Diplomacy Revelry in Ravelin | NIO Capital Crowning of Bastion

[IMPCOM]

THIRD IMPERIAL CIVIL WAR
THE IRON ECLIPSE : NEW IMPERIAL VICTORY
New Imperial Order & Allies​

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B A S T I O N
RAVELIN
867 ABY

It'd been nearly seven years since the onset of the Imperial Civil War. Since the Stormtrooper corps fought street to street for Harnaidan and the Imperial Knights battle for the frigid heights of Jygat. It was a valiant victory that shocked the Galaxy- and since? Total war. One of the most brutal conflicts since the end of the Gulag Plague, comparable in its scale of sentient life to the Great Galactic War, the New Imperial Order's rebellion ballooned into an existential battle which led to the bloody schism of the Sith and a vast and violent alteration of the wider Imperial ideology, with Tavlar's 'New Order' ousting the beliefs of a state ruled in tandem and dictated by Sith. The Imperials, for the first time in generations, controlled their own destiny.

They would no longer be slaves to the whims of force orders and false virtues. They would now have the ability to construct their perfect vision- but now was hardly the time for work. In defiance to the Imperial nature of pragmatism and diligence, it was time for a respite in ode to a struggle endured. The early hours through noon in Ravelin, parades displaying New Imperial military might and celebrating the return of veteran troopers were hailed through the wide streets of the heart of the Empire. The great crown jewel of the New Imperial Order's defiant struggle.

​

As formalities ceased with the conclusion of the Sovereign Imperator's formal declaration of New Imperial victory, revelry took the streets of Ravelin. While more formal dances and fraternization between the Higher Command of the New Imperial Order and other allied states might've took place in the open halls of Fortress Imperator, the cantinas and taverns of Ravelin were alight in celebration, particularly in the city's laws lax 'Free District' - the otherwise strict policing of Ravelin's streets subdued by the Imperator's own command to make way for the celebration of victory.

This war has been long, brutal and costly- but its final days are upon the New Imperial Order.

Take advantage of this occasion and indulge in a very well earned respite.

 

[Ravraa Vyshraal]

The streets of Ravlin were packed with the citizens of the New Imperial Order.

It had finally come to conclusion.

The war was over, the NIO was no longer a rogue state on the edges of the Outer Rim, it was a nation-state in it’s own right, and it had finally proved to the Sith Empire that the spirit of defiance, the spirit of liberty, the might of the common man could never be broken.

Then why did he feel so lost?

He bumbled between the hoards of people, all of them cheering and shouting, drinking in the streets. There was a man he caught sight of in the middle of a semi-circle carved out of the sea of flesh. His skin was painted grey with a white Imperial Sun blaring on his chest, in his hand he held aloft a banner of the Sith, cindering in the open air. Ravraa’s eyes glazed over at the display.

Wasn’t this what you wanted Ravraa? An end to this accursed war?

Was it worth it?

He looked down the road.

Bodies, swaths of men and women clad in Imperial Greys and Betaplast, gunships roaring overhead, and the echo of a commanding voice, the Imperator initiating Kyber Dark. His hands were heavy with the Judicator yet again, glancing down at it, it was swathed in the blood of the fallen. He raised it at Noxwalda, fired, and the seared helmet stared back as the face of G’hecran.

He blinked.

Hands empty, the space wasn’t filled with death and destruction but instead the smiling faces of a newly liberated populace.

Where did he stand in this new world?

Retirement? Maybe?

 

[Ryv]

Clouds hung heavy within the skies over Bastion. An endless cerulean expanse peered out from behind the white veil, watching the world pass below without an utterance of its own. Ships descended from that beautiful sapphire sky. Beyond it, the cold, dark vacuum of space. Twinkling stars waited patiently for the sun to set. To shine within the night sky. Unlike the quiet sky, which could only be heard during the great rumblings of a wrathful storm, the stars were arrogant things. They yearned to be seen by anyone who walked beneath them. It only made sense, given man's endless quest for more. To grow, expand, and learn. Nothing whetted a man's appetite like the potential for more. Perhaps that was why the stars were so full of themselves...

It was fitting then that sentients who came face to face with their heroes were starstruck. This was a common thing for men like Irveric Tavlar. Men who made a name for themselves doing something in the face of overwhelming odds. Every imperial knew the name Tavlar, and for good or for ill, it would not be forgotten for a very long time.

