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Every Day a Little Death | First Order Dominion of Taloraan Hex


Well-Known Member
Post 1
A brief flash of light preceded a crack of thunder across the sky of Taloraan City. A gentle rain fell, though nearer the outskirts of the floating city it had begun to pick up in intensity. It was a shame, the pilot of the hop-shuttle thought as he stood under his ship. The rain had soaked all the banners and flags that had been fluttering so merrily for the earlier part of the day -- flags bearing the icons of the First Order and the planet of Taloraan, to celebrate the union of the two societies.
If he were a superstitious man, the pilot -- one Fred Narracott -- would have seen it as an omen. But between a tricky coolant line in his tiny hopper shuttle, a jam-packed schedule of arrivals and departures on the aforementioned tiny hopper, and a sick kid at home, he had no time for superstition. For Fred, it was just a miserable, cold rain. He finished his fifteenth patch job on the shuttle -- or was it the sixteenth? -- and put away his tools before going up through the cabin to the cockpit to check his schedule.

He knew he should be grateful. The size and weight of his shuttle were small enough that he could land on the grounds of the Prime Vizier’s estate. Anything larger and heavier would have destabilized the floating estate, but Narracott’s two-passenger shuttle was just right. It meant plenty of business, but this weekend was something else entirely. It seemed like he was slated to take the entire First Order across to the estate. He didn’t pay too much attention to politics, but he remembered hearing something about some big event this weekend. He reckoned he’d be transporting diplomats and whatnot across for it.

Narracott’s head jerked up when another bolt of lightning raced across the sky. He stared out at the darkening sky and, for several long moments, he couldn’t shake this odd feeling of apprehension. But when his timer rang, indicating the arrival of his first passenger, Narracott stood and put it all out of his mind.
After all, he was not a superstitious man.


It was humiliating. Or at least he perceived it to be. Never in his adult life had he been forced to utilize a cane. Oh sure, he’d had plenty of injuries but - a cane? It was unjust. Grudgingly Rolf had admitted he needed it, trying to walk without it was incredibly arduous, and dangerous - as he’d found out the first time the Major had attempted it, no - wait. Colonel. That had been another development that had thrown him off balance so to speak. As is apt to happen in large bureaucracies, the paperwork had been lost sometime after their return from Kaeshana - it was only after his grievous wounds at Mustafar that he’d gotten the notification. The promotion had been a quiet affair, delivered at his hospital bed during his recovery, he wouldn’t have wanted it another way.

Colonel Amsel. It had a decent ring to it, though he’d been granted leave as part of his recovery, that and he knew all to well he’d been neglecting the duties of his barony. Despite his leave, he’d been asked to attend a diplomatic event on Taloraan. The city itself was much like Bespin, though perhaps more archaic in design - with the dark clouds above it almost looked a bit like home. Rather than the clean and corporate look which dominated Cloud City, Taloraan City did well at masking the fact that it was located on a giant repulsor platform.

The weather had been less than accommodating, a light drizzle slightly fouling the Colonel’s already terse mood. In one hand a small umbrella, the other grasping the handle of his cane, he slowly made his way towards the small landing pad upon which the ferry was waiting. The invitation had detailed the manner in which they were to arrive, a solitary landing pad housing several small 2 passenger shuttles-craft awaited the guest’s arrival. It appeared the Colonel was the first - punctual as always.
He’d been garbed in full regalia, First Order Officer’s uniform in stark black beneath his heavy trench-coat. Giving a curt nod to the driver of the shuttle, his voice could be heard over the gentle rain.

“Ahoy good sir, I do hope this is the correct place - the Grand Visier’s gathering?”

A silent nod was the response received as the pilot slowly opened the small door for the Colonel.

“Well then, I guess I’m in the right place.”

Tucking the umbrella and cane in first, Rolf followed with some difficulty. His wounds had healed somewhat but his body was still playing catch up. Letting loose a sigh as he settled in the seat, the pilot closed the door and proceeded around to the other side of the shuttle - hopping in. After what were presumably some pre-flight checks, the shuttle-craft was away, en route to the Grand Visier’s estate.

