Imperial Flags Raised; Galactic Empire Dominion of the Felacat Sector.

[Alasdair Sitra]

The Galactic Empire was expanding. As victories were pushed through the lines of the tyrannic Jedi hold a need had arisen for the Imperial Banner to push it’s borders into unfamiliar territory, therefor allowing for further expansion of the resources available to the Imperial war machine and the people whom it protected.

Felacat, a royal planet that held a certain status as being home to a strange species of people who were more beast then man had become the newest planet to bend the knee and align themselves to the protection offered by the Emperor’s grace. Already the planets ruling class were placed into the watchful care of the Moff Council and for the protection of it’s people small cities were being converted into watchful hubs that the Imperials could insure would remain safe as shuttles went too and from delivering and taking resource necessary.

Within the Royal Felacatian Palace banners that held the royal families sigil had been matched to the Imperial Bendu, garrisons of stormtroopers patrolled the streets and political power was to be signed over to the Imperial Moff Council completely at a ball held in the Grand Admiral’s honour, even if he may not be attending. The Prince, a kind souled young Felcatian who had found himself rushed into power after the untimely death of his father due to internal illness had practically begged for the Imperials to come to the planet, his signage of planetary co-operation were respectfully honest and naught but his own decision.

Meanwhile facilities were being constructed as a testing ground for the Empire’s new planetary defence systems, bunkers, hangers and weapons all needed planning, building and operational testing. Felacat would be the first to see such power, but it would be far from the last.

Spoiler

Objectives:



The peaceful acquisition of power: The Prince of the Felacatian people has willingly pledged to sign his powers over the planet into the Imperial Council. Attend the ball, mix and power play against the other while we allow the Felacatian people to celebrate our coming.



In This City We Trust: The Imperial military has been called in to establish safe perimeters around the cities of the Felacatian People, assure that civil order is maintained and the people safe while these walls are built for their own protection.


The Imperial Warmachine: Construct, plan and inspect the new Imperial Ground Facilities as we start our preparation of potential invasion should our enemies come to us. Feel free to RP out any tech subs you may need help with.

Do your own thing. But remember keep the story at a point you can complete it.

 

[Desmond C'artyom]

[SIZE=11pt]Desmond sauntered through the halls of the palace as he made his way to the minibar. The ballroom was abuzz with guest from all over the planet. Desmond didn’t usually like cats, but he supposed the Felcats weren’t too bad. A few more shots and a joint later they might even pass off as good looking. He withdrew a stool from the bar counter and took a seat. Desmond pulled a tin of spice and papers from his pocket. He deftly rolled a joint and then lit the impromptu Cigarra. Desmond tapped the bar counter and the bartender raced over [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“What will it be, Commander C’artyom?” The serving woman asked. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“You know my name?” Desmond asked between puffs, more than a little surprised. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“Well of course, all in Imperial space know the famous Blue Baron,” She said with a wink[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Desmond blushed a little at his reputation. He cleared his throat and ashed his Cigarra in a nearby tray [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“I’ll have Corellian brandy… And perhaps you’ll join me for a drink? On the Blue Baron of course,” Desmond asked the feline with a devilish grin splayed across his face. The woman smiled and walked away. She came back moments later with two Corellian Brandy’s and took a seat beside the Chiss.[/SIZE]

 

[virtf]

Mathazar Talzuk

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Equipped with: Imperial combat pilot armor, E-11 blaster rifle, SE-14r light repeating blaster.
Interacting with: null.​

"Besh Squadron reports that the perimeter is established, gentlemen." reported the signaler, turning his head from the radio to relay the message to the room of army officers.
"Very good," began the battalion adjutant, offering the signaler a nod to direct him back to his duties. The adjutant turned to the officer at the end of the table as he continued his sentence: "that should be the whole battalion in formation, sir." That same man at the end of the table idly lifted a hand, swiping up a holographic interface to quickly navigate it and modify a value; the holographic representation of the area around the walls projected by the table changed, denoting all four squadrons with a green color.
"Gentlemen," the man, Major Mathazar Talzuk, began: "As you are all already aware, renovations on the walls and construction of permanent facilities will take some time. Operations Officer: make for the starport and ensure that the next two weeks of supplies is confirmed and moving on schedule. Adjutant: make a round to each company headquarters and ensure that everything is happening as it should be. Quartermaster: you're dismissed to return to your stores; and Sergeant Major:" the Major turned to a grizzled middle-aged man: shaved bald with a a gray mustache, with a head clad in scars.
"Time for a brew?" guessed the would-be sergeant major, sourcing a nod from the major.
"Well, what I want you to do is to make sure that nobody is slacking off, but while you're there..." confirmed the major, shifting his weight a little.
"Well, I hate to waste an opportunity, sir." replied the sergeant major, prompting the two officers to share a quiet laugh.

