Faction Future Regents Dinner [THR]

[Pillar of Faith]

An Exclusive Invitation

Aurelian Veruna warmly invites you to a truly exclusive event: the Future Regents' Dinner. This year, we're stepping away from the grand marble halls of Theed's Palace. Instead, the gathering will take place on the picturesque, silvered shores of Kadaara, offering a more select and intimate setting.

Forget vaulted ceilings and crowded, gilded rooms. We'll be dining instead at a private coastal residence, under the open sky, serenaded by salt winds and illuminated by the setting sun. Here, close company allows for deeper connections, and genuine conversation matters more than any formal ceremony.

This will be a truly rare and intimate evening, carefully curated. Every guest has been chosen with precision, ensuring that all voices present will be valued. While this dinner marks the start of Naboo's event season, its real significance lies in the powerful alliances it will foster among the select few in attendance.

Attire is formal, keeping the seaside atmosphere in mind. Your specific date will be shared once your attendance is confirmed. The location is a private coastal estate in Kadaara, and full details will be provided only to confirmed guests.

Your invitation is a unique privilege, and your presence will send a clear signal. We look forward to welcoming you.

Sincerely,

Aurelian Veruna
Future King of Naboo
Host of the Future Regents Dinner

 

[Dominic Praxon]

His luxury speeder hummed along the coast, its polished frame catching the last hues of the fading sun. His datapad rested against his knee, glowing faintly with the latest polling figures. Seventeen percent. A rise, certainly. Not as much as he had quietly hoped for after the appearance with Loria Sorelle. Still, it was progress. had more intended for the distracting and affable noblewoman, should she still be inclined to play her part. Her unwitting permission mattered, especially now that Marcellan Sorelle's own numbers had dipped. Some of her father's voters had defected...to him.

He was climbing to his first of many summits, slowly.

And yet, Dominic's satisfaction was tempered by irritation. Veruna's "Future Regents' Dinner" carried the insufferable implication that the contest was already decided. As though Bastila Sal-Soren had already withdrawn, as though the matter of Naboo's sovereignty had been sealed with Veruna's signature. Dominic set the datapad aside, gazing out the tinted glass as the silvered waters of Kadaara stretched toward the horizon. His thoughts lingered on Bastila. She had healed now, discharged from the hospital and her strength returning. Relief welled within him at the news, though he buried it quickly. Bastila was not an option. Not really. Not really ever. Politics first. Always politics first.

His attire reflected the statement he wished to make. It was refined and measured, truly the epitome of Naboo noble style stripped of excess. A high-collared tunic of muted emerald trimmed in silver thread, a long coat cut sharp to the line of his shoulders, and boots polished to a shine that caught the dying light. No ostentation, no gaudy jewels. Just a man of means and discipline, dressed to honor the evening without ceding to vanity.

The speeder slowed as the estate's lanterns came into view. Warm light spilled over terraces that reached toward the sea. Dominic dismissed his driver at the gate and stepped out alone, preferring no accompaniment. Tonight was not about spectacle. It was about survival. His only wish was to avoid any disaster that might undo the fragile momentum he had begun to build.

With the salt wind at his back and the muted roar of the waves beneath, he walked toward the destination. Good, I am first.

Staff did their duty, and greeted him with appropriate deference. Dominic's eyes fell over the place settings, noting his near the head of the table. It was not time for seating. Instead, he took a perch near the edge of the room, looking out of the hues that played over the distant sky.

He may have been a player at Veruna's carefully planned game, but he was hardly one to play by the rules.

Aurelian Veruna @OPEN​

 

[Loria Sorelle]

LORIA SORELLE
Kaadara Estate, Naboo

The speeder purred low as it curved around the last bend, its silvered frame catching the fading light as the waters of Kadaara came into view. Below her the shoreline stretched, still and gleaming, the waves tipped with the soft glow of dusk.

For all the splendour of Theed's marble halls, it was this coast- quiet, untamed, yet touched with refinement- that caught her breath.

As the speeder descended, she smoothed the folds of her gown. A blue-grey dress, chosen to echo both sky and sea, its threads caught the light with each movement. A pale silver shawl, light as foam, rested on her shoulders, stirred gently by the breeze. Pearls traced her ears and wrists- nothing ostentatious, but enough to speak of her place among Naboo's daughters.

The speeder hushed to stillness upon the stone drive. Twilight lingered for a final moment on its polished frame before giving way to shadow. The air was different here- salty & sweet, threaded with the hush of waves.

No crowd waited on the terraces. No chatter or laughter carried on the wind. Only lanterns marked the path, their light wavering, and the faint movements of staff working with quiet precision.

When she stepped down onto the stone, the coolness beneath her heels and the breath of sea air through her hair steadied her, though the faint quickening in her chest remained.

Attendants came at once, bowing with ease, their words of welcome soft, restrained- the tone of a place not yet filled with guests, but already heavy with expectation. Ahead, light spilled from the villa, warm and golden against the darkening sky.

Their lanterns stretched long shadows across the path as they led her forward. Each step carried her nearer the villa's glow, the sound of the sea fading behind her, replaced by the first strains of music drifting from its open arches.

At the terrace she paused, letting the stillness settle. Lamps lined the balustrade, staff moved with quiet purpose, and the hush that held the air was less absence than anticipation- as though the evening itself waited.

Drawing her shawl closer, she allowed a faint smile to touch her lips, composed, certain. And then she stepped on, into the heart of Veruna's gathering...