Dominion of Taloraan Hex
Taloraan is a world rich in Tibanna gas, classified as a gas giant what makes this planet unique is its breathable upper atmosphere. Not unlike Bespin, entire cities are suspended on large floating platforms between which are frequent shuttles and some are even linked by cable cars that span the gap between platforms. The local government resides in Taloraan City, the largest of these platform cities and is governed by a figure known as the Grand Visier. Talks have been ongoing between the First Order and the Taloraan government and after a long and arduous negotiation, Grand Visier Descartes has agreed to join the First Order, adopting her government and oversight. To cement the collaboration and joining of governments, Descartes has dedicated a feast at his personal mansion located just on the outskirts of Taloraan City, in fact it maintains its very own suspended construct several kilometers away from the city itself.
This celebration has been made an open invitation to dignitaries and citizens of the First Order by approval as well as the upper echelons of the Taloraan government to include both civilian and military advisers to the Grand Visier.
Threat Level: Yellow

Part of the reason for the extremely long negotiation phase between the First Order and the Taloraan government has been due to a recent political development on Taloraan. A splinter group of radical isolationists have cropped up calling themselves the Heart of Taloraan. In recent weeks, several violent assaults on government operated facilities have prompted an elevated threat level but the Grand Visier assures the First Order that the situation is well in hand.
OOC Note:
If you haven't signed up, no big deal, feel free to drop in! It is important to note that each guest will depart the main repulsor platform via 2 passenger shuttlecraft (piloted by a silent pilot) and arrive at a small landing pad at the base of a hill (On a separate repulsor platform) atop which rests the Grand Visier's Estate. The Estate itself will be described in detail further on, though if you'd like a model for comparison/flavor - this is the estate we are utilizing as a model: Estate
If you have any questions, feel free to PM one of the following as we are actively involved in the DMing/Guiding of this plot - we hope you enjoy!
P.S. This post was a collaborative effort - Head Graphic by Natasi Fortan, Text Divider by Zmej Ren, Location Banner in OOC by Rolf Amsel
[member="Rolf Amsel] | [member="Irajah Ven"] | [member="Natasi Fortan"] | [member="Torian Pierce"] | [member="Samka Derith"]
Being as well-dressed as Kaalia was right now definitely wasn't a common thing for her. The occasion called for it however, and so she would make sure to not be the sore thumb in the celebration. The Ren was called to attend the event to make sure the Heart of Taloraan wouldn't interfere, and to assist her in that endeavour her two sabers were well-hidden in her outfit. They were a last resort however, as she was told to be as subtle as possible. Force powers that couldn't be seen were highly preferred as they would not easily reveal her role for the night. to everyone she was to be just another guest, and hopefully she would be nothing more than just that; a guest.

The Knight of Ren made her way to the 2-man shuttle that awaited her, and she gave the pilot a polite nod as she approached. She was glad about the warning she had gotten before leaving for Taloraan about the expected weather, allowing her to make sure to bring an umbrella to stay dry. Normally she would've kept to a hood, but attending a high-class event with an outfit wet from the rain didn't seem like a good idea to the redhead. "I was told this was the place for the Grand Visier's meeting." The pilot remained silent as he returned the nod and invited her into the craft. A number of pre-flight checks later the shuttle was off towards the estate, giving Kaalia a last opportunity to take in the landscape of the planet.
How well could you dress up a rock? The question sounds kinda stupid but the situation was exactly that. Vaathkree were by all means made of minerals and did not fit into clothes real well. It was for this reason Vilmor sported some type of toga. The fabric on it was very nice, one could tell it was expensive. Vilmors rough and ridged body portured from some portions of the tunic ruining the fabric in some places. Notably the shoulders.

It could not be helped.

With each step the group shook at the slightest and when stepping aboard the 2-man shuttle the Disciple of Ren was glanced at with concern. The ramp cried out in strain and bowed alittle inward from the excessive weight. This two-man shuttle was now strictly a one man shuttle for safety reasons. Everyday upper class transports were not designed to haul a 1 metric ton individual.

