Dominion Festival of the Lost | CIS Dominion of Fennesa

[Luna Terrik]

REMEMBER THE FALLEN

Wearing: Dauntless Command Dress
Objective: War Stories.
Tags: | Rann Thress | Damsy Callat | Danielle Mueller | Ciri Jade | Tyrias Aran |

If it had been anyone else, they would have been running laps around the Rebellious Hawk for a full Scarif rotation if they had slipped their arm around her. They might’ve lost an arm in her current state. The chiss had a certain…privilege with the redhead. Instead of batting her arm away immediately, there was the slightest lean into Tyrias’ grip. Luna envied the woman at times, her ability to disassociate from the situation and remove herself from it. That might not be exactly what she was doing, but at least she didn’t feel a complete emptiness inside her reading each and every one of the names. Feeling more for some, less for others, and utterly hopeless for all.

She almost let out a laugh when asked to say a few words. Her silence and reading of the words had been enough to bring her to let out a few tears. Talking about these men..that would just be torture. But she didn’t. She didn’t laugh, instead, she began to share the stories of the men that served with the Dauntless.

Luna brought a lantern close, pulling the next sheet of names out of the pile as she did so. The name, The Black Sheep, was written at the top of the sheet, with lines of names running down three columns. “The Black Sheep Battalion…I didn’t much like these men. At least, when they first came out of Scarif. There was something about the way they did things. It felt disorganized, irrational. They scored near the bottom of the testing scores. A few more points and they would have never been deployed. I would have never had brought them to Rodia were we not shorthanded. When the attacks started hitting…they were one of the first into the breach. Most of the names on this list were found just by their tags. They couldn’t find the majority of their bodies between the..monsters those terrorists brought and the heat storm.” Now there was the slightest hint of a laugh between the few tears she let slip out. “Funny..even with their irregularities..they still upheld the creed. And now, what’s left of them, they’re pushed into other groups. There might not ever be a Battalion like The Black Sheep ever again. And maybe..it’s better that way.” She held the paper over the lanterns flame, letting it light and burn to ash. Then the lantern joined the others in the river, floating away.

Looking to her left, there was still a stack of papers. More stories to tell, more men to mourn. With her eyes still fixated on the stack, she pulled her voice together to ask the Fleet Marshal a question.

“Would you join me for a few more war stories, this night?”

 

[Damsy Callat]

S U R V I V A L​

Tags: Rann Thress Luna Terrik​

Wearing: Dress​

Objective: Lighting of the Lanterns​

"I know," Damsy said with a hint of a smile tugging on her lips as she watched her footwork. It quickly diapered, though, as, with ascent, came not just slightly increase atmospheric pressure but the increase weight of what awaited. Of Omega's halfing. Would it have been quite so bad if those men and women hadn't been ripped from the Legion, their families, by friendly fire? Would a terrorist attack instead have changed her reaction, just minutely, but minutely enough?​

​

As the narrow terracette path leveled in elevation, it as well widened. Damsy took the opportunity to fall back to Rann's side, likewise wrapping her arm around his torso and nuzzling into him. She was certain she wasn't the only of them both to be distraught over what had occurred on Rodia. And, as she had been on Talay and only heard the news jarringly second-hand, she knew her brother felt more guilty over Omega having watched from the shadows. It was a shared experience with Typhan and the other survivors, and in that way, Rann should have been seeking them out for comfort, but Damsy offered Rann shared blood—rather, half of it.​

​

"It's not your fault," she whispered. The statement was no sithspitted condolence, uttered to bestow some unrightful bit immediate reconciliation, but one she meant wholeheartedly. The last thing she would have wanted to do on this day was fight with friends, family. Considering the circumstances that had brought them onto this unnamed summit, to do so would be disrespectful. Damsy didn't want to make light of any dead, least of all hers.​

​

Even so, contingency of the guilty Breshig War Forge Consolidated flight crew inviting themselves up the hill to witness the end of the mess they had made was far off in the sithspawn's mind—but still there nonetheless. With Rann at her side, she would not only have the strength to behave herself, but to quell Typhan as well.​

​

The path rose one last time before opened into the gentle-sloped summit. Omega's survivors were already present, as Typhan had led them ahead to scout out a suitable funeral locale. Every death mattered in these never-ending wars, every single one deserving to be remembered, but Omega was the best of the best. They deserved not better, just the individual recognition of a separate ceremony.​

​

Two of the remaining privates were sprawled in the grass surrounding a durasteel crate to the siblings' left, the last sitting atop the lid itself. Their chat was rather lively, which might have taken the civilians of Roosthold by surprise if they had stayed for the parades below rather than relocate here. It didn't phase Damsy though, for she knew the Dauntless life was a fast one: Reach for a gun and reach for a gun with the same live-lusting fervor. And if you lost it, why, you surely wouldn't want that to what dragged down your still-breathing brother. The burden of war was already too mush to carry alone; Carrying dead weight on top of that made you that much more of a target. ​

​

And so they remembered, reminisced, and then resumed.​

​

The man on top of the crate looked over to see they had guests, licked his lips, and let out a low wolf whistle. "Cut it out," one of the seated commandos warned through a smile.​

​

"If those boys knew all they had to do was call in some incompetent air support to get the Major in a dress..." The man hopped to the ground and crossed the ground to Damsy with arms wide.​

​

She gave a hearty chuckle at the gallows humor, not that anyone found it funny but the way it lighted the mood from their shoulders comforting. She withdrew from Rann and handed over the lantern before going to meet the private midway with a hug. "Took one for the team, eh, Mavr?"​

​

"Something like that." The two separated and turned to see Typhan approaching the group. Behind him were the outlines of five battlefield crosses. "Wow, Dams, send me the dress code memo next time."​

​

"Next time?" she asked, arching her brow somewhat playfully. There was a line here to toe, they all knew that, but there also wasn't much they could say to make their squadmates turn in their graves. If the roles had been switched, they'd be acting the same way. "You volunteering?"​

​

Typhan shrugged. "We saved these for you," he said, voice gaining a serious edge as he held out his hand. Damsy rose hers to accept whatever his held. Five identification chit necklaces dropped into her palm. She withdrew her hand to examine them closely and nudge them about her copper skin with a finger:​

​

Fengris, Kaal, Slahlvo, Eisahn, and Rhane.​

​

She sighed.​

​

Berrezz added, "We're just waitin' on 'War Marshal. She requested lighting the lantern."​

