Faction Reclamation | NIO & Allies

[Dorian Sicarrio]

Rurik Fel​

Dorian sat up when the Knight Commander addressed him. Force of habit. Rurik Fel was full of surprises -- not just anyone could sneak up on Dorian. Even after all this time and hardship, the metal man was still light on his feet. Still, Dorian was more surprised by his own sense of the man.

"You don't really want to be here, do you?" For once he was able to read the Knight Commander. He turned back to his glass, pausing for a few more moments to think. "I'm not... nervous. I think I just feel the same as you."

He sighed. "Doesn't feel right to be partying, yeah? Everyone's thinking it. I mean, that's why this party is so... dull. No one thinks they're meant to be here. Wish it was a rave, or something. Haven't done spice in way too long."

A glance back. He didn't know if Rurik was okay with those kinds of substances. Probably not. He stopped himself as to not chase off his only company for now. "Look, I- I know you get it. Like...

"Like, order doesn't rest. We can't sit back, or party."

 

[Rurik Fel]

H E I R _ T O _ T H E _ E M P I R E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
WAYWARD SON OF FEL
FOCUS | Dorian Sicarrio

Not that the ironclad visage clasped over his face served to hide the fact of his apathy to this event. But it was never truly intended for the likes of him, for the likes of the Order at all. They were a people born and bred in the fires of struggle, the depths of war.

All the same, an endless charge against the bulwark of evil would ground them down to the nub. There would always be that moment if needed respite even if ever brief, ever faint. All this same, this far more akin to a ceremony than a party, else Rurik knew for certain the Sovereign Imperator would not see it fit to have a presence here.

“You worry too much on what is not instead of appreciating what is. You will die a sad and longing death if you hone in too much on what is not and worry for what you miss without feeling the high. The world is beat perceived through a sober mind and clear vision, Dorian. To see the ugliness in reality at its darkest and the intoxicating beauty of its brightest moments. Otherwise you will tortured yourself.” Rurik suggests.

“They need rest, everyone needs rest. A moment to look back on the mountain they’ve climbed, the odds they’ve defied. To remember where your path started to where it is now. Otherwise we will lose aim for what we fight for.” Fel says.

 

[Loske Treicolt]

BASTION // REVELIN // FORTRESS IMPERATOR //
INTERACTING WITH: Maynard Treicolt // Dracken Pryce // Republic Engineering // OPEN
R E D E Y E​

There was no confetti. Another stark contrast to the way The Imperial’s celebrated versus The Alliance. Unity Day was perhaps the closest parallel she could draw to this occasion, and its differences were glaringly obvious. The absent celebratory strips of paper were only one of many. All the stationed boasts of power was likely the most obvious dissimilarity.

All the Order’s protective posturing and machinery made her want to swap her officer’s uniform for her strike team armour.

“Like what they’ve done with the place.” Loske murmured, keeping her voice low while taking in the drapes of motifs decorated around the former Sith pinnacle. Only those in the immediate proximity would overhear the commentary. Once again, the Imperial efficiency of redecorating and restoring the streets that had seen chaos and rubble only a few months prior were impressive leaps forward. However, despite the Imperial’s best efforts, there was still a residual shadow that stretched through the soils and atmosphere.

A crash in the distance, no doubt from the efforts of Jaeger Harrsk and his men, caused her to crane her neck in search of the source. Only movements in the shadows were discovered, and she shrugged back to the conversation at hand.

Forcing herself to ease out of the tightness that had crept into her muscles, she flexed her hands one, two, three times, and reached up to unbutton one of the clasps against her throat. It was rare that she’d don the officer’s uniform, other than the typical flight jumpsuit, and every itch that flared against her skin was a good reminder of why she usually abstained from officially representing The Alliance, dress-wise. It was almost too tailored.

Hundreds of troops and technicians were assembled on the stone floor, gathered for one last time before (probably) dispersing to new posts and distant homes. The mass ranks of pressed uniforms and polished semi-armour stood together in a fitting show of Imperial might. There was a collective grimness to all of them as if they were almost as uncomfortable as she was. Or unknowing how to celebrate –– as if they couldn’t believe they were occupying the reward for their audacity. Uncertain if they were allowed to revel in their survival and glory when their brothers and sisters had been sacrificed. Another parallel to Unity Day. The soldiers of The Alliance felt close, but all those fighting for the face of one man had almost a deeper layer of purpose.

This was the gold at the end of the Braxant Run’s rainbow.

Whatever was being discussed now, the Jedi Knight found her eyes wandering through the crowds.

“..No way..” Loske gaped, clicking her teeth shut and blinking heavily at the discovery amidst the attendees. Disbelief moved her to rub her eyes, and she looked to her immediate surroundings, the familiar faces of fellow Alliance personnel. Admiralty, Lieutenant and General, and a few of the obliging soldiers from Raider and Ryyk squadron. They were spattered about, but still not so interwoven throughout the rest of the Imperials that it looked natural.

“That’s the Sith’s Moff Inquisitor from the failed Vicondor mission.” Jerking her head to the left indicatively, she explained her out-of-place reaction to the man at her immediate side. Her husband. That had been an annoying story to tell at the time, full of frustrated emotion and somehow having to explain why she cared to betray the trust of someone she’d met only a few times and who’d never been honest with her from the start. She’d reached the conclusion it was because she’d never been able to fathom baking distrust into relationships. Loske was as open a book as they came. As much as she thought recent events would change her, it was a struggle to close up. Seemed like a lot of work to say less.

“How is he here?” Was it another lie? Was he pulling a fast one over the Imperials? Did they know who he was? Did she care if the Imperials were betrayed from the inside or not? Did it matter, so long as they were getting things done? Getting closer to the liberation of the worlds within the Sith’s clutches. She frowned deeply, knitting her brows in a perplexed expression. The world of spies and lies was nefarious and daunting, not something she cared to continue being entangled in. Allyson’s plight had been exhausting enough, she didn’t have the bandwidth to entertain care anymore. But curiosity...curiosity would always be sustained. So she was obvious with her stare in Djorn Bline ’s direction, and if he happened to look her way, her challenging expression would remain unchanged until –– what’s that? That looked good.