Slowly a grin was etched onto his face as the shuttle very cautiously lifted off.
skin, bone, and arrogance
"Oi, you -- ginger girl," snapped the cook as Lydia walked into the kitchen with an empty tray. She had just finished ferrying trays of cocktail glasses upstairs for the event. Lydia was not used to be called 'Ginger Girl' because she was, strictly speaking, not a ginger. But the last few days she had been playing the part, having donned red hair as a disguise to go undercover as a cater-waiter for the event here. She had been denied credentials for the event -- mainly because no media was being credentialed to cover it. She was quite sure that she was the only member of the press here.

"My name is Ilse," she told the cook quietly as she walked over with the empty tray.

The cook looked at her icily, one hand on her plump waist, the other on a spatula, flipping toast points on a baking tray. "You're whatever it is I call you and you'll thank me for it, ginger girl," said the cook. "Now take those prawn cocktails up and put them in the ice tray in the drawing room before I knock you down and serve your brain for fritters!" She waved her spatula menacingly. "Get moving!"

Whether anything newsworthy happened this weekend, Lydia knew she would be immortally publicizing someone. "Yes, Cookie," Lydia said through gritted teeth. She deposited the empty tray on the counter and picked up the full one, then walked out of the kitchen. Sucker weighs a ton, she thought to herself as she mounted the stairs. She had a new appreciation for the servants at the Grange -- her family's estate on Galidraan. After two days as the hired help, she was ready to write them all touching notes of gratitude and send them extra credits for their trouble. She pushed her way out from behind the green baize door and strolled across the hall to the drawing room, where she began to set out her wares.

RIP Carlyle Rausgeber

"It's all been bloody marvellous..."
Carlyle wasn't attired in the usual garb of his white, picturesque uniform. Instead, Rausgeber had opted for a more ostentatious red blazer, with a checked vest, and white undershirt. On his chest, he wore a white flower which his silken trousers matched. Rausgeber's black leather boots were well polished and tied for the occassion. The admiral felt a little out of his element. If the proposed guest list Carlyle perused was accurate, than karking hell things would be rather, well, interesting. While it would be mainly diplomatic niceties, as the First Order assumed command over the sector, Carlyle remained apprehensive.

He knew most of the names, senior government officials. Though amongst those, he also suspected there were some Knights of Ren. This was something of particular concern, given his last encounter with one of the Ren involved a broken nose. Despite what was a growing war record, Carlyle constantly feared his actions in the Dead Nebula would catch back onto him. Particularly given Grand Moff Fortan was expected to arrive. Nonetheless, Carlyle drove that fear from his mind. At least there would be alcohol. Copious amounts of hopefully free alcohol.

The admiral nonetheless approached his shuttle tentatively. He'd booked the shuttle for one, and approached the pilot on the landing platform. "Admiral Rausgeber," The pilot began, he was a young lad. About twenty, twenty five at the very most. "I'm Hanz Lander. I'll be your pilot for this evening." The younger man offered his hand, and Carlyle shook it.

"Evening Hanz," Carlyle said, avoiding the rain, and walking up the docking ramp, "When will we be ready?"

"In about five admiral," Hans replied, "We're awaiting the arrival of the Grand Moff."

"Grand Moff?" Carlyle asked, "You mean-"

"Grand Moff Fortan, yes," Hanz replied, "Her shuttle was cancelled, so we've had to double up."

Carlyle faked a smile, "Lovely," He replied, before walking into the shuttle. He slumped on one of the leather seats, and sighed. Internally, he began to run over all possible options for small talk he could come up with, before eyeing the open docking ramp.

[member="Natasi Fortan"]
The atmosphere of the kitchen was one of both fear and frustration, as line cooks worked hard to adhere to the speed and standards that their overbearing boss demanded. Amidst this swirl of frantic emotions, there was a small bastion of calm that was Iseult. The undercover Ren wasn't the slightest bit phased by all the beratement, having dealt with much worse out in the field or even in basic training. It wasn't an uncommon thing for trainees to receive a cracked rib or broken nose for their transgressions. Nothing a little dip in bacta or kolto couldn't fix, hence the liberal application of abuse.