​

Another. Of course she had. Omega had been her baby almost since the beginning, though more than two original members, especially now, weren't still ranked among the squad. Today wasn't the day to be petty, and Damsy didn't want to take this away from Luna, but she also didn't want this taken from her.​

​

"I've sent a comm. I'll go back down to escort her up soon as she's done below."​

​

Damsy nodded. "Thanks, Typh."​

 

[Faye Malvern]

Location: Fennesa Hillands
Objective: Commerce
Wearing: [x]
Tags: Adron Malvern

“You were scary.” She grinned to herself. “At least to the others. Not to me. I knew you were a teddy bear under all that pressure father and mother put you under.” Faye shook her head at the memory. Of course she had always been in trouble, she was constantly following Adron around, trying to do the things mother and father made him do, but they weren’t tasks for a Lady to accomplish. So she always ended up in some amount of trouble trying to do them. Besides, she had been clumsy from the day she was born, that certainly didn’t help when it came to learning how to be a Serrenian noble.​

​

A soft laugh escaped her lips. “We were always in trouble.” She corrected him with a cheeky smile on her face. Granted, it was always her fault they were in trouble, but she would be damned if she let him get away scott free. ​

​

His kiss to her forehead was nothing but steadying. It gave her the strength she needed to keep it together. Sometimes, now that they were both grown and their duties had taken them down separate paths, Faye forgot how much of a comforting presence her brother could be. Along with how sorely she missed him when they spent time apart. She was hoping that, now Alden’s time in the military was coming to a close, that Faye and Adron would have more time to spend together. That she would have more time to spend with her nephew, and her sister in law. The only family she had any claim to. ​

​

I miss them too.​

​

She did not need to mirror his words, there were none that could do their mutual pain justice. Faye was all too happy to sink into the embrace, to feel her brother's protective arms wrap around her and shield her from all the hurt they had faced. In a way, though they were both sorely lacking, they made up for it with the closeness of their relationship. There was nothing that could beat it, and nothing, at least for Faye, that would ever come close to the comfort her brother could provide.​

​

The shuttle came to a slow stop, but it still jolted Faye enough to tell her that they had arrived. A hand shot out for her to take, which she did gratefully. “That sounds like the perfect thing.” Once again the rush of fresh air flooded into the shuttle as the door slid open, revealing the streets of Fenessa. The lanterns had already kissed the city with an orange glow that stretched up toward the slowly blackening sky, but they had plenty of time yet before anything was released. “Do you think we can find some Merenzane Gold?” It had been their father's favourite drink. Since his untimely and unjust demise, Faye had shared a glass with Adron each time they got together to remember them.​

 

[Nimue]

L O C A T I O N | Location Here
W E A R I N G | [x]
T A G S | Danielle Mueller​

The slow lowering of her shoulders told Nimue that she was a little less apprehensive about the sudden intrusion. She would have said she was pleased for it, but in truth, the High Priestess could have cared less whether the girl felt comfortable or not. Most people often did not, and she had grown used to it. In fact, nowadays, Nimue felt moderately offended by people who did not find her an imposing personality to be around. She had spent years cultivating the personality and the aura to go with it. It pleased her greatly to see her work come to fruition. ​

An ever curious expression crossed her face when she replied to her question. Why attend a festival dedicated to remembering the dead if you had nobody to remember? Nimue did not press the issue, instead, she remained silent. As though waiting for the girl to fill in the gaps. Which, eventually, she did.​

“That is a very honorable thing for you to do.” Was it? Nimue had no idea, but it felt like the right thing to say at the time. Her eyes focused their attention on the lanterns, which by now were being released into the sky one by one in honour of the dead. They would float until their candle ran down, or until they were caught on some unsuspecting tree or building, and then what? Nothing. In Nimue’s opinion, it was a hollow gesture. If you were going to honour your dead then why not do it with something more tangible? Like the Silmä did with the statues that stood proudly in the ingress.​

Soft white curls shifted against her shoulders as she listened to the young woman’s words. “I was. For both Ryloth and Rodia. Needless and pointless wars fought by petty children that caused many unnecessary deaths.” On both sides, but Nimue dared not say it allowed when surrounded by the Confederacy. “But I lost no one. I am simply here to… watch, and learn.” She raised a brow. “I am assuming you were fortunate enough to miss them?” ​

 

[Adron Malvern]

The streets were alight with a somber glow. There were festivities occurring but the Sith Lord could feel the subtle well of emotions that laid beneath the surface. People walked by the two, their thoughts and emotions spilling over Adron like errant children unable to control themselves. He exhaled, clearing his mind and purging it of the emotions of those who surrounded him. It was the curse of a Sith who studied the long forgotten arts of the Dread Lord. He was learning, slowly, that these emotions would have to be carefully monitored or else he would lose himself in the sea. He looked to his dear sister, smiling at her words before nodding in silence.

There had been a small street-side bar not far from where they entered the city. Adron sat down, urging his sister into the stool beside him while he spoke to the bartender. "Merenzane Gold?" He asked the bartender. The man glanced down at the bar behind him before nodding, pulling down a slender black bottle with golden emblems crafted onto it. "Two." Adron said, gesturing to himself and his sister.

The bartender filled two glasses with the amber liquid. Adron's eyes danced over the glasses as he remembered his father drinking the very same drink. He couldn't help but chuckle at the thought. "Our Grandfather used to drink this too." He said, turning to Faye. "There was one Senator from Coruscant. Everytime he visited he'd bring father a bottle of the stuff." He chuckled at the memory. "Force, what was that fat man's name?" He looked away for a moment, trying to recall before laughing audibly. "Senator Ora'nu. He was nearly as big as the shuttle that would bring him to the world. Do you remember him? He had that squeaky little voice and he'd get drunk and sing those dumb songs. The man exhausted father to no end, but he was always welcome to visit the manor."

Adron took the drink into his hand before sighing out. He raised the drink in a toast to Faye before speaking softly. "To our family. Those with us and those taken too early." He'd press his glass to hers before downing a bit of the drink, enjoying the warm feeling that flooded his chest as he drank it. He exhaled a sigh of relief before setting the glass down on the bartop. "Sometimes I think I'd give anything to change how things happened on Serenno. I never imagine it would all change that fast."

Faye Malvern

 

[Danielle Mueller]

Fenessa
Festival of the Lost
Nimue

"Yeah...-To be honest, I haven't been to many other Worlds" Danielle answered her. Fifteen years old and fresh off of her home-world, no parents and subsequently raised in a military orphanage to boot; Credits weren't exactly something she had in spades. "The only reason I know about the attacks is because of the Holonet. Although, you never know what's true and what isn't on there" she remarked, speaking her thoughts freely.