Aurelian Veruna , Dominic Praxon & Open

​

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Cassian sat with the parchment before him, the sea breeze from his own terrace stirring the candlelight. Aurelian's invitation lay open at his side, the seal broken but the words still pressing against him with their weight. An honor, yes. But also a summons. Veruna never did anything without intention. Each guest, he had written, was chosen with precision. That alone was enough to remind Cassian that the evening would be more than a mere dinner, it would be a stage where loyalties, ambitions, and rivalries would be measured in quiet glances across a candlelit table. Still, it would not do to decline. Naboo's future was being written in gatherings such as these, not in public courts. To absent himself would be to surrender his house's voice, not that it would be silent with Sibylla Abrantes at Veruna's side. House Abrantes had never been silent. He dipped his quill, steady in his hand. His words would be respectful, but not subservient; warm, but not yielding. Veruna might style himself "Future King," but kingship was a thing proven in conduct, not merely claimed in title.

So he wrote:

"It is with gratitude and humility that I accept your most gracious invitation…"

Yes, that would do. He could grant honor without surrendering ground. And as he closed with his signature, Cassian Abrantes, Eldest son of House Abrantes, he resolved that he would attend not simply as a guest, but as a guardian of his house's dignity, and a quiet judge of the man who sought to rule them all.

He chose his attire carefully that evening. The letter had urged formality tempered by the sea, and yet he dressed in the colors of his house edged with silver. formal, but not in a pretentious manner as his counterpart had done on several occasions. He wanted to be remembered for his presence, not his tailoring. As his valet adjusted the clasp at his collar, Cassian caught his own reflection and wondered what Veruna was really after. And what part his sister played in this.

The ride to the coast was long, the Naboo countryside rolling past in muted twilight hues. He found himself listening to the faint hum of the speeder, letting it calm his thoughts. What did one speak of at such a gathering? The future of their world, certainly, but such words were never uttered plainly. They came wrapped in compliments, woven between toasts, hidden in the weight of silence after a pointed remark. When the speeder finally slowed, Cassian stepped out onto stone. The sea lay before him, restless, and beyond it the coastal estate rose like something from a painting, lanterns already lit, their glow mirrored on the water. He paused there, just for a moment, breathing in the salt air.

It struck him then, more than it had at his desk, that this was not merely a dinner. This was a test. Aurelian would measure every word, every pause, every sidelong glance. And yet Cassian felt no fear. He had lived his life honoring his house, carrying its weight with quiet pride. Whatever game was meant to be played, Cassian knew he would walk into that house as himself, neither grasping at crowns nor bending knee too easily.

With that thought steadying him, he ascended the steps. The murmur of conversation spilled out from the open veranda, mingling with the hush of waves. Cassian straightened his shoulders, allowed himself the smallest of smiles, and entered the evening that would shape so much more than a meal.

Aurelian Veruna Dominic Praxon Loria Sorelle

 

[Kael Varnok]

The speeder touched down with a muted whine, its engines fading into the breath of the sea. Kael stepped down slowly, his boots meeting the stone with a weight that seemed at odds with the elegance of the occasion. Unlike the others who had arrived before him, he wore no silk, no house colors. Only the folds of Jedi robes — darker than most, the fabric shadowed in tone, catching only the faintest glint from the lanterns along the terrace.


It had not been his intention to accept the invitation. Jedi did not involve themselves in such gatherings. And yet the message had reached him with unmistakable precision, as if Veruna had given the messanger his name knowing the answer before Kael himself did. To decline would be to step aside from whatever currents moved beneath this dinner — and Kael was not in the habit of surrendering understanding so easily.

The attendants bowed, though not with the smooth familiarity they offered the nobles. To them, he was something apart, uncertain. His acknowledgment was brief, no flourish, just a steady nod as his eyes lifted to the villa's glow.

Inside, voices already mingled. Soft, careful, deliberate. Kael's presence would ripple among them like a stone cast into a still pond. He drew the robe closer around him, letting the sea breeze carry away whatever hesitation lingered, and stepped forward.

The staff moved aside at once, lantern light painting the lines of his face in sharp relief. A Jedi among future kings and heirs. A shadow where they had expected only reflections of themselves.

Kael did not hurry. His stride was measured, quiet, a contrast to the weight he carried into the room. He had come not as supplicant, nor as challenger. Simply as himself — and that, he knew, would be enough to shift the course of the evening.

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Dress: XXX
Aurelian Veruna Dominic Praxon Loria Sorelle Cassian Abrantes Kael Varnok

'Aurelian Veruna warmly invites you…'

Cora scoffed before she’d finished the invitation's first line.

Then - perhaps due to a sprinkling of ill placed karma - she choked on her own saliva, which lead to a coughing spasm. The fact that she was down to a single functioning lung would not deter her derision of Aurelian Veruna.

Once she’d regained her breath, she responded in the affirmative.

—​

"Go," Cora waved Fabian away with a gentle, languid motion. "Mingle. You needn't worry about me."

The Ukatian King looked uncertain. His pale blue eyes darted from Cora, seated in her hoverchair, to the well-dressed crowd they found themselves on the precipice on. He'd been rightly concerned over her health given her near-death on Arkania, but she'd been insistent on attending.

I'd simply like to visit the seaside, she had said when he strayed too close to questioning her motives.

"Are you certain?" Fabian adjusted a lock of hair behind his ear as he observed the attendees. Naboo aristocrats were in an entirely different class than Ukatian nobility. "It wouldn't do to leave you alone."