As soon as that, the impromptu orders group was over. The various men of HQ 172nd Light Armored Battalion stood up and set out into the command post: a collection of prefabricated buildings set out in a clearing of forest. Multiple AT-ST walkers sat squatting throughout the post, their vacant crew going about their duties throughout the command post. From the distance, the whirring of striding walkers carried on the wind, troopers going about their patrols alongside army riflemen and the sporadic stormtrooper compliment.

Several local birds took to the skies in a mad panic as the sergeant major's voice boomed throughout the command post: evidently, he'd found slackers at the brew point. In the relative silence of the command building, Talzuk quietly continued his work on his set of formal orders for the 17:30 orders group. To one side of the camp, the adjutant climbed into his walker with his gunner, while the operations officer climbed aboard a landspeeder. Just another normal day in the office.

 

[Vestille Thumahra]

Felacat
851 ABY
DT-2417
Call-sign Pestilence Actual
Post One
Objective: Security detail of the Gala.

​A simpler task, though to Pestilence, it was no excuse to perform at any less than a hundred percent efficiency.

DT-2417 had never been to Felucat before, as a standing rule he hadn't been to many places, only going where his superiors required him to be, anything before his rebirth as the nameless Death Trooper Captain he didn't remember either. As he landed upon the seemingly noble world, he took in the details of everything around him; whilst it looked like a tactical assessment, it also had a silent under-layer of curiosity. It was rare that Pestilence was deployed to somewhere that wasn't a war zone, either current or formerly, or somewhere that didn't look poverty-stricken. This planet, Felucat, was different; rich architecture, history within the walls. Although all resemblance of humanity had been wiped from the men that donned the armor that spread terror wherever they went, silent opinions formed. It was a... Nice place, if nice had a meaning, DT-2417 though, it would be this planet.

Pestilence had been assigned to serve as security to the Imperial personnel within the gala, a celebration of an agreement between the Empire and their people. Pestilence wasn't trained for diplomacy, far from it, thus when assigned they were given the job that they did best; although this time there wouldn't be a immediate need for bloodshed. If anyone who dared opposed the Empire, however, that was a different story; no mercy would be shown to any rebel scum trying to hide beneath the covers of entertainment and celebration. Through the halls of the gala, Pestilence stood sentry. Every angle was covered, their presence being made known as they maintained their silent vigil on the on-going event. Intimidation was Pestilence's advantage in passive duties and DT-2417 pressed it into every possible movement him and his men made.

If anyone were to step out of line, they would feel the wrath of the Empire.

 

[Cole Lorne]

Lorne stands, as he often does, on the bridge of his vessel. The city bellow wasn't much visible past the bulk of his vessel though it wasn't far bellow, the ISD Subjugator looming over it, both parts hub for the Imperial supply and movement in the city, and show of Imperial might. After all not many sentients had seen a full sized Star Destroyer in atmosphere or at all, and after all someone had to supply all the Lambda Shuttles to ferry party goers to their ball, all the transport vessels to deliver the materials of construction to their destinations, and all the stormtroopers and walkers to continue the show of force on the ground. A comfortable change of pace, Lorne thought to himself. Harkening back to the ancient days of total Imperial domination, when star destroyers maintained order instead of fighting to build it, and when Death Troopers guarded the highest ranking of Imperials rather than eliminating those of the enemy.

TIE fighters patrol the skies slowly in trios with their screeching engines providing a familiar background noise to the music and festivities to be going on bellow, pilots one of the few classes of servicemen aboard the Subjugator not to have a shore leave or ground deployment, not that they would care anyway. Indeed much of the crew of the Subjugator was on shore leave in the city, be it engineers to assist with the construction or simply crew hands out enjoying their first taste of fresh natural air in months. The Captain elected not to join his men and women bellow, he found himself far more comfortable aboard a calm, controlled, familiar setting rather than down in a ball mingling with native aliens, though he was certain it wouldn't be long before a formal invitation to this ball would arrive to him, something he would be unable to refuse. After all, it's more than likely the Felacatian nobility would want to meet the man behind the several trillion ton warship floating above them. After all he would be the face of the rank and file navy at this event, he would surely answer questions about his vessel. How big is it, how fast does it go? How many people are on it, what is it like inside? Cole mauled over the thought in his mind, he would be the one to have to influence them to sign up for the military.

