Faction Feast of Shadows || SO Friends and Allies

[Dayr Verd]

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HOUSE VERD

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FIELD NOTES

MANDALORIAN CLAN ARCHIVE

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DAYR VERD

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WARHOST // WARRIOR // GUNSLINGER

FEAST OF SHADOWS CARNIVAL

LOCATION

OBJECTIVE

THE BLACK MASQUERADE

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The collar had started bothering Dayr before he and Avast reached the pavilion.

He had worn beskar'gam for most of a day without thinking twice about what sat around his neck. Plates, seals, undersuit, a buy'ce closed over his head, all of it had long since become familiar enough to disappear once he was moving. The formal suit had considerably less weight to it and somehow managed to make him aware of every centimetre around his throat. Avast had told him to wear something he could move and breathe in. He could do both, technically. Dayr slipped a finger beneath the high collar and pulled it away from his neck for a second as the crimson glow of the Feast spread out ahead of them.

"I didn't realise the collar would be this constrictive when I agreed to wear this."

He let the collar settle again and continued toward the Black Masquerade.

Dayr would have to reconsider letting his vod, Avast, pick the outfit next time. Or maybe he shouldn't have agreed so quickly just to put the issue behind him. Either way, he suspected he'd be tugging at the collar for most of the night.

Still, the Sith had done a thorough job of turning the captured estate into something else for the night. Lanterns burned overhead, music from the pavilion carrying well beyond its open sides as people moved between the celebration and the carnival outside. Dayr caught the smell of cooked meat before they reached the entrance, followed by something sweeter and whatever was being poured heavily enough that the scent carried from the nearest drink station. Above the estate, the observation wheel turned slowly against the dark. He watched one of the lit passenger cars rise for a few seconds before the crowd beneath the pavilion drew his attention back down.

There was a lot to look at once they were inside. Some guests had treated the masquerade as an excuse to dress well. Others had clearly taken the costume part seriously. Ancient Sith, creatures Dayr couldn't immediately place and masks elaborate enough to make a buy'ce seem restrained passed through the same space, occasionally forcing him to look twice before deciding whether somebody had come dressed for the evening or simply dressed as themselves. Weapons were common enough that he stopped noticing those quickly.

The people took longer.

There were a handful Dayr recognised from holos, campaign reports or names that travelled well beyond whatever room their owners happened to occupy. Most meant very little to him beyond that. He hadn't spent enough time around Sith circles to know who belonged to which court, who hated whom, or which conversation across the pavilion represented something that would be important by morning. Several Mandalorians were easier to read at a glance. House markings helped, even when the people wearing them were strangers to him, and the sight of beskar among the formal clothes gave him something familiar to orient himself around.

Dayr didn't feel particularly out of place. He just had very little experience with being somewhere like this without a reason beyond enjoying it.

A hunt gave him tracks to follow. Work gave him somebody to find, somewhere to go, something that needed doing. Even a cantina usually came after one of those things. Here, nobody was waiting for him to accomplish anything. People drank because they wanted a drink, danced because there was music, and wandered between conversations because another person had caught their interest.

He looked toward Avast.

Her being there helped. Dayr didn't need to find a way into the evening immediately, and he knew better than to pretend he had any idea what he was supposed to be doing just to save face with her. Avast had known him too long for that to work anyway. The years she had spent disappearing off into the galaxy hadn't changed the fact that she could usually tell when he had more to say than he'd bothered putting into words.

He moved far enough into the pavilion to clear the entrance and gave himself a moment to take in the room properly. His eyes passed over the dance floor, the tables farther in, then settled briefly on the nearest bar. That looked straightforward enough. Dayr considered it, reached up and adjusted the collar again instead.

"I can breathe better in armour."

The suit fit him properly, which almost seemed to make the situation worse because he had nothing useful to blame.

Dayr looked over at Avast, then back across the masquerade. He could have picked something himself. A drink was easy. The carnival beyond the pavilion looked like it had enough going on to occupy them for hours, and there was no shortage of people if Avast decided they should actually do the social part of coming to a social event.

Then came the part Dayr had been dreading: the mask.

He reached inside his coat and took out the small, ornate mask he'd brought for the evening. He turned it once in his hand, still not entirely convinced by the whole idea, then fitted it into place and adjusted the fastening until it sat comfortably. The red and gold detailing matched his attire, though once it was fastened he found it almost as irritating as the collar.

"You got me here." His attention settled on Avast again, a small shift at the corner of his mouth. "Where're we starting?"

He glanced toward the dance floor, then back to her, eyes narrowing despite the faint smile.

"Choose carefully."

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TAGS

Avast Verd Open

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HOUSE VERD

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FOUNDLING

 

[Lily Rhodes]

Tags: Lysander von Ascania | OPEN
Mentions: Vess Sadragen Arris Windrun
Attire​

The victory on Thyferra was hardly hers, in fact Arris had deliberately left her behind, which had been fine until something had told Lily she needed to find her. The fact that that something had been a searing pain behind one eye and Arris had been missing one when she’d collected her was not something she wanted to look too closely at. The implications of what that meant scared the shit out of her, so she did what she was getting pretty good at doing.

Lily pretended it didn’t exist.

And what a perfect place to pretend.

The soft silk of her dress whispered along the floor, the click of her heels echoing along the stone as Lysander fell in step beside her. Lily felt good, understanding settling on her about why these balls were held in the first place.

Soft brown eyes ringed with a pale red hue shifted to her cousin, her mouth curling into a smile. “I dunno, they put a lot of effort into the telling before I ran and I still somehow wound up close to the mark of what they wanted.” She shrugged “But I guess I’m glad I found my own way there too.”