The Woman who was kind enough to be sharing her company with Dee had mentioned something about learning from her being there. It seemed like an odd sort of thing to say, but then there were so many different people out there in the Galaxy with different cultures and different upbringings. Part of her excitement in getting away from Shor, was in experiencing all of these new things that she truthfully knew so little of...-So in a sense, they were both there for the same purpose.

"I'm glad you didn't lose anyone" she replied, pausing before elaborating a little out of embarrassment; "Not that I know you or anything, but I can't imagine how hard it is to be close with someone and to have them taken away from you like that. It's not something I'd want for anyone, whether I knew them or not".

Ryloth. Rodia. Danielle made a mental note to remember these Worlds. Perhaps she would visit them sometime in the future, or otherwise read up about them on the holonet as she did most other things. It was one of her hobbies after-all, as it'd been her only form of reaching out to the Galaxy beyond for the first decade of her life since she had learned how to use a device.

She had spent so many nights spent dreaming of 'what-ifs' and possible future adventures. Now that she was actually away from Home though, she didn't have much of an idea as to where to begin or what to do with herself.

It could all be a little overwhelming at times, to be honest.

 

[Tyrias Aran]

Luna Terrik | The Monster​

Tyrias' head turned slightly to follow Luna's gaze to the many lanterns she had prepared. Commendable, but left to her own devices, the Chiss was certain the Grand Marshal would snap. Maybe not today, maybe not after the next battle, but how much responsibility could a soul bear if it held on to it so tightly? Would she stay? Of course the blue woman would stay. Luna needed to let the grief out, and if Tyrias had to wring it out of her she would.

"Did you ever meet the crew of The Aegis?" Tyrias asked in response to Luna's question. "I had not. I am not one in favor of involving mercenaries in the intricacies of war. Some become little more than thugs with their eyes only on credits. They stand too far apart. They feel the rules do not apply to them as long as the job gets done." A personal history lesson of one Chiss Fleet Marshal to set up what followed. "The Aegis claimed that in the end. Announced they were abandoning their post, and breaking their agreement with the Confederacy. No command or decree would deter them from their course. Not for glory, not for credits... They threw everything they had into stopping Kaine Australis' ship as it sped toward Ryloth with a cascading build up of energy. They did this while our fleet sat awaiting a command that would have come far too late, and in the end every man and woman on board perished doing their duty. Because it had been the right thing -- the necessary thing to do. That's why they'd signed on. Why they were there."

Tyrias turned to look over at Luna with a small smile, but not one of intrigue. She was not happy, nor coy, with the loss of life. Their sacrifice should be remembered and respected. Hopefully, Luna would know she didn't have to take the weight of every soldier's loss on her shoulders alone. She had many strong commanders around her; it was okay to share the burdens of command with them. The Chiss reached out to draw one of the lanterns over. "I never did meet the crew of The Aegis... but I wish I had."

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

​

WEARING: xxx
TAG: Fury of Aerðs , Redd

Fanessa was a world Gerwald was not too familiar with, though he was doing his best to know of the worlds which surrounded Confederacy space. There was a sense of responsibility which overtook the wolf since the rank of Master was given to him. Reading and writing was not something he was strong with, but the lupine made great strides toward improving, and where it was required, Gerwald struggled through with the discipline of a trained warrior. Not all things that were deemed necessary were pleasant, though sometimes they were. For Gerwald training was something he found pleasure in. Whether it was to make himself better, or bring about a new generation of Knights Obsidian, Gerwald found the drive to train was not only required, but enjoyable.​

​

That was why Fury of Aerðs accompanied him this day. Redd had arrived ahead of them, the lupine still feeling her injuries from Rodia no doubt. Gerwald still felt guilty that his pace in training her had led to a lack of readiness for battle. It was not that Redd had not been ready at all, but the fact she had been injured under Gerwald's care weighed on how he viewed the progress they had made.​

​

All of them had lanterns to light during this Festival of the Lost. On Stewjon this would have been done differently, but today Gerwald was not there as a Stewjoinian, he was there as a Knight of the Confederacy. There were many names Gerwald could have prepared lanterns for, but only three which weighed on him for some time.​

​

Ubba Lechner​

​

Olga Lechner​

​

Naedira Darcrath ​

​

The last name was not one who was truly lost, but Gerwald always took proper moments to honor what she had done. The wolf had finally reconciled that her death had been her choice. It was being trapped in some state of limbo that had been forced upon her. To live again had also been her choice, a desire Gerwald would spend his final breath fulfilling if it were required.​

​

Redd had lost a pack. Morrigan had lost many. Gerwald seemed to be collecting a group of shifters and students that had all lost. They were all becoming something they all needed, but had not expected to find, a family. They would grieve together, and then they would celebrate together. This was what it meant to be a pack, and the lupine had found himself the unlikely Alpha.​

​

Gerwald lit his lanterns and released them to float, turning to Morrigan to allow her to do the same. "Who are you remembering?" When it was done, the wolf approached his other apprentice, the other wolf, concern etched on his face.​

​

"How are you healing?"​

 

[The Monster]

Wearing: This

3 Days Prior​

Sergei stood aboard the Hangar bays as he walked past the unmarked coffins presented. There were no words that he could say that described how he'd felt. Over two hundred men and women lost that day. Most of whom's bodies would never be recovered. There was a small procession in the hangar with him, all of the survivors of that fateful day. When two hundred seventy men and women of The Dire Wolves answered the call. Not for coin. They only ever asked to be paid fair wages. Not for fame or glory. Each was perfectly fine with being unnoticed or without accolades to precede them throughout the galaxy. Not even for the lust of battle and thirst for violence. Because as soldiers they all understood the true horrors of war, and knew that it must only ever be used as a last resort, when all else fails. That violence, death, and war achieve nothing without the proper trained hands of those who knew how to properly execute it. Those that knew how to do so with the minimal application of force, sparing the larger surroundings and greater area around them of the damage and costs of waging war. Those brave souls that know that war is always inevitable, and know that the average sentient doesn't have what it takes to survive. That knows they don't have the grit, the selfless virtue to sacrifice everything they hold dear, even their very lives to ensure that they are the absolute best of the best. The elite of the elite. All in pursuit of one goal, one objective.