Stretching for a passer-by with a tray of libation, Loske sought to snatch one as they walked, but the individual in uniform lingered long enough for all the gathered Alliance personnel to take what they wanted.

She took a sip of whatever it was and promptly discovered she hated it. Her face did little to conceal her reaction, and she awkwardly maintained her hold on the half-downed glass and avoided eye contact of the person who was distributing the drinks.

“Think we should rub some more shoulders other than our own?” The question was to the cluster while looking for somewhere to pawn the remaining drink off. There were some here she knew she wanted to congratulate for making it this far, few she’d brushed shoulders with getting here.

 

[Ravraa Vyshraal]

OPEN | PLANS TO RP WITH Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt Noel Strasza @LiterallyAnyone​

He couldn’t have looked any less out of place if he wanted to. If it wasn’t for the fact he was the only damned Togruta this side of the Core, people probably would have thought that he was just a drifter rolling into the party to see what was going on, despite being immediately flanked by Jeresan, who’s hand he intermittently would go from holding to wiping his palm on his pant leg out of nerves, the Novatroopers that stood at the doorway still attempted to block his entry. Leading to a long, and awfully drawn out, moment of Ravraa having to dig into his pockets and produce his datachip, and when that was still not enough for the guards to simply send them pass, he had to actually flash his dogtags and start reciting wartales before they shrugged between themselves and waved them into the complex.

The moment the pair was in though, it was immediate that Ravraa had underdressed nearly as much as could have been possible for him. Dozens of dozens of people drifting here and there throughout the halls of the once Sith-Imperial Gem. What was it they were calling it now of days? Fortress Imperator. That was it.

He had seen the man spartanly, maybe twice, three times if he thought real hard on it, but he felt that it was well deserved. Tavlar, despite what the tabloids may print about him, despite how many of his brothers in arms were ordered to their death because of him, despite the nightmares he woke up from on the hour, Ravraa couldn’t bring himself to hate the man. The tales through the 501st of his battlefield presence, the sheer radiance that he gave up, well, it was enough to wash most of those sins away. Fatherly, almost.

This was far from the celebrations he was used to, there were drinks afterall, but nothing substantial at all. Instead, it was officers and other men of service simply… filling a void. Drinks in hand, awkward conversations blowing up back and forth. Nothing that struck him as true revelry. It was all drab, far too safe. Where was the banjo piece band, where was the bowl of a mystery liquid that very well could have been starship fuel, where was the idiotic backyard games you’d purchase for far too many credits than they were worth.

“This seems… shit.” Ravraa mused.

“Rav! Come on now.” Jeresan replied.

“I mean, it is. No one’s even gone a-bleedin’ yet.”

“... Here, I’ll go find the others. Maybe they can bring your mood up a bit. This is about you, Rav. Don’t ruin it for yourself.”

Before he could protest, Jeresan went chittering off, vanishing into the crowd before Ravraa could protest.

Now where was the bar?

Wait… that’s not… could it be?

“Is that Lyra ‘Got My Ass Kicked by a Sith in his Smallclothes’ Voi'kryt!” Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt

 

[Omar Melnau]

A_SOCIAL_OCCASION
Dr. Vero Eckes, PhD
Independent Tasking
-Bastion-
Present Day
TAGS_OPEN / Noel Strasza
= WEAPONRY :: BH "Specter" Vibroknife =
= EQUIPMENT :: A datapad and a confident smile =
= ARMOR :: A well-made suit =

He took to the social scene like a fish to water. It was amazing what a fresh shave and a decent suit could do, to take some intelligence agent hunched over a desk and turn him into a decently presenting member of society. Doctor Vero Eckes adjusted his round-framed sunglasses to perch better on his nose as he ascended the steps of the fort with so many others - both locals and Imperials from around the various services.

He was stopped at the entrance, of course. Any outsider who wasn't either fully clad in NIO wargear or somebody unmistakably recognizable was treated to such a stop. But all it took was a smie and a presentation of his ID for the guards at the door to wave him through without a second glance. They wouldn't even remember his face and name as he slipped the sunglasses off and tucked them in the collar of his dress shirt.

He smiled, "Be well, gentlemen."

Of course he didn't commit the amateur sin of handing his business card to the officer in charge of the front security detail. Not because it would be traced or anything like that. No. Doctor Eckes prodded the minds of important clients. Warlords, Generals, Moffs, and even some day Imperators would sit in his office. Not some young officer entrusted with front gate duty. His time was critically important.

After that he slipped in among the crowds and started looking for faces.

Some part of him was tempted to go find somebody the likes of Jaeger Harrsk or one of the other influential sorts who would surely be in attendance. See just how far the chain of command in COMPNOR he was to those giants, while looking every bit like his cover. Ah - but then he saw Noel Strasza . Half metal and machine. Half organs and clear pain of a not-quite-physical sort. It was obvious in the way that she glared at her drink, of course, but there were subtler signs in the body language and the way she turned to address one of her peers.

He slipped over to the bar, inviting himself to take a seat next to her, and motioning the bartender for his - that was Vero's - usual. A not-too-unique brand of wine that had become increasingly common in NIO-controlled space.

It was only when met with a lull between she and her apparent former subordinate that he pretended to take notice of her, turning with a slight smile, "Why hello there. Doctor Eckes. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss... ?" He extended his free hand, expectant for a shake.

 

[Arianna Sarreti]

"I do not know why I am here... I did not do anything worthy in the battle to justify attending," the young Sarreti thought to herself while smoothing over the already crisp uniform she wore with her lightsaber attached to the belt.

Arianna took a deep breath, pushing that wistful, self-doubting musing away, then squared her shoulders. She entered the repurposed grand hall that was holding the New Imperial Order's victory celebration with her dark head held high despite her personal misgivings. The Coruscanti after all was loyal to the cause as Arianna came from a long line of Imperialists dating well back to Ephin Sarreti, a Moff during the time of the Imperial Remnant. He even had a Star Destroyer named after him posthumously by the Fel Empire - go figure.