Shadow passed over them as they passed beneath the arch and Lily’s eyes lifted to the decor, ears trying to catch what tune they were playing before his next comment brought a laugh. She playfully knocked her shoulder against his “Well if people don’t notice, then I’m doing it wrong.”

She paused at the foot of the steps, something uneasy settling in her stomach. The last time she’d attended one of these, she’d been alone and a monster had tried to recruit her. Some creature that sucked the life from another just for interrupting him. Lily had been afraid, finding the politest way to escape without causing offence.

“I always hated these things.” she said softly, turning fully to face Lysander. “Malum would drag me along and then abandon me at the edge because he was too important to keep his cousin entertained. Then there’s the rules, the etiquette and the inability to trust anything coming out of anyone's mouth. And I couldn’t leave without an escort, because I was just a fragile little girl.”

Something brushed along the edge of her mind, a suggestion to look away, to see something else. Lily recognised the sensation instantly but for the life of her she could not muster up the care to give. If someone wanted to think they had snuck in, then they could sneak in. It wasn’t her party to worry about.

“Now, I couldn’t give a fuck about rules and I don’t need protection. So yes, dear cousin,” she said her voice shifting as it lost the harshness of an undercity kid and slipped into a well practiced noble cadence as she slipped her arm into his “I am absolutely going to be a pain in the ass, but don’t stab anyone near me, this dress was expensive.”

She grinned, the accent dropping immediately. “Come on,” she tugged his arm “I want to get drunk and dance and pretend I'm not miserable.”

 

[Veradun Sharr]

Secondary Objective: Keep An Eye on Varin Mortifer
Outfit: Wearing This
Tags: OPEN to Interaction!

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It had been a long time since Veradun had ventured forth beyond the darkness that was his Master’s fortress on Anoat. The ascended Apprentice of the Corpse Lord, Darth Nefaron , had heard whisperings of a celebration being held on the newly acquired planet of Thyferra. Darth Vanitas had missed the battle to gain control of the planet’s bacta, but it was not something he was concerned about.

The celebration, however, was something he decided to take interest in. From what he had gathered, there would be a Black Masquerade, a series of supposedly Haunted Halls, and games called Tribute or Torment.

It all sounded like the perfect place for a Highblood Sangnir to stretch their legs and perhaps take a sip from the party goers. Vanitas was growing a little tired of consuming his Master’s hapless slaves anyway.

For the occasion, the former Nagai turned Sangnir wore a black and crimson embellished suit made from the finest materials the galaxy had to offer, the perfect outfit that one might expect to see at such an event.

And of course, to finish off the outfit, he wore a stylized masque that resembled the face of his ancient ancestor, Darth Nihl. The mask hid his facial features save for his startling pale blue eyes that bore a strangely otherworldly appearance to them, drawing in all who dared to lock gazes with him.

Once his outfit was figured out, Darth Vanitas made the journey to the newly conquered world, curious to see what he might find there, what he might experience. Upon arrival, he discovered rather quickly that it wasn’t just Sith who had arrived to take part in the revelries - but Mandalorians too. It was an odd sight, but he was aware that relations were being repaired between the Sith and the Mandalorians. He idly wondered what his Master thought about it all - perhaps he would hear the Sith Lord rant and rave about it later on.

Veradun moved with the smooth, unhurried grace of a predator through the throngs of people, following the sounds of music and the tantalizing scents of food and beverage. Other scents lingered on the air too - perfume and musk, worn by those that had gathered to dance and drink and be merry. Underneath all of it, however, was the familiar and mouth watering decadence that was blood - the life giving sustenance that thrummed through the veins of every living individual present.

It made him decidedly hungry.

But the pale Darth was beyond his baser instincts. He was a Highblood now, and he was determined to carry himself as such.

Voices carried through the scent air - whispers and laughter, male and female voices mingling. Darth Vanitas moved along the edges of the crowd, a shadow slipping through as he made his way towards a servant that carried a tray of glass flutes filled with colorful liquids within, inspired by the spooky theme of the festivities. He plucked a glass from the tray, filled with a brightly and slightly fizzy liquid that smelled strongly of various liquors with a sweet tang at the end.

His pale blue eyes scanned the crowd of exquisitely (or outrageously) dressed and masked dancers, bringing the flute to his lips to take a sip of the beverage, only to pause briefly as his gaze landed on a tall and commanding figure who was linked arm in arm with someone that Veradun knew.

In fact, he knew them both. Varin Mortifer and Seren Gwyn.

Veradun noticed how close the two of them were. He noticed the looks shared between them from across the space of the dance floor, and the Pale Death tilted his head to one side as he mused on the revelation that a former plaything of his had found her way into the arms of an enemy.

The revelation did not spark envy or jealousy within the tall and elegantly dressed Sangnir. If anything, it amused him. Veradun felt a faint and cruel smirk tug at the corner of his lips. He realized too that he had the perfect opportunity to spy on Varin Mortifer for his contact, Allan Alhune , to fulfill his end of the bargain they had made together.

The Pale Death took another sip of his beverage, the sweet and sour bite hiding the burn of the liquor as it slid down his throat. He let his gaze linger on the couple for a heartbeat longer, before he turned away and began to move through the crowd. He could still enjoy the festivities - the dance, the food, the entertainment - while keeping an eye on Varin.

Maybe, too, he would find himself a true and proper meal here. Or perhaps another plaything, someone to Enthrall and bind to himself. The possibilities for interaction were endless, and the night was still young.

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[Sylor]

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Kurayami Bloodborn
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Sylor moved about the crowd, giving nods and discreet glances where he could. Little could be revealed beneath the mask, although his face wasn't completely covered. His gaze drifted toward the scene at the bar, where Mandalorians and Sith alike were ordering drinks. It seemed he was close to finishing his own, which meant it was time for another whiskey.