Cora tsked and held up her glass of wine. Cradled in her palm, the burgundy liquid caught the low lighting with a gentle shimmer. It nearly replicated the subtle luster woven into the diaphanous white and blue silks she wore. A matching shawl draped over her shoulders and chest, hiding a grievous wound that refused to heal.

"Go on. I'm in good company."

 

[Kael Varnok]

Kael had only just crossed the threshold when the subtle thread tugged at him. It was not the golden music spilling from the veranda, nor the sharp perfume of wealth that clung to the gathering — it was something quieter. A flicker of presence in the Force, faint but undeniable, resting with the woman who sat apart, wine glass in hand and shawl drawn close.

For a moment he lingered, gaze slipping past nobles trading rehearsed pleasantries, before his steps carried him toward her. The dark folds of his robe set him apart from their finery, but Kael moved with a measured calm, unhurried, unconcerned with stares that followed him.

He came to stand near her table, not so close as to presume, but close enough that the soft salt wind carried his voice when he spoke.

"You wear the weight well," he said quietly, eyes not on the shawl but on hers. There was no pity in his tone, only recognition — of pain carried, of survival not yet finished.

A pause, then his head inclined slightly. "It isn't only this sea I feel stirring here tonight. You've walked closer to the same path I have than most in this hall."


He let the words settle, offering her the choice — to brush them aside as riddles, or to acknowledge what he sensed. Either way, he was in no hurry.

Aurelian Veruna Corazona von Ascania Dominic Praxon Loria Sorelle Cassian Abrantes

 

[Her]

---

---

Naboo, Mid Rim systems;
Kadaara, The High Republic;
Vūm, The Tarsai Vigil.
Tags: Aurelian Veruna | Dominic Praxon | Loria Sorelle | Cassian Abrantes | Kael Varnok | Corazona von Ascania

---

A fallen Jedi, turned Sith Lord, stood on the ramparts of a boat departing Kadaara Starport under the veil of the Art of the Small for a true Sith Master never reveals him or herself.

The undercover Dark Lord of the Sith was on the move.

A return to the so-called 'southern systems'- formerly founded by the now defunct Royal Naboo Republic- had been brought about through an invitation delivered to the Tarsai Vigil based on the planet Enarc. A participant in the 'Five Veils Revitalization Programme', the subsidiary to the mega-conglomerate 'Cortessan Finance Group' had made waves within the burgeoning High Republic since it's reformation earlier this year through it's taxation of the trade route, instalment of heavy tolls, and patrol craft monitoring the hyperlane under the excuse of security involving seizures of goods, commerce and invasive inspections of civilian or commercial craft on the behalf of the enigmatic Wend Maricon.

They were increasingly becoming an unpopular entity, as it had been designed to be.

Specks of ocean water sprayed up along the craft as it edged closer to the private coastal estate in the control of House Veruna-- a formerly disgraced family of aristocrats, nobles and diplomats which had clawed their way back into both economical and political influence across Naboo. Could they be the ones to bring about a resolution to the Vigil and their unpopular (dare say invasive) policies and customs?

~

In 902 ABY, the nascent High Republic passed the Repatriation and Naturalization Act awarding refugees (whom had survived the Second Great Hyperspace War) voluntarily citizenship for those who either fled the last Star War or the subsequent conflicts that had followed in the form of the 'Enclave-Alliance Conflict' or 'The Core Wars' contested at the turn of the ninth-century. A benefactor of the bill traversed the walkways leading up to the venue after disembarking the small craft which had taken them across the tranquil waters of Kadaara.

A short walk later Her entered Aurelian Veruna 's game. Under candlelight and Nabooian aristocracy, she walked along the edges of the room, and beneath the veneer of their hat, she observed the other invitees. There was Dominic Praxon -- a Junior Senatorial Advisor from the High Assembly and nearby them was Loria Sorelle of whom she was unfamiliar with. Those same crimson eyes continued to scan the room passing over Corazona von Ascania as she sat there in the hoverchair, and Fabian Albinac, King of Ukatis, watching as Kael Varnok introduced himself to the Jedi Mystic.

Pouting thoughtfully, Her kept to herself, with their eyes out for the man who had invited them all...

---

 

[Roman Vossari]

​

LOCATION: Kadaara, Naboo
TAGS: @Open | Corazona von Ascania

​

Roman stood a short distance away, partially hidden by the soft glow of lanterns lining the terrace. He certainly wasn't dressed like the Naboo nobility surrounding the King. His jacket was plain, utilitarian, and his boots seemed more suited for dirt than polished marble. His posture spoke of someone utterly uninterested in courtly games: shoulders squared, arms loosely folded, his expression sharpened by quiet vigilance. He wasn't there for the scenery, the wine, or even the opulence of Aurelian Veruna's seaside gathering.

His gaze, as always, stayed fixed on Cora. She sat in her hoverchair, cloaked in an unbending calm that belied her pain. Even the wineglass in her hand felt like a calculated prop in her performance. Roman remembered too clearly watching her struggle for breath, seeing her clutch her in pain when she thought no one noticed. Those memories cut him deeper than any blade. Whatever had happened on Arkania had taken something vital from her, and he wouldn't allow anyone else to try.

When Fabian hesitated, Roman's jaw tightened. He didn't move though. The King's doubts were not his to ease. Roman felt no loyalty to Ukatis' crown, no deference for the monarch's pale eyes darting nervously around the room. But when Cora waved him off, Roman saw her decision ripple through the air. She wanted him gone, and she wanted to appear unbreakable. He would respect that.