While most of the Imperial Knights were on the ground leading troops and fighting the Sith, the lowly Squire had been given protection duty of an admiral aboard one of the Order's SSD's in case of a ship boarding. But that scenario didn't come to pass so Arianna did nothing except stay vigilant at the back of the bridge from behind the admiral's chair and observe the chaotic space battle allotted from that viewpoint. She didn't even get to fell any Sith defectors either when the order for Dark Kyber was initiated - feckless.

Within the room, many of the NIO and allies had already gathered and were partaking in the celebratory nature of the event. Her chocolate drop orbs quickly perused the area to find some of the Force Corps mingling about in various conversations it seemed. Arianna decided to get a refreshment first, then see to socializing if the opportunity presented itself as the Sarreti was not as outgoing or assertive as some in the ranks. Though perhaps, it was time to change that if she was going to make her family proud and amount to anything.

_____

Rurik Fel | Dorian Sicarrio | Lucien Dooku | Jin Kyrel​

 

[Dorian Sicarrio]

Rurik Fel | Open
​

Dorian found himself pausing to consider Rurik's words, again startled by the concept of self-reflection, and again startled that he understood. Perhaps he was obsessed with what wasn't, what had been, what could be -- after all, this whole experiment as an Imperial Knight had been an attempt to understand and grapple with his relationship to his mother. As soon as he'd understood he found himself looking ahead.

"Yeah, I get that." When he'd lived his life doing spice, fighting, and living in the moment he'd been a man in a haze. Now he had things to work towards. There was so much beauty to appreciate in the present, after all.

"I have come a long way, haven't I?" He glanced to Rurik again, searching for approval before realizing he didn't need it. Dorian smiled. "I mean, I have. Climbed a mountain, and shit. Went the distance..."

His gaze became distant; he stared out into those gathered. "I guess I'm just trying to figure out where I need to head next." He glanced back at Rurik. "Any advice?"

 

[Noel Strasza]

B L U R R E D _ V A L U E S
Major Noel "Deader" Strasza
Fortress Imperator
Revelry
Prestige
Focus | Omar Melnau

The presence of her former comrade was encouraging to some degree, offering her ease where she had been previously unable to tame nerves in the face of phantom scrutiny. It was true, there were those who would stare at her as she went about the same activities as the others present; drinking, socializing, waiting. But for the most part, many had seen far worse things than a cyborg in a beret at the bar- especially in the Carlaci variant of the New Imperial uniform.​

However, Ross could not stay with her for long, as he had to return to his company, and it was with reluctance that he left her there- offering only one last glance dripping with heart-throbbing worry over his shoulder before being swept into the swaying sea of people. With his departure, the major felt some pang rattling in her hollowed chest. She hoped she could see him again. And all the others, for that matter. Yet with nothing left to offer anyone else at the bar, the woman returned her augmented gaze to the window, peering with some wistful curiosity to the vast skyline and the streaks of air traffic threading and winding through the ecumenopolis. She hadn't paid it enough attention when she had been intent on conquering it to appreciate the beauty it held.​

Had she been a poet, perhaps she would have drawn some similarity between herself and the spanning buildings.​

But she wasn't.​

She was a soldier.​

Motion in her immediate periphery drew her attention and she glanced over.​

"Why hello there. Doctor Eckes. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss... ?" He extended his free hand, expectant for a shake.

​

This man was unfamiliar to her in more ways than one. Not only was her organic, albeit impaired and jostled, memory unable to place him, but the recognition systems installed within her central cranial augment failed to as well. He was a ghost. Where a tide of names swelled over the crowds and listed occupations and affiliations if she focused on them, nothing sprawled across her retinal HUD to verify the man's claims. And thus, Strasza nurtured healthy suspicion in her mind. Such machinations occurred within the span of a heart's beat, delaying their conversation none, and she drew a slow breath through her nose. A doctor. She was so tired of dealing with doctors.​

"I'm not in the business of shaking hands sitting down, so just use your imagination, Doctor." The cyborg offered him with a pointed nod down of her head in his direction, "Major-" she addressed her title first, "-Strasza." Her focus shifted in temporary capture towards her glass, and it was with a gentle toss of her head that she took another pull from its tasteless contents. The strange, segmented fibers of her tongue slipped out, chasing down the defiant droplets lingering on her metal lip. "I haven't seen you before-" a brow raised as she turned her head in partial back towards him, "what brings you here?"​

 

[Aerarii Tithe]

LOCATION: Sith-Imperial Banking Clan Annex
OBJECTIVE: Profiteer
BOARD OF DIRECTORS: Gat Tambor | The Executive | TF

---

---

Tithe nodded as Tambor laid out his vision for a Trade Federation commerce hub on Bastion, the terminus of the Braxant Run. The growing New Imperial Order was a hungry beast, its appetite for materiel, weapons, and ships was insatiable. So long as the Sith feverishly held their borders, the NIO would throw their forces upon them. The wanton destruction may leave world desolate and families broken, but also brought a level of commerce and consumption unrivalled throughout the galaxy.

“And if Tavlar can garner Cathar, the Hydian Way awaits,” Tithe added. Galaxy spanning conduit of commerce from the New Imperial Order to The Confederacy, via the Galactic Alliance, Silver Jedi Concord, and the criminal region of Darkwire. The opportunities for the Trade Federation would be endless.

“A, ah, strong presence will be necessitous, to ensure our interests are upheld.” As a man with a healthy Sith-Imperial bounty on his head, Tithe was none to keen to remain on Bastion longer than he needed. He could better - and much more safety - lobby for the Trade Federation from his homeworld of Aargau.

The distant sounds of revelry drifted into the otherwise lifeless SIBC annex. The Sith Legionnaires, burned to the in their armour, had no doubt dreamed that the celebration would be theirs. Aerarii was thankful that he had seen the writing on the wall.

“Their celebration was hard-earned,” he observed. Tithe’s own Sector Group II laid in ruins, the world of Morishim the only planet yet to fall. The seriousness of fighting he had witnessed at Mygeeto, Dubrillion and Bastion would long haunt him. And yet while the soldiers drank to the victories, the Titans of Trade continued to toil. Their life was without rest, but in exchange, they knew nothing but boundless wealth. A small price to pay.

