Faction Ravelin (Revelry and Pain) [NIO/Enclave]

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

2nd post
OBJECTIVE 1: REVELRY IN THE QUIET
THE_WOAD
​

Tags: Annor E-059 Ewan Paircrit Konrad Bolter Aemilio Valaar Julian Qar

APPOINTMENTS WITH THE WOAD: TO IMPROVE ON GREATNESS - PART 2

​

The Great Imperial Library, Outer Fort District,
Ravelin, Bastion (Summer of 874 ABY)

'G'evening, lads.'

Blessedly early, just in time for that verdict-questioning.... Actual perfection.​

'I'd recognise that Archaisian accent anywhere, Bolter! GREAT T'SEE YE AS AY'WAYS!!!'

Stepping forth into view for the benefit of the ever-vigilant guards and to see his old friend a little better, Konrad Bolter continued,'Been a long while since I'd seen your name on the tac screen, Lord General. The top brass suits you, well earned I'd say. Seems the Hell's Hammers will be at your disposal in the coming days, however, unless something changes which- you know as well as I, something always changes- I'll be at your behest, Lord General.', in the process of approaching the old Woad's reading table. Making a New-Imperial salute, fist over heart as the IMPAF-Knights had just moments before. Much and more was revealed in this process, a reminiscing for what could've been, a mild melancholy, and a smaller rank on the left pectoral area of his coat, something Lord Erskine very much wished to change as soon as possible.

Not for long, my old friend.... The way I see it - that demotion is nothing short of a slight.​

In the process of noticing the cigarra, the Stormchaser reached into his pocket, muttering,'Stub that out. Gowrie had something better for you afore we left Archais, an' so do I.', before pulling out two Faslaner cigars for the occasion, knowing Bolter's expected arrival had called for it beforehand. As he passed one to Konrad, Lord Erskine continued,'As the way I see it, an advisory role would often have me at your behest. More oft than not anyways.... Chief-Advisor and Commander of the 66th both, an' I haven't even sat back down yet.', before lighting up both with the lighter that always remained magnetically stuck to his cybernetic left wrist. Both veterans would take a moment to enjoy the taste, nodes of pear and vanilla with a cinnamon kick that took both individuals out of themselves for a while, breaking library protocol with single care in the world.

'Here is the deserter who sympathized with the Imperial Concordat My Lord'

Nae peace to be had for veterans the-day, naw? Fuck it! Work we will then...​

'Aye, no bother.... Settle down with the pomp an' sit him over here, hm?', Lord Erskine responded, keeping his Faslaner comfortably-rested at the left corner of his mouth, biting down on it slightly for a moment to unleash some more cinnamon delights in his next draw. When the deserter was sat on a seat at Annor E-059's reading table, sitting directly opposite so the Elite-Trooper could study his reactions more easily, Barran turned to Bolter, then looked down at contract papers on the table between them, muttering,'If ye sign those, ye can join in.... As this one is a defector in the making, at least, as according to the reports we received anyway.', before idling his cigar in the ashtray an' stepping forth with his datapad to sit next to Annor for the rest of the makeshift verdict-hearing. The deserter would remain compliant throughout this early process, clearly ready for whatever fate awaited him, though he knew not what Hell awaited him in the event the Lord-General reached a,"Kindly", verdict - as there was still no doubt that this individual was in fact guilty of his transgressions against the Imperium.

'I'd like to think that, but I know soldiers too well.... I don't even think you were taking such thoughts seriously at the time, too much of a merc at heart to go all the way in that regard? Nah, can't be it. Too dreamy for an Imperial, too - fresh - to be a merc also.'

Muttering to himself as he leaned back in his seat, with Annor still leaning forward as she sat next to him, Barran would silence himself as she continued in her efforts to scrutinise the new-arrival whilst Lord Erskine took one last little gander through his interrogation files for a moment or so; Barran wanted him to sweat a little, though there was no doubt Paircrit would take it in stride, the Woad just needed the others to see what he was seeing.

'So what was it, Paircrit? What opened the door to your resentments in the first place?'

Placing his datapad onto the table between them, Lord Erskine then slouched a little, folding his arms and reaffirming eye-contact control as he awaited the answer. There was always a catalyst for such things, and the old man knew there were examples in his clan's history that he was all too happy to forget, all too happy to discard what never applied to the traits or sensibilities he lived by, but the Stormchaser still knew it was wise to consider the seditious ones among his Sinn'searann in times like this. There was always something that drove such men to act in such ways to begin with, always something that never quite sat right with them or someone who never could quite earn their undivided trust, but not everything is as it seems with the disobedient souls of a more modern generation, sometimes things aren't so simple.

This was the meat of the matter the Lord-General was trying to get to, this was the deciding moment on whether Erskine chose between a court-martial verdict that was surely to end in execution by firing squad, or a penal-conscription with the 313th Stormtrooper Legion. The very first of it's kind to grace the Sabretooth concept.

 

[Shai Maji]

GEAR: DRIP | WHIP
TAGS: Vulcan Krayt | Kranak Vizsla | Gwyneira Vizsla | Xyoz Maji | Lachlan Sinclair | Open

Shai snickered at Xyoz's comment. "Babe, the last time we went out drinking, you got absolutely plastered. I doubt stuff would have changed that much over the years." She muttered into his ear before continuing on. Something did catch her attention, though... something different from Kranak, Vulcan and all the rest.

A very odd scent.

She sniffed a few times in confusion but simply shrugged it off as the cologne she bought for Xyoz messing with her nose.

“Well, well, well,” He said with a grin, when he was within earshot distance of the couple. “If it isn’t the Scoundrel of Tatooine himself.”