Even so, he lingered, keeping just enough distance to not intrude but close enough that no courtier would mistake Cora for unattended. His eyes swept the room, assessing each polished smile and jeweled guest, weighing the potential threat. Naboo, for all its Serenno-like sheen, felt to Roman like the same gilded rot: aristocrats bloated on their own perceived importance. He endured them, as he endured all unpleasantness: with silence and patience, holding the knowledge that he could vanish the moment he chose.

Endure, for her. That was his sole reason for even stepping foot on this jewel-box world. That, and a quiet promise he'd made to himself: once his duty to Cora was done, he would slip away to the Porte estate. An old friend waited there, and the thought of that reunion offered a small measure of calm as the salt wind tugged at his hair.

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

Open​

The tinted transparasteel caught her reflection in fractured pieces, a ghost overlaying the coastline beyond. For a moment, it wasn't Kadaara she saw, but Parrlay and that storm slick night when her entire world had shifted course. Aurelian's voice still rang in her mind, raw and deliberate as he damned his own father and flung his name into the Sovereign campaign with theatric bravado. Naboo was still whispering about it.

And now here they were again, on the cusp of another performance. The Future Regents' Dinner. Aurelian's stage, his confidence still burning stronger than ever as he declared himself Naboo's future king.

He wasn't wrong. Though he wouldn't be standing on these shores without her hand at his back, and that truth soured against her tongue. Not the thought of him wearing the crown, she had accepted that the moment she chose to support his claim. No, what gnawed at her was the echo of Ravion Corvalis 's words, festering like maggots in her skull, cultivated by the Swan of Solleu's poisoned quill.

Ever the pragmatist, Lady Sibylla prefers to whisper wisdom in the Prince's ear rather than wear the crown herself...

Influence without scrutiny.

It irked her. More than she wished it did.

The transport slowed to a stop, scattering the thought as the door hissed open. Cool air rolled in, carrying the tang of salt and the hush of waves against stone. An attendant's hand reached for hers, and Sibylla let her lacy gloved fingers settle into the gesture, stepping down with practiced grace.

The dress clung to her slender figure, the black Karlini silk catching the dying light in an opalescent sheen, each step giving off shimmer akin to the surface of a lucious black pearl. It lent weight to her stride, just as the careful curl of her mahogany hair framed the hazel sharpened in her eyes. She looked every inch the poised ambassador she had been molded to be, every step deliberate, every breath seemingly steady. Hidden, of course, was the vibroknife sheathed at her thigh and the small personal shield activator that had been tucked in the dress's pocket, easy enough for her to reach to activate.

The estate itself stole her breath for the barest instant, watching as dusk painted the stone in an amber glow, the sea spray threading through the air as loose tendrils of her hair tugged playfully against her cheeks. For that singular moment, Sibylla allowed herself to simply breathe, letting herself remember what it felt like to just exist.

But peace was a fragile thing, quickly shattered by the arrival of another attendant, who guided her toward the stairs. The moment slipped, replaced by the hum of expectation and the inevitable choreography of another staged evening. She could already imagine Aurelian's maddening smirk, the calculated surprises he very likely prepared for one end or another, each connection like another thread in his ever expanding web. Playing his part to the utmost professional capacity.

That parting thought laced through her mind with another faint wave of irritation, and Sibylla quickly told herself to stop it. She had to focus on what the night's events would bring. What it meant. For her role would be no different. She would need to listen, observe, and weave her own alliances. Every House present was a vote to be courted for Voice of the Houses, and she could not afford to falter or be distracted by any means.

So Sibylla lifted her chin, composure polished into armor, and ascended. A faint smile curved her lips, the perfect illusion of serenity as she crossed the threshold of yet another battlefield cloaked as a banquet. But at least friendly faces should be here. She confirmed Cassian Abrantes had accepted the invitation. Was he already here?

The doors parted, ushering her into the glow of candlelight and the murmur of carefully chosen voices. All at once, the hum of power pressed close, where every word, every glance, every smile would be sharpened to purpose. Sibylla's hazel eyes swept the room, reading its currents, but lingered on the empty space at the head of the table.

She did not need to wonder who would claim it.

And when Aurelian Veruna finally stepped into the light, she would be ready...whether to play his supporter, his temperance, or both.

 

[Dominic Praxon]

Dominic had taken up his perch near the edge of the lantern-lit room, overlooking the terrace and the slow rhythm of the sea below. Attendants had seen to him with care, placing his seat close to the head of the table, a gesture that he noted but did not linger on. It was the arrivals that occupied his thoughts.

Lady Loria Sorelle, elegant in blue-grey and pearls, every inch the noble daughter. He allowed himself the faintest curl of a smile. She was precisely the kind of presence he needed to be seen beside. Moments later Cassian Abrantes appeared, the elder Abrantes dressed in the quiet dignity of House colors edged with silver. A principled man, no doubt, though principled men could be convinced when given the right assurances.

Others arrived, and he would see to their whims at an appropriate juncture, but for now he had work to do.

Dominic moved as Loria crossed into the warm glow of the villa. His smile sharpened, the very image of Naboo’s courtly charm.

“Lady Sorelle,” he said, offering a bow that was courteous without being meek, “would you indulge me a moment? A walk about the room perhaps, before the seating begins. After the latest gossip column, I imagine half the city will be in a fluster if we are seen together.” His tone carried a conspiratorial lilt, a hint of mirth tugging at his words.