"Perfect. Keep the glass filed got a long night ahead, put the tab under Bloodborn. And if anyone else orders under my name just...eh let 'em. No worries tonight."

As he neared, he heard the faint words, and he couldn't help but chuckle and comment on them.

"That's very generous, brave, or foolish of you." Sylor voiced with a small chuckle, approaching the man.

He raised his hand to the bartender, requesting another whiskey. "You are probably going to have a large bill on your hands." He said with a small smirk before extending his hand toward him. "What's your name, my friend?"

 

[Nysa Veilwalker]

Veradun Sharr / O P E N

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"Would you like another dance?" The masked stranger's gloved fingers lingered upon her own. It was a strange feeling. So much physical touch. She was used to ethereal. This was something entirely different.

"No," she said with no apology, fluff or frills. With a small inclination of her head, the young witch slipped away from the dance floor, her attention drawn toward the glittering windows where the ballroom lights mingled with the night of Thyferra. So many restless spirits here. Those left behind on those fields. Funny how they shared the restlessness of the living within these gilded halls. Nysa was still considering this when she turned, only to collide, rather abruptly, with another figure, Veradun Sharr .

Thwump. Mmffff. Wobble.

"Oh!"

She teetered, wisps of dark feathered hair splashing across pale skin. It did little to obscure the feeling that seemed to gather around them. Tips of her fingers lifted to adjust her mask. Dark green eyes floated to ones of frigid, ice blue. His aura was rather loud and bright at the same time. A quiet, coiled sort of danger, like a sleeping creature whose eyes were still open.

Curiosity kept her drawn in. Causing a delay in her apology.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she spoke as if remembering herself to be in the present. And absently what it was like to have manners. "You feel rather frightening," she observed, without any particular accusation in her voice. Then, as though realizing that might not have been the nicest thing to say, she added, "Though I don't suppose that's necessarily your fault."

Slashes of charcoal furrowed as she tried to place what else she sensed about him.

 

[Veyla Krinn]

Objective I: The Black Masquerade
Location: Feast of Shadows, Thyferra
Interacting With: Siv Kryze

Veyla laughed softly at Siv's observation about Sith hospitality, finding it difficult to disagree. The decorations were impressive, the music pleasant enough, and the food smelled considerably better than anything she had expected from a celebration hosted by people whose reputations generally involved considerably less agreeable activities. Still, his remark about the entertainment attempting to kill them wasn't entirely without merit. She had encountered enough unpleasant surprises throughout her life to appreciate the difference between an enjoyable evening and one that only started that way.

"Well, if the entertainment does try to kill us, at least we came dressed appropriately." She glanced down at her formal beskar'gam with an amused smile, then returned her attention to him. His observation that she was growing more comfortable at these gatherings earned a thoughtful expression. "I suppose I have. Though I still think there are easier ways to spend an evening than trying to remember which fork to use and whether someone is insulting you or offering a compliment." She chuckled. "Besides, you've been good company at these things. That makes them considerably easier to tolerate."

She accompanied him to the refreshment table, taking the chance to take in the elaborate costumes and masks around them. Some were genuinely impressive, displaying craftsmanship she could appreciate even if their designs were rather theatrical. Others seemed determined to incorporate as many spikes, horns, and trailing lengths of fabric as physically possible. She wondered how some of their wearers planned to navigate the dance floor without getting tangled in their own costumes.

At the table, Veyla selected a glass of deep red wine, examined it briefly, and took an experimental sip. The flavor was surprisingly pleasant, rich without being overwhelmingly dry. She gave an approving nod, then turned back to Siv, whose question about the competition brought another smile to her face.

"Embarrass the competition, obviously. Winning would just be an added benefit." Her emerald eyes glimmered with mischief as she regarded him over the rim of her glass. "Although I suspect some of these people have spent weeks preparing their costumes. It might be cruel to defeat them simply by showing up in armor."

She took another sip before allowing her expression to soften slightly. For all her earlier reservations about attending a Sith celebration, she was beginning to enjoy herself. Much of that had to do with Siv. He had never made her feel she needed to become someone else to belong among House Kryze, and she appreciated the comfortable familiarity that had grown between them.

"Actually, I'm glad you invited me," she admitted, her tone carrying a little more sincerity beneath its usual warmth. "I don't think I would have considered coming on my own. And it's nice to spend some time together without a forge, a battlefield, or something demanding our attention." She glanced toward the dancers before looking back at him, her smile returning. "So, tell me, Siv. Are you planning to spend the entire evening observing everyone, or might I actually convince you to enjoy yourself?"

 

[Lirka Ka]

OBJ II
TAGS: Darth Strosius

Oh yes. These halls were most certainly haunted.
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Though, it was perhaps not in the way many had first thought. It was no illusion that skulked these halls, nor a ghost unleashed from some nefarious relic. Lirka Ka had a nasty habit of disappearing for periods of time, fading into nothingness with a snap of her clawed fingers and delving into some sort of repugnant horribleness without prying eyes. Never much of a socialite unless there was some clout to be leeched, it was only fitting that the Dark Councilor would show herself again after her shadowy carrion feast that the Once-Sephi had been gorging herself on.

Darth Strosius was not the only one with deft hands looking to pocket a trinket or several. A growing obsession with the baubles and trinkets she had once scorned had begun to seep its way into the monster's twisted heart. Officially, Lirka probably could've weaseled her way through the suffocating bureaucracy of Empire and pulled rank enough to merely acquire what she wanted...but that meant a paper trail. Dear Helix had certainly taught her well enough that anything worth stealing wasn't meant to be gotten legally.