To protect the masses from the horrors of war, the pain and suffering it brings. And to do so by sacrificing the well trained, voluntary, and chosen few to spare the many.

And before Sergei stood the fruits of his labor. Two hundred twenty souls lost. One hundred fifty sailors and naval officers, alongside seventy commandos. All dear friends no, all of them family to The Dire Wolf. Every last one of them, committed to memory on the walls of the lost, carved by Sergei's own blade painstakingly for all to see should they choose. Each unmarked coffin a representation of what was lost to those here today. And today, in the hangar, the dead clearly outnumbered the living. As the hangar would unseal, revealing the star that Hope was orbiting, Sergei would only nod to those present. They would split into groups of four, carrying each coffin to the hangar doors just before the shielding, and would gently push the coffins out into space, one by one. They would do this, in total silence. There was nothing that could be said, no words that could uttered to ease the pain of each of the survivors. No amount of grieving would ever ease the black hole that had formed in their hearts. And so one by one, in total silence they would cast each coffin into the star. It was the closest that any of them would get to a proper goodbye. The only consolation each would have is that each person that these coffins represented, had fulfilled their oath. That in their sacrifice they exemplified what was expected of each and every one of the men and women here.

When they finally finished with the ceremony, the hangar doors would slowly close. As they did Sergei would salute sharply, followed by the rest, in a final send off of the spirits of the fallen. The coffins were destined to be consumed by the fires of the local star, and with it, the first generation of The Dire Wolves was now over. The end of the first company of commandos was here. The survivors were little more than ghosts now. Dead men, that just didn't know they'd already died on Ryloth with the rest of their brothers and sisters. And while the next generation would be trained, and trained well by these ghosts, there would be no redemption for them.

In the ashes of the death of the first generation of wolves, The Ghost Company, is born.

Now​

Sergei sighed audibly as he walked the streets looking at the various lanterns being passed about and lit as he tried to get the recent events out of his head. His new uniform, something thrown together by Dr. Alphonse to give TDW a more professional look than walking around literally everywhere in bloody power armor, felt stiff on him. The fabrics felt nice sure, but he absolutely hated how thick, constricting and stiff the coat was. But the Dr. had insisted, stating after all Sergei was and still is a professional soldier. And professionals had uniforms. He groaned as he thought about it, wishing to himself that he needed to find something a little bit lighter and more breathable because gods above did he hate dress uniforms. The festival was nice, the atmosphere itself was amiable, with a strong sense of healthy grieving and celebration going about. These people were allowing their grief to manifest in a way to allow for healing of the mind and soul. Sergei wished it was that easy for him. He was a warrior, a soldier that had been trained since before he'd come of age in how to be a soldier. All he knew, was how to fight. And in all of the training he'd ever gotten, all of the things he'd learned, how to handle emotions, grief, or deal with loss wasn't there. You put those emotions, those feelings away, because the mission came first. You couldn't dwell on them and so repressed them. The only thing Sergei knew how to deal with was rage. How to turn it into a weapon, to use it to cover up everything else and hone his senses to a razor's edge. So while he understood what the people around him were doing, he himself didn't know the intricacies of how it worked. He didn't know what would happen if he lit a lantern, if he acknowledged those feelings' existence.

And unlike a lot of people on the planet, save for a few on the guest list, none were as dangerous as he could be if he'd flew off the handle. A calming hand would rest upon Sergei's shoulder, a familiar synthesized voice speaking to him.

"It's a beautiful night isn't it sir?"

"Yeah John, it's certainly a good one,"

"Maybe we should walk around, see the sites? Who knows who we'll run into,"

Sergei would close his eyes for a short time, and rub his temples to clear his head. He shrugged and followed the large droid around. He needed some time off. His mind would wander as they walked up and down streets, taking in smells, sights, noises as he instinctively tried to ascertain the location, and what each piece of sensory data was to him. Old habits dying hard. The two of them would certainly stand out though, looking about and noting each of the lanterns, buildings and stands selling food.

It honestly reminded Sergei of home.

 

[Nimue]

L O C A T I O N | The Streets of Fenessa
W E A R I N G | [x]
T A G S | Danielle Mueller
​

Listening was something Nimue had never struggled with. It was something the Silmä had to be extremely well versed in. Granted, it was primarily to hear the visions the Oracle blessed them, but the skill translated easily into social situations too. ​

“Hmm.” Nimue commented. Her own experience within the Galaxy had been relatively small in comparison to most. “Then we are alike, in some ways. I too have seen little of the Galaxy, and I have little experience with the holonet but I have come to the same conclusions. Second hand information is hardly ever accurate.” It was true for most things, and it extended beyond the holonet. The only way to get a true picture of anything was to experience it yourself. Nimue could have told the young woman all about her experiences on either planet, but there was nothing to prove that what she said was true.​

At her next comment, Nimue managed one of her trademark almost friendly smiles. “I am pleased you had the good fortune to miss the attacks all together.” It was a stiffly spoken comment, but a comment all the same. She did not do empathy well. “As for losing someone... “ Nimue could think of nothing further to say on the subject of war, so she may as well dip into the reason why she viewed death so… bluntly. “I am a member of a coven known as the Silmä. We do not view death in such a somber manner. Death is a chance for a second life, and we devote it to the defense and fortification of our temple. Our souls are captured in gems, and placed in tombs with our bodies, where we wait to be needed again.”​

Her fingers casually raised, to touch a necklace which sat square in the centre of her chest, A pyramid, with a milk white gem chiseled into the shape of an eye in the center. “This necklace contains the soul of the previous High Priestess of the Silmä, she is the link between us and our deity, the Oracle.” Her hand fell again, and she glanced at the woman with an expressive gaze. “We see no need for days of remembrance such as this, because no member of the Silmä is ever forgotten. We are never truly lost.”​

 

[Faye Malvern]

Location: Side-Street Tavern
Objective: Remember the Lost
Wearing: [x]
Tags: Adron Malvern

Days like these were days Faye found herself most grateful for the gift Alden had given her, which had found a permanent place sat neatly against her chest. Her natural empath abilities made events such as this one exceedingly difficult. Before the Cridhe Gras they were, for all intents and purposes, impossible. But now? She could partake without feeling the unwelcome weight of everyone else’s sorrow too, something that no man or woman alive could truly bear the brunt of.​

For once, Faye was only at the mercy of her own emotions, which would have been unbearable too, were it not for Adron at her side.​