She must have been doing something right, as the head cook never bothered her about any of the hors d'oeuvre she had prepared and plated personally. A few times, she would feel the woman's attention turned on her, accompanied by a sense of approval.

Iseult would never claim to be any kind of maven of the kitchen, but she didn't find it all difficult to follow the simple instructions of meal preparation at her level. It was all a matter of a close attention to detail. It was that quality for why she had been chosen to work undercover in the first place, to keep an eye on the kitchen to make sure there was no funny business going on. There were troublemakers afoot who would like nothing better than to hit the coming congregation of First Order and Taloraan VIPS through food poisoning among other devious methods.

As she was grabbing a tray of lobster stuffed mushrooms from the oven, she would glance over at an exchange between a server and the head cook. It wasn't the words that attracted her attention, but the surface thoughts of the server. That of indignation. The woman was quiet in her response, but it was the first time she had seen anyone speak back at the head cook. However, she would promptly get a nice ear ringing for her troubles.

She could only shrug, the girl had been asking for it with this abrasive woman on a power trip. She turned back to her work, shutting the oven door, then returning to her station to plate the next serving of hors d'oeuvre.

[member="Lydia Finn-Camden"]
skin, bone, and arrogance
The Grand Moff watched the rain from the back seat of her speeder, where she was reviewing the last of her work for the week. The rest of the weekend would be taken up with the diplomatic event at the Prime Vizier's estate, so she needed to get everything done beforehand. "Move our forces to defense condition three in the home territories, condition four in the expansion region," Natasi told Isobel Churchill over her comlink. "Things are pretty quiet at home, but who knows when the Alliance will launch the attack. You can send status updates directly to my secure datapad. Clémence will be on hand as needed. Is there anything else, Defense Minister?"

"No, Grand Moff," said Churchill. "Safe journey."

"Thank you." Natasi disconnected the call, then punched another key. A few moments, then the call was answered. "This is Grand Moff Fortan. Yes -- thank you. No -- no, I don't need to speak to the Minister at this moment. Quite sure, thank you Excellent. Listen, my PS misplaced figures on the economic indicators for Taloraan. Could you send them to my secure datapad right away? And copy her, so she'll have them. Perfect - thank you so much. No, that's all, thank you."

By the time was was completed, Natasi's car had eased to a halt at the shuttleport. She stepped out of the car under the umbrella held by her PS, Clémence Wallace, who followed along in the rain. "Ma'am, a quick update on your transport. The protocol office is insisting that staff travel separately, so I will follow on with Banks. You're in shuttle three seven alpha, just there -- with Admiral Rausgeber."

"Why is Rausgeber here?" Natasi damended over the drizzle. "Is this another one of his doctrines?"

"No, ma'am -- that is to say, I don't know why," was Ms. Wallace's response. Natasi smirked. "Right, let's get this over with." They strolled across the landing field and Natasi climbed aboard the shuttle. The cabin was small, seating only two passengers. She put on a dazzling smile for [member="Carlyle Rausgeber"]. "Admiral, how nice to see you again." She took her seat. "I trust you are well."


Main Repulsor Platform
Awaiting next two-person shuttlecraft


The redhead pulled her trench coat closer as the blue-eyed woman stood just off of the main repulsor platform under a building's over hang for the next available shuttlecraft to take her to the Grand Visier's estate. It was supposed to be sunny and warm today or so that is what the weather report stated for the area proper, but of course it was gloomy and now drizzling steadily.

Madlyn Sol had drawn the short stick and earned a trip to Taloraan City to aid in the negotiations between the First Order and the Taloraan government rather than going back to Riflor to see her chronically ill mother, who was convalescing in a nursing facility in New Advora. She really wasn't complaining just had a gut feeling that something bad was going to occur. It had happened once before when Mads and a delegation from Riflor had gone to Dosuun; that is when the Ssi-Ruuk attacked the capital planet. A memory not welcomed to muse about.

The diplomatic aide for this assignment though would be available for legal counsel, and any other assistance necessary to obtain a deal to secure the mutual alliance between the two parties involved. Well almost... Mads drew the line with having to sleep with anyone to gain it. Using alternative facts though, she could do to keep plates spinning in their favor.