Ryv Karis knew that weight intimately. His life since becoming the Sword had been one polarizing decision after another. Go to war. Support the Imperials. Fight and kill the Sith. Bomb their academies. Kill their apprentices—Total War. Peace would be achieved at any and all costs. Even if it meant the death of millions in the process. This was the Oath he swore to himself when he took up the saber for the first time since his self-exile into wild space. It pushed him with every step he took. It was there to lift him back onto his feet when no one else could. It meant everything to him for every waking moment of every single day.

There is no greater promise than one made to one's self. It is a test of discipline. If he could not live up to the standards he had set for himself, then he could not live to face the expectations of others.

At some point, Ryv had failed to meet that standard. Somewhere along the way, he lost himself to the words spoken by those who could never understand. He cared far too much about old souls resting comfortably while the young marched to their deaths on dozens of planets since the dawn of the Third Imperial Civil War. As he grew older, things became muddled. Words spoken by the living and the dead assailed him no matter where he went. There was no quiet. No peace.

Things were different now. Probably.

Ryv stopped before the statue of a man he thought he knew. He stared up at the weeping man, peering beneath the statue's hood at closed eyes.

"Vaulkhar Zambrano," Ryv muttered. "I liked Vyn more, you know. Cotan did too."

He knelt down and slung a pack from over his shoulder. It hit the ground with a soft thud, catching the attention of those who wandered past. Some watched with interest. These people knew the man depicted in the statue. Vaulkhar Zambrano had become a legend to the common New Imperial. But, unlike the lost Jedi Knight before him, Vaulkhar had never lost faith in the fight. He fought until he knew his time was at an end, and he went peacefully into the next life.

"You may have lived a Sith and served an empire, but you died a Jedi Master," Ryv placed a dozen multicolored flowers at the foot of the statue and straightened. "Thank you, Master Zambrano."

 

[Maynard Treicolt]

P R O T E C T O R
PROTECTOR OF CONCORD DAWN
Ryv | Loske Treicolt (Maybe)

​

He never wanted to go back there. On the surface level, there was nothing so overtly threatening about Bastion. It was a peaceful, safe, prosperous world which the New Imperial Order coveted as the besting heart of its very identity. Regardless of the pervasive surveillance and strong military and police presence along its wide and open streets, it wasn’t a world that truly felt the boot stamp of tyranny, its people seemed to carry out their daily lives with ease and comfort. Supposed...they couldn’t ask for much more.

But to Maynard, this was a place wrought with emotional trauma, a lingering darkness. He’d lost his kin, Waylon not far from the center of this vaunted city. He saw his image in terror but since- he anticipated it wouldn’t be one he saw again. He had his closure on Concord Dawn- made due on his dying words. Peace at last...and now- vindication. Home was free and the dragon was slain.

But not everyone Maynard ever cherished would be there with him in this moment of triumph. Loske was, which was really all he truly needed...but there was some lost along the way who earned every right to be here in this moment of revelry. But even as he mourned their loss- he had to remember that silent truth. They wouldn’t want him or anyone else to be dowsed in sadness in these moments. They’d earned it...it was time to celebrate.

War was the greatest of extremes. Invoking the very worst of mortal men and it’s absolute most triumphant and valiant of the same. The Third Imperial Civil War showed a great deal of both in spades. From the Alliance, the Imperials...but of all the heroes to this great conflict, there was one Maynard was truly glad to see here, in this moment of victory.

He walked with slow footfalls in the shadow of the Sword of the Jedi, his garb hardly formal but certainly representative of the world he now not only called home again, but his domain. With a cloak thrown over one shoulder sporting the blood grain of the Protectors of Concord Dawn.

As soon as he saw Karis, all of him wanted to pull his brother toward him in a tight embrace. Glad he was alive, that they were both alive. That the three who'd begun this conflict an all but inseparable trio emerged on the other side. Deep down, he was sure they all doubted that possibility through its intrepid course, each one of them drawing close to that horrid brink on their own occasion before.

"Never had the chance to meet him myself...but- of all the people to topple the statue of Carnifex and swap it with...he fits pretty well." Maynard remarked with a faint grin toward the Kiffar, hoping his voice might have been enough to will him to turn.

Immediately, he stepped forward to pull Ryv into his embrace, grateful he was here at all.

"It's done...it's over. I'm glad to see you make it out here, brother."

 

[Auteme]

Dagon Kaze | NJO GANG | A CANTINA​

As important as victory was, Auteme had something very different in mind, her purpose driving her further into the crowded cantina. The freedoms granted to the Imperator seemed more than enough for the New Imperials and their allies. The dive she found herself in was packed with off-duty stormtroopers and soldiers, Imperial Knights and Jedi. It was the last of those that had drawn her here, of course.