She slipped somewhat awkwardly into the stool that her brother offered out, offering him a smirk at her clumsy first attempt. A barstool wasn’t something she often sat on. In fact, she couldn’t even recall the last time, it would have been well before her appointment to Minister of Influence. She was used to plush armchairs, and sensible desk chairs, but it hardly mattered when the bartender shifted to bring down the luxurious bottle of alcohol.​

Smell was a powerful invoker of memories, and how they came flooding back when the stiff man behind the bar slid their drinks over to them. Faye brought it closer to her face, inhaling deeply. It smelled of her father’s study, of her mother just after she’d kissed him, of the hundreds of dances, dinners and meetings hosted by the Malvern family. Her gaze trailed back to her brother as he spoke again. “Really? No wonder father had such a fondness for it,” Faye let the glass hit the table as the name Ora’nu rang loud bells in her head. She laughed aloud, a tinkling laughter that filled the dull bar with a light it rarely saw. “I remember him!” There were tears in her eyes, whether from the laughter or the sting of another memory, it was hard to tell.​

But when Adron lifted his glass to toast, she cut her giggle short to join him. “To our family.” She mirrored. The glasses made a soft clink as they met, but both siblings were quick to take their first drink. Alcohol was a great soother of pain. Faye relished in the burn as it slipped down her throat, far more easily than the day her father had first allowed her to try it. Her lips formed an expression of uneasy agreement. “I would too…” Faye paused for a second, but only to take her brother's hand to give it a soft squeeze. “It isn’t something I like to think of often, I feel equally as sad about all the beautiful things we would have missed out on otherwise.” She smiled. “Aries, Alessandra, Alden, Illyria… I can no longer imagine our lives without them.” ​

Faye nodded gently, as though confirming an idea to herself. It would only be a moment later before she revealed it to Adron. “I know everyone would be so happy for us.”​

 

[Adron Malvern]

The siblings shared a bit of laughter. It was relieving and not something Adron participated in, almost ever. In fact, he could probably count on a single hand the number of times he'd openly laughed in the past few years. Not often. It was not that he was depressed, just not a laugher. Yet the memory of the fat senator was yet an amusing one. When Faye took Adron's hand he looked over to her, smiling as he listened to his sister's words. It is true. Without the family that he had, he was not sure that he could have survived the loss of the others. "I was so happy when I found you." He said, looking to Faye with a warm expression.

"After so many years, I was able to see that I wasn't alone. You came back into my life when I needed you most and without you I'm not sure Illyria would have come to pass. It is a home. A place for our House to finally call home. Even if you go off with Alden...Illyria will always be your home Francesca and I will always welcome you back to it." He told his dear sister.

He downed the rest of his drink before setting the glass on the bartop.

"Father and Mother would be very proud of you. I...I never thought I would have to watch over you how it happened but you turned into a wonderful woman and our Mother would be especially proud of you." He told her. After the two had finished their drinks, Adron stood up while holding a hand out to Faye. "Come on Francesca. I think it's about time we go to send off a lantern, don't you?" He asked. His mind was no longer bogged down with the thoughts of death, instead they were refreshed with the happiness of memory. Something he would cherish as the years went on.

Faye Malvern

 

[Haastal Haran]

Location: Fennesa lantern lighting ceremony
Objective: Haastal Verd
Wearing: Beskar'gam
Tag: Redd

The small blue lantern floated away from the shore as Haastal stepped away from it. He'd done his remembrance and now he was leaving. He was armored in his full Beskar'gam, his wargear. That had to be the best way for him to remember the Haastal that had come before him. He wouldn't shed any tears for the man, but he was the closest thing to a fallen loved one that he had. In a way, he was also sending off a lantern for Achilles, a man who was long gone from his life as well.

He moved through the crowd, pushing past those who were waiting to get to the waters. This place stunk of pity and it was beginning to get to the man. He glanced over to the bank when shimmering red hair filled his visor. His scanners automatically washed over the woman when his eyes focused on her. It began to send him a readout on the woman, however he simply muttered into his helmet. "Stop scan."

Redd.

Haastal glanced back to the path to his ship before turning and making his way back to the bank. He could see Redd from behind and it made him smile into his helmet. Even though he could tell something was different. She was mourning something, someone. Haastal approached the woman, resting a hand on her shoulder as he stepped forward. He looked to her, nodding silently. He wondered. The woman had never seen him with his armor on, after all. He tapped a button under his helmet, causing a faint hiss before he pulled the helmet off, holding it under his arms.

"Didn't think to see you here."

Redd

 

[Redd]

LIGHTING OF THE LANTERNS​

Equipment: Outfit​

Tags: Gerwald Lechner | Haastal Haran​

Anger was a useless emotion that only seemed to burn as an eternal flame and kept those without a true purpose from moving forwards. Anger was like a festering wound and if one didn’t take the time to cut off the injured limb, the infection would quickly spread to the rest of the body. Yet being in wolf form for many years had saved the red wolf from insanity. Had saved her from the inevitable edge that would have driven her to simply kill people without prejudice. She wouldn’t have cared if they had any hand in the decimation of the Snowfire pack and she wouldn’t have cared for those that moved around her in an endless sea of sorrow and misery; sorrow and misery that seemed to cling to her even as she tried to shake off the feelings.

Yet it was Gerwald who had first approached the lone wolf by the water’s edge and a slow blink had her somewhat focusing upon the man beside her, a man that had asked about how she was healing. Healing? Green eyes finally focused upon Gerwald and a frown creased her forehead before she realized what he was actually talking about. Of course, her injuries from Rodia. Quietly she shifted her gaze from the male to look at the water’s edge that she knelt upon. ”I’m healing. Slower than normal which is probably because I push it too far at times but…” A nod of her head was given then as she continued on with her words, ”But I’m healing.” Truthfully she had wondered if he had heard from the medical staff about the fact that she had bitten one of them. About the fact that she had even reopened her wound in a fight with an unknown combatant.

How much does he actually know? She wondered to herself as she watched the ripples upon the water. ”Thank you, for having my back. I appreciate it,” The red wolf nodded her head as she offered a smile to the man who she now called as brother. That was until a familiar scent was caught upon the breeze and she turned slightly to seek it out. Where were they and why couldn’t she see their familiar face?

