hmm. That sort of answer is more likely found within you, rather than without. Or on the battlefield, if mediation eludes you. Few things clarify the one’s sense of honor and knowledge of the self like a test of survival.” Ah, she needed a drink, for this sort of talk, but hadn’t stopped to take a glass from the passing waiters.

He spoke then of either wisdom or knowledge coming with age, she wasn’t sure which. Carefully she considered her answer, for it did not seem a light or casual topic, to her. A whisper of loss enhanced her soft-lilt, the musical cadences of Mando’a turning even Basic into something almost beautiful. “
There can be a sense of knowing everythng, of having a life planned out and under control. But then the universe expands around me, and my perspective shifts. All is made new again, to be discovered once more. So I’m not sure knowledge comes automatically with time. But a certain wisdom, a certain practice at sorting it all out again, seems to accrue with experience, if not specifically with age.”
Obsidian Lord


Wearing: [X]
Tag: Open​
It was a truly shocking thing how quickly things can be upended and all that you know is thrown into question. As the rallying cries against the Sith reached a fever pitch a new demand the unthinkable happened within the Confederacy with a chorus of voices a demand that Isley Verd Isley Verd step down was issued. The demand alone was enough of a surprise but to the shock of many, he complied. She had not known the Vicelord personally, though on occasion they had crossed paths she remembered well the time she sparred with him the man radiated darkness that was true, at one point he may have called the Sith Empire his home but the man she had met in that arena was a stalwart defender of not just the Confederacy but the entire galaxy.​
The whole thing felt wrong. Here she was dressed for a party, a glass in her hand to celebrate Daegon Corvinus Daegon Corvinus becoming the new Vicelord. Yet somehow? It felt hollow, empty, little more than a public relations front to smooth over any ruffled feathers from those who might feel Metus was somehow wronged in all this. Regardless her she stood as an Obsidian Lord whatever doubts or concerns she might have for tonight would remain in her mind alone. There is a time and a place for such debates of conscience and philosophy and this place at this time was not the right moment.​
And so the redhead took a long sip from her glass and let her eyes wander over the gathering of people so much change had come to the Confederacy in so short a time it made her wonder about a great many things but perhaps some sort of distraction would help take her mind off things.​
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Viceroy of Fondor


Jordar utterly despised these sorts of events purely public relations moves however it was expected of him to be here so he was. Daegon Corvinus Daegon Corvinus for all purposes was the Vicelord now, this event was simply an opportunity to show off in Jordar's eyes a somewhat divisive and unnecessary move. His whole tenure as Viceroy served more and more to remind him why he despised politics and most of those who considered themselves politicians.​
It would not be an exaggeration to say he would rather be anywhere but here, such is how precarious things can be at times. When governments change, when leaders rise and fall it is in those moments that test a people, that test a nation to see if its bonds can withstand the strain only time would tell if the Confederacy would continue to stand as a bulwark for those who could not defend themselves in a galaxy in a constant state of warfare.​
His eyes wandered over the assembly taking in the crowd, one thing his eyes did see was the Minister of Influence Hester Shedo Hester Shedo she seemed, unsettled. In a way he could understand the feeling, things felt a bit tense to him at the moment and it clearly seemed it bothered her as well. He turned to a table before grabbing a pair of glasses before making his way over to her. Holding out a glass to her offered a small smile. "Please don't take this the wrong way Minister, you look like you may need one of these." his voice was friendly yet quiet as to not embarrass her. He had not ever spoken with her to be fair but still, he figured she would not want to seem so rattled when things got truly under way.​
TAG: Hester Shedo Hester Shedo | Open​

Vylmira's Wrath

Kyyrk chuckled slightly as Jhira tried to sneak a look at where or what Vylmira was. He hadn't looked at her once as Jhira discreetly researched his homeworld. And yet somehow he knew that she had looked. The Force. It had to be. He fell silent as the woman continued talking, speaking about Nobility and how it made little sense to her. Of knowledge, and how it so often entwined with wisdom. "Well spoken. For one as young as you." Kyyrk took another sip of his drink, and lifted his eyes to the large glass window across from them. Outside, the beach and party without sprawled across the sand.

"There's no shame in admitting what you do not know. Like your ignorance of Vylmira." His wry smile indicated he held no ill will in his statement. "We always did keep to ourselves. Best claim to fame that planet ever boasted was being the homeworld of the Lord Commander. The leader of our Force order. Though admittedly we have been far less isolated of late. Believe me when I say, I can understand what it is like, trying to restore a planet after its near total destruction." He offered Jhira a sidelong glance. "At least your people are all warriors, no?"