Her attention returned to Kranak as he approached the two. "Yo, you need to roll with that, that's dope." She commented as she glanced up at Xyoz for a moment. It was short-lived as Kranak connected with the man before he addressed her with a hearty greeting as well. At least she had time to brace for impact and even put some power in to knock the giant back as well. "You two better behave yourselves or else I'll kick both your asses." She eyed the two of them for a second or two before plucking Kranak's cigarra case from his pocket. "Can smell this stuff a mile away." She smirked up at the man as she slipped a smoke between her lips and held one out to Xyoz as well.

After lighting it, another familiar voice drew her attention.

<"Shai, hey glad you are here. This place has just gotten more interesting.">

"My boy!" She wrapped an arm around Vulcan in a tight hug before letting go with a light slap on the Ubese's helmet. "Glad you could make it, kiddo. You check the bar out yet?" She asked with a broad grin. There was more than enough indicators reaching her nose to let her know.

"Come on, let's get some drinks." She mentioned as she made her way to the outdoor bar. The scent was getting stronger with each step she took. "Yo, Kran, did you give Aubin a bath before coming?" She asked as she took a few sniffs at him. She even sniffed at Xyoz for a quick second just to make sure. "Hot damn that cologne is perfect on ya." She muttered, taking a few extra sniffs just for good measure. Perhaps there was hope of making a civilized man out of him, after all.

Once she reached the bar, however, it was the final nail in the coffin. A man sitting by it reeked like a hound, drawing her attention for a moment as her brows furrowed. "Yo, my guy, you wash your dogs before you got here?" She asked him as she leaned against the counter, her cybernetic eyes studying the man over. If she had to take a wild guess, he was a Galidraani. At this point it felt like every person in the Empire was a Galidraani. "I'll have Tevraki, double on the rocks." She ordered as the bartender came over to them.

 

[Delilah Jones]

DAGGER-6
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
ANTARES HOTEL | RAVELIN
TAG: Kovacs | Open

A BLOODY DRESS??

BREAK THE RULES​

Shopping!

Del had to bloody go shopping for the damn shindig on the roof. The Lord General had his expectations for military personnel, so the Dagger Pilot had to stoop so low as to go shopping for something that resembled a smarter approach.

She hated it.

Where does one strap a blaster? Ever since Csaus, she didn't go anywhere without being strapped. Tensions were running high all over the Galaxy, so you never know when you have to pull a blaster out of your ass to put a particle hole in someone - whether Maw or otherwise. Throwing Mandalorians into the mix was a disaster waiting to happen and Massoud wasn't around to help this time.

PTSD was a myth.

It took an immense amount of self control to not stomp all the way to the top floor. First of all, the heels wouldn't like that. Second of all, the officers on duty at the door would uh.......not appreciate it. Got to be nice to your fellow comrades in arms and all that jazz. Sometimes it was a question of What Would Massoud Do?

Right this moment, whatever he would do, was uncomfortable on her thigh.

It was bustling with a lot of faces Del haven't seen before and considering the raucous, it was most probably the Mandalorians. She sidestepped a few to make her way to the bar. Some courage juice would be needed to generate some personality. The skill of the T-visors were pretty decent as far as Del had heard. But some other reputations preceded them too. She sincerely hoped DECEASED Erskine Barran had his wits about him when he invited them all into the heart of the Empire.

After getting a glass of Outer Rim, Del had just turned to head outside when a particularly loud raucous drew her attention

"WHAT'S UP KRIFFERS!"

The pilot pulled a face.
"Louder than an ion." she grumbled before taking a sip. At that moment she caught sight of another, more insistent thorn in her side.

Jon bloody feckin Kovacs.

"Ah hell."

 

[Lawq Vasrell]

Lawq huffed in annoyance through her good nostril as she approached the edge of the oblivious crowd of partygoers, doubtlessly still looking like as absolute idiot as she approached the small crowd of aliens and Imperial citizens, only to pause and do a double-take upon seeing the distinct shape and designs of Mandalorian symbolism that she had only heard about from secondhand sources, as well as two hairy, fierce-looking Shistavanens among the small crowd - two incredible things she had never seen before in her admittedly short existence! A clawed fingertip idly and carefully scratched around the edge of her blind left eye, while a large triangular ear atop her head swiveled in a slow, methodical circle as the brown-furred Qom Jha took a moment to listen for the unmistakable and distinct footfall of an officer's or a trooper's boot - where the hell were the guards when you needed them?!

The petite little alien raised a closed hand to her fox-like muzzle, coughing into her fist as she tried to make herself apparent to them, though only a few of the partygoers took notice of the odd, membraned-armed, demure, roughened-looking and tomboyish creature with one nostril stuffed with hygiene flimsi, and even then they seemed content to keep to their drinks and conversations - annoyingly so... What few Qom Jha and Qom Qae that she had encountered offworld, since the species' rapid evolution had kicked in over the centuries often met with this same fate, Lawq had been told: mild curiosity, usually followed by being completely ignored... Folding her ears back in annoyance and once again massaging the useless orb of her blind eye, Lawq huffed through her good nostril, withdrawing the bloodstained hygiene flimsi from one nostril as she used her free hand to reach out, her knuckles softly knocking on the arm of the nearest male, Kranak Vizsla with the flimsi and her brown-furred, gray-membraned arm shifting rapidly to and fro in a bid to get the man's attention. "...So sorry to interrupt, but..." Her free, clawed fingertips attempting to tug at the older human's suit, though as gently as politely as she could... She needed backup to deal with the fugitive, dammit!

Holding up the bloodstained flimsi before her face and waving it even more quickly between the nearest two guests, the chiropteran alien coughed briefly, then used her unencumbered hand to idly massage at the bruise that was slowly swelling just beneath her temple on the right. Offering the man before her a look of concern and slight apprehension, the Qom Jha shifted her long, pointed tail behind her lithe legs and offered the man a friendly, left-sided smile, a stray lock of her scarlet, frazzled hair falling over her blind eye.