Her questions were all but answered when an armoured man rested a hand upon her shoulder and she rested the instinctive response to respond with violence at the intrusion of her personal space. The wolf was amongst friends, or at least that was what she was led to believe and she turned only to realise that the familiar scent that she had been smelling, was coming from the suit of armour… ”Haastal?” She queried as a frown descended upon her brow. Was this the Mandalorian armour that he had spoken of when they had first met? Green eyes flickered over the suit before the hiss sound caught her attention and drew her gaze back up to see the familiar face of the man that had helped her begin some minor sparring session. He had also helped her to cover up said training session, by giving her some bacta to help with the wound that had reopened during their light spar.

A lazy smirk curved her lips then at the memory, but it was his words that drew her back to their current situation and the smirk fell from her lips. ”I was honoring my old pack. While the wolf helped to keep my mind somewhat sane, my human half still needs the chance to say goodbye. Even if I may never get a chance to revisit the lands of Myrkr and traverse the lands that I once called home.” Redd paused for a moment as a hand reached out to lightly touch the chest piece of his armour, ”This seemed like the next best choice to pay my respects to them.” She could almost forget the fact that she had felt only anger just before, but the red wolf remembered that Gerwald was still there. ”Oh… Haastal, this is Gerwald, my adoptive lupine brother and master.” She paused as she looked to Gerwald and smiled softly at the male while resisting the urge to lean in to Haastal. ”Gerwald, this is Haastal, my friend that I met recently. One of whom is regarded as a Grand Marshal and a Mandalorian.” The wolf frowned as she turned back to Haastal, ”Did I say that correctly?”​

​

 

[Rann Thress]

R E M E M B E R A N C E ​

Tags: Damsy Callat Luna Terrik​

Wearing: This​

​

​

​

Rann continued to climb the hill, following behind Damsy and made way for her to fall back besides him as they climbed together. When she wrapped her arm around him and nuzzled into him, he likewise wrapped his arm around her shoulders and held her as they ascended the hill. A peaceful, comfortable silence was shared between them as they continued to move upwards, and was then broken when Damsy whispered.​

​

"It's not your fault,"

​

​

Rann blinked, startled and looked down at her. He wondered what she meant. Was she trying to console herself? Convince herself that it, rightfully so, wasn't her fault about Omega? Or was she saying that to Rann? Telling him it wasn't his fault about Omega? Either, both, it didn't matter. His response would be the same. He laid his head down on hers and rubbed her shoulder. "It's no ones fault." he responded, louder. She needed to hear it loudly, that it was not either of their faults. Someone was to blame, sure, so it wasn't necessarily true what he said. But he hoped the symbolic gesture of it being 'no one' if neither of them were at fault would help soothe her. ​

​

Rann knew this would be the beginning of a long day. Mourning aside, he had a feeling nothing would be easy about it. Something was going to go wrong. Had to. That's been his luck thus far. As they reached the summit, Rann took a deep breath. He was here to support Damsy, but he wasn't here to mingle. He hoped most people would keep a respectful distance, and silently hoped Damsy wouldn't try to introduce him to her squadmates. He didn't feel like being chummy with the friends of people he might have been able to save.​

​

At the summit, Damsy was reunited with her team and handed the lantern to Rann for safekeeping and he took it. He held it in both arms, flesh and metal, in front of him respectfully and watched with a smile as Damsy left him to go interact with her soldiers.​

​

She's a good person. Better than you, anyway. His smile disappeared and he breathed deeply. Not today. Always today. A grimace appeared on his face and he squeezed the handle of the lantern.​

No. Not. Today. No. No. He squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated. Forcing the dark behind the door. He opened his eyes and breathed a sigh. All quiet again. Of all places, this was the worst to have an... 'episode'. But he felt a sense of relief that he seemed to be getting better at quelling those thoughts now. At least, while not in combat or under threat.​

​

But he shuddered to think what would happen the next time he fought, or in the case of Rodia, thought he was going to fight.​

​

"A problem for another day." He whispered to himself, smiling again as Damsy reminisced with her friends.​

​

 

[Fury of Aerðs]

"Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?"
​

Wearing: XOXO
Hair: XOXO
Interacting With: Gerwald Lechner
Nearby: Redd , Haastal Haran

​

“Who are you remembering?” Gerwald had asked.

The symbolization of the lantern placed in her elegant hands was not lost on Morrigan, who watched as previously placed paper lights glide softly down the curiously calm river waters.

A way to remember those you’ve lost, while also letting them go.

There was a similar tradition on her own homeworld, and she could remember as a young child on the eve of the Lupine tradition of the The Feast of Aerðs, sneaking from her bed to glimpse the gathering of their world’s most persecuted species, line up along the river. They dressed in the most beautiful colors of copper and violet silks to honor their ancestors.

At the time, with her dark head of hair bobbing up and down while trying to find a comfortable kneeling position in the grass reeds only a short distance away, it made her feel awfully devilish; peeking in on an ancient tradition that was considered both sacred, and sacrilegious.

Back then, Morrigan hadn't given it much more thought, too enamored by what was happening before her as the night pulled on to early morning. The magnificence of it all stuck with her, and was not something she could deny or ever forget.

Now, here she was, participating in something similar. Something that others would be killed for, where she came from.

She slowly approached the water, her ombre dyed gown beginning to drift into the lazy current on the river bank. It'd been some time since she'd worn anything so elaborate, but if there was any such time for it, it was tonight, to symbolize the reconciliation of who she was and who she becoming.

And still, Gerwalds question continued to run through her mind.

“Who are you remembering?”

The dark soot of her lashes brushed across her cheeks briefly, recalling the face of her father who'd died for her, using the last of his breath and strength to try and smuggle her off world.

Of the friends she’d lost when their own secrets had been revealed.

Of those whose lives had ended in a blood-stained shroud, having never been given the chance to be freed of their bondage.

Morrigan softly sighed, “There are too many to name,” she replied in a near whisper as she knelt, gently giving her lantern a push to float along with the others.

 

[Maple Harte]

Count Delut entered his lavish private office, waiting for word from his security team in the woods that his new minion had been met and was being brought here to be processed and have her price negotiated.

It had been a half hour now and still no word. After entertaining his contacts from Sith Space he had gone up here to deal with the matter more directly.

It was dark when he entered. The elegantly dressed, muscular former nobleman from Castagne grew unnerved, drawing his crimson metaled double bladed lightsaber. He snapped the red blade on, waving the intense red light around the room and on his elderly face, head covered by iron gray hair as he walked past walls full of hunting trophies. Stuffed heads and the like. Kinda like how his was about to be stuffed with high grade tibanna.

He got close to his desk. Someone had turned off all the security systems.

He tried to reactivate everything, but the desk console was dead.