 

[Maynard Treicolt]

O U T R I D E R
THE GALACTIC ALLIANCE
FOCUS | Loske Treicolt | Dracken Pryce | Republic Engineering

He'd really...really hoped he wouldn't have to come back here so soon. Where as Muunilinst and Dubrillion were bittersweet triumph, Bastion was a haze. He at one moment, shoulder to shoulder with his brother, Ryv , the next he was collapsed on the floor, grasping at a sucking chest wound as he clawed for his last defiant grasp at a chance chance at life, successfully.

The Iron Sun waving in black and crimson banners over Bastion was an almost welconing change in sight to the Sith livery he'd witnessed on his first landfall to Bastion. Regardless of the ideological differences, it meant a degree of heightened permanence to the victory at Ravelin. Under few other circumstances would the boy from Concord Dawn ever imagine walking these streets lest he was bound in chains.

Were it not for the personal invitation sent to him from the Sovereign Imperator, he might've only bothered if Loske wanted to, though as neither of them were keen for the spotlight, he imagined it'd be another occasion spent just about anywhere else. Though he was more used to the officer's uniform for formal occasions (it meant he didn't have to decide what to wear), he could tell Loske was far out of her comfort zone in the panoply of military formality. Though the impression might've been that the Coruscantily clad attire she'd usually don here would've been out of taste, he could see a few Imperial women among the gathering in a similar get up. But even still, the presence of a security or military presence was far more obvious.

If anything protruded Maynard from the retinue of Alliance officers in attendence it was certainly the 'Starbird' medal pinned to his chest. He could only wonder if something else might accompany it, an Imperial commendation. Immediately he wasn't sure if he'd want that or not but he expected more than anything whatever would be handed to him on this occasion would not be meant for him, the Jedi. Instead for his late kin and confidant of the Imperator himself, Waylon.

He just had to wait and see.

"It's certainly better than whatever Sith shit was here before, I imagine." If the ever expanding COMPNOR did anything correctly it was their rapid upheaval and replacement in an efficient iconoclastic fashion of all Sith imagery in favor of traditionally Imperial symbols and figures. The hall leading to this chamber, otherwise lined with statues depicting prominent Sith Lords was swiftly replaced with a uniform assembly of armored stormtroopers, the black and silver of the Order draped in a banner behind them. In one way, each statue was no one, in another...it was all of them. He could see the appeal in the choice, it elevated the average fighting man and woman to the same strata of veneration that the Sith gave to Vitiate, Palpatine, Plageuis, all those ancient legends.

To hear of a Sith Inqusitior's defection in Djorn Bline was not all too surprising. The Sith Empire was a blazing, sinking ship doomed to the final death knell. To see the foreboding visage of the Stormtrooper marching to the tune of an ideology that could have nothing but a banner spread appeal to the non-force using personnel in Imperial space, he could imagine even a man like Diamondback might fall unto bent knee and give himself to a different purpose than the rigid servitude to a Sith Emperor.

"There even any other Alliance people we'd know? I'm sure Ryv is...somewhere, I know he got along with a few of the New Imperials. Apparently, met Tavlar himself when he was just a Major General, on Mandalore. I'd doubt to hell Republic Engineering or Din Marren would show their faces here. Even if it means they're due some award they typically skip town to do...anything else. Commando types... Dracken Pryce ain't like that though, I wouldn't doubt he'd poke his head in, see in person what his ships fought over." All in all, he was talking to avoid the inevitability of his kin coming up in the conversation. No doubt, if he was due to speak with the Imperator, Vizier or any other New Imperial high command, that topic would come up. And the wound was far too fresh to be prodding in once more, even if he prepared for the all but certain inevitability.

"But yeah...if there's anyone who'd care to waltz on over and speak to...be my guest." He said before he'd pluck a drink from a passing servant. A Mirialan woman. Couldn't be all too surprised to see them in New Imperial circles. He could only assume the Silver Jedi excursion into Mirial had dampened the trust they held in their Sith overlords and might send them joining the New Imperial rebels.

"Otherwise, I'll be trying my best to be only coherently sober when it comes time for me to...do whatever it is I'm supposed to be doing here." Maynard remarks. Neglecting that he'd also be looking over Loske longingly, wishing she wasn't confined to that military uniform and decided on something...better on the eyes. He just hoped he wouldn't have to appear on stage...again. Not that it ever turned out bad the last time, at the unification of the Galactic Alliance.

 

[Rurik Fel]

H E I R _ T O _ T H E _ E M P I R E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
WAYWARD SON OF FEL
FOCUS | Dorian Sicarrio | Arianna Sarreti

Dorian was if anything, a brazen soul. One who'd unfurled his intention for all the Galaxy to see. It was as respectable as it was reckless and Rurik feared for the retribution it might bring him in the future. All the same, it was a mold Rurik himself was coming to fill, once content to blend in with his surroundings once as a Jedi among Jedi and once more as an Imperial among Imperials. But he outed himself. Fel. A claimant to an Imperial dynasty. A reality he'd been aware of for some time, since even before his master and greatest confidant in Vyrin Karis ever told him. But that flame had been snuffed out, that wise spirit of a friend, an older brother was gone now. It gave an air of solemn to a night of would should be drunken revelry, not that any of this was ever intended for men the likes of him.

Men who couldn't ever linger a graze unto any mortal pleasure any longer. If his rigid placidity as a Jedi didn't snuff out that desire, his envelopment in the twilight at the hands of the The Devil Kascalion certainly did. He fielded the Knight's questions with a narrowed gaze beneath his mask, screwing his gaze shut if only for the briefest moments to pull in a deep breath before speaking out once more to him.

"You need to realize...before anything else why you are on the path you are on. If I am not to be so ignorant of you, Dorian. You became a Knight in search of purpose, did you not? But have you truly found it?" Rurik asked. It was a question only Dorian could answer in full candidness. Regardless of it, he spoke up once more.

"I can see it in your eyes what it is. Mavia . You love her...or at the very least, care for her a great deal. Sometimes, that is all it takes to realize your place in the Galaxy is to see in another what you're capable of, the impact of your actions. To share the joy in triumph and the solemn in defeat. You should be grateful, very, very few are so fortunate as to have that at the very least." Fel admits.

"But you have come a long way, Dorian. A very long way. And your potential is boundless so long as you have discipline. In discipline, there is control. Control of yourself and everything you do. And in that, there is true freedom, true purpose. Never forget that." Rurik says.