And what a thought that is, he thinks to himself.

A race of people who can't spend extended periods of time in hyperspace without turning into beasts joining the navy.

 

[Alasdair Sitra]

Parties had never really been Kayrce’s thing, even back in the days when he family held stature among the Imperial Senate. The young Sonn had avoided them at all cost, even faked sickness in order to get away from the haughty uptightness of fancy parties. However her she was, clad in the finest of Imperial grey at an event that would see yet another system come under the wave of Imperial control.

She was currently stood not too far from the central podium, where as they spoke stood the young prince of the planet’s reigning family. He was far from comfortable and it showed, nervous sweat and a twitch in his right hand only helped prove that Intelligence had made the right choice when they had lain the order down to remove his father and assure an easy transition into Imperial hands. Kayrce hadn’t pulled the trigger on that one, yet it had been one of Inferno who had managed to complicate his daily medication and aggravate the heart condition that eventually took his life.




Scanning across the crowds she picked out faces of those she needed too. Her team was scattered throughout the masses, Rhun an Imperial Moff, Briana a serving girl brought in for the occasion and somewhere her forth member was currently overseeing security but right now even she was unsure of where. For now it was all going smoothly as it should, yet as with any good Imperial party she would need her wits about her.

 

[Tanomas Graf]

F E L A C A T , T H E G A L A​

G R A N D M O F F T A N O M A S G R A F​

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Over the darkening skyline sailed a single Lambda-class shuttle, discreetly being followed by a flight of four red TIE/IN Interceptors at a slight distance, towards the palace of the Felacatian royal family and finally setting down on one of the many landing platforms present. With a resounding hiss of the hydraulics, the landing ramp lowered to reveal the aged grand moff accompanied by his advisers and two sovereign protectors. "Stay with the ship." He ordered seamlessly to the guards, his signature trench coat flowing in the light breeze while he strode into the palace from the pad.

Allowing the coat to be taken by a servant to be hung, he approached a massive set of doors that led into the ballroom which were quickly opened for him. To his slight displeasure, many people including the royal family stopped what they were doing to gawk at the Imperial leader. Temporarily ignoring the attention, he quickly scanned the room and noticed several people that he knew by name; Inferno squadron attempting to 'blend in', Death trooper platoon 'Pestilence' which he heard were to be the gala's security. Tanomas also knew that Special Agent C'artyom, his right hand, was skulking around somewhere possibly getting drunk and picking up the local women.

Coming back to the situation at hand, he gracefully crossed the room and ascended the central podium where the Prince was currently situated. Graf raised his hand, and was met with the young ruler's own for a handshake that only the keenest of eyes could detect the hidden meaning behind, a representation of the newly-cemented Imperial rule over Felacat: As while the Grand Moff's grip was firm and benevolent, the Prince's was trembling and week, even for the old man.

Both of them turning to face the crowd, a game of thrones had now begun for all of them.

[member="Kayrce"] | [member="DT-2417"] | [member="Desmond C'artyom"]

 

[Butch Mahan]

Mahan didn't have much time, he was already late to the gala happening near the city center. The Bureau of Imperial Justice had set up a headquarters for the planet near the outskirts of the capital of Felecat, weeding out the few Felecats who didn't seem all too happy with the Empire's presence on the planet. Many of the higher command of the Empire just assumed the planet, in its entirety, just gave itself over to the Empire through loyalty and adoration, Mahan knew the work that went into making the model Imperial planet. Being the procurator of the Bureau of Imperial Justice, he had overseen the taming of the planet. The upper classes and leadership weren't hard to convince, just a simple message and they were as loyal as the next Imperial subject. But some of the more intelligencia types seemed a bit more stubborn to pledge their loyalty to the Empire. The few groups foolish to let their stubbornness evolve into violence, the bureau had been weeding out for the past few weeks. Now, there was only one left, all they had left to do was neutralize this last outpost of insurgency, and with the interrogation of one of their captured members, they had the location. Mahan had come to talk for a little bit with the prisoner, to understand his enemy better before moving on with Felecat and overseeing the bureau's operations on several other planetary systems.