Then his lightsaber went dead as hidden blood runes revealed themselves, having been drawn on the desk. The moment he had passed through the arch, he had been deadened to her presence due to the spell she had drawn on it. The moment he had touched the console, he had deadened his lightsaber and his ability to access the Force in the rune's radius. He knew instinctively that if he moved now he was dead.

"Please sit, Count." came a soft feminine voice with an Alderaan accent.

The Count sat in his execution chair, a comfy leather seat.

" Srina Talon really doesn't mind you owning a little money on the side, Count..." Maple Harte said, shimmering into existence, sitting in the seat across from him, a pair of eyes different in color from each other. One was a beautiful wet green. The other, the gold of a Dark Adept.

"Just as long as its not selling Confederacy secrets..."

Count Delut looked at a bottle of nearby brandy.

"May I?" He asked, gesturing to the bottle.

Maple glanced at it. "Sure.'

He slowly, carefully poured a glass, keeping both hands visible.

He took a sip. "Do you mind if I not down this all in one gulp? Gonna be my last one."

"Take your time. I got all night."

The Count took another sip.

"How long?" he asked.

"Last few months. They must have most of what they need, since this is the equivalent of asking me to pick up the dry cleaning. Pays well enough...but you're a drop in the bucket to them ultimately."

"How much?"

"There aren't enough credits in the galaxy to make me consider sparing you. It is useless to attempt monetary appeals. I honor my agreements. Even the bloody ones."

"I can respect that."

"Not enough to practice it yourself."

The Count took another sip.

"I suppose not. I do hope you didn't slaughter my 'entire' security team. They're good individuals. Their only crime is working for me."

"They're taking a nap, but not a dirt one."

(Epic cutaways of Maple battling the security team in the forest with her cane.)

The Count smiled. "They usually don't send someone so...considerate."

"I'm not their usual 'Someone'."

"All too evident..." Another sip.

"So...how are the Sith contacts supposed to die?" He wondered.

"Not well."

"Huh...well...you did a good job with me, certainly." He said, taking another sip. He had enough for one more sip.

"Even if you really 'had' been as clever as you believed yourself, all that means is the assassin they send would certainly be smarter than me." She said. "If I may ask...what prompted your treachery, after The Obsidian Order shielded you from The ICI and IBI?"

"Would you believe me if I said...simple greed? Turns out...there wasn't a lot of things in this world that mattered to me except getting paid."

"That's why your final payment is in blaster bolts. Finish your drink, Count. I've granted you a few moments life more than you deserve."

"And for that, I thank you." he spoke, taking his last sip.

The Count's hand hit a pressure switch on his desk, out popped a pistol slugthrower hidden under a panel and he emptied six shots of fifty caliber fragmenting rounds in her direction...

But her image merely derezzed, the high quality hologram and voice synthezizer planted under his desk generating her image shutting off.

The real Maple Harte, who had been transmitting her image remotely while throwing her voice (A skill taught to her by Nine Lives) pointed her blaster at him from a seat in the darkness to his left.

"Your security captain said you had a gun, he just didn't know where..." she called out.

Count Delut wheeled on her and pulled the trigger. Click.

"That's a Tenloss and Haxian..." Maple spoke calmly, politely. "And you've had your six..."

(Clip of Bond Theme plays)

The invisble heavy bolt from her pistol blew his head completely off his shoulders. Maple immediately left the room to go look for his Sith contacts to complete the second half of her assignment...

 

[Anakwor Farlorn]

FARLORN'S FORLORN

CHAPTER FOUR: THE LOST AND FORGOTTEN
PART ONE​

Location: Fenessa, Roosthold

Weapon: 2x BAW-55 Heavy Blaster Pistol, CDF Officer's Saber, Vibrosword

Character: Colonel Anakwar Farlorn of The First-and-Only Carian Ranger Regiment

It began to rain on the avenue. It was almost ticklish to the skin and created a light mist as it fell down. It sizzled as droplets of waters fell on the exposed fire torches that dotted the wet flagstone of the street. The droplets caught the lights and turned the air into grey noise. The air was full of a raw, metal cold that they all could taste in the back of their lungs. The droplets made plinking noises as they struck their steel bowl helmets, before sliding off the edges, becoming a counterpoint to the heavy, funereal beat of their perfectly matched steps.

To Colonel Anakwor Farlorn he could not help but be reminded of that fateful operation on Xam’Chi during the Virus Outbreak War of Atrisia, one of their first full combat engagements in the name of the Vicelord. It was certainly not their most brutal battles yet but the commander of the Forlorn would always remember the wails of the Lost. He would always remember them screaming at him and his men as they, too, screamed in horror at what they were facing.

He could never forget poor, poor Trooper Soylon he had to personally put down after he was bitten. He could never forget how much he begged for his commander to pull the trigger, how much his pleading eyes went wide and watery as his skin began to turn grey and foam gather at his mouth. How could he ever forget how red his eyes became as the blood veins inside burst and flowed like tears. How much his twin-barreled BAW-55 pistol shrieked in sympathy as Soylon forever turned and charged forward.

It had been a moment of weakness, of hesitation and doubt that he had sworn he would never ever repeat.

He was at the front of the solemn parade of his men. His silver officer’s vibrosword was drawn in the rain. Farlorn was dressed in a straight black officer’s uniform of his rank. A navy blue peaked cap was pressed down on his short parted auburn hair, the silver insignia of Dauntless dulled down. He had removed his medals, golden epaulets, and Zolan aiguillette. Only his rank bars and steel pin of Caria remained. It was tradition to remove all items of celebration during grief and mourning. At his side were the other four Majors: Fennstrum, Erach, Thorin, and Lindemann.

They were all dressed in khaki coats, brown corduroy breeches and webbings, and black puttees around their legs and forearms. They, like their commander, had removed all insignia or had dulled them down. They were soaked nearly to the bone, the cloth of their uniforms slapping heavily around them, but they kept marching on.

Three thousand and a half men marched down the main avenue in flawless regimented blocks that moved as one single entity. Each block was made out of the one-hundred-and-sixty soldiers, their Vyper rifles at their sides. At the front of each company was their commanding officer flanked by two standard-bearers. In the hand of each bearer was the battle-scarred regimental flag of The First and Only Carian Ranger Regiment and the flag of the confederacy flapping in a southerly wind.

It was like a twisted parallel of the Ryloth founding parade, Farlorn thought, hope and joy turned to grief and despair.