He leaned closer, voice lowering to a whisper. “I was shocked to see a mention of us at all. I asked Lysa — she swears she never spoke a word of our first meeting. Which leads me to believe…” He let his gaze wander theatrically across the hall, “…someone must have been watching from elsewhere. There are eyes everywhere, it seems.”

His bemused smile returned, as he extended his arm. “Come. Let them have something to whisper about. And then, if you would permit me, I’d like to introduce us both to Cassian Abrantes. He seems the sort of man whose company is best enjoyed early in the evening.”

With that, Dominic turned his course toward the eldest of House Abrantes, hopeful to have Loria at his side. With her on his arm, he would make every step echo a little louder across Veruna’s carefully staged gathering.

Direct: Loria Sorelle Cassian Abrantes
Indirect: Aurelian Veruna Sibylla Abrantes Her Kael Varnok Corazona von Ascania​

 

[Raylin Fall]

No, he wasn't sure why he was invited either.
​

In fact, he was surprised anyone knew his name. Or maybe someone let slip about his success after the-

His mind was shaken when the speeder stopped. He was, unlike most of the people- in fact, all, not wrapped in Naboo's best. He felt out of place immediately. He walked, talked, moved, and analyzed everything differently. He didn't bow, he shook hands. He didn't take lessons, he read books when he could. He was far removed, far beneath some of these people on the social scale, economic scale, influence scale- and just about every other scale he could think of that came to numbers and metrics. They were old money, old enough to spin tales from when Naboo's Queen almost got kidnapped by robots. Or was it androids? He couldn't remember.

He entered into the room, adjusting his coat- his medals, insignias, shoes polished high above regulation and standards and..... felt underdressed. Felt. Unimportant. A few Jedi (the robes and the general whoozy feeling gave them away). Politicians. Only one he recognized from the news. Corazona von Ascania . He mainly remembered because she had a funny name. Very regal. Very noble, pristine.

He, rightly, perhaps smartly, went for the safe option for the evening:

Having a drink in hand.

It made him look poised, elegant, classy. His uniform did that too, but the drink in hand, with one arm behind his back? Sealed the deal- he was a bonafide gentlemen here tonight. Among the who's-who of the Republic. He wasn't Fall- killer, medic, Commando and a bit wayward, no. He was Sergeant Fall of the Grand Army of the Republic. A Sergeant, a professional, a Commando.

Fancy, that man, he thought to himself when he reframed his mindset in that way. He could blend in and rub elbows with fancy people. Right?

right?

 

[John Locke]

Wearing: Would you believe, a suit?​

_________________________________________________

Naboo | Kadaara​

Tagging: Open
_________________________________________________

Power and influence ebbed and flowed like the waves of the oceans that covered much of Naboo's surface. Like the dark waters that rolled beneath the speeder as it slid through the air, lights reflected in the white foam that gilded the crest of the waves as they crashed into the beach, the sound of the waves drowned out by the hum of the speeders and the music that echoed from the house they all congregated at.

It wasn't hard to pull the flight data of the guests at the house, certainly easier than it had been to lay his hands on an invitation to the event. A list of names and affiliations scrolled across John's vision as the speeder dipped lower, Charles' hand on the controls ensuring a smooth descent. The snap-hiss of the door opening brought with it a surge of fresh air carrying with it the touch of salt. If he closed his eyes then it was like he was anywhere else on the planet, as if a step would carry him across the sea to a quiet cove, away from the drama and politics that came with any event like this.

It was the thought of a moment, a small sliver of a crack in his mask that vanished as soon as it appeared. By the time John stepped out of the speeder his face had smoothed back into the face of the autocrat who had driven his company to surmount the galaxy.

Today was about the start of Naboo's social season, about the ebb and flow of power between the planet's elite. But for the businessman it was about one thing only, laying an eye on the future of Naboo and the High Republic. To see which relationships would be worth cultivating and who was not worth his time.

A hand came up, tugging at the collar of his jacket, smoothing it into place as he stepped into the hall, eyes lifting a moment to take in the vaulted ceilings and decorations for a moment before he stepped through to portal and waiting crowd. Tonight would be an interesting, if nothing else was true he was sure of that.

 

[Decarii Tithe]

Kadaara, Naboo

Sibylla Abrantes

A figure moved quickly through the well-appointed lakehouse, darting between cover. The young woman ducked into the refresher and left by a different door, then took position behind an ornate flower arrangement. She slipped into groups of guests as they moved about the villa, using them as cover to move to the next room. While she was dressed the part, it was clear she was up to something.

Decarii Tithe took a sip of her sparkling sweet wine as she scanned the room, pretending to be engrossed in conversation with a Mon Calamari admiral. The coast was clear, and her subterfuge had been successful. With her mission complete, she could finally enjoy the evening.

Just so long as her date did not find her again.

Securing an invite to the exclusive event had been as simple as placing a few calls to minor Naboo nobility. It had taken no time for the lawyer to find a blue-blooded looking for an attractive woman to complete his outfit. Decarii had endured him long enough to get through security, then swiftly ditched him.

She had business to attend to, not the drool banter of a young man who cruised through the galaxy on no merits beyond his surname.

A familiar face appeared across the room - Junior Representative Sibylla Abrantes of Enarc. Decarii had worked with her on legislation in the High Assembly, and most recently, the pair had survived the Black Sun attack on Wielu. She was also a member of a Royal House, and as such, someone who could one day help the ambitious lawyer. Decarii grabbed another glass of sparkling sweet wine and approached the noble.