In the observing room, a few Judges stood along bureau officials and a stenographer were standing around, waiting for Mahan's arrival. When Mahan entered, none stood at attention, something he enjoyed being out of the military, but they did give their attention to Mahan. The towering Duros held out his hand towards the judges and commanded, "Baton." The closest unsheathed their collapsed baton and handed to the procurator. Mahan nodded his thanks and entered the holding room. This room wasn't any more decorated than the last, however its occupants numbered fewer than the last. The interrogator stood over the kneeling prisoner, who looked as if he hadn't slept in days. Mahan gestured towards the exit, and the interrogator left without protest. The prisoner only sneered as Mahan returned the gesture. The procurator extended the baton and struck the prisoner across the jaw, throwing him and a mixture of blood and saliva to the floor. "Why!?" Mahan shouted before kicking him square in the gut, invoking a jerk reaction by the prisoner. "Why what!?" Mahan grabbed the prisoner by his shirt and lifted him to his eye level, "Why do you rebel against the Empire!?" The prisoner gave a humorless laugh, "I'd think you guys would know that." Mahan threw him against the nearest wall, unsatisfied with his answer. Mahan hesitated as the prisoner picked himself up from the floor, spitting out a mouth full of blood. The procurator smacked the baton into the side of the prisoner's skull, but not so hard as to break it. This time, the prisoner only took a few steps back, trying to keep his balance. Mahan forced his head against the duracrete wall with his large grip and asked again, "Why do you rebel against the Empire!?" The prisoner shouted back, "For a choice! For our freedom you authoritarian gundarks!" Mahan replied angrily, "You would risk your life for choice? You would rather take the uncertainty of democracy than the security of being an Imperial citizen? For independence in your own right? No wonder your people come in droves to our cause, and isolate you from their ranks. For you and your kind are truly mentally unsound." Mahan threw him to the ground, not pausing to check on their prisoner's condition.

The procurator dropped the baton next to the prisoner and left the cell unceremoniously. He turned to the judges, "Execute him, we do not want filth like him corrupting the minds of the imprisoned on Rishi." They nodded silently and entered the room in an orderly fashion. Three loud pops followed their entrance, ensuring Mahan of his prisoner's death. The interrogator approached the procurator, "The prisoner has informed of us of his group's hideout and composition, shall I order a squad to clean out the remaining insurgents?" "Do it" Mahan ordered, "Once I leave the gala, I expect the remaining safe house to be eliminated, in its entirety." Mahan examined his uniform, the all black bureau uniform was covered in Felecat blood. Fortunately, he would not be appearing at the gala as the procurator, he would be going as the High Moff of the sector Felecat fell under, and so he had a fresh uniform waiting at his temporary quarters. Escorted by two of the bureau officials, Mahan made his way to his land speeder, he was already late enough to the Gala.

[member="Tanomas Graf"]
[member="Kayrce"]
[member="Cole Lorne"]
[member="DT-2417"]

 

[Desmond C'artyom]

Desmond took another sip of his drink and was immediately gratified with a strong buzz. It was very potent stuff for brandy.

“So, what do you do. Aside from serving at parties I mean,” Desmond asked nonchalantly.

He took another puff of his spice and the Felcat woman’s grin grew.

“I used to work for the belated king as a maid,” She said quietly her grin dimming a little at the mention of the dead king.

“Ahh my apologies,” Desmond said, his voice slightly slurred “By the force this is strong, what's in it?” The Chiss asked incredulously. He had expected a regular Brandy, but whatever the Felcats drank it seemed to have a strong effect on him. The mention of the drink seemed to cheer the woman right back up. In fact her smile was even wider now.

“It’s a simple mix of Tscato and brandy,” She said, but her voice seemed to come from afar. Desmond’s eyes were very heavy. He tried his hardest to keep them open but could not “Not potent on its own, but when mixed with spice it acts as a powerful sedative…” She let out a yelping laugh more akin to a hyena than a cat. Desmond couldn't keep his eyes open any longer his body felt like led. He slumped over the bar, almost unconscious. He tried to form words but his lips failed him.

“This is maid one, send in the fresher’s. We have the bastard who killed our king…”

Desmond felt thick musclely arms begin to drag him away…

The Chiss awoke to cold freezing water. The room was dark aside from a bright light being shined in his face. He was tied to a plain wooden chair and could make out very little else. Still groggy from the poison Desmond began to come too his senses. He let out a low groan then heard a voice speak. “We know you killed the king, we have several witnesses of you delivering the medicine he was to take,” The voice barked

“You're insane. I've no idea what you're talking about,” Desmond replied his speech still a tad slow, but his mind racing. He was sure he discreetly delivered the meds to the kings doctor. He even made sure to meet the man far from the palace. Unless the doctor had been followed… It seemed to be the only explanation. They must have examined the kings corpse as well. Desmond thought they had paid the mortician a lump sum, but perhaps he met the same fate as Desmond was soon sure to meet.

“Confess! You killed the king!” The voice roared again. Desmond merely smiled

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” He said meanwhile, using his extensive cybernetics to send out a distress call. He only hoped the Judges would arrive in time...