 

[Halketh]

S K Y L I N E
The Apprentice

Socialization
[ x ]
Interaction | Maynard Treicolt

With her Master's half-joking order to 'go away now', the rattataki did just that, turning herself and slipping through the crowd to look for familiar faces. Of course, being just as new to The Imperial Order as they came, she felt it was a bit of a long-shot, but if she was anything, Cassiy was an optimist. A brief glance to the corporal who served as her partner under Master Kezec's wings revealed the man looked just as lost as she felt- she was just far better at hiding it than he was. She quirked a brow at him in silent question.

"I think I am going to step outside. I don't do well in crowded spaces." He remarked towards her, offering something of an anxious yet decisive nod of his head.

"Alright. Keep your commlink connected, you heard what the Master said. You can stay with me if you'd rath-"

"No. No, it's alright. I might go find Sion or something if he's here." Hastily, the zeltron excused himself, backpedaling away from the woman and melding into the crowd.

Cassiy glanced down at herself, dusting at the front of her midi-skirt with the back of an ashen hand. She didn't look that terrible, did she? Absolutely not- she was killing it. The thought made her chuckle, and she held up a hand to stop the server who drifted by on her poised routes balancing a silver tray of hors d'oeuvres. "Hey, thank you." Cass smiled, dipping her head graciously as she plucked up a few morsels, stacking them onto the narrow swatch of decorative cheesecloth she had been given. Was she stress eating? Maybe. Was it going to stop her? No. Once her snack had been acquired, the woman glanced about again, looking for those she might have recognized from their invasion. Granted, she had mostly fought alongside the Mandalorians... and well, she didn't see any T-Visors glaring back at her, so she gave that thought up nearly as soon as it crossed her mind.

"Hm..." A thoughtful hum passed over her tongue as she stuffed another cracker in between her tattooed lips.

"But yeah...if there's anyone who'd care to waltz on over and speak to...be my guest. Otherwise, I'll be trying my best to be only coherently sober when it comes time for me to...do whatever it is I'm supposed to be doing here."

That... counted as an invitation, didn't it? However sarcastic it may have been- and perhaps that was why it rang in her ears so vibrantly- the rattataki turned her head in that direction, searching for the source of the voice. Crimson eyes fixed on Maynard Treicolt and, after finishing her last bite, dusting off her hands and adjusting the clipped sabers neatly stacked on her right hip via draped strap hugging her hips, she waltzed on over. A pearly smile flashed in the Jedi's direction, and she almost found it surprising to see so many from The Galactic Alliance here. How did that expression go?

The enemy of my enemy is--

"Not one for parties, huh?" Cassiy extended towards the man, chuckling softly as she did so, "C'moooon..." She turned in partial, gesturing to the crowds around them, "Don't you just want to rub elbows and make connections? Everyone is wearing suits, so they must be important, right?" Of course, the apprentice's remarks were as equally sarcastic and playful as his words had reached her previously, matching his tone.

 

[Dorian Sicarrio]

Rurik Fel
​

He almost fell off his chair at the mention of Mavia. Had she told Rurik? No. Maybe? Dorian had never been entirely sure of that father-daughter relationship; whenever he saw them together it was usually all business stuff. Then again, it probably wouldn't have been difficult for the Knight Commander to figure it out. Dorian had never been a good liar. Funny how his facade fell so quickly.

Still, Rurik was right. Purpose seemed to be here among the Imperial Knights. Dorian had never truly subscribed to the war, the New Order, or any of it -- but deep inside he'd felt a change. Around him he found people he could trust. And suddenly his heart craved more; more connection, more care, more people who could help him see the impact of his actions. Rurik was right.

But a bit scary.

"Yeah, uh, I think I have," he replied. "Found purpose. Discipline, too, I think. I like it here."

A hand came up, running through his ever-messy hair. He did it again for good measure, and a third time just to be completely sure. "So... uh... did she...?

"Uh, like, talk to you. About, you know." The hand came up again. "Like, I do, like you said, uh, really care about her, and like, you're her dad. You're, like, okay with that, right?"

Pause. "Not that you need to be. I mean, it's great, if you are, but like, she makes her own decisions and stuff, and I know you know how smart she is, and of course I think she's making the right choice- not that it's, like, a final decision or anything, but you know."

He coughed and cleared his throat. "Just, uh, wondering. If she said anything. And what you think."

 

[Jin Kyrel]

Many had gathered for the celebration, Stormtroopers, Officers, Imperial Knights. All of them had arrived to rest, relax and celebrate the good fortune they had on this day. Fighting for so long led to the dream being realized the dream of the rightful world being taken by the true Imperials. Yet Jin was not very pleased with the celebration, if anything he was board. Yes he had a drink in his hand, and it did little to increase the enthusiasim he felt. Sure he was a Knight, he had sworn an oath that was worth his life to the New Imperial Order, he had gained glory in the battle. Yet, he was robbed of any significant victory, the glory he gained was more to the Order then it was personal.

He took a sip of his drink at the vanity of his thoughts. It was unbecoming of a Knight to value personal glory then the one on which a Knight served. The glory gained by the New Order on this momentous day should have been enough. Yet he longed for more, as someone who felt who never it in, had done little to help the progress of the New Order. That vanity had also mingled with guilt. Guilt that as a man that was honor bound should have done more. What has he done? Fought in space above Bastion while Troops were storming the capital. He let out a sigh that echoed his disappointment, all the while the pain in his arm felt increasingly uncomfortable. Even with the supply of bacta pumping through it to make sure it heals. It just added to his overall discomfort in the day.

Scanning around, watching for anyone to approach. Anyone of which he could distract himself with, be it a ellow Knight or a trooper perhaps. Someone to make his day a bit more lively then what it has. Looking around his eyes waiting to see who to go to. Finally it came to someone, someone that seemed awkward as he had been. What looked to be an Imperial Knight, a woman while the prospect of it all seemed nervous. Jin quickly tried his best to muster up the courage of going up and speaking to her.