Kleptomania could easily be put aside for Lirka's truest of pleasures though - the obnoxious childlike tormenting of her enemies. When Strosius had fallen within her senses, it seemed only proper to give the Darth a proper "hello". She couldn't ever let him enjoy himself too much - and besides, as her nascent powers festered and apotheosis loomed it seemed only right to gloat.

Words that purred from nowhere in the darkness of the halls, in a horrible and repulsive wetness that was a far cry from the usual metallic droning of Lirka's usual cadence.

"My, my, my...I did not expect a horror so foul to be set up by our gracious host."

It was good to be back.

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[Kaela Voss]

Kaela Voss
Obj: Black Masquerade (Bane of the Open Bar)
Tags: Sylor // Kurayami Bloodborn

“Wait, is this not an open bar?” Kaela asked, not quiet seriously as she slid down the bar to the two human men, overhearing the comment about the open tab and emboldened by seeing that at least one of them was openly wearing the crest of the Mandolorian empire on his lapel. “I haven’t paid for a drop and no one’s stopped me yet.”

Kaela may or may not have accidentally been stealing, or maybe you only had to pay for the top shelf stuff at this party. Or maybe with her plain suit, as compared to the much fancier and highly ornamented outfits everyone else was wearing, they just assumed she could only be here at the invitation of someone powerful and didn’t want to piss them off by changing their discreet guard for drinks.

 

[Helix]

Tags: Darth Carnifex ​

A gloved hand grasped one of the weathered wooden bows. Long-practiced fingers tested it, aimed, and propelled an arrow at an as-yet-unmarked victim.

Helix wasn't quite as all-knowing as he sometimes liked to believe, but he understood projectiles intimately, along with any possible means of launching them.

He shot like a surgeon rather than an experienced archer. Arrow after arrow found its mark with unnatural precision. Projectiles buried themselves precisely deep enough to tickle nerve clusters or strike especially pain-sensitive areas. Yet, they always seemed to miss major blood vessels or slide around vital organs.

He calculated the precise quantity of force required each time, and before too long, his particular bound prisoner resembled a textbook anatomical diagram. More wood and fletchings were visible than meat.

There was a certain grotesquery in that, Helix realized. He wasn't prone to the myriad of factors that led to a miss. No errors in estimating range, no small twitches of the hand, no distraction of the eye.

When they were standing restrained like this, it was almost like cheating. No, it was cheating. No challenge lay in this, and thus, limited satisfaction. Still, it was a fitting diversion to start the night.

Helix much preferred the slow march from confidence to terrified ruin. There were few things more delicious than seeing that dawning sense of hopelessness in an enemy's eyes. No matter how many thousands of times he'd seen it, it never lost its edge. In all likelihood, it never would.

This felt a little like starting at the finish line, a test of accuracy rather than a test of cruelty. He had both in spades, and thus, he started to improvise, to bend the rules of the game.

Shots started to bounce off of already-embedded arrows, altering the vibrato of the forthcoming sounds of agony. Others whistled just close enough to exposed skin to give it a gentle abrasive kiss. He found this latter tactic particularly effective.

In truth, Helix figured himself a mediocre archer as these things went. Though he'd defeated and absorbed a number of skilled bowmen over the years, he had combined centuries' more experience with guns. Archery was more personal, more tactile, more meditative. There was rather more to it than just sticking something full of holes.

Eventually, he set the weapon down, admiring his handiwork and that of the others. There was a certain animal imperfection in some of the rest that made them more appealing to his eye. More simmering hate was present than pure technique in some instances, but that only made it more raw and authentic.

After all, he could only conclude that this was the entire point. To send an ugly message. The game was entirely secondary to drawing out the misery as much as possible. More than likely, these unfortunates would end up plastered on a holonews reel somewhere. That's what he would do, anyway.

Spotting the gigantic figure responsible didn't take long. Helix decided to get an answer directly, crossing the distance between them in a dozen disturbingly-liquescent strides.

"What is to be their fate afterwards?" He inquired carefully, disturbing the air with his hollow grind of a voice. "Are they to bleed out on these excellent tile floors, or is there some grander purpose in mind?"

 

[Adelina Draco]

Dress: XXX
Tag: Romin Renoux
​

Adelina turned slightly upon hearing her name, and her dark eyes narrowed slightly before warming with recognition. Her lips, painted a shade of dark red, curled into a genuine smile – a rare occurrence.

"Romin?" she was certainly surprised to see him, pleasantly so.

She shifted a sidelong gaze at Mr. Ares when Romin referred to the man as her 'traveling companion.' And had she been in less polite company, she may have made an expression of contempt. But here, she would affect a genial nod in response. The comment alluding to their time together as captives didn't go unnoticed and earned a small smirk.

"Likewise," she said, nodding.

Then, Romin's attention turned to the man at her side. Mr. Ares was visibly perturbed, attempting even to place his hand against the small of her back. He then flashed her a incredulous look, "you've been kidnapped?"

"Well, yes," Adelina said, a hint of irritation present in her tone, as if it was common. Then to Romin, "Indeed, I would."

Adelina stepped gracefully over to Romin and glanced over her shoulder at her escort. "Will you please excuse us, Mr. Ares? "Lord Renoux and I have some catching up to do."

The man opened his mouth to object, but Adelina was already taking hold of Romin's arm. She definitely did covertly elbow him in the ribs as well, eyes already conveying her need to flee Mr. Ares.

 

[Veradun Sharr]

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Secondary Objectives: Entertain the pretty lady, while keeping an eye on Varin Mortifer
Outfit: Wearing This
Tag(s): Nysa Veilwalker || OPEN

​

The Highblood lingered at the edge of the dance floor, content to simply watch people go through the motions, and listen to the admittedly tasteful music that set the tone for the dance. His pale gaze drifted over those attending, over the masks they all wore, the dresses or costumes. A part of him wondered what it might be like to dance with another person - he knew how to, of course, but he so rarely attended these events that he had never truly found himself in a position to dance with someone else.