"Hello there... I attacked a man in the men's refresher for murdering his sibling and trying to kill his wife while under the influence of illegal spices, and I have the holovid to prove it." The Qom Jha held up the Imperial's rank insignia even as her free hand proudly thumbed the high-number-credit hidden in one vest pocket. "He's still unconscious - I hope - and I can't find any guards... You look like a more capable watchman then the poor sap I left there with him." Lawq huffed, a small bead of fresh blood beginning to form along the edge of her injured nostril once again, "...Help, please, while I go get the idiots in the Security Team, wherever they are?"

 

[Trajan Fett]

BROKEN STEEL
SONS OF MANDALORE
THE OATHSWORN
The Quartermaster

WALK ON BY
​

Was never one for parties. Not like Fett ever made that obvious impression on anyone he'd ever been around. Just wasn't an environment for his kind. He took after Trajan after all, his mentor, something that also showed in the redeemed Beskar'gam he donned from the man. He was taught in these environments, not to enjoy the idle noise and chatter or make small talk with anyone, he was taught how to find his mark but in a situation like this with no specific target in mind- he could lean back and relax, something he'd never given a thought to in these times.

Since he was a teenager, as the Mythosaur banner hung dead at the top of its pole and the Mandalorians were scattered, he'd fought for everthing- but in his career as a bounty hunter, a Supercommando of the Sons of Mandalore essentially on lease by the Imperial military machine to do their dirty work, he'd certainly made a life for himself. It was the rare moments when he could realize that, relishing in the freedom he had in the seclusion aboard his ship on the trail of the hunt.

He could see familiar faces, Mandalorian, Imperial. If he was going to do anything, he was going to sit, listen and learn.

In his corner booth, he leaned back, lifting a drink to his lips, downing half of it before setting the ornate cup back unto the table.

"Another for you, sir?" A passing serving girl inquired the way to Fett, moving to pluck a shot of expensive liquor from the tray before Fett, his face painted in the burns and scars of close combat, war peered in her direction with pale eyes.

"Water would do just fine." He requested. It'd been what he drank moments before. He didn't much care for liquor, alcohol at all. Most of the times he was around it, he kept the t-visor over his expression, showing his 'true' face here was the exception, not the rule. Few, very few likely recognized him. Even if the helmet was off, a single hole balaclava or cowl lied beneath to help conceal his features. Those Mandalorians who were well known hardly had a fate he was looking to follow. But the rest of his Beskar'gam, carrying the blood grain of Concord Dawn, the split insignia of the both apparently Imperial-Loyalist factions of the Mandalorian groups in Clan Fett and the Journeyman Protectors alongside the Mythosaur skull in the style of the vaunted Neo-Crusaders certainly served to give away his allegiance to the Sons of Mandalore at least, as rarely seen as they were.

Not only were they a small group, most of them content to defend the homelands on Concordia and Concord Dawn or were slain in one of their many suicide missions during the Third Imperial Civil War, but they were a brand of a soldier of fortune who'd grounded themselves out as quiet professionals in spite of their eagerness to dive headfirst into the black cauldron of total war. Fett, the Rally Master of the Oathsworn, one of the Sons' more elite and well-known units was keen to carry on the tradition and keep a low profile.

 

[Gwyneira Vizsla]

Partay Outfit:

Spoiler

• Shirt.
• Danger Jacket.
• Gloves.
• Jolt Ring.
• Pants.
• Boots.

Tags: Kranak Vizsla Shai Maji Vulcan Krayt Xyoz Maji

Upon being told to go have fun, Gwyneira tried her best to do so. The pale girl turned and walked past the food bar, heading towards a small dance floor. Should she dance? She paused for a moment, considering, before...

"Sup, girl?"

Gwyn stopped, turning to see a togruta boy about her age approaching her. His stride was confident as he smirked, "Never seen your species before. What are you?"

Put a bit on edge by the comment, Gwyn looked towards him while trying to hide her nervousness, "A hybrid."

"Hybrid, huh?" He took a step closer to her, "You look lovely, either way. No need to hide what you are from me..."

Gwyn paused, knowing fully well that he was hitting on her. Gwyn's love life right now was... severely complicated. Was she taken by someone who did not remember her? Despite all the pain and trouble, loyalty burned deep inside. She took a step away, shaking her head firmly, "I'm sorry, I'm not-"

"Aw, queen," He hand lowered, hovering towards her torso, "It's okay, I won't bite like most of-"

She had noticed. She reached out in a flash, gripping his wrist and utterly twisting it into an uncomfortable and painful, but unharmful position. She could do worse. Way worse. She even wanted to, but she needed to behave at this party. "When someone says no, you best respect that."

She threw him back with the force of her training. As he staggered, holding his bruised wrist, Gwyn spat, "Kark off!"

She turned and stalked off, mind cluttering with all her problems. At least, the togruta problem did not follow her anymore. She soon found herself approaching her father again. To her pleasant surprise, she saw Shai and Vulcan. To her unpleasant surprise, she saw... was that the pirate she shot with her high power sniper rifle once?

She blinked in confusion as she approached, but thus far it seemed like the pirate was behaving. She placed a hand on Vulcan's shoulder and smiled at him, "Nice to see you, Vulcan! You look great!"

She looked towards Shai and smiled to her Clan Alor, "Shai, hello!"

She once again cast a wary eye towards the criminal next to Shai, but she did not push anything as she stood next to her buir again.