Forcing himself to move his legs forward, drink in hand as he pushed his way past the large gathering. He approached her with a nervous smile on his face. Seeing as how this was the first time he actually spoke to a woman besides his Mother, or any of his Nightsister kin. "H-Hello there. I see you were probably looking as bored as I am. Allow me to introduce myself I am Knight Errant Jin Kyrel." He said despite mentally slapping himself afterward, on how foolish the introduction was, and how he sounded so formal. Hoping that it wouldn't scare her off.

Arianna Sarreti

 

[Hans Rennagen]

RECLAMATION
Objective: Mingle
Jin Kyrel Arianna Sarreti ​

Hans marched up the steps of the Imperial Palace, though not in the circumstances he had ever imagined. Laying on the cold floor of his cell he would fantasize endlessly about putting the Emperor in his place and making the bastard pay for all he had done to the House of Rennagen. This was the closest Hans would ever get to that dream, it felt amazing. He had never touched ground on Bastion before this, and as he walked the streets he could see the battle damage. From what he had heard from fellow knights that were on the ground that day, the Battle of bastion had been far more of a hell down here than in orbit. Hans considered his own terrible experience during the battle, and shuddered at the thought of what had transpired on these steps.

Hans looked away from the city that surrounded him and looked up at the immense palace. It had been fixed to a passable enough state for this event, which was certainly nice to see. Of course it was no longer the palace, but Fortress Imperator. Aptly named for the man who Hans had come to see. He had never seen the Imperator in person, but with his supposed speech tonight Hans would soon get a look at the man to whom he owed his life.

Hans stepped through the large open doors and into the grand hall where the festivities were held. It wasn't long before a servant approached with a tray of sparkling drinks, prompting Hans to take one. He gladly obliged.

Hans was outfitted in his grey dress uniform with his black boots perfectly shined. He had spent the morning getting them in the best shape in case he should meet anyone important. His outfit by no means stood out. It was a sea uniforms, and the only thing that differentiated Hans was the lightsaber still hung on his belt. It was nice to know he wouldn't need to use it here.

As he made his way around the room in search of somebody he might know, one caught his eye. Jin Kyrel, the kid who has saved his ass that day. Hans still recalled vividly how Jin destroyed the battle droids besetting them. Hans hadn't seen his wingman since they were rescued from the Malevolence, and he figured the cast on Jin's arm may have been why.

Hans crossed the room and found himself surrounded by fellow knights in a varied selection of uniforms and armour. He saw the Knight-Commander in conversation with another knight Hans had seen around, although they hadn't been acquainted. As Hans finally reached Jin, he was introducing himself to another knight.

"H-Hello there. I see you were probably looking as bored as I am. Allow me to introduce myself I am Knight Errant Jin Kyrel."

"And I'm Knight-Errant Hans Rennagen. A pleasure to meet you." he said extending a handshake to the girl. "How are you Jin? I haven't seen you since... well since that awful droid ship."

 

[Tulan Kor]

It was over.

The fruits of his violence.

Dorn Company, clad in their black and red- stood victorious over the Sith. And for the first time in years-
​

The operators of Dorn Company felt like they had done something worthwhile, something meaningful in a way that was hard for anyone to describe with words. But it was their actions- their violence, their tenacity, that earned them a place at the Imperial table. Tulan was being treated by a medic, Dorn Company spread around, cleaning weapons, tending to their own wounded. Only one operator was lost, and he was being mourned, his weapon mounted to the dirt above him, his helmet on the stock. Tulan ushered the young medic away, letting him tend to the more seriously wounded. Tulan's face would heal,

Picking up the heavy rifle, Tulan shouldered the machine gun, marching among his men, nodding and patting shoulders where he needed it- where they needed it.

Dorn Company, the red-eyed Demons, outcasted from the Silver Jedi, had served their new masters perfectly. Their level of violence, and precision was nearly unmatched in the New Imperial Order's roster of Stormtroopers. They moved, they shot, they acted differently. They were demons, all-encompassing swaths of violence that rendered all that stood before them lifeless. They were hellhounds, set loose on the enemy.

Statues came down, torn down by the political arm of the Imperial might. Tulan watched from a distance, what was formerly Fortress Carnifex being quickly and rapidly re-shaped. Political idols were not his forte. The flag that he wore on his shoulder changed. But his mission never did. The New Imperials- they simply gave Dorn Company a real purpose, and the real enemy. Everything else was secondary to dismantling the tyranny of the Sith. The galaxy needed order, and protectors- but it had it's tyrants, it's monsters to be dealt with first off.

Carnifex and his cronies built another Empire, claiming once more, that theirs was eternal and righteous. But as Tulan was looking at it-

Eternal had a very different meaning to Tulan.

The only thing constant in the galaxy was one thing and one thing alone-

War.

War was a constant.

And war would remain.

And for the moment, Tulan wondered if there was anyone else in the galaxy quite as good at war as Dorn Company.

But something felt off. Like he was still holding onto something. He pondered that, walking the lines, passing the regular grunts and other Imperial forces, each with their own tasks. The machine gun over his shoulder was a message- the battle was not over for Tulan, and he was still ready for the fight to come, if there was any to be had. Tulan made his way closer to the Fortress-

He wanted to watch the statues go down.

 

[Arianna Sarreti]

"I would like a glass of white wine, please," Ari voiced in her clipped Core accent to the bartender at the wet bar set up in the grand room to serve the guests at this event. The Coruscanti had grown up in aristocratic surroundings in Galactic City so wine was her first choice of drink in this particular setting, though she would much rather have a hearty ale in truth.

Arianna wasn't as sold on the trappings of monetary influence and high society as were her parents, but nonetheless she still was a loyal Imperialist and would represent her family with the utmost regard to their rising position within the New Imperial Order. Though the young Sarreti wished sometimes that she was of no barring, just another one of the faceless cogs in the Imperial wheel so that the expectations of her accomplishments or failures were only her own, not implied, no demanded by others... like her domineering father.

The raven-haired young woman reached for the goblet presented to her and gave the pale-colored liquid a quick swirl before bringing it up to her mouth, taking a sniff of the aromatic bouquet first before letting it pass her lips. It was a dry Chardonnay and not too acidic - palatable for her taste. She stepped away from the wet bar to allow others to quench their thirst... That is when a young man walked up and introduced himself to her.