She was hardly dressed to be pushing her way through the revelers in the bar. Compared to the casual wear of the patrons she looked almost as though she were meant to be part of the parades earlier that day, but she didn't exactly have time to change before the party began at the Fortress Imperator. She had to make this quick. That meant getting people's attention -- or, at the very least, one person's. So she found him.

"Dagon- Dagon!" She grabbed his shoulder, forced to reach up a bit. "Hey, do you think you could get everyone's attention?"

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: Bar //: OPEN //:

So it was over?

Everything was done, but the Corellian knew it was only just a moment of peace. Already there were reports of remnants scattering like cockroaches when the light shined upon them. They burrowed deep into the planet; even Carnifex had a place in the Alliance’s backyard. That piece of intel wasn’t fun to find out, but she would keep an eye on it. It was a good feeling to find a conclusion to this war in the meantime.

“The usual.” The Corellian waved down the bartender and smiled. A clean and neat Corellian whiskey, the best kind - the reserve from before the breaking. As much as the distilleries tried, they never made it like before. Taking a deep breath, the woman took in the smokey, honey oak scent of the alcohol, and it reminded her of her childhood. Yep, that was the good stuff. “Thanks.” She passed a few credits over the price and turned her back to the bar top, and took a sip.

The celebration’s emotion was intoxicating, far more than the alcohol. Allyson wanted to feel hopeful, she wanted to celebrate, but after everything she had lost - it was hard. Friends and family had been torn apart because of her actions, ones that she chose in the name of duty and responsibility. Still, she was slowly rebuilding her life outside of the SIA.

It was time for her to let herself relax, to forget just for one night the stress of her wayward padawan, her strained relationships, and everything else that weighed on the Corellian’s shoulders.

Tonight was a celebration because, for once, the galaxy had a glimmer of peace.​

 

[Kiara Ayres]

The bonding between two of the galaxy's major powers who were trapped in a rather cold relationship was a rarity but during this time of war they had begun to see a lot more of each other. Their Imperial neighbours were tolerable, given the current climate, but there were still people experiencing hardship, suffering even under their rule. The Jedi were not oblivious to this and Kiara knew where the somewhat forced friendship ended.

The Jedi Grandmaster was guided through the Fortress Imperator to be in the company of the Sovereign Imperator among other diplomats who may partake in the festivities. She appeared no different to any of the other Silver Jedi present, donning grey Jedi robes and unaccompanied by armour for once, for her presence was merely a symbolic one. There would be no talks of trade agreements, no treaties drafted. Today, her role as a diplomat was superseded by her role as a Jedi.

Kiara approached Irveric Tavlar and offered a warm smile and a handshake. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you properly, Imperator." She greeted him. Such words felt odd to say but the war had forced a new normal upon them. "I never got the opportunity to thank you for the Imperial Order coming to our aid on Sev Tok. It was greatly appreciated and many more lives were saved that day because of it." She told him.

Regardless of their differences in philosophies both could appreciate the binary finality of death. It was one thing that had bound them throughout the war and would continue to connect them.

 

[Dagon Kaze]

NJO GANG GANG |

'S CANTINA
​

Lost in thought with a mug of unsipped ale before him, Dagon contemplated the fallout of the Krayiss II events and what the future had in store for him and for the galaxy as a whole. Liberated from his father's corruptive presence by almost dying in the process (one and hopefully for all), the Jedi couldn't really claim he felt any less unburdened. Abandoning Yula to her fate to do his duty, the revelation of Viers' feelings and the rising threat of the Maw and the troubles stirring at home.. the victory of the Sith Empire seemed to pale before it all. Joining the celebrations with the soldiers, Jedi and even Imperial Knights in the mucky cantina was an attempt to clear his head of it all. Clearly a failed attempt.

"Dagon- Dagon!" She grabbed his shoulder, forced to reach up a bit. "Hey, do you think you could get everyone's attention?" ​

Startled, the raven-haired Jedi turned to see Auteme.

"Huh? What are you even doin--" she was supposed to be at the Fortress, no? Ever the dignitary, the Chancellor's protege. "--uhh, sure." he replied, unbothered by whatever the hell Auteme had in mind.

"FREE DRINKS AT THE BAR!!" yelled out Dagon and the barbaric stampede that followed nearly brought the cantina down to its foundations.

"Hey, hey, hey! Who's paying?!" the bartender snapped from behind.

"Me, obviously."

"You?!"

"Yeah, me, what's it to you, brother??"

"You better, Jedi."