Every single of their faces were devoid of smiles and hope, simply just looking down at the heels of their comrades with grim looks. They couldn’t bring themselves to look at the locals of this world that had gathered in curiosity at the procession passing through their streets. How could they?

For many of the soldiers, the rain sweeping down their faces were hiding their tears.

In the center of the marching blocks were two hundred and twelve that did not hold any weapons or banners. They held small well-carved ornate containers no bigger than a jewel box, the ashes of the fallen from the three battles they had fought.

Two hundred and twelve Rangers.

Two hundred and twelve.

Atrisia, Xam’Chi. Forty lost in the rescue operations.

Thracoir, Tamiz. A hundred and four lost to the grinding urban war for the slave capital of that cursed cold world.

Dome City, Ryloth. Sixty-eight lost for the brutal battle for vehicle depot sixteen and the subsequent clean-ups.

All in just a few months.

It was simply the nature of war that you expected losses and death. You expected to read the casualty lists after engagements and see long, long lines of names, some of which you knew. You expected to have to sign off the circumstance of the death complied by the commanding officers. You expected to have to write letters of sympathy for now empty families and lonely partners. You expected to get angry letters from so many, placing the sole blame for their deaths on your feet.

In the aftermath of the harrowing battle of Tatooine, three years pas during his service with the Zolan, he had spent nearly a month dealing with the price of his victory at the Peaks. So many letters signed that it had become almost robotic for him. So many names that he knew, so many lost brothers and sisters, that they had begun to blend into a single entity for him: Death. He could still remember the graves they had to dig when the bodies were transported back home, white stacks rolling on seemingly for eternity.

He wasn’t a stranger to death, having received and dealt it for most of his life. Long ago, it had simply been a statistic, just numbers on a datapad, and new uniforms fill in the gaps. He had seen his men as mere tools to use as stepping stones for his career, to be cast away when broken.

To be lost and forgotten when it was all over.

But somehow to Farlorn, the deaths of Carians hurt him more than he had first thought.

Maybe it was their current unique nature. He stole a look back with the corner of his eye at the procession, at his men. They were the last of their world. All of them had lost their homeworld to a rouge Imperial fleet that had razed their entire world. It was on that night that he had made the hardest and cruelest decision in the face of impossible odds to flee the world with the forces that had already been drawn up for service in the Confederate armies. He had saved only three thousand and seven hundred souls and forced them to watch as their world burned right before their eyes, knowing they could do nothing at all.

It was the cruelest fate for them to suffer casualties for they were the last of their world, of their people and kind. Every single death was a Carian forever gone from existence, impossible to replace, or even replicate. They would eventually all be wiped out, that was the sad truth, most likely in battle.

Maybe it was that.

Or maybe it was because he had grown through the years to begin to care for lives again. He could feel again. For the two years, he had led the Forlorn, he had grown to learn their names, to know their stories behind, and to learn they were more than just numbers. They were brothers and sisters that had given their entire souls to the Confederacy in order to ensure to the genocide against their people would never happen again.

He could only envy their dedication, these soldiers that gave themselves to him.

 

[Arro Peradun]

​

Wearing: XXX
Interacting With: N/A
Nearby: Fury of Aerðs | Gerwald Lechner | Redd

Returning to the realm that encompassed home was, in the end, the decision the recently wandering Felacatian had made, after becoming disillusioned with the woman who deigned to train him at first, and later showed her true colours. He had been foolish, entranced initially by her beauty, and pulled along by her energy; 'unstable' was too kind a word for Scherezade DeWinter, but he had held his tongue, in leaving. Considerable physical prowess he might have, as was natural to his species, but power to defend against a potential evisceration at fifty paces, he did not. Not as of yet, without a personal shield. He hadn't been allowed to take the gear from his enlisted years with him, in leaving Felacat behind.

Though he had seen so few worlds outside of his origin, his knowledge of the worlds out beyond the atmosphere, gained in sheer childhood curiosity, fuelled his interest in seeing more of what the galaxy had to offer. One such world had a festival that, when war came to Felacat and took from him many brothers and sister in arms, the elements of it settled solidly in his mind, and filled in his dreams of setting their memories to rest on the water. The mental construct helped him through his grief, but it was a pale thing in comparison to standing on the shore, remembering each name as he crouched and set the lantern to float, his tail curling around his shins, and arms perching crossed on his knees as citrine orange eyes watched the lantern float on, as if to carry souls into whatever realm waited for them next.

"In fields, may we meet again," he murmured, eyes briefly closing with the words; he'd wanted to do this for a long time, "frrree and underrr the sun."

Whatever discomfort at his quickly chosen manner of dress he held was purged by memories, such as levity in a bastardised game of Sabacc, pranking bunks, racing at cleaning and reassembling their arms, challenging each other to be good, better, best. Arro's eyes opened again, looking over his and other lanterns that were taken by the current, wondering at the stories and names of the lost.

 

[Faye Malvern]

Location: The Streets of Fenessa
Objective: Light a Lantern
Wearing: [x]
Tags: Adron Malvern

Faye’s head nodded feveredly, as if she couldn’t have moved it quick enough to agree with her brother. “I was too. You have no idea how difficult a man you are to find.” She spoke with a grin, but there was some hint of playful frustration in her voice. “I chased you across the Galaxy twice over.” He had mentioned Illyria, and she had nodded to his comment. “I will always consider Illyria my home, it is no replacement for Serenno but… wherever you are is home.” She reached out to give his hand another squeeze, to look at him with nothing but truth in her eyes.​

​

Then the conversation turned to their mother. At first, Faye did nothing but finish the sparkling amber liquid in her glass. No matter how she attempted to make it seem, the death of her mother had been the hardest pill for Faye to swallow. ​

​

“Thank you.” Her voice was almost a whisper in response. In truth, that was what Faye had strived for the moment she had found Adron. In the years they were separated she had lived somewhat of a wild life. Always running, always under some sort of threat, always looking for a place to call home again, and when she had found it… She clung to it like a dying man clung to life. Everything she had done up to now, everything she had made of herself, was in a desperate attempt to keep it all. ​

​

At Adron’s bidding, she rose from her seat, sweeping the edges of her dress from under the table as she did. The cool night air of Fenessa practically begged them to take a walk, so Faye took her brother's hand with a gentle smile to guide them both out of the door. “I think we should buy the biggest one there is.” She shot him her attempt at a playful grin. Being the brightest star in the bleak night sky had always been the Malvern way, Faye couldn’t have said they were honouring their family properly if they didn’t at least attempt it. ​