[member="Butch Mahan"]

 

[Varik Ice]

Varik Ice​

Equipment: Lightsaber - Initiate Robes​

Location: Palace Ballroom ​

Status: Attending and Guarding​

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Truly, Varik wondered if the worst death was that from boredom. He stood silently as he watched the rest of the party, his hooded cloak left on a hangar near the door as he had to look respectable. He raised his glass to his mouth and finished whatever the rest of his drink was. It was non-alcoholic, regardless; he was representing the Empire, and he could never grow to like the taste of alcohol. He wasn't ever sure what put him off the stuff. Some Felcat noblewoman was talking to him to his direct left, but he hadn't taken in a single thing she said. Finally, he glanced over to his left at her.

Ah, apparently she had finished talking. Ice only guessed this since she was silent until he looked at her, causing her to blush, stammer and hurry away. What a strange place this was. For all that one would think a galaxy opened up to one who never knew about it would offer, half of it was things like this. People who blabbered around the point and stuffed themselves in stupid looking outfits for the attention of others. He'd never truly get it, he supposed. From what he was told, he was just too simple. Perhaps he just wasn't simple enough.

His inner monologue was interrupted as the comm in his ear began playing a message. A distress signal, nearby his location. He had sensed what presences were here, he thought he could tell who it was. The noblewoman finally worked up the nerve to come back over to him, only for him to thrust his empty glass into her hands and curtly walk off. His boots clacked on the pristine floors as he continued through the halls, going deeper than he would usually be permitted to. But he felt the presence of the Agent getting closer, and he wouldn't stop here.

He did however, pause for a moment as two guards blocked his way through a corridor, leading to an unusual looking door at the end. Looked sealed, could be soundproofed. Before they could even talk, he began to manipulate the force, keeping his hands at his sides in order to practice this ability more. "I'm allowed to be here. You'll let me pass." He stared intently at one, who repeated his order while Ice glanced to the other, who looked confused and ready to raise his weapon. The initiate sighed for a moment. He supposed he still had more to learn; and some had higher willpower than others.

He flicked his wrist as he focused the force in a more controlled manner than he usually might. The guard was thrown into the wall and crumpled to the floor in a heap, only unconscious. Indeed, to an outside observer it might've even looked gentle. He turned to the other guard again. "You'll take him to bed. He needs rest." As Varik walked through, he heard the order repeated and carried out behind him.

Approaching the door, he looked it up and down. Yes, definitely sealed. It felt as though C'artyom was right on the other side; unlikely to be one of his clones. Though similar, they all felt somewhat different within the force. He considered his options for approach, considering how quiet the guards being subdued probably was and the fact that killing anyone within this palace right now was unwise. He would have to return to the ball as soon as this was handled. Unusually, he raised his hand - and knocked.

[member="Desmond C'artyom"]
[member="Butch Mahan"]

 

[Desmond C'artyom]

[SIZE=11pt]Desmond panted as the inquisitor released hold of his face. He had heard rumors that the king had kept a secret sept of inquisitors and assassins, but he had never imagined them to be his very own servants. A fist went flying through the air and Desmond could’ve swore he heard the wind whistle as it connected with his face. Desmond spit out a globule of blood and laughed. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“You think that’s going to hurt me?” He said, completely serious. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]His cybernetic cardio implant meant he could endure extreme amounts of pain, and deal even more. The Felcat Inquisitor let out a growl then grabbed Desmond by the cheeks. He shoved a thin piece of metal between Desmonds teeth and began pouring thick oil down Desmond’s throat. He was going to drown in the thick substance. But, right before Desmond was through the Felcat removed the metal and Desmond was allowed a respite. He began to cough, blood and oil spewing from his mouth as he retched. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“Confess!” The Inquisitor roared[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“Khark... you...” Desmond replied between breaths.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“GRAGH!” A chain of lightning raced out of the Felcat’s hand and racked Desmond to the very bones. He shuttered and sputtered, foaming at the mouth as the lightning raced through his body. His cybernetics began to fail and warning screens popped up all over his cybernetic HUD. Thankfully before Desmond completely shut down a knock could be heard from upstairs. The Inquisitor lowered his smoking finger tips and looked to someone within the darkness. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“Go see who it is,” He commanded “Probably Maria with more Imperials,” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Their was a faint stomping as what sounded like a pair of Felcat rebels made their way up stairs. The Felcat Inquisitor leaned in close to Stare directly into Desmond’s eyes. “It won’t matter if we get a confession, soon enough all you Imperials and your puppets will be dead…” The Inquisitor withdrew what Desmond believed to be a detonator and fingered the switch...[/SIZE]

[member="Varik Ice"]
[member="Butch Mahan"]

 

[Jotham Noktis]

Commodore Jotham Noktis​

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Equipment: Formal Military Dress, Concealed DT-29 Heavy Blaster Pistol​

Location: Felacat, The Ball​

Status: Attending the Ball​

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2iLl_uusujo​

The stench of nobility and entitlement was apparent even from the atmosphere, as a sole Lambda-Class transport shuttle roared through the twilight of day.