 

[Teror]

METTLE
T E R O R
THE APPRENTICE
// Rurik Fel \\

FEL REDOUBT
​

Deep breaths did little to stave off the haggard coughing rattling the sand before her buckled face, the Dathomiri had found herself on the ground once more. She groaned, pushing over to heave her weight up onto one arm, the other stinging far too deeply to bother with supporting herself currently. Knees dragged against the dust, curling up beneath her, and upon this tripod, she perched while recovery became her mission. "Come on trainee, you need to focus!" The voice brought her dazed senses back into focus, and though she angled her face to acknowledge the Knight before her, she did not respond. Rather, another bought of winded wheezes rasped across her tongue, proceeding the tentative rise back to her feet. "That's it, get back up. Now, pay attention, I'm telegraphing everything I'm going to do, you need only watch for the shifts." The twin rhythm in her chest anchored her, bringing her exertion back to the light, and at last, she nodded with understanding. Rattled still, she recentered her balance and brought her training blades forth, taking up an aggressive stance though she played upon the defensive.

"Motion is fluid, it flows like water in combat. Watch my movements, predict them, and change your course to deflect and block. Don't let me strike your arm a second time; you would have lost it already. Tighten up your guard- that's it, bring that foot in." As much as she appreciated his input, his voice was growing more irritating by the second. The zabrak watched him closely, her steps mirroring his own in how she crossed her stance to prowl to the side, the two circling one another with the recommencement of their mock-duel. Fatigue weighed her steps, each plant of her boots dug deeper into the sand, telling of the hours she had already spent in the sparring ring. It was all she did, by most accounts; train. Though fire lapped at her nerves and cramped her muscles, she persevered, dedicated to the cause. Sweat glistened across her brow and chest, gleaming beneath the overhead lights as her focus intensified.

And it was a flurry of movement from her partner that challenged her mettle again. On the right, blades clashed, the Knight swiping tightly to test her reflexes, and with it came the sundering crack! of training blades colliding. A cross caught his heavier blade, dispersing his strength between both arms, Teror tanked the brunt of his kinetic force, only to encroach upon his space and fling a foot forward, crashing her heel into his armored gut to force them apart. "Better!" he encouraged, cracking a smile she did not return, "Keep your wits about you, don't get cocky!" He surged forth in a whirl of quicker slashes, twisting himself about to follow through, and rather than block his strike, the apprentice darted aside, narrowly avoiding the blade to swipe at his knees from his flank.

To her surprise, her blows connected. A yelp of pain left her senior, the man buckling beneath the pressure she applied. Though he was brought to a knee, he did not waver, and another forceful blow sent her legs out from under her. The hard impact was barely dampened by the sand, leaving her chasing after the wind stolen away once more. Yet her partner did not allow her a moment to catch it. Before she could grasp what was happening, white light blinded her, and pain shattered the front of her skull with what would have been a killing blow. Blood rose to meet the call, its crimson flood beginning from the very source. "The Sith will not allow you to recover from a blow, nor will I!" He touted, raising his blade to strike once more.

Unable to see beyond the stars flashing in her sight and the well of tears ushered by the barbarous strike to her nose, she reached out through the ethereal threads tying them together, feeling for the approach. Crack! Another successful guard. "Get up, I'll overwhelm you on the grou-" The man abruptly cutting himself off prompted her to turn her head, blinking the tears from her eyes to peer through the blur of colors, only to see a familiar silhouette occupying the doorway to the arena. Steadiness radiated from him, washing through the arena with a decisive edge, and with it came the cold creep of mastery. "Emperor!" the Knight called, dropping to a knee almost immediately, his training blade left to the sand by his boots.

Beside him, Teror rolled over, shakily pushing herself to a knee in turn, leaving her busted nose to trickle freely into the sands by her toe. It wasn't the only injury she had sustained today, as much was obvious by the splits across her bare arms. Though she was beaten, she did not relinquish her grip on her blades and pressed paling knuckles into the sands beneath her. "Master," she greeted him out-of-breath, "it's g-good... to see you."

 

[Ewan Paircrit]

Place : Objective 1 : Revelry In The Quiet ,Bastion, City of Ravelin
Tags : Open
Near : DECEASED Erskine Barran , Annor E-059
Inventory : outfit

Ewan was seated more or less forcefully opposite the bearded officer who appeared to be in charge and a stormtrooper wearing the elite corps colors. The thirty-something had never dealt with them, he had of course heard vague legends or missions reports carried out by this army corps, but he had difficulties understanding the presence of this trooper here. . Would they torture him any differently than the ISB? Hard to believe.
This place was also out of step with the heaviness of the moment. Soft light rocked the great imperial library, which adopted a style truly at odds with traditional imperial sobriety.
Ewan was unsure whether the choice of where to receive him was down to the Lord who received him, or due to a combination of circumstances and the Lord's schedule. The Elite Trooper was staring at him impassively when the officer finally spoke.

The young man listened quietly, after all, he expected endless questions about the evening spent in Concordats fort. The man surprised him at first, gently making him squint his eyes despite the fact that he tried not to sweat any emotion: despite his stature and his gestural communication which imposed it, he addressed the commando with a strong accent made of "Ye" and "nah" that he sometimes heard as a child, in the highlands of his native planet, among those who lived cut off from the world by ice and sea.
Ewan gently crossed his legs and placed his two cuffed mechanical hands on his knees, although the latter tensed gently as Erskine began to talk about resentment, mercenary, taking things seriously. Finally ! Finally someone who asked the right questions, or at least, the ones that would get things done. The lack of spice over the past week had left him feeling very cold and distressed, interspersed with moments of lucidity like this one he was living here.

'So what was it, Paircrit? What opened the door to your resentments in the first place?'

Ewan inhaled, smiled softly at both of them, before looking at the room that greeted them.

“First of all, M'Lord, thank you for receiving me in such a place. I must admit that it changes from the ISB jails. Don't get me wrong, I don't flatter you for free, I just recognize good taste. "

He looked more serious before moving on.