“Lady Abrantes,” Decarii said as she greeted Sibylla. “How about this place, huh? Big step up from last time we spoke. Much more my style.” While the night was young, she doubted that Sith assassins and Black Sun brawlers were going to come in blasting like they had done on Wielu. “But what about you, how’s things on Enarc? Senator Sarn… I mean, that’s one tough operator. Keeps your on your toes I bet.”

 

[Loria Sorelle]

LORIA SORELLE
Kaadara Estate, Naboo

As she glided further into the heart of the gathering, the room began to fill, the hush of arrival giving way to a steady swell of chatter. Nobles in silks, robed Jedi, officers in crisp dress uniform, and businessfolk from distant worlds filtered in one by one.

The variety surprised her, and a small smirk tugged at her lips at the implications: such a gathering could only serve the Prince's image, provided the evening unfolded as planned.

Not to mention the damage it would do to Dominic's wallet.

Dominic… The thought of him slipped into her mind, softening her composure with quiet reflection. Would he be here tonight? Her smirk deepened at the memory of their first encounter- and their second, each no less delightful than the last. Somehow their paths seemed to cross with a regularity that felt less like chance and more like inevitability.

Her name rang out from behind her, warm and familiar. She stopped, turning with practiced grace. The villa's golden glow lit her features and caught the delicate embroidery of her gown.

Her smirk blossomed into a smile. 'Lord Praxon!' She dipped in a polite curtsy, returning his bow in proper form. 'I'd be delighted to! And yes- you've seen the column too?' For the briefest moment her smile faltered, a flicker of masked frustration passing across her face.

'After my family found out, they had a few choice words for me- though I shan't bore you with the details…' Her voice softened, lightening again. 'Your name came up no fewer times, I recall. And did you see what they wrote about Prince Aurelian Veruna and Lady Sibylla Abrantes ?'

She felt the ease between them grew with every word, though beneath it all lingered the faint suspicion that Dominic knew more than he let on.

Her gaze drifted over the hall before returning to him. 'At least many here aren't of the nobility. Still, gossip travels faster than light it seems- no matter how many eyes are watching.'

Their talk of The Swan of Solleu faded naturally, until Dominic extended his arm in invitation. Without hesitation, she accepted, resting her hand lightly upon it as they began a leisurely stroll through the hall.

'Of course, I haven't yet had the chance to meet the Abrantes'.'

Interacting with Dominic Praxon & Cassian Abrantes .

Aurelian Veruna , Sibylla Abrantes , Her , Kael Varnok , Corazona von Ascania , Roman Vossari , Raylin Fall , John Locke , Decarii Tithe .

Referencing the Society Papers of Naboo, Vol. 1 by The Swan of Solleu (x)

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Interacting: Kael Varnok
Mentioned: Roman Vossari

Cora watched, with a measure of contentment, as Fabian slipped his way into the crowd. Good. He needed to rub elbows with the galactic elite and grow more comfortable interacting within their courts.

"You wear the weight well," he said quietly, eyes not on the shawl but on hers. There was no pity in his tone, only recognition — of pain carried, of survival not yet finished.

The servos of her hoverchair gave a faint whine as Cora directed her seat to turn towards an unexpected voice. A man garbed not in aristocratic finery, but in the unmistakable robes of a Jedi warrior.

Another sip of wine gave way to a thoughtful hum.

"Not the particular weight I'd like to wear, I'm afraid."

Cradled in her palm, she gave her glass a subtle stir. The drink rippled gently.

"And what path would that be?"

Just as she had observed Fabian, Cora felt Roman's eyes linger over her. Watchful, as always. This sort of thing had been akin his own stomping grounds, once upon a time. Tragedy had given way to something quieter in his life, and she'd guard his peace for as long as she could.

 

[Kael Varnok]

Kael's gaze lingered on the ripple in her glass, then lifted back to her eyes. For a moment, the lantern-light caught the sharp line of his expression — too sharp, too knowing, before smoothing back into composure.

"Not all burdens are chosen," he said, voice steady. Yet there was a quiet iron beneath it, something that hinted at battles fought not only on fields of war but within himself. "Some are thrust upon us, some are carved into us. Still… you carry it as though it belongs to you."

A faint curve touched his mouth, not quite a smile. "That is what makes you different from most in this hall."

For an instant, the Force around him seemed to tighten, dark edges brushing at the air like the scent of ozone before a storm. Then, just as quickly, it receded — his shoulders easing as if nothing had shifted at all.

"The path?" Kael let the word linger, as if weighing how much truth to place in it. Finally, his head inclined toward her, low enough to make it clear the answer was for her alone.


"It is the one that leaves scars on the body and the spirit alike. You know it. Or you would not have asked."

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Bastila Sal-Soren]

THE SAL-SOREN ESTATE; NABOO​

The glass pane caught a flicker of her reflection as she adjusted the fall of her hair. For a moment, Bastila lingered there, caught by surprise, staring at herself as though the woman in the mirror might flinch away first. The shadows beneath her eyes were stubborn, refusing to hide no matter how much Naboo cosmetic powder she had pressed over them. She had softened the hollowness carved by weeks of the hospital’s too-sterile air, but still it remained; painfully obvious to anyone who looked too closely. Her ribs still ached if she drew too sharp a breath, a constant reminder that she was still the girl in the hospital bed rather than one of the potential monarch-elects. Not that she needed reminding. Each purple ghost of bruising climbed her side beneath the silk dressings of the night.