Peering at her wrist chrono, Madlyn began to wonder if she was early or perhaps late as the shuttle was no where to be seen on the horizon. Or maybe even, Mads had been instructed to the wrong platform! Time would only tell. Either way she was going to be a soggy mess as an umbrella had not been part of her planned accessories.


RIP Carlyle Rausgeber

"It's all been bloody marvellous..."
"Grand Moff Fortan," Carlyle began, standing and saluting. He wasn't sure what to do in this scenario. It wasn't exactly something the Dosuun academies prepared someone for. "A pleasure, as always," He set himself at ease. He gestured, with his white, silken gloves to the other seat. "I trust you have been keeping well," Carlyle replied, "I imagine this war has taken quite a toll." He added.

"I read of your exploits on Mustafar," he continued, "I honestly don't think I would have at all been able to have done what you'd have done," He began with a nervous smile, "But nonetheless, the most important part, is that we won," He continued, "And I do think, that after all that's gone on, it will be somewhat comforting to be able to have a nice among such pleasurable company." Carlyle admitted, "Though, I must confess, I do feel slightly out of my depth with such a prestigious guest list."

[member="Natasi Fortan"].
skin, bone, and arrogance
When [member="Carlyle Rausgeber"] rose and saluted, his salute very nearly caught Natasi in the face. "At ease, Admiral," Natasi muttered. "We're in quite cramped quarters, after all." She looked around the cabin for a few moments before sitting daintily on the other available seat. "I am well enough, thank you, Admiral. It's nice to see you. How have you been?" The sounds of the captain making ready for the flight were drowned out by the conversation, but with the rain pummelling the ship's hull, Natasi got the distinct impression that they would soon be flying to the Prime Vizier's estate in tinfoil ball.

The Grand Moff crossed her ankles primly and then folded her hands on her knee. "Mustafar -- ah, yes. I don't know that I could have done it all, except that there was no other choice."

She looked over towards Rausgeber as he mentioned feeling out of his depth. She closed her eyes, suppressing an eyeroll. She wanted to say: yes, of course you are, what are you even doing here? But instead she forced a smile. "All the best officers are gentlemen, Admiral. I'd say we have about three minutes until we arrive, so let me give you a crash course in diplomacy: the secret is to keep smiling and never look as if you disapprove." She paused and looked down. "Don't worry, the hard work is done. We're just here to smile for the cameras and sign the papers."
Normally, Irajah intereacted within the First Order as Doc Ven. It wasn't a false identity by any means, but it was a specific one. One she was good at and she sat comfortably in.

Today however, she was there not as a Doctor, but as the Baroness of Blackwater Reach.

And the whole thing was entirely ridiculous as far as she was concerned.

Not why they were there. But how additional titles and the faces that matched would offer a higher level of 'respect' to the man hosting them today. Calling her a Baroness didn't really change who was showing up. Dressing to suit that title didn't change that she was more comfortable in a lab coat. It wasn't as though she had any real purpose here today, other than to offer her title as a bit of window dressing. Personally, she didn't think anyone would even notice if she were introduced as Doctor rather than Baroness.

And yet, here she was, settling into a two person shuttle with the individual who helped her in murmuring 'my lady' over her hand. It took all of her control to not burst out laughing at just how serious he was.

Irajah leaned back into the seat and sighed as her travel companion joined her.

It would be, she suspected, an entirely dull affair.


Well-Known Member
-- -- --
Landing Pad - Grand Visier's Estate
Post 2
-- -- --
The trip had been mercifully short, flashes of light followed by thunder punctuating the incoming storm. Before long the drizzle had turned to an all out rain, no doubt the platform he'd left from would soon be experiencing the beginnings of the same storm. The pilot had been silent the entire trip, the Colonel's feeble attempts at conversation met with little more than a shift of the figure in the cockpit. *Okaaay then, guess I'll just enjoy the ride.* No sooner had he resigned himself to silence than they'd arrived, the small craft flaring somewhat dramatically as they touched down. As the engines spooled down the sound of rain permeated the small cabin, the flashes of light outside picking up in intensity, the loud thunderclaps jarring as the Colonel moved to exit the craft. With a swift tuck of his cane, pulling himself from his seat, his cap was atop his head, the rain bouncing off his jet black leather trench coat. While he rarely found the occasion to utilize the piece of uniform, he was thankful for it now. With a simple nod towards the pilot he began the short walk that was the winding path up the hill to his front.