He sighed quietly, his eyes flicking back towards the dark water. "There was a gathering of us. Those few with enough power to aid our people. We all took a vow to embody an aspect of the Vylmiran people. I was the only member with any real combat experience, thus..." Vylmira's Wrath. His gaze eventually wandered back to the crowd below, before he changed the subject. "Nobility is something I've never understood myself. But I have known quite a few in my time. Even spent a few months in the court of Naboo as a liason. But that was well before the Confederacy. But good people among the nobility are an exception, I find, rather than the rule."


Jhira Mereel

LOCATION: The Finest Resort in Thyferrans, the Ballroom
Objectives: Save the Nexu. Don’t die. Dance with Shuklaar Kyrdol, get secret of his shoes. Dodge High Marshall Ordo’s wrath.
TAGS: [ Kyyrk Kyyrk ]

Was Kyyrk-Vylmira’s-Wrath tied into a security system that allowed him to know she’d researched his home-world? Her heart beat hard, once or twice. Or perhaps his race had enhanced hearing? Yeah. Again, a too-loud thump. Maybe it was simple logic that allowed him to deduce her vast ignorance upon the topic from her utter lack of questions. Jhira was almost certain it was not a sorcerous power. Almost certain. Would really, really like him to just have some fancy cybernetics and a tactical system of his own in that fancy armor. She told herself firmly that she’d believe that until it was proven otherwise. True or not, it banished most of the fear-tension within her.

Mostly. Appearing calm was a Captain’s art, but it was vastly more difficult in this blasted, foolish dress.

Jhira angled her head at Kyyrk Kyyrk as he gave her a tempered compliment, and then encouraged her to ask questions. The Captain had a number of questions, and could only hope he didn’t come to regret the permission thus granted. But he spoke again, before she’d sorted her Mando’a into Basic, and the Basic into something fit for a ball. Somehow he had intuited much of what she wished to know.

It was intuition. Absolutely not another Sorcerous event. She would not create a Sith Lord of the man for the crime of having a sinfully beautiful voice. So beautiful that it took a moment or three for the fear to creep in. For her heart to race, and her cheeks to pale as she understood what he was saying. But Jhira Mereel was both a Mandalorian, and a starship’s Captain, and so she held her ground even as she came to the abrupt understanding of just how powerful a Sorcerer he was.

There was no tremor in his voice, no obvious wrath. No, he spoke of his home-world with vast self-control, but the sidelong glance he sent her hinted at the pain she felt must be hidden beneath his commander’s façade. He won a flicker of an anguished smile in return, despite the consternation and fear within.

The image he painted, of how he’d found his title, felt … lonely. A small gathering of powerful men and women, choosing to stand together to protect their home-world, with he the only one able to be their sword. Vylmira’s Wrath, indeed. A carefully metered breath, and Jhira managed a soft, though sincere, “
I’m sorry for you loss.

His gaze turned then down to his endless search for whatever or whoever he sought down below, before he commented upon his experience of the nobility. His frank assessment did not fill her with much hope for finding assistance in her quest. A wry sort of humor slipped into her voice, though it was clear she spoke only the truth as she saw it. “
It’s ok. You’re not like them,” meaning the nobles he’d just spoken of. “Knighthoods are earned, right? You’ve trained and learned, and sacrificed for it … chosen it, to serve your people.”

For a little while, a thoughtful silence fell between them, allowing her to wrestle with both her conscious and her fear. Seeking a way to reach out to the Obsidian Knight, she chose to answer his subtle question before asking any of her own.

In fact, not all Mandalorians are true warriors.” She let that comment sit for a heartbeat or two. “We are a diverse people. While you may find some factions or Clans that train everyone to be full Clan Warriors, others see it differently.”

As for fighting skill, our creed, the Six Actions, only requires that everyone learn self-defense, and act in defense of ourselves, our children and our Clan. We have our civilians, our scientists and teachers, our great thinkers. In fact, Clan Fett were farmers, originally.” A single finger ran over the plasma-scars that obscured the tattoo of the
Clan she’d been raised in, before sliding down to tap the Iron Heart bound to her arm in blood-red gauze.

Looking for this symbol or a
Mythosaur Skull,” Her hand brushed over the emblem held as near to her heart as the gown allowed. “Will give you a wider understanding of who we are.” She paused, in case what she had said sparked more questions. Only after he’d responded or indicated he didn’t need to, Jhira attempted to tactfully find out just what sort of powerful sorcerer he was. Trouble was, the Captain was simply much better at tactics, than tact.

If I understood, then you are the Lord Commander of the Knights Obsidian, as well as Vylmira’s Wrath, a Knight of your own people? Who are a race, as well as a creed?”

May I ask what you believe, and what you are allowed to tell me of the Knight Obsidian’s creed or code or honor?
Vylmira's Wrath

Kyyrk nodded silently as Jhira spoke of her people. How some of them were farmers, as opposed to the vast majority of warriors. "Aye. But in a people of farmers, the warrior is the exception, not the rule." He shrugged the notion off. "How people chose to live their lives is never something I've been willing to debate. You are born into what you are born into. And you have to make the best of what you have." When she referenced the Mythosaur, Kyyrk felt another flash of memory at the back of his skull. She had spoken of the Six Actions, but had not said anything further than that.