Dagon snorted shaking his head and turned back to Auteme.

"You don't have much time before they figure it out, so go...with whatever you wanna say."

Auteme

 

[Eira Dwynwen]

Tags: Open to interaction
Attire: Dress
Objective: Figure out what NIO is up to next.

Eira had been sorting things out on the Moethus lately and hadn't really had her chance to snoop around the NIO since she was "rescue" from a dangerous Sith awhile back. However, it seemed more clear than ever that if the Sith Imperial wanted to gain a chance to figure out the NIO's plans next, doing so on the day of celebration would be ideal. It was also a party and Eira could not help herself and was desperate to take part in anything party related with the justification in her mind that booze could loosen lips. There was always some sort of justification for the young Twi'lek but she knew deep down that this was a way to have some fun while on the side attempt to gain some information. She hadn't really heard much back from the Sith Empire but she was also fairly new to being a spy for them so she was hoping that doing some success with an undercover mission would help get her noticed and accepted more.

Heading over to a bar, she ordered herself a drink, needing something refreshing on the warm day. She was glad that her dress was bright and light, meant that she wasn't feeling too hot from the weather. Last thing she would want to do is sweat like crazy due to the heat. Her Lekku were wrapped in the leather straps and she idly caressing the leather as she looked around the room. Seemed to be plenty of NIO people around, part of her wanted to call them traitors but at the same time, she didn't want to feel too much anger towards these people. She needed to keep neutral and calm if she was ever going to successfully maintain her ruse. It was curious to see GA members around, not surprising since the clear history between the two factions was evident with their planned invasions and cooperation but she was curious to see them around.

She needed to be cautious, Force Users were tricky folks and she had hoped to just remain mingling with the non-Force Users in the NIO, which there were many. Meant that she didn't have to worry about Force Users using their aggressive and cruel Mind Tricks on her, instead it would just be down to her charisma with others. But she felt sure that if she could spot Force Users and keep a healthy distance then she might be okay and not get outed. Having a small sip of her fruity cocktail, Eira let a playful smile etch itself on her lips as she swayed to the background beat of music. Her eyes were focused on the people, trying to determine who would be a good start to interact with and gather information from. Someone low down so that she could gleam some information to use in later interactions but no one too important that she might get caught out if she leaked information prematurely.

Who to talk to.... Who to talk to....

 

[Rika Hiro]

Lady_Silence
COMPNOR
Fortress_Imperator
Tags: open to interaction

And so it was over, at least for the conventional war and public. But, for the agents and enforcers of the Imperator, it was never over. There would always be a need for tools like Yubari, as dangers lay in every dark corner and crevice of the galaxy that threatened to undo the hegemony and truth of the Imperial word. For all intents and purposes in the eye of the broader establishment and masses, her kind was an invisible presence that hung over them and protected them from the forces of chaos and reactionism.


Still, as the HRD found itself among the throngs of masses celebrating and drinking to the end of a seven-year relentless war of attrition, it took part in the festivities even as it found itself on another assignment. Ever observant, ever-present, ever silent the HRDs of the ERIS project were. Dressed in the garb of a low-level employee of the ISB and provided with a fake ID, Yubari would not stand out nor be unnoticed entirely, just one of many Imperial bureaucrats gorging and drinking on the intoxicating taste of victory. Few would recognise the Atrisian replicants' face, and those who did were fellow agents and personnel of the state, which was just how it should be. Keeping to herself for the most part and observing the affairs at play, the Replicant moved to a nearby table of drinks and poured herself a glass of wine before disappearing once more into the crowds.​

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

1
THE_WOAD

Tyrell Lockhart FN-999

Fort Imperator, Ravelin City
Bastion, 867 ABY​

'BRIGADE!!!! BRIGAAAAAADE-'

'-STAND EASY, LADS!!!', Erskine bellowed in interruption, pausing in his address as he walked up to the center of the Blue-Heart Brigade's drill-formation in full parade-ground regalia, setting himself at a distance where all could see him as they awaited their orders to dismiss and enjoy the celebrations for themselves. Yet, the unexpected happened when Erskine drew the claymore, took a knee and bowed his head as he held the blade aloft as an offering; a gesture of subservience the Lord-Commander had never once expressed towards commoners, not even as a youth in awe of the folk-heroes' tales his father taught him as a means to teach restraint in the face of modern commoners. To be humbled, and by a mass of Commonwealth soldiers and officers alike (and in a way that would obviously shock his subordinates) was a clear indicator of what he'd known of what they suffered to get that far, following an aristocratic madman with a bloodthirsty penchant for unconventional tactics.