Atop the hill was his destination, the Grand Visier's Estate. An almost archaic architecture, matching that of Taloraan City proper, the estate spread over the suspended platform, had he not known he would have sworn the estate could have been found on any number of planet surfaces. Grass, foliage, trees even dotted the grounds. *Impressive.* thought the Colonel as his heavy footsteps splashed in the small collecting puddles. Overhead another thunderclap caught him off guard, a flinch as he continued up the path. It wouldn't be long before he reached to top but he'd been moving much slower since his injuries on Mustafar. The doctors had said his body had healed but even so he found moving somewhat difficult. A mental block they'd called it, his brain just hadn't let go. With time it would go away, or so he hoped.

Finally arriving at the front entrance, Rolf's eyes traced along the ornate wooden door - a luxury no doubt, reinforced with durasteel at the core he guessed. To the side of the door hung an ornate chain, a golden trimmed handle attached at the low end. Seeing no door knocker or otherwise, the Colonel gave a shrug to no-one in particular. *Strange.* Now beneath the arch of the entry, he collapsed the umbrella, gently shaking the water free to the ground as the rain continued. With nothing left but to enter, Rolf reached out, his hand grasping the small handle before giving it a gently tug.

The sound of a bell filled the foyer beyond the door, its quiet chiming heard outside but largely drowned out by the storm. He pitied anyone who'd not been prepared and left their umbrella at home.

[member="Natasi Fortan"] | [member="Carlyle Rausgeber"] | [member="Irajah Ven"]
[member="Lydia Finn-Camden"] | [member="Madlyn Sol"] | [member="Kaalia Voldaren"] | [member="Iseult Ren"]

Zeradias Mant

Democracy Dies in Darkness
The rain pattered on the roof of the shelter of the repulsor platform, awaiting the arrival of more shuttles to bring dignitaries of the First Order to the estate of the Grand Vizier. Kuril always enjoyed inclement weather, especially when it was of the gentle nature such as the drizzle falling from the clouds. Though it might not have been favorable for patrol officers on foot, it was statistically proven that crime rates generally decreased during and immediately following inclement weather. After all, who wanted to go out and get caught in rain, snow, or worse?

He counted on the same on Taloraan. Though he was out of his jurisdiction as far as enforcing the law went, he would prove to serve as an infinitely useful liaison between the First Order Capitol Police and municipal Taloraanian authorities. Through common policework, Dosuun would be able to forge a lasting and fruitful relationship with Taloraan. He was scheduled to speak at a seminar for officers of the Taloraan guard and other law enforcement agencies, as with all First Order business, there is always an ulterior motive...

[member="Jude Falkrowe"]​
No First Order business is to be conducted without the presence of a FOSB representative.

An unwritten point of the Security Bureau's manifesto. The question was not where had Jude been sent on all sorts of information gathering operations but where had Jude not been sent on all sorts of information gatherings.

The agent had been sent a month before any First Order officials set foot on Taloraan to compile a report summarizing essential information about the planet and its own officials. How else would the Diplomatic Corps find leverage in their negotiations?

Today was the big day. Important First Order figures were invited to the Grand Vizier's palace for talks. From the Grand Moff to renown military officers to law keepers. The latter with which Jude had found company with.

Surprisingly, the man he was waiting for a shuttle to the palace with was no stranger to the agent.

The sturdy built Kuril used to be a squadmate of Jude's during their time as conscripts in the Corps. Their ways went astray after as Falkrowe was inducted into the FOSB while Kuril pursued a career in the police. The two still met occasionally, but time was never on their side with their jobs.

"Hopefully, this time we enter a palace it does not end up shelled." Jude chuckled reminiscing an event in their time in the Corps.