A commotion off to the right pulled Veradun’s attention away from the dance floor, and it was at that moment that someone slipping away from their partner didn’t look where they were going and turned straight into him.

Veradun turned his gaze back towards the source of the intrusion and saw a woman there, clearly surprised by her little mishap. She teetered, dark hair shifting against creamy skin as she adjusted her mask over her face and emerald hued eyes met his own.

The Pale Death tilted his chin to one side ever so slightly as he briefly studied the woman who had bumped into him. She was beautiful, and she exuded a presence in the Force that intrigued him. And with her close proximity, the scent of her drifted up and over him and stirred the Red Hunger once more.

He should have fed before coming to this event, he realized a little belatedly. Oh well - it made things more interesting, in his opinion.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” the woman said after several moments of silence, as if she suddenly remembered that she had run into him and was staring. Before he could respond, she spoke again - saying how he felt frightening and then seemed to realize that perhaps such a statement wasn’t the nicest thing to say before adding in that perhaps that wasn’t his fault.

Her words brought a small but playfully dangerous smile to his lips. Veradun leaned forward slightly, bringing his face closer to hers, though still at a respectful distance. “...Or is it?” He replied in a low and somewhat rumbly voice, the faintest hint of allure threaded into the tone.

The Sangnir withdrew back to his full height and allowed his pale eyes to ghost over the pale curve of her neck, noticing the pulse point that thrummed just below the surface, before settling his focus back upon her face.

“...care for a drink, milady?” Veradun inquired as amusement glimmered behind his glacial gaze and a playful little smirk danced over his partially masked features.

​

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[Siv Kryze]

Siv gave a quiet chuckle at Veyla's answer, glancing around at the assortment of costumes filling the hall.

"If we win, I imagine someone will complain that showing up in actual beskar'gam hardly counts as a costume. If we lose, I'll have to question what exactly these people are putting into their armor."

He took a sip of the amber liquor, finding it stronger than he'd expected but not unpleasant. It would do.

Veyla's admission caught his attention, and he turned toward her. He was glad she'd come, though he'd left the decision entirely to her. These gatherings had their uses, but there was a difference between attending out of obligation and actually enjoying the company.

"I'm glad you came, too," he said. "We spend enough time dealing with one thing or another. Figured it was worth having an evening where neither of us has to stand over a forge or worry about someone shooting at us."

He glanced toward the dancers before returning his attention to her.

"As for enjoying myself, I think I can manage a drink and decent company. The rest is negotiable." His helmet tilted slightly toward the surrounding guests. "Can't promise I'll stop observing everyone, though. Old habits."

He'd already taken note of the exits and the watchful faces scattered throughout the hall. That would have to suffice for now. He hadn't come expecting to forget where he was, but there was little point spending the entire evening treating a celebration like a military briefing.

Siv rested his free hand against the table, his attention settling on Veyla again.

"But I'll make an effort. You've made it quite clear you're planning to embarrass the competition, and I'd hate to miss that."

A faint smirk touched his expression beneath the helmet.

"Besides, you've got the wine and I've got this. So far, the Sith are doing reasonably well."

He raised his glass slightly before taking another sip, letting his gaze wander briefly across the hall. The growing relationship between the Sith and Mandalorians was difficult to ignore, even here. There was plenty to consider about where it might lead, but he had no desire to turn a quiet evening with Veyla into another political discussion.

Instead, he turned back toward her, his posture easing.

"Speaking of all that, we've had plenty on our plates lately. The work, the meetings, everything that's come with it." He paused, studying her for a moment. "I've been meaning to ask how you've been holding up through it all. Not as my second or as a member of Clan Kryze. Just you."

His tone remained casual, though the question was sincere.

"We don't often get the chance to talk without something else demanding our attention. Figured I ought to take advantage of it while I can."

Tag: Veyla Krinn


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[Rosalia Aros]

Wearing: XXX
Tag: Open!
​

Rosalina entered the venue and began to travel around the edge of the room, like a shadow on the wall, watching. She took in the sight before her in awe. It was quite the spectacle, indeed. Matter of fact, she had never really attended any events quite like it. Dances were not uncommon back home, her parents had hosted many such a ball during their time, but Rosalina had never been allowed to attend -- she'd always been sequestered in her room. Much of her time with the Sith was spent learning at the Academy, but she'd felt the need for something different.

The dress she wore was a bit frilly, but somehow it didn't look completely wrong on her. It was mainly black, which was a good thing. And she felt that it flattered her slight frame quite well. It was rare that she cared for such vanity.

She paused before a rather lavish display of food. Savory bites and sweet delicacies, little things that people could pick up and eat with ease. Rosalina drew a deep breath, just to experience the scent -- it smelled appealing. However, not in a way that made her hungry. Of course, her own diet didn't require such sustenance.

In fact, as her gaze returned to the people out on the dance floor... she realized that under different circumstances this would have been a buffet. It was good that she'd managed to feed before coming or else she'd have been positively ravenous.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Mask
Lily Rhodes | Open
​

Lysander's lips parted over the start of some retort, one finger lifting into the air before curling back into his palm. A smartass remark about the price of her dress was taking shape right up until Lily's last words pulled the joke right out of his mouth. Well. Apparently that made two of them, at least on certain days.

His hand settled over hers where she'd tucked it through his arm, giving it a pat before his attention drifted ahead. "Drinks first, then. It would be a crime to let all those years of courtly etiquette go to waste on a perfectly sober audience."

The pavilion opened around them with music and crimson light. Familiar territory, really. Years of etiquette was an understatement. Those lessons seemed tedious back then, like a cage of rules and posture. But in the end, the discipline that came from it was something even wine couldn't dull.