“The doctor suggested you don’t go, Miss Sal-Soren.” The voice came from Modrick, one of the house guards; one of the few allies she’d found within her own household since her return. “I am eager to agree with him.”

“Your concern is noted, Modrick.” Her reply was low and inattentive, her gaze still fixed on the mirror as she took in the gown now secured around her. It was the first evening she had allowed herself to dress for society again. The gown had been borrowed from her sister’s collection, chosen with care: light enough for Kadaara’s coastal breeze, formal enough to keep Aurelian’s sense of occasion intact. A soft shimmer; blue, threaded with turquoise and aquamarine, it moved like water when she turned. Yet its real gift was concealment. It shielded more than it revealed, hiding the worst of her unhealed body.

“Yet you still parade your intentions of going,” he pressed, his rich red cap twisting between his hands as he paced near the door. “My people are here for house security. I cannot keep you covered there as well as keep this place locked down. Bastila, it isn’t safe.”

“Last I checked, Modrick, the majority of the house will be at the dinner. And unlike the other precious houses of this planet, mine tends to bite back when it is gone after.” Her lips curved into a smirk she did not allow to reach her eyes. She turned back to the mirror, ensuring he would not see the shadow of worry that crossed her face. “I’m going. That is that.”

Her hands stilled at her throat as she fastened the clasp. How many times had she stood like this in her father’s house, preparing for the charades of courtly nights? The difference was that then, she had believed in the armor of elegance. Not tonight. That foul droid had stripped her of such illusions. Tonight she only prayed the gown would mask the weakness in her shoulders and the weariness in her eyes.

“Please, Bastila! just listen for once.” He had grown far too comfortable addressing her like an equal, perhaps because they were of similar age, perhaps because their familiarity ran back through her youth.

“Modrick.” Her tone was sharp, far too sharp. “Am I not still a monarch-elect?”

His silence was answer enough.

“I will be going, even if it kills me." Her eyes moved to a folded piece of paper on the desk nearby. Gossip, that's all it was. However Gossip was what the Naboo lived for and left to fester would form into from rumour to reality. "For too long have the rumours and whispered deceit been hung about this family because of my actions. I must put them to bed. for the good of the family.” She lifted her chin, gazing at herself in the full-length mirror. Straightening her back felt like pulling a mask over her face. A mask she would wear into battle.

KADAARA​

By the time the transport wound down the cliff road into Kadaara, the salt wind had already found its way inside the cabin, tangling through her dark hair. Bastila drew her cloak closer around her frame, watching the horizon ignite in molten orange as the sun dipped toward the sea. The estate revealed itself slowly: pale stone terraces tumbling toward the shore, lanternlight beginning to spark against the dusk. Music drifted faintly from within, threaded with laughter that sounded; at least from this distance: effortless.

Her arrival had the desired effect. When her name was announced at the entrance, the hush that followed was no silence at all. It was tension, sharpened by curiosity. Heads turned. Bastila let the cloak fall back, revealing the gown’s muted gleam, her chin lifted in that particular way that dared anyone to comment on her convalescence. Each step toward the gathering carried with it a single message: I am still here. I will not vanish from the stage you tried to write me out of.

Her gaze never faltered, calm, steady, refusing to be drawn. It was not her place to seek out her audience; their attention would divide itself between Aurelian, the darling king-to-be, and her. Let them weigh the balance.

And yet, there was one lock she could not press through. Not yet. Not as she walked like a ghost reborn. She had noticed Dominic almost instantly. The words still playing in her mind from when she had asked after him at the hospital. "He had been there for most of the time you've been out, in fact he only left a few hours after you woke up. It's so nice to see a true gentleman in this day and age." They had said, She had not told him she was coming. She hoped he would forgive her. The absence of a sting on his cheek was the best she could offer him now; along with silence, space. Room for him to shine, and to do what he did best. Bastila after all had her own things to sort out, starting with this would be king

Dominic Praxon Loria Sorelle
Aurelian Veruna Sibylla Abrantes
@open​

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Cassian Abrantes had had his hands behind his back, standing with care, a place where he might watch the currents of the evening without being swept up too soon in their tide. The arena, and that's what this was, was full of warm light and careful laughter, every corner arranged to flatter both host and guest alike. He had been to enough of these gatherings to know when the staging was as important as the company.

He noticed Dominic made an appearance. He did not have the pleasure of his company yet. He had wondered if there was a reason for that. Cassian paid close attention to those in the area, observing but not staring to much to arouse suspicion that he was studying them. He noted that Dominic seemed to wear attentiveness itself like a cloak. He seemed to move with a deliberate grace, and always a step closer to the heart of things.

When Lady Loria Sorelle arrived, Cassian's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. That pairing was not accidental. Dominic moved toward her with all the ease of a man claiming his rightful place, though Cassian could see the calculation under the charm. He had seen it in many before: ambitious sons who believed wit and good manners were enough to bend the world to their shape.

Lady Loria, for her part, seemed to move with confidence, though Cassian suspected she, too, was weighing the performance as much as enjoying it. He could not tell if her laughter, light and controlled, was genuine amusement or a carefully timed response to maintain her own position. A seasoned noblewoman understood how to navigate these little displays, and she was clearly learning the rules of this particular game quickly.