The shuttle was accompanied by two other TIE Fighters on each flank of the transport shuttle. As the transport shuttle continued on it's way and neared the landing pad, both TIE Fighters immediately pulled up from their transport mission, and begun strafing around the premises to tame their momentum. All the while the transport shuttle, of course, slowed down, and folded up it's wings as it began to settle itself onto the landing pad; the luminescence of the aviation light signals added to the atmosphere in warm contrast to the shimmering light of day.

With the release of the steam of the hydraulics on the transport shuttle, the ramp elegantly began to pour itself down onto the pavement, and with the inside of the shuttle revealed, Commodore Jotham Noktis made his presence known at the beginning of the ramp. He was accompanied by two Stormtroopers on both of his sides, as he began to dignifiedly walk down the ramp with the stormtroopers in tow; both were armed with E-11 Blaster Rifles. Noktis wore a lengthy black cloak for the occasion, which complimented his military dress uniform in a fashionably formal way; the Commodore continued past down the ramp, and made his way further down the catwalk that would lead to a double-sided door leading into ballroom. As the Commodore neared the large door, Noktis motioned with a single hand gesture behind himself for the stormtroopers to wait back at the shuttle.

It was known well to himself that the commodore despised nobility - although himself was of nobility - in a hint of irony. It was the reason why he was allowed to attend, he would be better for negotiations. Why had he come here though? To get sarcastic and snide with other members of nobility? Noktis had better control than that, however. He'd come to first and foremost represent the empire, but secondly, to prove himself and his status as a diplomat. It was a twisted, gut-wrenching feeling inside Noktis that he kept tightly tucked away, but he would have to succumb to the fickle of nobility once more, to rise further in the galactic empire so that it may rule with greater efficiency.

The Commodore entered through the door, and was greeted by a formally-dressed figure of nobility surrounded by two palace guards. He spoke in a high accent, "Ah', Commodore!", remarked the nobility with an evidently faked tone of delight; it was something that Jotham saw right through. "Good evening, Duke Morlev. Might I say, it's a sheer absolute delight to finally meet you.", Jotham also spoke with a decree of faked enthusiasm, "Why thank you, Commodore; it is not everyday you have the pleasure of meeting a man such as yourself. I'm sure you are a very busy man.", he replied, "That I am, that I am. Shall we find a more appropriate place to discuss our, 'negotiations'?", The Duke laughed mildly; "We shall, we shall.", the duke turn't behind himself to motion for a droid-servant, "Droid! Please, bring us some wine!", the duke then motioned for the commodore to follow him up a staircase, as Noktis elegantly strolled by his side.

 

[Lemon]

Koda Fett​

Equipment: Mandalorian Armour, EE-3 Carbine​

Location: Felacat, Outside the Ball​

Status: Guarding the Ball​

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NRmxPx46CPw​

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A planet of sentient felines, not the strangest planet but definitely within range of such a thing. There were plenty of species among the galaxy that stood out, but the odd case in which the Felacatian people turn into Tiger like creatures once spending too much time in Hypserspace is clearly one that left them a member of the many that made note. The Imperials came to occupy this planet, though they did it through the use of niceties and other such things in an attempt to appear much nicer than they were. A false mask as it were. It was a pleasant scene with the up-scale decor, fancy dresses, suits and even royalty. A rare but welcome sight nonetheless.

Bounty Hunters however, weren't the typical sight at such an event. They were scum, or at least that's how they were perceived. Although they did manage to provide a essential service that was valued, operating in such conditions law enforcement cannot, outside of the jurisdiction of the law and often operating on their own approximation of it. Fett lived that way. He may have been 'scum' but he was useful, so much so he became one of the Galactic Empire's favorites. It wasn't all that rare that at such high valued occasions, Koda wouldn't be there, often standing guard like the common foot soldier or being given specific specialist orders. This was one of those occasions.