“I had this one instructor on Ukatis who was truly insufferable. She made me repeat the same steps until she was satisfied. Look at my feet and she complained. Look at her and she complained. If I looked anywhere else, apparently, I wasn't taking things seriously." Shaking his head was immediately undermined by a grin. "To this day, I'm convinced she just hated me."

A chuckle escaped as he angled them toward the bar. "So, what's your poison tonight? Something sweet, something strong? Or something expensive enough to make our ancestors spin in their graves? Personally.. I think I'm leaning toward the last one."

Plucking a flute from a passing tray, Lysander turned it slowly between his fingers and watched the bubbles race toward the surface. "Come on, come on.." Then one of them popped. "Knew it." He really didn't. Lysander wasn't even sure why he'd taken the glass in the first place. But there was something freeing about it all the same, a chance to wear a different mask than the one that came with the title of Point Emissary.

"Here. Perfectly safe, far as I can tell." He offered the flute to Lily. "Right, then. You can drag me onto the dance floor or wherever else you fancy. We've got the whole evening, and I'm more than happy to let you lead me into trouble."

 

[Avast Verd]

AVAST

“Mm. Stars be tellin' stories, vod. Best you learn to listen.”

◈ LOCATION // Feast of Shadows Carnival
◇ OBJECTIVE // Torment Dayr

Honestly, Avast had been enjoying herself immensely.

Mostly because Dayr looked ready to declare war on his own collar, and if he kept it on, she was sure his face would turn three more shades of red, enough to match the fancy crimson shawl draped over his shoulders.

"Mm-hmm, look at ye, fussin' an' fidgetin' like a tooka with a bell 'round its neck! Tch!" Avast shot back with a cluck of her tongue, before flashing him a thoroughly unrepentant grin from beneath her dark metallic masquerade mask.

Unlike Dayr, Avast had taken a rather liberal interpretation of the evening's dress code. Compared to what she had dressed Dayr in, the young woman had pilfered burgundy and charcoal fabrics, weathered leather, a fitted bodice, and enough belts and little metallic trinkets to make a respectable noblewoman reconsider her acquaintance. She kept her long dark dreadlocks, adorned with a few beads, to complete the ensemble that made her look less like a proper masquerade guest and more like some wildling witch pirate who had wandered in from the Outer Rim.

Which suited her just fine. Comfort over extravagance, thank ye kindly. Especially when they were deep in Sith Territory where things were not so easy to determine where people landed. Some Clan Verd was okay with. Others, they were not. It was the not that had Avast looking around to take in things. Mandalore certainly had deep memories regarding the Sith, and while the Empress Srina Talon was like a mother to those within Clan Verd... the rest.. well... they will see.

"Besides, that collar be there for yer own good, vod!" she continued, wagging a finger at him. "Can't have some wanderin' Sith spyin' that pretty alabaster neck o' yours an' thinkin', mmm, wouldn't that look lovely with a little Force choke?" She paused, only for those mischievous dark eyes to narrow with a sudden, delighted suspicion. Then, a second later, Avast's grin turned positively wicked.

"Unless..." She leaned closer, voice dropping into a conspiratorial singsong. "Unless that be somethin' ye fancy these days, hmm? Oho! Dayr, ye been keepin' secrets from me?"

She gave his arm a playful swat.

"Well, don't be shy now! Spill that tea! Names, stories, all them scandalous little details. I got two good ears an' nowhere else I need be!"

Fortunately for Dayr, a passing waiter provided a timely distraction.

"Oi, handsome! A moment, if ye please!" Somehow, through a combination of charm, audacity, and the sort of confidence usually reserved for charting Paths out in the Black, the young Verd finagled two drinks from the tray and promptly deposited one into Dayr's hand.

"There! A drink for yer troubles. Now ye look handsome and sociable. See? I take such good care o' ye, an' all ye do is complain. Such gratitude for all me hard work." She took a satisfied sip of her drink, then slipped an arm through his and nudged him farther into the pavilion.

"Come now, no more mournin' that collar. We got music, drink, pretty faces, an' a whole room full o' folk makin' questionable decisions. Be a shame not to join 'em, aye?" Her gaze swept across the masquerade, lingering on a few particularly interesting guests before returning to Dayr.

"Now then, me sweet Dayr, tell ol' Avast somethin'..." With another nudge and a grin that promised nothing good, Avast leaned in to Dayr, dropping her musical cant to a delighted, raspy whisper.

"Which ones be yer type, hmm? An' don't ye go tellin' me none, now. I didn't dress ye up all handsome just to watch ye stand about like a bantha at a tea party!"

​

✧ GEAR // 001 // INTERACTING: Dayr Verd

✧ NO MAP FOR THE LOST // OYA MANDA ✦

 

[Kurayami Bloodborn]

Tag: Sylor | Kaela Voss

Kurayami turned his head slowly at the address of the newcomer. The fact that there was someone who actually took advantage of the tab entertained the Drunken Savant to no end. "A high bill amongst a gathering of Mando'ade and Sith come for revel and drink? Impossible." He joked, though the tone was flat, behind the rebreather mask the Corellian's signature smirk was in place as always. "My name? Kurayami Bloodborn. And yourself?"

The woman who asked if this wasn't an open bar simply brought a shrug from him and a chuckle. "Honestly, ma'am I have no idea. I have enough of a debt to repay to the Sith Order as far as booze goes that it could bankrupt most small star systems anyway. So whatever amount is repaid tonight isn't even a drop in the bucket of all the alcohol they have provided me over the past...hmmm I forget how many decades I've worked with them. I would have to ask one of the Dark Councilors or the Empress." Another casual shrug, one that could be either confirming his words or covering a lie. "And if you know how many just tell the bartender and they'll throw it on. Estimate it was the high end stuff, make it easy for everyone." A slight nod confirming that he wasn't about to be bothered with the fine details, just enjoy the evening.