"H-Hello there. I see you were probably looking as bored as I am. Allow me to introduce myself I am Knight Errant Jin Kyrel."

"Hello... I am Squire Arianna Sarreti, and not quite as boring as before it seems," she replied favoring Jin Kyrel a small smile noting his nervousness. Ari was too, but she tried to hide it by being congenial, friendly, and outgoing - which the latter she wasn't much.

Then a moment later, another Imperial Knight joined them and chimed in. He was older and a bit more polished as there was a certain air about him like the man was well-cultured.

"And I'm Knight-Errant Hans Rennagen. A pleasure to meet you." he said extending a handshake to the girl.

The Sarreti took Hans Rennagen offered hand and canted her dark head while shaking it. "Likewise."

"How are you Jin? I haven't seen you since... well since that awful droid ship."

The two Errant Knights seemed to have familiarity with each other so Arianna allowed them to converse while taking a sip of her wine and just enjoying their company; wondering admusingly what was exactly meant by 'since that awful droid ship' comment. Now, this had to be good.

_____

Rurik Fel | Dorian Sicarrio | Lucien Dooku​

 

[Reva Giedfield]

Post: 1 | Wearing: X | Focus: Omar Melnau Noel Strasza | Weapons: Fists | Equipment: Pristine Cigarettes | Date: Present Day

An hour flight and the showing of identification was what it took to make him notice that the Imperial Palace seemed a lot smaller than he remembered. Still ostentatious and still a pinnacle of Sith-Imperial engineering in that respect. But a lot smaller. Less...powerful. Less overwhelming on the spirit. It seemed, to him at least, almost open enough to enjoy a jaunt through its halls, which many of his New Imperial brethren seemed to be doing. Even with the half-vision gained by the destruction of his right eye, he could see the intricate joy on everyone's faces. The relief that, while far from finishing the fight, they had earned a reprieve at last. A rest. Bastion was theirs. And if Bastion could be taken, so could the Empire. This battle proved it.

The Empire could be beaten at their very best.

As he thought on this monumental realization - frequently rubbing the eyepatch placed over his wound - the man dubbed "Brick House" by his squadmates strolled into the packed chamber. Where it was once used for evil Sithly things, it was now a place where the valiant and the worthy had been called to and gathered. The greatest fighters from the streets. Commanding officers who led the legions into battle. Even the Imperator himself was to make an appearance and give a speech about the entire ordeal. It truly was an honorable affair, to say the least.

An affair that he could not care less about. Standing around, drinking, smoking, eating, conversing. These were things he did not succeed at. Well, he was good at everything up to conversing. That he was not so good at. In fact, he was quite terrible at that. This could explain why he had yet to become a true commanding officer despite his host of combat experience and internal knowledge of Sith affairs. Being the son of the Devil himself offered those types of benefits. That and a near-superhuman physique that cowed most other humanoids.

But why was he here? What the hell did he have to offer in such a conglomeration of folk heroes and veterans? Well, to be honest, he didn't know either. He had just been told by the people that fixed him up - people whose names he could not be bothered to remember the faces of - to find someone of interest. Or people of interest to be exact. But really, only one person stuck in his mind. A robo-no, a cybor- was it an automo- it was a mechanical figure! He was to at least meet with a mechanical figure.

"Good luck finding that," he told himself as he waded through the sea of uniformed bodies around him. He was by far one of the tallest in the room - perhaps the tallest - but that ironically made finding his focus that much more difficult. The faces all looked the same to him, blended in with others, hid others. How was he going to find anyone he needed to in her-

That looks like a mechanical figure. Great. How about that?

Groaning dejectedly at actually fulfilling his assigned goal, the Brick House more so stomped his way to his new focus than wade. He hadn't even been able to grab a drink before this. An absolute sin to the giant defector of Giedfield. Even worse, there was another person talking to them. Were they another person he needed to talk to? He did not want to talk to two people. Hell, he did not want to even talk to one. He just wanted to drink, eat, hear the speech, and leave.

What was it that I needed to talk to them about again?

As he stepped roughly five feet from the two sitting at the bar - drinking their drinks and discussing what it was quietly - he silently acknowledged various aspects about them whilst simultaneously searching the pockets of his tailored suit for the pack of cigarettes he brought for this occasion.

The mechanical figure, which he could not identify from any unit he ever served in, cut an impressive figure in the crowd. In part because of their blindingly white uniform and cloak and in part because of the fact that their lower jaw was entirely replaced with mechanical parts. They were also drinking with a rather sullen attitude about them, which did not gift the big man any indication that talking to them would be anything resembling pleasant. The other, a young man in a suit, seemed eager enough compared to the other. Like the standard attendee here, he was drinking normally and was clearly expecting more from the conversation that he was being given.

After finding the cigarettes in his side pocket - an actually appreciated achievement - the Brick House went to the bar on the opposite side of the two conversationalists. Ordering both a sunfruit liquor and a spice liquor, Reva lit one of his smokes and silently offered one to his focus.

"I think I'm supposed to meet you. Name?" he asked plainly - more of a grunt really.

 

[Omar Melnau]

A_SOCIAL_OCCASION
Dr. Vero Eckes, PhD
Independent Tasking
-Bastion-
Present Day
TAGS_OPEN / Noel Strasza / Rea Giedfield
= WEAPONRY :: BH "Specter" Vibroknife =
= EQUIPMENT :: A datapad and a confident smile =
= ARMOR :: A well-made suit =

Insistence on authority, but it was emphasized after a cold introduction. Clearly she sought recognition for her efforts on some level - perhaps more out of a desire for stability and assured success than respect to the rank itself? Veterans, especially those who had suffered severe trauma or injuries, had a tendency to express themselves in such ways.

And there was also the matter of not shaking his hand. PTSD? What were the odds she was armed? Good, he suspected, and likely preferring her right hand given that he'd presented his right to shake when she refused.

For just a moment he focused. Feeling her out in the Force. What was she inside? Who was this cold, metallic woman?

"I haven't seen you before-" a brow raised as she turned her head in partial back towards him, "what brings you here?"

But face to face without any indication that he was teasing with the Force, he smiled, "I'm a doctor of psychology." His smile said that should be enough. It was a well-measured expression and one he'd given before.