"Resentments... I never said or assumed this. If this is the conclusion of the reports you are telling me about, I am sorry but it is not.
It’s all just a combination of unfortunate circumstances. Once again, and I say it, since the first day at the Imperial Academy to this day, I have never droped the Empire out of my heart.
Again, reports prior to my departure will remind you that I myself pulled the trigger when my unit discovered the rebel pocket my parents were leading.
Once again, it was not the resentment against the Empire that made me leave but rather the shame that these two faithful servants of our great Empire were in fact traitors. "

Ewan sighed softly, almost theatrically,

“So what? What would you have expected from me? That I remain quietly in front of my subordinates after this incident? I have certainly been a coward, but not against the New Imperial Order, cowardly in the face of my men and myself, for failing to take responsibility for the acts of my family.

So if you ask me to sign a document that says I deserted to harm our Empire, sorry, that would be a lie, and I won't lie while looking a high officier in the eye."

He relaxed and stared at them in turn. To be tried for desertion, yes, but not for attacking the Empire Integrity

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Kranak Vizsla | Gwyneira Vizsla | Shai Maji | Vulcan Krayt

Omen was watching the skyline when he noticed Gwen being harrassed by a Togruta boy that was making the crime of using the words Sup and girl in the same sentence. An audible groan then came from his helmet as he saw her try to pick up Gwen like a Denon CEO would. He could only imagine how Gwen must feel like a piece of meat right now. He of course chuckled as Gwen forced pushed the slimeball away from herself before stumbling away towards the main group of Mandos and a... pirate? What kind of company were the imps recruiting into since the last time he was here? Either way, there was something else on his mind that needed to be done and it wouldn't be pretty...

He spied the same Togruta walking towards his next "prize" in a scantily clad Twilek female at the bar. Needless to say, the scum wasn't expecting the trashcan to be put over his head and to be pushed into the pool while he screamed like a little girl. "Wait... Who put this on me! Who is out there! My dad will destroy you! You are going to be in so much trouble... AHHH!" If the ARC had ever heard a more satifsying splash, he couldn't recall and given his perfect memory, that was saying something.

The only answer Omen ever gave was a satisfied chuckle before he blended into the crowd while onlookers took video of the now very wet and ranting Togruta as he screamed for them to stop on his father's authority. Oh rich kids... They would never learn...

The Clone then went to the bar, ordering a smoothie while staying in earshot of the bigger Mando group. If whatever that pirate was talking about south, he wanted to be the first to support his friends.... and the horndogs too...​

 

[Xyoz Maji]

Xyoz squinted at Kranak Vizsla for a moment. The Mandalorian wasn't in his armor, so for Xyoz who'd only ever seen Shai Maji without those layers, it took a second for him to recognize the other. Not by his voice though. As the headbutt came crashing down into his forehead, everything made sense. He stumbled back a step, then barked out a loud laugh with an even wider grin.

"Rancorbait! Good to see it didn't eat you." Not that it would've. Xyoz had complete control of the beast by the time he decided to slip away. Not that he'd tell the Mandalorian. He'd of gone on, but something else caught his attention. His head tilted, staring down at Lawq Vasrell for a moment. Then to Kranak. Then grinned wider.

"Look at that, still gotta play the bouncer even when you're just here to party. You just got that uh, suit look about ya." He cackled another laugh, patting the man on the shoulder before wandering off to follow after Shai Maji . Wait, didn't she say something about his cologne? He blinked, glancing to himself, then back to where she'd wandered off. "Hey, hol' up what do you mean perfect?"

 

[Kovacs]

REVELRY ON THE ROOFTOPS
DAGGER-5
ANTARES HOTEL, RAVELIN

Reprieve from the war was always welcome. The whole famed 181st Fighter Wing had gathered in the hotel - some still strictly following the dress code befitting pilots wearing their officer's uniforms while others had a more casual look like Jon; jeans, boots and a spacer leather bomber jacket that embraced the inquisitive and dissatisfied eyes of the most prudent ISB agents in the room.

Fuck 'em.

Jon Kovacs would've waited for Delilah's tardy arrival before he started drinking had it not been for the attractive bartender urging him to drink more. She was cute but she was no Imperial Dream woman. The hard-working, badass, stomp-you-with-heels and kill-you-with-a-look women. The ones like Delilah Jones.

But Delilah Jones was late and Jon Kovacs was spearheading the revelry on the rooftops for the whole Fighter Wing.

Climbing up on the bar itself with two beer cans in his hand and roared for all, Imperial and Mando alike, to hear:

"LONG LIVE
THE EMPIRE!!!"

He clapped the beers together, poured half of them over his face then over an innocent bystander with a helmet ( Vulcan Krayt ).

Delilah Jones Gwyneira Vizsla Kranak Vizsla Shai Maji Xyoz Maji Lawq Vasrell @everyoneelsetbh

 

[Vulcan Krayt]

Objective: A shower for one?
Equipment: Sword, M.I. Model 6 hybrid pistol
Wearing: This
Tags: Delilah Jones | Gwyneira Vizsla | Kranak Vizsla | Shai Maji | Xyoz Maji | Lawq Vasrell | Kovacs

The party is in full swing, and Vulcan had a second helping of the green drink, stronger than the first one he picked, it reminded him of hospital drinks, but better tasting and without the after taste of sterile additive. He is going to drink like a Mando because that is the way. He was super happy to see Gywn here, he was getting worry vibes when he didn't know where she was. After everything, he can't help it. He did smile when she ''told'' that guy off. God knows where he slimed out of. The guy was lucky to not get hurt, served him right if he did.

His glass was now disappointingly empty, and he wanted another drink, which he will give a visit to the bar, he reached the bar top just in time to get a shower of beer over his head, turning his visor brown as it poured down all over.

<"Bluh?"> Was his only response, it wasn't a word but a noise of bemused surprise.

He froze, where did that come from? Who did that? Why did they do that? He was not expecting to be picked for a surprise baptism of beer, but he should have. Shaking his head free from frothy beer, he quickly got out of range in case of another unexpected alcoholic shower.