"Ba'jur bal beskar'gam,
Ara'nov, aliit,
Mando'a bal Mand'alor—

An vencuyan mhi."
Kyyrk's recitation was impeccable. The tone, the inflections, the pronunciation. This was not a man who had learned the Resol'nare by chance, but a man who had been taught it. He let it, and the implications therein, say all that needed to be said of his understanding of Mandalorian culture: He understood it far better than Jhira may think. He let the silence persist for a moment, before Jhira broke it. She was curious as to who and what he was. Starting with inferring he was the Lord Commander. "No, I'm not." Not anymore. "That office is held by Gerwald Lechner, of Stewjon. I myself hold no rank nor title. Beyond what I have already given you, anyways."

Kyyrk drained the last of his whiskey, feeling a pleasant buzz beginning to invade his mind. "No, the Lord Commander from Vylmira no longer holds his position. It was deemed in the Knight's best interest that Gerwald assume command. The previous Lord Commander left on a task, and has not been heard from since." He turned from the railing, and gestured a waiter over. "Another whiskey, Corellian. And whatever the young Captain would like." A cred chit was placed on the tray to cover the drinks, along side the empty glass from Kyyrk's previous drink.

After the waiter moved away, Kyyrk continued. "Vylmira was a colony planet. A safe haven for Miraluka. As rare as they may be. A race, moreso than a creed. We as a people never did hold ourselves to Creeds. But the Verros family...The family that founded the colony...MY family...did." Kyyrk leaned back against the railing, as he began to recite the words that had led to such grief and loss. The very same vow he had taken as a child all those years ago.

"I am the bastion. The Final Wall.
The Darkness may engulf me, but it will never consume me.
The Light may guide me, but it will never blind me.
I am a Guardian of the free peoples. I shall give my life to ensure their peace and prosperity.
For a better tomorrow I shall never live to see."

For a better tomorrow he would never live to see. Words that his very presence made invalid. For he HAD already lived to see a better tomorrow. But now it was his duty to keep it that way. "The code of the Knights is...similar. In a way.

"Through the Force, there is Truth.
From Truth, We find Justice.
With Justice, we keep the Peace.
From Peace, we achieve Balance.
Through Balance, we find the Force."

Jhira Mereel Jhira Mereel
Draelos was here, only because he was obligated to be. He, for one, wasn't entirely confident in the Confederacy's new position. But he was too new to have an opinion that mattered. So, here he sat on Thyferra trying to make the best of things. He'd already been bothered and bored to death by the press, speaking with sponsors, and pleading the plight of Vylmira to anyone with a sympathetic ear. But this late into the evening? He needed a break.

The beach outside was a much lighter atmosphere. Not nearly as stuffy. Though he couldn't say he cared for the music. But there were two very important features out here: A bar, and the water. He tossed a credit chit down onto the bar and said, "Get me a brandy. Something from Coruscant." He nodded in thanks as the bartender swiped his credit chit, and glanced around his immediate area. Beside him, there was...a Ubeese? Ubesee? Maybe one 'E'? Draelos couldn't remember. "Nice night. Shame you have to see it from within the helmet. Remind me, your kind....Can't breathe type I? Or are the helmets a cultural thing?"

Diocletian Kahmen’’a Diocletian Kahmen’’a
"I'm your worst Nightmare!"

Tag: Draelos Draelos

As the night drew closer in, the Tiki lights grew somewhat brighter and the night insects louder with their nighttime escapades, a few local moth-like creatures circled the bar lights and landed on things in the vicinity. He had 4 miniature umbrellas now beside him. All ones he hasn't seen before.

Diocletian became very aware he was no longer sitting alone. He had not expected to have company tonight, and it surprised him more that he didn't mind said company. He is still new to all this, to the Confederacy. Heck, he's new to celebrations of this scale and magnitude. He had to get an etiquette coach to give him pointers on how to be on whatever good behaviour he can be on. This includes not being rude or snarky or push and/or elbow others out the way. And, absolutely no maiming or killing. As if he would be so blatant and brazen.

Now Draelos's question gave him some pause, it is quite a bit of both, both necessity and culture.

<"Both, to stop lung damage from Type-1 atmospheres and a bit of culture mixed in."> Diocletian replies after a brief pause. True he could have elaborated, but that may get long-winded pretty quickly.