[member="Kuril Vehn"]​

Valessia Brentioch

The Grand Vizier's Estate.
Post 1

Colonel [member="Gunther Creed"] and the former Ambassador Valessia Brentioch had arrived sometime after @Kuril Vehn. She looked rather diminutive in comparison to her partner, an Epicanthix officer who now bore the colours of the First Order. She was dressed in a modest gown, black in colour and fitted loosely around her figure as to not constrict any one particular area. In essence, it looked as if Valessia might've taken a page from the Grand Moff @Natasi Fortan's book. The evening's gathering was just a formality in as far as she had been concerned when six months ago she laid out all the groundwork for the Taloraans to join the First Order. Official annexation paperwork was set to begin before her untimely absence, and for the moment with her diplomatic credentials suspended. Valessia knew that tonight was simply a gesture, and nothing more. "We'll be back at Pemberley before long," she told Gunther with an arm linked with his. The two of them had only just learned that they were expecting, eight weeks along as it were now. Both, Valessia and the Colonel were eager to get back home and celebrate in private.

Upon their arrival the sight of rain made Valessia want to turn back right then and there, but - she had been reminded of her words to Natasi. She'd show up, put on a face and go home that was all she had to do. Regrettably, she had agreed to it, only now she wished to go home. Rain, dark clouds only reminded the Brentaalan of the days on Dromund Kaas, a rather dreary planet to say the least but business was business. A term she'd become a little too familiar with lately, nothing personal - it's business.

Zeradias Mant

Democracy Dies in Darkness
Looking straight out into the murky skies, Kuril chuckled at his former squadmate's dull attempt at humor. "Right."

Their shared experience was often one of adventure and travel, but many a times they were also of trauma and tragedy. How the two managed to keep their heads above water during their conscription was a tale not many were able to do, but they managed to get each other through it. That's what the nature of their warrior companionship was - that's what it meant to be brothers-in-arms. Today, they were brothers of a different nature.

Forged in the fire of service and battle, the two had distanced as they grew within their respective components of the First Order. Kuril returned to his home away from home on Dosuun and began his career in public service, while Jude disappeared without maintaining further contact. In retrospect, it all made sense given the clandestine nature of his work with the First Order Security Bureau. Today was a fortunate occasion in which the longtime comrades' paths would cross once more, and create a link that would ensure their paths would cross much more in the future.

Before much more conversation could ensue, another shuttle pulled up to the repulsor platform so they might make their approach. Hand in pocket with the most minuscule hunch to warm his neck, he nudged his head towards the shuttle as he advanced. "This one's ours."

[member="Jude Falkrowe"]​
skin, bone, and arrogance
Joffrey DuMond's cool hazel eyes tracked the form of Oi, Ginger Girl across the hall as she carried a tray. Was it his imagination, or did the girl glance covertly at him as she passed? She was an odd one, he mused, always a little more interested in gawking than the usual trash one hired for these sorts of occasions. He watched her disappear into the drawing room and followed after her. He had just about reached the door when there was the mechanical sound of a pulled chain, and a bell in the hall chimed. He glanced at his watch; of course, the guests were beginning to arrive. He walked over towards the front door and then stopped, pausing to examine his appearance in the highly-polished gong near the dining room. He straightened his tie.

He didn't know why.

A war was on, and not just the one out in the galaxy. Not even the one on his homeworld of Taloraan. The war was in his own mind, in his own heart. The love and loyalty he felt for the the Descartes family and the blind hatred and grief he felt tugged his heart hither and thither. Some nights as he lay alone on the lumpy mattress in quarters below-stairs, he could almost feel it pulling itself in two. He finished straightening his tie and straightened his rank badge.

He still didn't know why.

Joffrey pulled the door open and gave a stiff bow from the neck. "It's Colonel Amsel, if I'm not much mistaken?" he greeted [member="Rolf Amsel"] politely; of course he was not mistaken, given that he and the rest of the permanent staff had studied the lookbooks extensively and knew how to address each guest. The contracted staff, like Oi, Ginger Girl and the others, didn't need any such pleasantry; all they had to do was walk around with trays. "May I take your coat, sir?"