Maybe that suspicious part of her mind would fixate on it, or maybe he was just a professional used to answering this question like a soldier asking how many people she'd killed in her career, "Some of the best and brightest - and busiest - minds in the New Imperial Order are here." He dipped a hand inside his suit jacket and drew out two things. A pack of cigarettes, and a business card.

The cigarettes were tossed lazily on to the bar and the card was presented to her.

• Dr. Vero Eckes, PhD
• Psychologist / High-Stress Therapist

And of course contact information. A net contact - but no address. Where that would be, was a line that stated he traveled by appointment.

Then the goliath that lingered just near the bar then came to demand attention. A sharp dressed suit and a towering physique meant that he was hard to miss and in any other context he could have been mistaken for a bodyguard or enforcer. But there was no earpiece or communication device immediately visible and he didn't seem to be focused on either of them in any sort of aggressive manner as he approached with a cigarette already burning in his lips and one presented to the Major.

"I think I'm supposed to meet you. Name?"

The doctor took that as his cue. A pause meant he could fish a cigarette of his own and draw out a heavy metal-encased lighter. It had the sort of solid -flick- to it that was seemingly tailor-made to announce that a vice was being indulged. Now was a rare opportunity. He said nothing, watching the two with a smile and simply taking in what might follow.

Immovable object? Meet immovable object.

 

[Noel Strasza]

R I F F _ D E A L E R
Major Noel "Deader" Strasza
Fortress Imperator
Revelry
Prestige
Focus | Omar Melnau Reva Giedfield

Strasza nursed the rest of her whiskey, killing the glass without issue before placing it down and beckoning for a refill. Damn, she could use a cigarette right about now. Other people were smoking around her, and she could have easily asked for one- but she didn't. The thought of an undesired conversation that could be spurred up as a result of such a thing wasn't particularly appealing, not when she was already stuck with this one sitting next to her. Truthfully, Strasza was a bit spiteful that she had to come to this shindig at all, and had it not been for her bearing, she would've easily lashed out at The Vulture when he told her she was to make an appearance. But even this, in a way, was better than staring at the same old durasteel wall- even if in her hospital room she had a terminal and HoloNet access.​

Her brow furrowed and she straightened up slightly at this thought, all while the doctor beside her droned on about who he was and what he did. And of course, being as Force Dead as they came, his insidious attempt to dig into her revealed nothing. And thankfully, for the same reason, Stras didn't notice or sense his attempt. It wasn't until he was about halfway through that the cyborg even realized he was still talking to her. Augmented eyes blinked, refocusing on him as she tuned back in to catch what it was he was saying.​

"-of the best and brightest - and busiest - minds in the New Imperial Order are here."

​

Right, she had asked him that, hadn't she? When he extended her the card, she reached across herself with her left hand to claim it between two fingers, holding onto her glass with her right to keep it steady as the keep topped off her refill. And with that much on the way, her stormy eyes shifted down, revolving lenses adjusting and focusing on the letters emblazoned on the small card. A psychologist, how did she guess? His card looked as legitimate as any other business card did, yet, she remained skeptical. Something niggling in the back of her mind kept her from taking him at face value, despite his efforts to assure her otherwise.​

Maybe she was just a traumatized, paranoid war veteran, after all. Or maybe it was gut instinct. Perhaps, even, she really was just absolutely sick of dealing with doctors. She couldn't tell. There had only been a few times she had met someone over these last couple of months where no identification played out before her eyes with gaze placed upon them. And all of those people, well, she wasn't too keen on recalling their presence- it typically brought pain. Regardless, the woman tucked his card away in the breast pocket of her officer's jacket and nodded in response to him.​

"Seems that way, doc." The response came, at last, breathed out with a flick of her pitch as she went for another swill, "So is this a visit for business or cur-"​

Before she could inquire more from him, an absolute titan of a figure caught her gaze, and her head twisted, watching the man moving through the crowd. He wasn't coming over here, was he? Shit. The major drew a breath through her nose and pressed it out just as quickly, fogging the glass she lofted close to her face in the process. What a time to be alive. She did her best to ignore him, just as she had done Doctor Eckes until he had insisted on a conversation. ​

And of course, when the giant lit up a cigarette of his own, she harbored some distant rattling growl of envy in the depths of her deconsecrated chest. She was content to hate him, that's really all it took. Maybe it was just bad timing on his part to catch her in such a foul moo-​

Motion ushered an offering established between them, pinching between the colossal thumb and forefinger of the man, and lofted for seizure at her leisure. With a soft whir resounding in her skull, her steely eyes darted, chasing and tracking the extension. A cigarette. "Thank fuck." Strasza sighed out heavily with the breath she hadn't realized she had been holding and rested her weight on her left elbow to relinquish her glass in favor of the smoke. She took it, tipping her chin down to tuck it between her mismatched lips very, very carefully. The myomers of her jaw flexed and found balance, delicately pinning the rolled end between her teeth. Now, she sat upright and cupped both hands around the unlit end, only to swiftly strike the inside of her cupped palm with the edge of the opposite thumb, creating enough of a spark for it to catch.​

A series of shallow ignition puffs were taken and released, and soon, the cyborg was smoking away. Even if the rebreather apparatus built into the base of her trachea prevented the smoke from warming her lungs, the smell alone was nearly enough to comfort her. ​

"I think I'm supposed to meet you. Name?" he asked plainly - more of a grunt really.

​

Noel folded her arms loosely on the bar and turned her head in the man's direction, looking him over, finally. The identifiers she had come to expect rolled out across her retinas, suspended in digital space attached to the green outline shimmering around him. And where his unit affiliation hovered, she saw a name she had heard a dozen times and become very acquainted with over the last month. The same name that carried the weight of classification and top-level clearance on her medical files and in her records, now: Task Force 66. He was one of her new squadmates.​

"Yeah, I think so too." Strasza mustered some semblance of a smile in that strange way she had to- where her upper lip curled but the lower was as cold and unanimated as ever. "Major Noel Strasza-" she started as she slid herself backward and found purchase to stand; extending her right hand over the bar and towards Reva after, "-thank you for the cigarette, I was about to rob the good doctor." ​