Jhira Mereel

LOCATION: The Finest Resort in Thyferrans, the Ballroom
Objectives: Save the Nexu. Don’t die. Dance with Shuklaar Kyrdol, get secret of his shoes. Dodge High Marshall Ordo’s wrath.
TAGS: [ Kyyrk Kyyrk ]

That resonate, commanding voice with the ages old sorrow in it was meant for Mando’a. The phrasing was flawless, the pacing as perfect as if they were the first words he had ever spoken, the first song he’d ever sung, the first chant he’d ever allowed to take hold of his soul. Though Jhira had spoken Mando’a exclusively until she was a teenager, she did not have such a flawless, classical accent. The bottom fell out of her world for a moment; old memories and lost souls haunting her with a power so real her skin grew chilled and her hands grew pale. Only rote allowed her to ask the questions she’d planned, and even then she could scarcely listen, when he reverted to Basic.

Who was he?

Why had he not told her at once that was Mando’ad? Or had he chosen to be dar’manda, and left behind what called to his heart? It would be have been for duty’s sake, she felt. A chill filled her, as she wondered if his curse … ah, his power … was behind the comments upon being born into what you are born into. For one who knew the Resol’nare well enough to so recite the poem so perfectly knew the terrible power and joyful burden of free will.

A sigh of relief swept through her as he denied being the Lord Commander; maybe he was too much a warrior to be a really deadly sorcerer. A dark part of her mind whispered that he was simply too driven by battle, to tolerate a more administrative role.

A waiter appeared at some mysterious signal, as vague to her as military hand-sign might be to one of his lost colony of farmers. When the Guardian Knight selected a Corellian whiskey, Jhira simply signaled that she’d take the same, unable at the moment to fret over who bought the whiskey. Besides, after a surprise like that, he owed her a drink.

The revelation that he was Miraluka drew her gaze once more to those glowing, violet eyes. Miraluka, at least in part. A noble family, even by birth, for they had founded an entire colony. Or so it seemed to Jhira; such an origin was a more rational reason for a noble title than those often given. His voice once more fell into chant, and Jhira attended deeply.

As always when learning of a new tradition, she asked herself, who would my children be, if this is their Way? She found herself content, if melancholy, this time around. A trifle grim, perhaps. But both choice and service were enshrined therein; too bad the choice was not there for them. As he said, there were somethings you were just born to.

The creed of the Obsidian Knights confused her, at first. She had thought the Karjr were the Marshalls? Well, she would be more than thrilled if any of her children chose to become a Karjr, whether or not they were … burdened by the Force.

The waiter returned swiftly, with two tumblers full of a deep amber liquid and an old crystal decanter. He unfolded a small side table, which simply hovered at the dual-Knight’s elbow. Placing the gleaming crystal upon the hovering table, he then formally presented Jhira with her first drink of the evening. A selection of small, savory snacks were set out as well, this time with a brief grin at Jhira. Vanishing as swiftly and silently as he’d appeared, the Captain stared after him in bemusement for a while.

It must be the Nexu head ornament.

Her thoughts swiftly returned to her lost Vod. For a man with no rank save that of the Wrath of a battered world, the dual knight appeared to command a mix of respect and fear from those who knew Kyyrk Verros. Still very much at a lost, Jhira saluted the him with her glass and a murmured, “
Oya.” A deep, respectful swallow of the burning, amber liquid was surprisingly pleasing. Eyes half lidded, she let it burn all the way down, savoring the quality and hint of spice. A second, savoring sip of the powerful liquid eased her throat enough to speak.

Lait gi'ah va gar rejorhaa'ir ni gar cuyir ner vod?”

*Why didn’t you tell me you were my brother?

Vylmira's Wrath

Kyyrk returned the salute to the woman, though no words accompanied the raise of his glass. As the girl suspected, there was far more to him than immediately met the eye. After all, for being from a world of Miraluka, he certainly was not a Miraluka himself. He seemed, for all the world, to be an albino Sith Pureblood. And yet, in spite of the commanding presence he offered, the waiter never moved with a sense of fear. If anything, Kyyrk seemed to have the respect of those around him, if laced with a fair amount of disgust.

Kyyrk also took a sip of the liquid, but he did not take nearly the time that Jhira did to savor it. When she posed her question, Kyyrk shook his head. He had preoccupied himself with one of the snack items deposited on the tray. "Because I am not." He spoke in basic, not Mando'a. And now that he revereted back, it became readily apparent that his stern Imperial accent wasn't present in the slightest in his Mando'a. "I dealt with your kind on many occasions during the war. Some I held in rather high esteem. What I know, I learned from them. But I am little more than a friend of the Mandalorians. Your kind bear too much hatred for the Force to accept an individual like myself."

He collected a small item of food from the tray and popped it in his mouth, lifting his brows momentarily in a "What can you do" sort of manner. He didn't hold it against the Mandalorians. Each group had their own rules and customs, and he was not eligible. Simple as that. "Though over time, the Mandalorians and I have grown...distant. No comment on how I was involved in that war a few years back." Kyyrk shrugged. "Business is business. You know how it is."