First times were the trickiest. The whole experience was not unpleasant, far from it, it was just surprising. Given how noisy it has become, the party will get even wilder than it has been thus far. Vulcan will ride the waves to the end, even if he ends up sprawled on the floor, unable to string a coherent thought together. Even if he had to be carried out, this day is not going to waste, even if he's wasted.

 

[Gwyneira Vizsla]

Partay Outfit:

Spoiler

• Shirt.
• Danger Jacket.
• Gloves.
• Jolt Ring.
• Pants.
• Boots.

Tags: Vulcan Krayt Kovacs Shai Maji Kranak Vizsla Xyoz Maji

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Gwyneira could not help but laugh hysterically at the show Omen put on, gifting the togruta playboy with the joys of karma. As she slowed in her laughter, she pulled her jacket off and slung it over her shoulder. The party commenced, with various patrons going about their fun business. It was then that the question hit her mind - was there a pool here?

Before that question could be answered, however, someone aside her got drenched. She heard the loud exclamation, of glory to the empire. She turned just in time to see her little brother get dumped on with beer.

His reaction was one of surprise more than anything, but Gwyn was protective enough of her loved ones. Whipping her jacket off her shoulder and pulling it back on, she darted over to Vulcan. "Are you okay!"

She already was staring sternly at the culprit in warning, already considering walking up to him and using her jolt ring on him. Or, perhaps, test the prototype whistling bird launcher in her cybernetic leg. Either way, she was not happy that her little bro was soaked in alcohol. She looked back towards him with a genuine, worried expression, "Need a towel?"

 

[Delilah Chamberlin]

☽ a tale of two shadows ☾
act. I
w. Lachlan Sinclair

soundtrack​

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The corset around her waist lay tighter than she had hoped, changing deep drags of air for short puffs. Tonight she felt like a lady, her form dripping in a decadent black dress that matched her partner’s attire. With each passing window, each mirror, she stared at her reflection, pressing her body tighter to his, binding their hands until they had melted into one. More than once the staff had made mention of her beauty and yet no matter the thin veil of make-up nor the fabric of her dress could make her feel more than. She still felt like a huntsman in camouflage. Standing idle, she would lean against Lachlan the same way Blind Ire pressed against their calves when he sought out their affections and comfort.

The waft of perfume rattled her some which in turn made her stare up at him. She could see the subtle twitches around his nostrils and even a small vibrations that emanated from his body. He was uncomfortable and so was she, even though attending this party was her idea. Something about participating in something out of their norm; to be surrounded by other voices other than their own and the gentle rumble from their beasts seemed ideal for the night. And even still, the always seemed to remain shadows melting into the background.

Delicate fingers curled at the sides of her gown, lifting the edges above the ground to not mix with the muck they traversed. It felt odd to be without the clinking of boots, the rattle of armor against her or the pitter patter of claws that seemed to echoed each of her steps. So much had changed since that night she had found him, their worlds seem to mix so beautifully built upon mystery and story. Delilah seemed to snap her attention back to Lachlan when she heard his rumbles beside her, allowing his hand to linger on her waist just a little longer. Her gaze shifted to his and she gave him a sweet smile. It often didn’t matter what he said, whether it was the grumble of his sleepy voice on her chest whenever she read or the change in pitch whenever his excitement nearly made the steady rhythm in his chest sing…he always rustled up the butterflies in her belly.

"Ye look lovely, doll. Thir's naw need te fret."

“Thank ye, darling…” She whispered softly, leaning her head against his shoulder for a short time before he slowly unravel himself from her to find something to drink. Yet, she would not allow him to part without her fingers tracing the curve of his jaw, raking against the stubble that seemed to grow by the second. “Ok…please dun be long~.” Delilah pressed a hand to her throat, wondering why her voice sounded higher and the flush instantly broke through, covering her nose and cheeks. “Fuck’sake…” She muttered underneath her breath as he walked away, the heat on her face was evident without even looking. Just some ways in the distance, near an area where no one really seemed to linger, in the darkness she had found a place for them to sit. Her eyes hung around their surroundings, fascinated with the lights and the bustle of the city that encapsulated them.

 

[Rurik Fel]

E M P E R O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
ORDER OF THE IMPERIAL KNIGHTS
THE FEL REDOUBT
Teror

LEGIO FERRATA

"I AM THE SWORD OF JUSTICE! I AM THE SHIELD OF THE UNAVENGED! I AM THE WEAPON OF THE EMPIRE AND MY CRUSADE IS ETERNAL! HAIL THE EMPEROR! HAIL THE EMPIRE! OUR WILL BE DONE!"
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The Iron Crusaders filling the main hall of the fortress called out out in chilling unison as they held up their blades to recite the oath of their chapter once more. A ritual to begin a day anew once accountability of the Chapter's numbers within the Redoubt had been established. The argent blades disengaging in scattered pace as the Knights separated to begin their training and other works. The Fel Redoubt was the main venue within the Empire within which the Imperial Knights were molded, shaped from the chaotic beings of untamed force bridled ambition into the disciplined warriors of the Empire. While they were given the autonomy expected of force users, they evidently more uniform, evidently more disciplined than their Jedi and Sith peers.

The day began with organized chaos, formations of classes at various stages of their training scattering through the Redoubt as made knights went about their duties. It was rare that Fel returned to the fortress of his namesake, though christened in the honor of Marasiah Fel, not himself. She was a greater paragon of what it meant to be a knight than he could show, as were the other names and images idolized within the halls. Antares Draco, Ganner Krieg, Jao Assam to name a few of the Knights of the Empire revered in the teachings of Rurik's New Order.