Word of an Imperial Defector planning to assassinate high ranking military officials had gotten around, but not to the participants of the Ball. Fett was tasked with finding out who this person was, and putting their life to an end before it is too late. He remained on the outside, near the doors that would monitor who and who didn't have access to the ball. His emerald green Mandalorian Armor a standout among the see of white, although he only provided a fear factor for the time being. He'd have his man soon enough, and with it a healthy paycheck.

 

[Butch Mahan]

Mahan entered the gala to no fanfare, specifically at his request. The High Moff was late, Mahan didn't want to make it too well known. He knew image meant power in the Empire, and so he carefully protected his. Watching the crowds around him, Mahan stood with his back straight, proudly displaying his Imperial uniform, despite how he felt about the action. Slowly walking, greeting fellow officials and military personnel, his solemn expression didn't break. That was until he saw her, Admiral Shana Kaal. In his split second moment of surprise, the admiral caught his stare, and made her way over to him. She held out her hand with the rigid precision of a military woman, "High Moff Mahan, it is a pleasure." The cold emotion refocused on Mahan's face, and he met the gesture with his own hand, "It is mine, admiral." Taking a sip of her drink, she continued the conversation, "I must apologize for not meeting you at your quarters in Kamino, I was on deep space patrol duty at the time, there was no way to leave." Mahan forced a fake chuckle, "Yes, I understand your predicament, and there is no need to apologize. There was truly nothing you could do." She nodded and began to leave, "Have a good evening, High Mo-" Mahan grabbed her shoulder and interrupted her salutation, "Shana, do not leave me just yet, I would like to talk." Shana jerked her arm from Mahan's grasp, spilling her drink a little, "Spare me your words Mahan, I do not wish to hear it. A year has passed, you've had more than enough time to talk, its long past due now." Mahan's eyes narrowed, "I was exiled, if there was a way I could have contacted you, I would have. Do not hold me up for the wrong doings of that incompetent fool, Graf." Shana shot a look of suppressed aggravation towards Mahan, "Do not speak ill of the Grand Moff in a public setting you buffoon, you'll get us both killed!" she angrily whispered, "But your excuse still cannot make up for a year of absence." Mahan thought for a moment, "Would you like to come with me to see my parents?" Shana raised an eyebrow, "I thought your parents were-" Mahan stared coldly into her eyes, conveying a silent message, "Oh, I see." Shana paused, finally giving in, "Yes I would like it, Butch." Mahan nodded, "See if you can clear another day of leave for tomorrow, I will have a shuttle ready by 0500." Shana nodded and fixed the bent collar of Mahan's choker uniform, brushing her hand against his neck before retreating to the bar to refill her drink.

Mahan watched her lekku sway side to side as she left Mahan alone. Taking a deep breath, he returned to his slow route across the gala, looking for an Imperial official to speak with, and try and refocus on the task at hand. Pushing his way through a crowd of Felecat noblemen, ensuring his lack of respect was well received, he spotted a uniform he recognized, one of the prized Inferno Squadron. Briskly, he approached [member="Kayrce"], paying no mind to those who tried to grab his attention. Holding his hand out towards the special forces officer, he opened, "Captain, I am pleased by your appearance here at the gala. It is always a pleasure to host such a commendable squadron."

 

[Arahael]

Location: Felacat Ball
Objective: Mingle at the ball

Max chose to stay in uniform for the ball. He figured the Felacat officials wanted to see some bureaucrats that were involved in the thick of things. A man who does some dirty work would have some know-how of situations, after all.

Introducing himself to others, Max made conversation with those that seemed important enough. He let them take the chatter where they wanted, at least trying to enjoy the moment amongst this tense political event. There was plenty of conniving to do, but he wanted to look over some of the security procedures soon.

"Everything is alright in here. I'll come out in a second" he spoke into a commlink.

After going over the pleasant goodbyes, he walked out towards a waiting speeder. Despite the closeness Felacat felt towards the Empire, rogue elements of any size would have the capability to put a sonic screwdriver in the works.

 

[Cavris Lyran]

Cavris clucked his tongue repeatedly. He hated events like this, public dancing and talking. Fingers were twitching rapidly as he wished he had been assigned something to do with hacking or infiltrating but here he was.

Alcohol would make things easier, he had had a sip in the past but never liked the taste. The muddleness of his mind while intoxicated was not fun for him either. So instead he hid in the shadows, keen eyes observing the event.

He had heard that the prince who was going to rule, willingly surrendered his position to the Empire. It was a curious decision, few people who taste power are so willingly to release it. However, it meant that the Empire gained more control. And harmony was brought here.