Cassian's eyes, steady and unhurried, tracked Dominic Praxon and Loria Sorelle as they moved his way. There was an elegance to their movement, a lightness of step that seemed almost practiced, yet it carried the ease of one fully at home in the eyes of the city.


Cassian nodded as they closed the gap and the faintest trace of a smile touching his lips. "M'lord Praxon." He glanced over to Loria. "M'lady Sorelle." His greeting was followed with a bow. Cassian politely extended his hand towards Dominic. Afterwards, he gracefully took Loria's hand, placing a gentle kiss atop it.

"It's good to finally meet you both, I trust you are excited for the evening's festivities."

Out of the corner of his eyes his eyes caught sight of his sister Sibylla Abrantes , and his smile grew wider. He was pleased that she came out this evening, and she looked lovely as ever. He knew she probably hated hearing it from him, but the true noble and power of House Abrantes. She had within her heart the true love, devotion and spirit for Naboo and its people. She was the very definition of Honor and Nobility. Cassian gave her an easy smile and wink before looking back to his present company.

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

X | X

Outfit​

Aurelian Veruna made his entrance the way he did everything else in life: late enough to matter, deliberate enough to remind everyone present whose gathering this truly was. He emerged from the villa's shadowed corridor into the open coastal air, where the golden evening light clung to him as though reluctant to let go. His black shirt hung loose, undone just low enough at the collar to signal danger dressed as elegance, its silk sheen whispering in the sea breeze. The fabric caught against his frame, it was effortless, dangerous, and designed to draw eyes without ever seeming to try. His trousers were cut wide, falling with weight and drape, granting him the languid silhouette of a man who believed any space, from a private room to a Republic outpost, was already his. A single silver chain glimmered faintly at his throat, a flash of vanity amid the deliberate casual look.

The smile that usually lived in the corner of his mouth was nowhere to be seen now. Instead, he bore the expression of a man carefully observing, measuring every detail. This wasn't the look of a boy hosting friends by the seaside; it was the expression of someone who understood that this table, this setting, these faces, were his pieces on a board that stretched far beyond Naboo's silver shores.

Emotionally, though, there was a flicker of something. It was impossible to tell if it was boredom disguised as aloofness, or longing cleverly tucked behind calculation. When he paused, just before joining the table, his gaze shifted past his guests, out toward the water. He turned on his heel and moved through the gathering, offering no greetings, wasting no nods. He bypassed them all and took his seat at the head of the table.

The party was already larger than he had planned. What had been meant as a select dinner had ballooned into a full-blown convocation of mid-rim power. He should have been annoyed, but instead, he found it amusing. More players meant more opportunities for alliances, betrayals, and leverage. He leaned back into his chair, draping one arm across the backrest. His eyes, sharp and unblinking, swept across the crowd like a blade.

The Ukatis delegation drew his notice first. Their king, jittery and overeager, moved through the room with the gracelessness of a man who mistook his own importance for relevance. Then Corazona von Ascania , a shadow of her former self, hollow-eyed and weakened by yet another defeat in the Core. Once formidable, she was now diminished. There might be opportunity there, once he chose the right moment. The Jedi ( Kael Varnok & Roman Vossari ), unexpected presences, fixed their gaze on Cora as if guarding something deeper. He filed that away, their interest sharpening his own. And then others: a mix of unknowns, half-familiar faces, and the reckless sprawl of invitations that had slipped too far beyond his grip, a military officer of no real renown, businessmen, delegates ( Raylin Fall , John Locke , Her ) He almost laughed. What had begun as intimacy had been swallowed by politics, but perhaps intimacy was overrated.

He allowed his eyes to linger on Loria Sorelle and Dominic Praxon , whispering conspiracies to one another like guilty lovers. He could practically hear the tabloids salivating. Cassian Abrantes lingered nearby, the perfect third point in their triangle. It would unravel into spectacle eventually. He would watch and enjoy.

Still, he sought Vemric Keldra , the elusive leader of the Confederacy. The man wasn't here yet, but if he arrived, tonight might shift in ways the Republic itself would feel. Aurelian nursed his whiskey in silence, waiting and weaving futures.

Then, movement. A hush fell across the garden like an invisible hand pressing down. Heads turned. Eyes fixed. Aurelian followed their gaze, only to see Bastila Sal-Soren step into the glow. She moved with difficulty, a limp speaking of healing wounds, yet her stride held defiance nonetheless. Beautiful, luminous, and utterly unbroken. Rumors had painted her as discarded and weakened, but the woman before him proved them wrong, she was no ruin. She was steel with velvet wrapped around it. He lifted his glass toward her, offering her the smallest, most infuriating of smiles.

But then, his eyes caught further down the table. Through the shifting crowd, past the chatter and candlelight, his gaze found her. Sibylla Abrantes . Draped in a black dress that seemed spun from night itself, her presence sent a sudden and unwelcome halt to his careful detachment. For a flicker of a moment, his breath caught, though no one could ever prove it. He stared. She was all poise and quiet fire, speaking with Decarii Tithe . His whiskey tasted different in his mouth. He let his eyes linger just long enough, before dragging them away, his mask slipping back into place. To stare too long was to admit something, and Aurelian Veruna admitted nothing.

And so he leaned back once more, letting idle interest mask his longing, and an air of ease conceal his hunger. He plucked at a tray of hors d'oeuvres without even looking, the motion casual, as if the entire evening wasn't beginning to ignite around him. The dinner had yet to start, but the game already had.

@OPEN​