A few hours into the day he went upon his own ambition to inspect the progress of one of the few Knight-Squires deemed to be under the mentorship of Fel. Within the Order, there very few true 'masters' among the ranks of the Knight Commanders- with many responsible for being battlefield leaders before raising up the next generation or simply levying guidance to the Knight-Errants and Squires beneath them on the field. It was hardly an effective means at growing the creed- but the persistent state of war the Iron Crusaders remained within made conventional teaching difficult. After all, metal was best shaped in the hottest flames.

Teror was one of the few assigned to Rurik, done so by council of Knight Commanders who oversaw the training of new Knights and by Rurik's own vow, he would not abandon his duties as Knight Commander, the most senior and experienced one at that in favor of the Emperor ship. The Knights of the Empire were his will made manifest as it was, to neglect their nurturing would be to neglect his own being and the soul of the New Order itself.

Buried within his skin of steel and cloak of argent he peered over the spar with respectful silence before eventually it was snuffed out due to his arrival. He motioned a hand for the two to stand before facing the Knight opposite of Teror, all but ignoring the girl in the moment.

"Look after the other Knights, I will take things from here, Knight, thank you." He said to the Knight with a nod, the man clutching the training saber to his chest before bowing before the Emperor.

Rurik then looked in the direction of the Dathomiri, his pale, frigid gaze appraising her wounds before speaking up once more, his voice ever strained, nigh painful sounding in its inflection as an otherworldly tinged danced over each word.

"You've made progress, that much is certain. But still, your striking at random impulse will see your swift end on the field of battle. The Sith are far more violent in their dance of death, and far less forgiving in exploiting your mistakes." Rurik admitted.

"Do tell...and do be candid, do you still feel the embrace of darkness? In those moments of duress?" He inquired, arching a brow beneath his iron visage.

 

[The Quartermaster]

R E V E L R Y

Tag: Trajan Fett

The night air of Bastion was a temperate cool, almost warm to the Quartermaster after so many freezing chills on Kestri. The ice world was home, that was for certain, but that did not make it any less inhospitable. The Enclave had been reminded of their fragile grip on existence when the Sith had struck from the shadows, knocking out Tor Valum's power grid and nearly plunging the entire city and its inhabitants into a freezing end. The Sith had been fought off and power restored, but the damage had been done.

Mandalorian morale was fraying, though the Quartermaster tried her best to compartmentalize and conceal it. They were stretched too thin and had suffered too much. Though they had won great victory in the Frontier War and on Panatha, they were poor recompense for the decades of trauma that had suddenly been reignited when the Sith had struck at their home again. For every bright-eyed foundling, there was a veteran that remembered what it was like to have Sith rain fire on their homes. The sense of helplessness. The sense of utter defeat.

It made this revelry on Ravelin feel hollow, for while most Mandalorians would be spending the night consumed with liquor and lust, all the Quartermaster felt was anxiety and doubt for the future. She was out of place here. She should not be here.

"Water would do just fine."

The voice made her head turn. An odd request, and even more curious when she saw that it came from a Mandalorian. By reputation all Mando'ade were heavy drinkers; their choice alcohol substituted as a hull stripper in times of need. She did not know what compelled her, but suddenly she was taking a seat across from the Mandalorian. She was silent for a moment, observing the warrior as no doubt he was measuring up her before she finally spoke. "I do not know your armor, but I know your clan and signet. From your heraldry, you are one of the warriors sworn to the Sons of Mandalore, are you not?" She finally asked, her voice the same austere neutral that she had trained it to be, but there was almost a hint of curiosity in her voice hidden behind the layers of inexpressiveness.
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[Trajan Fett]

BROKEN STEEL
SONS OF MANDALORE
THE OATHSWORN
The Quartermaster

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"Fett." He offered, not as if it needed explanation. It was a symbol any born in the iron Mandalorian knew plenty well of. He lifted the cup of water to his lips, downing another sip of the tasteless liquid before speaking up once more.

"As a matter of fact, yes. As rare as we are far from 'home' these days." Suppose the name did stick, be it- most of the Sons of Mandalore didn't stray too close to a world designated as as all but a tomb world by the Sons and Empire both. It was better that way, to let mother rest than suffer her the folly of another pack of ironclad killers trying to remake it anew once more. The Children of the Watch were right, it was a cursed world and best left laid to rest, however the Sons of Mandalore still found numbers in their strongholds on Concordia and Concord Dawn, though it hardly rivaled the growing Mandalorian Enclave by now, not that it mattered.

They were a fringe within a shattered creed trying to make their way in the universe, some called them cowardly, foolish, traitors. Didn't matter, they paid the price and reaped the fruits of their sacrifice in the end. It wasn't a life as fulfilling as the crusades of old but, they doubted anything else would be.

"Volker. Rallymaster. Oathsworn." He rattled off his first name, having already introduced his clan, his rank and his warband as if she had any clue what it meant at all.

"And yourself?" He was genuinely ignorant to whoever the Quartermaster was, hardly involving himself with his Enclave counterparts save for when mutual enemies aligned. Which, luckily, they often did. He didn't think much of anything of her, his placid expression certainly matching her own indifference in tone and inflection but to her credit, this is the most anyone had gotten out of him in months, maybe even years.

 

[The Quartermaster]

R E V E L R Y

Tag: Trajan Fett

She was unfamiliar with the titles and names that the Mandalorian -- Volker -- listed off, though she no doubt would be able to fill in the blanks when she returned to Kestri. But she knew of Clan Fett; it had always been small, but its most noteworthy members were legends of Mandalorian past. And when he returned the question, she inferred a sincerity from him, something that she had not expected coming from a Mandalorian.

It wasn't that she enjoyed the fame that had come with leading the Mandalorian Enclave, but perhaps she had gotten used to it, to being recognized on-sight by her distinctive armor. She'd taken care to remove any heraldry from her past life when she had taken on the mantle of Quartermaster, and she'd become an almost mythical enigma among the Enclave. A savior for some. A mother for those who had none.

But none of them knew the face underneath. And so maybe that was why she removed her helmet.