Clucking his tongue harder and louder, with fingers twitching, Cavris studied his datapad. Flicking through scrolls of irrevelant text, he wondered if he could hack into the Prince's bank account. Surely he would have a lot of creds. Then he slapped the side of his head. Diplomatic mission. Diplomatic mission.

This was going to be so boring with no one dying or any hacking.

 

[Varik Ice]

Varik Ice​

Equipment: Lightsaber - Initiate Robes​

Location: Palace Basement ​

Status: Retrieving​

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This would have to be dealt with quickly - he was not about to cause any issues for the Empire at this party, nor was he going to allow himself to shirk from his duty for such a period of time. He waited, the force pooling in his hand as he kept it low, the door slowly being pulled back. He saw a Felacat's face as he thrust his fist in through the gap, striking the guard hard in his stomach; it wouldn't kill him, only cause a lot of pain. Perhaps he'd pass out from it. With his other hand, he flung open the door, catching the other Rebel in the face and stunning her, causing her to stumble back before Varik stepped forward, kicking his leg out into her abdomen and sending her tumbling back down the stairs.

He calmly walked down, following after her as he felt another, more notable presence farther down the stairs, with C'artyom nearby. The darkness was no bother to him, and he felt a foreboding about something the individual had in their hand. Realizing it could be an issue, he reached out as he got to the bottom of the stairs, attempting to use the force to suddenly rip it from their hands, and catch them off-guard. If this was some device he'd have to keep away from them, he was sure the chiss had some means of freeing himself; at least, he would hope so.

[member="Desmond C'artyom"]

 

[Desmond C'artyom]

[SIZE=11pt]Desmond was a mess, blood seeped out of his mouth freely, one of his eyes had swollen shut, and he was bruised all over. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take. He could see nothing in the shadows. But, he heard a ruckus from up stairs and grinned. The Imperials had arrived just in time. Desmond had slowly been fiddling with the not that bound him and he had just got it loose enough to break free. He just needed a distraction. A lone figure walked down the stairs and the inquisitor turned to face the newcomer [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“What was that noi-?” The Felcatian said, but was interrupted as Desmond pounced. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]He launched himself out of the chair and using the length of rope that had tied him down he wrapped it around the fellow's neck. He tightened the rope and felt the neck snap. The body slumped to the floor and Desmond turned the light to regard the newcomer. It was Intiate Varik Ice, a cold warrior of a handsome nature. Desmond gave the Felcatian inquisitor one last kick then turned back to Varik. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“We need Imperial EOD teams in here on the double,” Desmond said “I have plenty of proof these rebels were attempting a coup,”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]The video taken by Desmond’s cybernetic HUD would have to be edited by intelligence first of course, but for now the Empire’s word would do. Desmond couldn’t wait to hang the Felcatian inquisitor’s body by his toes. The Chiss would personally make a request to hoist the man’s body high into the air.[/SIZE]

[member="Varik Ice"]

 

[Anya Malvern]

Items-saber

A planet full of fething cats....same type that took her bloody eye...no she couldn't freak out here, the Empire had it's grasp on the planet it was her field now

High inquisitor Malvern was out of her armor for the first time in awhile, replacing it with a flowing red dress that matched her hair. Unfortunately she was heading alone but none the less she felt her presence here was needed. Her speeder pulled up as the driver got out and came around opening the door for her bowing as she got out and looked around the place as she started forward for the steps greeted by a few here and there before she massive ball room

So far so good, though the presence of the cats simply made her tense as a spring. she reminded herself again that she was in control here with the Empire these....furballs couldn't harm her...

She decided setting off to the side wpuld be a good idea, out of the way at least...plus she wasn't one for partiesnlike these either way she grabbed a drink and sipped it down

 

[Alasdair Sitra]

The usual levels of conversation carried through the great hall as the moment of Imperial victory drew ever nearer, yet the closer it got the more intense the feeling of potential disaster grew. For Kayrce who was so used to situations drawing attention it was an uneasy wait.

“I do hope this drink isn’t messy.” The call came from Rhun who was still unseen down on the main hall floor. A mere mention that would go unheard by all others but for the members of Inferno the situation had just gone from one level all the way to the next. There were three words that they had to only mention in casual conversation to indicate their worries. Nice was for everything being calm, warm was for something that may need delicate handling and messy, well that was just for when things were about to blow up.

In answer Kayrce was about to return a request on the situation when the call came through from one of the other field agents. They were all trained well enough to not gaze off looking for the source, instead a casual walk took them away from any area they were already in and towards the access corridor guarded fortunately by two Stormtroopers. Once inside Kayrce, now unwatched put her finger to her ear.

“This is Inferno. Moving on your location.”
@Desmond C’artyom