 

[Dayr Verd]

x

HOUSE VERD

x

x

x

FIELD NOTES

MANDALORIAN CLAN ARCHIVE

x

DAYR VERD

x

WARHOST // WARRIOR // GUNSLINGER

FEAST OF SHADOWS CARNIVAL

LOCATION

OBJECTIVE

THE BLACK MASQUERADE WHAT DID SHE SAY??

x

Dayr stopped tugging at the collar long enough to look at Avast.

His eyes passed over the weathered leather, belts, loose fabrics and assorted pieces she'd chosen for herself, then dropped to the considerably more elaborate red and gold she'd put him in.

"If I'm a tooka, it's your fault." Dayr exhaled. "You dressed me like this and then wore that."

There wasn't much accusation in his voice. The look given did most of that. He'd agreed to the outfit quickly because letting Avast choose had seemed easier than spending an afternoon arguing over formalwear, especially because Dayr would have defaulted back to his armor. The assumption, at the time, was that Avast would also be wearing some ornate number - a means of balancing themselves out, so to speak. And yet.

Still, he couldn't deny she looked very beautiful in her understated way, and was about to compliment her, when she started explaining that the collar was there for his own good; in fact, Dayr had been halfway to reaching for it again when Avast mentioned someone admiring his neck and deciding it would look better in a Force choke--

His hand stopped where it was.

What.

His shoulders stiffened.

Did.

He blinked once, then again. His mouth opened.

She.

Nothing.

Say?

For a moment Dayr's eyes seemed to lose focus behind the mask, as though the words had reached him but his mind had refused to do anything useful with them. And by the time Dayr properly looked at her again, Avast's eyes had already narrowed with that familiar kind of delight.

Then came the unless.

His lips moved before any sound followed.

"What?" he hissed, his cheeks flushing with heat. "Whatdoyou--?"

Dayr's eyes widened as he looked around, hoping by Mandalore that no one had been close enough to hear any of that. Her wanting to know whether he fancied being Force choked. Whether there were names involved. Stories. Secrets she'd somehow been denied.

Heat crept up the back of his neck, which only made him more conscious of the collar around it.

"No."

Several seconds had passed before he managed it.

Avast swatted his arm and kept going. Dayr barely noticed. He was still looking at her, caught somewhere between disbelief, embarrassment and the growing understanding that any attempt to defend himself was probably going to provide her with more enjoyment.

"Avast."

With anyone else, he could have stopped answering. Let the silence sit there until they understood there wasn't going to be anything more. He would have even walked away, busying himself with something else. But he couldn't do that, not to her, because Avast had known him since they were children - and silence or walking away had never stopped her before.

His mouth opened again when she demanded the scandalous details, then closed.

"No--no, there aren't any scandalous details."

A waiter passed close enough to save him from having to find anything else to say. Avast called the man handsome, acquired two drinks from him in the process, and put one into Dayr's hand. She mentioned how he looked handsome and sociable now, to which he muttered:

"You look beautiful, too."

He accepted the drink and glanced down at the glass, eyes focused on the sparkling contents.

"Vor'e."

Her claim that all he did was complain pulled his attention back to her.

"I complained about the collar. Once." He lifted the drink. "Maybe three times."

Instead of a sip, Dayr downed the whole thing. He swallowed afterward, clearing his mouth, barely having tasted whatever it had been. He lowered the empty glass, staring into it for a second as though he'd only just realised what he'd done.

Around them, the masquerade carried on.

A masked couple crossed ahead of them toward the music, one laughing as the other caught their hand and pulled them into the dancers. Near the edge of the pavilion, a woman in dark green had settled against the side of a man speaking quietly into her ear. Someone farther in had abandoned whatever restraint their formal clothes had started with and was dancing enthusiastically enough that the people nearby had started giving them room.

Another waiter approached from the opposite direction.

Dayr handed off the empty glass and took another.

"So... it's going to be one of those nights?"

The look he gave Avast made it fairly obvious who he held responsible.

He still let her slip her arm through his.

That part required no thought. Her weight against his side was familiar, comforting, especially because the pavilion wasn't. Or most of the sentients therein. Dayr moved farther into the gathering with her, and for the moment at least, stopped fighting the collar. He felt a tingle at the back of his neck when he thought about the Force Choke again.

No. Stop.

Masks made faces harder to read, so his attention went elsewhere. Who stood close enough that touching happened without either person seeming to notice. Who watched someone across the room when they thought they weren't being watched back. The man near one of the open sides of the pavilion wore formal clothes but stood like someone accustomed to armour. Another guest carried an ornate blade that hung awkwardly enough from its belt that Dayr doubted it saw much use. Two women passed them arm in arm, whispering between themselves; then one glanced over her shoulder toward someone they'd just left behind.

Dayr followed the look for a moment before his attention returned to Avast.

"How would you put it? Music, drink, pretty faces and questionable decisions?"

There was a look she got when she'd decided something was going to be entertaining. He remembered versions of it from childhood. Buzzer nests. Places they weren't meant to climb. Ideas that had started with assurances that everything would be fine.

Dayr took a slower drink from the replacement glass.

Then Avast leaned closer again.

He heard the change in her voice before the question came.

His eyes narrowed.

"My type?"

Dayr looked from Avast to the room, then back to her.

He knew what she was asking, he just hadn't expected to need an answer. His attention drifted across the crowd again. The woman in green was still occupied with her companion. A dark-haired guest near the musicians laughed as somebody spun her beneath an upraised arm. Elsewhere, a redhead in an elaborate mask stood alone with a drink, watching the room rather than joining anyone yet.