Lydia's eyes darted at the Butler as he stood glowering near the front door. There was something about that old man that set Lydia's teeth on edge. There were rumors swirling around the butler; he had been the most senior member of staff, but recently -- according to the other junior members of staff -- had recently become disillusioned. Perhaps he was just underpaid. Lydia set out the glasses as instructed in the drawing room, on the polished surface of a sideboard. She took the tray and exited the drawing room, just as she heard DuMond greet a Colonel Amsel.

Her step faltered for a moment and she stopped behind a column in the foyer. "Stang," she whispered, then saw her opportunity. The door to the study was standing open across the hall from the drawing room. The reporter hurried across the hallway and slipped into the study, pulling the door shut behind her with slightly more force than she wanted, causing a slam to echo across the hall. "Stang," she whispered again, looking around for an escape. Weren't there secret passages all over houses like this? She set the tray down on a chair near the door and looked around; this was the room where the signing was to take place; everything was set up just so. A pair of gleaming golden pens sat on the desk, waiting to be used to sign the accord. She reached over to pick one of the pens up, but at the last moment was distracted by a scrawled post-it note on one of the copies of the agreement.

It read: Over my dead body!

"Stang," she whispered for a third time.
The small shuttle took off for a rather short voyage in which Jude observed the intricate architecture of the city through the view port.

Upon arrival at the repulsor platform, they had to climb a small hill where the Grand Vizier's mansion was nestled.

Jude turned his attention to his quiet companion. "Surely looks like a palace that you'd see First Order officials in." He chucked at the thought of the stuck up politicians his government had. Sometimes Jude wondered how they had such positions.

"Since when is Taloraan in need of law enforcement lessons. I am surprised they let you leave Dosuun now since the war started and all that." The agent kept his gaze forward as the two headed towards the mansion at the top of the hill.

[member="Kuril Vehn"]​

Zeradias Mant

Democracy Dies in Darkness
Kuril looked out the port windows, admiring the scenery from the dry interior of the shuttle. The backdrop of the endless forest was complemented well with the cloudy skies and the light rainfall, the calming tap of precipitation fully present during the journey. Jude's question was a fair one, though in his position detached from the local law enforcement scene, it was understandable why he might not understand.

"There's more to police work than policing. It's also about community relations and positive interaction. When the public is on your side, life is so much unbelievably easier.", he started. "One of the perks of being superintendent is I can delegate. I have faithful deputies that will hold down the fort until my return. Seminars and cooperative training opportunities will not only benefit the Taloraan government, but also the First Order. They'll use our methods, which we designed. It'll help standardize things, as well as...", he cut himself off. Obviously he couldn't say anything about known exploitation for clandestine work if needed, even if his friend was involved in that field. Being only a special agent, no matter how special, this was knowledge above his pay grade.

"It's a symbiotic relationship I'm happy to contribute my time towards.", he curtly said, wrapping up his dialogue. As Kuril brought his gaze to the front of the shuttle past the driver, the estate of the Grand Vizier grew larger and larger until the entire mansion was no longer entirely visible through the windshield. They were here.

Time to play.

[member="Jude Falkrowe"]​
Grand Viziers Estate

​Formal affairs. If you told the young and aspiring Gunther Creed that he'd need to go to so many formal affairs the further one climbed as an officer he just might've reconsidered his path. For a noble he was no stranger to these events he knew the benefit networking here could have. Many promotions among officers were politically motivated and those who refused the game were often left behind. Gunther earned his accolades by both his exploits in battle mostly, and in small part due to his networking skills at these events. But it didn't mean that he enjoyed going to them.

​If he could he'd rather avoid them more often than not they came at the most inopportune times. A war was going on and he'd much prefer to focus his efforts there then hobnobbing at celebrations, even if they aided in expansion. Tonight was but a simple gesture for he and [member="Valessia Brentioch"] she in particular having her credentials suspended. For once she didn't want to be here if it wasn't necessary. But before long it would be over and they'd be home, if he wasn't called out to fight before then. Time at home reduced more and more with the war going on. The army was his life and he would always give everything he had to it. Gunther nodded in agreement at her words. "We will. For now we can take advantage of the opportunity to form new connections here."

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