A slight whoosh emitted as the beskar'gam depressurized, revealing a round face with dark brown, nearly black hair pinned behind her head. Age and her burden had left wrinkles under her eyes, but otherwise, her olive-tinged skin was unblemished apart from the slight color to her cheeks as they reacted to the sudden shift in temperature. "I am Alea, of Clan Varad." She had never revealed her identity before; her anonymity was a defense, and also made the Quartermaster a figurehead free from the past of any Mandalorian Clan or Heraldry. But consequently, no one knew Alea, and no one would spare the now nondistinct Mandalorian woman a second glance. Her true identity was her best disguise. "I've not had the pleasure of meeting any of my cousin-kin in the Sons of Mandalore before, but it is a pleasure, Volker."
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[Lachlan Sinclair]

CITYSCAPE
L A C H L A N
ft. Delilah Chamberlin Shai Maji

COMING OUT OF THE WOODWORK - PART 2



"LONG LIVE
THE EMPIRE!!!"
​

The raucous cheer rang in his ears, urging him to nod his head briefly in agreement, though his sister-in-law's words still lingered in the back of his mind. He didn't know much about the Empire, and even less about the majority of its people. Perhaps that was the purpose behind his agreement to attend the event with Delilah, to learn more. Xenophobia was rampant across his homeworld, and though he had isolated himself in solitude, he held little interest in sharing the sentiment.

Tucked less-than-comfortably at the corner of the bar, the operator waited with expected patience as the bartender- who, by now, looked awfully agitated given the man standing on her bar and spilling drinks everywhere- assembled the liquors he had requested, tending to his cigarette without much interest in conversing with the strangers around him. There was no quarrel with the Mandos he held, no issue with them at all, in fact, he quite admired their warrior spirits, but it simply wasn't his nature to chat with just anybody. He was much more suited to listen and observe; two ears one mouth. Through the wisping coils of smoke, he glimpsed at the pair of strange canine-like humanoids, his curiosity veiled behind his often unexpressive face. He had never seen Shistavanen before, and if he had, it was likely from a distance, or during one of his less-than-polite rampages across a shared battlefield. As alien as they were to him, he could cast no judgment, the galaxy was full to the brim with a number of species he couldn't possibly fathom.

Their approach drew his nose to twitch, instinctively catching the scent on the shift of the gentle breeze. A gesture that was mutual, as he soon discovered. The woman situated herself next to him, nose twitching and flaring in his direction as though he was just as alien to her as she was to him. The cursed man blinked, his brows rising in surprise, as she spoke up with a voice he didn't quite expect.

"Yo, my guy, you wash your dogs before you got here?"

The question was enough to earn a half-baked smirk, his lip curling around his cigarette filter to briefly flash the curved edge of fanged ivory. "Ye can tell I live wi' three hounds, can ye?" He asked of her, canting his head in her direction. "'s whit I get fer fallin' in love wi' a hound master." Of course, he had his suspicions about just exactly what it was she caught off his wind, and the triplets definitely weren't it. Though he had spritzed himself in sandalwood, the nature of his Blood left its lingering touch on him, regardless of what he did. It was undetectable by most noses, but it seemed hers was especially keen. "'At's probably not it, though," he admittedly candidly with a shrug, fetching the vice from his lips to snuff out in the tray before him, "Ye keen oan fables?"

Whether or not she had heard of his tale, or even worked with him on the battlefield was unknown to him, but comfort in the chaos had grown him accustomed to explaining it, where once he would have given anything to keep it hidden. Lachlan straightened himself up to look at her properly and offered his right hand. "Lachlan Sinclair," he introduced himself, "Th'Beast o' Galidraan, 's a pleasure." Around the wrist tucked into his coat pocket, he felt a faint vibration, a warning that his pulse was starting to rise issued by the monitor secured in permanence there.

Beyond Shai his eyes darted, searching for his girlfriend at the edge of the party, and upon finding her situated comfortably at the table he requested, he flashed a smile and turned his focus back.

 

[Teror]

DEVOUT
T E R O R
THE APPRENTICE
// Rurik Fel \\

THE FEL REDOUBT
​

The dismissal of her sparring partner brought the woman to rise to her feet, her posture growing more rigid in his presence. Fingers loosened their grip around the handles of her training weapons, and though formality reigned supreme, she found herself somewhat able to relax as he turned his focus onto her. Amber eyes situated into his, the clash of forced corruption and endless resolve. Finally able to catch her breath, she did so and freed a hand to lift to her bashed nose, pinching its bludgeoned bridge to stifle the stream of crimson from sullying her attire further.

"You've made progress, that much is certain. But still, your striking at random impulse will see your swift end on the field of battle. The Sith are far more violent in their dance of death, and far less forgiving in exploiting your mistakes." Rurik admitted.

"Do tell...and do be candid, do you still feel the embrace of darkness? In those moments of duress?"

She had expected his question, it was one of the many he often asked of her, and as graciously as she accepted his remark on her progress, her lips curled downward into discontent. "I do," Teror answered him honestly, withholding from the man who had given her a chance would not serve any purpose, "it's always there. It gnaws on my thoughts and chews at my focus." Bitterness ebbed from her tongue, spurring a pause that saw her dust the sand from her face and wipe the blood from her mouth with the back of an aching hand, "It comes in waves, but strikes like a viper when I'm on the ground, especially. It wants everything from me, and swears it can give me the strength to best even you." The Dathomirian shook her horned head, her brows finding place low over her infernal gaze. "I haven't been able to sleep these last few nights, I keep having nightmares."

Her gaze departed him briefly, glancing down at the sand between their boots. What had been done, had been done, now it was all she could do to recover from it. And though she was persistent in her efforts, so too was the corruption. Even now, standing before him it snaked its insidious coil around her throat and murmured into her ear. "So I've chosen meditation, instead."