Dayr realised he'd been looking and moved his attention elsewhere.

A second later, he realised that probably looked worse.

"I don't know." Avast had specifically told him not to say none, and he wasn't giving her that victory. "That's not none. I said I don't know."

He took another drink. Smaller this time. The alcohol tasted expensive, which meant he didn't like it.

Five minutes ago, the people around them had simply been strangers. Masks, weapons, conversations, exits, whatever details were worth noticing. Now every woman he happened to look at felt like evidence.

His brow furrowed behind the mask. Dayr looked to Avast and pulled an uncertain face, giving a small shrug without disturbing the arm she still had linked through his.

"I... I don't know. Someone like you, I guess?"

Not Avast. Obviously. But someone smart. Someone who could make him laugh without needing him to be the one making jokes. Patient enough to know which silence was needed. Someone he wouldn't have to spend all his time explaining himself to.

Someone like her.

x

TAGS

Avast Verd + Open

x

HOUSE VERD

x

x

x

x

x

x

FOUNDLING

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber | Wyrmfang​

A small smirk cracked his lips at her jest on possible combat.

“I think it would be the best way to find the best costume in regards to functionality.”

He looked around to some of the outfits and some of the ones steeped in absurdity. His brow raised at a certain lady in a costume that seemed to be a patchwork of various shapes adorned with feathers and furs, the outfit practically clinging to her form.

How did she even get into that?

Ignati’s voice rumbled within Varin’s mind and a small huff escaped Varin’s chest, unprepared for the slight intrusion. In his defense, Varin was thinking the same thing before Seren drew back his attention, just in time for her reaction of the wine he offered her.

“Sweet wine being your favorite? I will have to keep that in mind. Any preferred colors? Korriban has quite a selective collection including an apparent rare golden wine. Never tried that one though.”

He gently plucked the glass from her after she offered it back, a slow tip of the head as the glass pressed to his lips. It was slowly growing on him, the saying of “an acquired taste” started to make sense to him finally.

“Hm, I will make sure we leave with a bottle then.”

He looked around the ballroom about to answer her question, before a small shiver slowly ran up his spine. A familiar presence he had faced before. His gaze slightly glared for a moment before he caught himself attempting to obsess over it.

“Apologies.”

He thought on her question for a moment.

“Well, you know I can never resist a dance with you. It’s simply not within my nature.”

He slowly lead her further into the room where activity began to grow along with the music where he turned to face her and offered a slow dip of his head.

“If that is what you wish of course.”

An eyebrow raised with another slight smirk.

Seren Gwyn
Mention: Veradun Sharr​

 

[Tobias Dib]

Objective: 1
Location: At the bar
Tags: Open

A masquerade ball was not something the man known as Nemesis would consider a good time. There was no purpose save frivolous spectacles and poorly concealed identities in the name of masked festivities. For the twenty-second time, he asked himself why he was here instead of walking along the great scars carved into the surface of Thyferra. At least out there in the wasteland, there was purpose. In the opulent hall, bejeweled with finery and filled with decadently dressed individuals, he found nothing to earn more than a passing interest.

Why was he here? Twenty-three times now. He eased across the marble floor, his armored boots thudding, drowned out by the music filling the air. A band played merrily as couples spun around the ballroom floor, synchronized with their preening partners to a sound that should have been blaring on the battlefield. Sentient beings found this sound pleasurable? He couldn't fathom the artistic taste of some. Finally, the band began playing a slightly slower melody that prompted the couples to dance at a modest pace, rather than looking like the entire dance floor was in the throes of what appeared to be painful seizures.

Nearing the bar, he gave the bartender a slight nod. "Whiskey. No ice. Make it a double." There would be no surviving this night without a dabble into inebriation. Perhaps, if he channeled his father and set the bar, the ballroom, and everyone in attendance, he would feel better about attending. Not likely. Again, he wondered why he allowed himself to feel compelled to arrive at the evening's festivities.

Twenty-four. There were several here he recognized. Some he knew by reputation. Others from dossiers. The. There were those he held no knowledge of. His eyes flickered over a couple sharing a glass of wine. Seren Gwyn and Varin Mortifer . His glowing gaze continued to another pair, Avast Verd and Dayr Verd . Finally, they lighted upon a redhead, Seris Mataan ,newly arrived, and standing near the bar. He gave her a polite nod before taking his first taste of the whiskey and grumbling internally. Twenty-five times now.

He knew he stood apart from the crowd, but he didn't rightly care. At just over seven feet tall in his armored boots, his black kimono with blue trim matching his eyes made him look peculiar. Add to the fact that he wore no mask, and he was certainly a rarity in comparison to the dress code.

That was his secret. His buy'ce wasn't his mask. This was. Most people who knew him knew him as Nemesis. Most thought this a moniker or title, perhaps a chosen name to remain anonymous along with his helm. But no. The unhidden visage was his mask. The name Tobias was his cloak. The veneer of the hint of a smile was his facade. Nemesis wasn't just a persona; it was who he was. Tobias Dib ceased to exist when the life of his twin ended.

Which left Nemesis nursing a whiskey as he watched belief and masked people filter by. Why was he here? Twenty-six times now. Fierfek.

 

[Garo Vevut-Varkor]

​

The young mandalorian/milirian shaman was alittle nervous,not becuase te Siths and the Dark Side, he is jut not used to big gathering of people and in what is called civilization,he like small gatherings nd the wild if possible. He was walking without his helm,his blonde hair and green skin showing and the traditional mirilian mark son his face are mandalorian symbols. He find a quiet conner to stay and he hope safe from curious eyes. He huffs still trying to remember who was the Iron wolf who drag him here.