'What I have put you all through, and all three iterations who fought before you, no other Woads or Tuaths would even dare to take you to the crucibles where I alone have taken you. No other from my ancestral caste would even dare ask it of you again after all that, and I know I ask too much! And so, I leave the entire fate of this glorious brigade in your hands.... WILL YOU ALLOW ME TO WIELD THIS SWORD AGAIN, OR IS THIS IT FOR BLUE-HEART BRIGADE?!?!?!?!'

Following that, only a stunned silence could reply to such an ultimatum for a few moments, but something beautiful was just seconds away from occurring; something that would reaffirm Lord Erskine's drive to fight his way home, something that would put fire in the Stormchaser's heart, for a second-wind of the likes none from the Woad and Tuath clans had ever known before. A Tuath accent rang out from the second rank of the front drill-line, roaring,'DON'T KNOW ABOUT YOU LOT, BUT AH'M NO KARKIN' DONE YET!!!! SET THE WOAD'S BAR EVEN HIGHER, SET THE STANDARD FOR THE NEXT ITERATION!!!', to which a collective roar of approval was offered in reply from the young Tuath's comrades. Collectively, and mirthfully vowing to set the standard for all those who would fulfil Barran's warfighting ambitions after, the first of those voices began to ring out with the Serenno Creed from among the drill-formation, with Brand and Proost lifting the Lord-Commander to his feet as the others joined in a staggered successive crescendo.

'For Lord Barran-'
'FOR LORD BARRAN, LORD TAL, AND TAVLAR - IMPERATOR!!! WE BLEED FOR THE NEW ORDER!!!'
'FOR LORD BARRAN, LORD TAL, AND TAVLAR - IMPERATOR!!! WE BLEED FOR THE NEW ORDER!!!'
'FOR LORD BARRAN, LORD TAL, AND TAVLAR - IMPERATOR!!! WE BLEED FOR THE NEW ORDER!!!'
'FOR LORD BARRAN, LORD TAL, AND TAVLAR - IMPERATOR!!! WE BLEED FOR THE NEW ORDER!!!'
'FOR LORD BARRAN, LORD TAL, AND TAVLAR - IMPERATOR!!! WE BLEED FOR THE NEW ORDER!!!'

Sheathing the basket-hilted vibrosword, controlled his emotions again and took it all in, letting the embers within become flames that burned his war-weariness away in mere moments, this display reassured the Lord-Commander that this was his one and only path, and that he belonged nowhere else but the crucible. Comforted that he still belonged with the men he led, Barran stood himself to attention and concluded,'THEN WE MARCH ON GALIDRAAN - AND BEYOND - AS ONE!!!! WE EMBRACE THE CRUCIBLE - SEEKING ETERNAL GLORY - AS ONE!!!! THE COMMONWEALTH MARCHES - AS ONE!!!', before tapping the drillmaster's shoulder to let the men fall out, and finally enjoy peace again, even if only for a while. However, as he watched them march their last three steps of the Third Imperial Civil War, the Brigadier-General of Blue-Heart Brigade knew every last one of his soon-to-be revelling subordinates were still spoiling for a good fight, and against factions that would be much stronger, and numerous than those they'd faced before.

Military-History Wing
The Great Imperial Library, Ravelin City
Bastion, 867 ABY​

After everyone had been assured he was going to be enjoying himself in his own way, the Lord-Commander's subordinates would leave him be as the sights of the city were taken in on his way to Ravelin's famed Great Imperial Library, one such place Lord Erskine had long desired to see for himself, and as far back as when he was still an officer-cadet at Sandhurst. With all the fanfare, sights and sounds brimming with life around him, Bastion, from what Barran could see, would benefit greatly from becoming the new Imperial capital, all being things that Erskine never thought he'd live long enough to see. Little things that reminded the Stormchaser that the right actions pay dividends in abundance down the line, reminding him also that there was life itself to protect and not just the contingents following up from behind in war, life that could grow and provide stability to the galaxy in contrast to the death and destruction inflicted by order of people like the Woad-born Laird himself.

When the ancestral ruler of the Woad-Macushla arrived at the library's grand double-door entrance, he smiled, actually smiled s toothy grin for the first time in his life, and sighed with a satisfaction akin to that of finding a lost family relic, but much more blissful in comparison to how Erskine felt when he found his cousin's sister-sword on Archais. It was a flood of emotion that reaffirmed his existence in a time when hope was still quite alien to the Lord-Commander, but this rush of relief felt more like the soul was rewarding, perhaps even apologising to Barran for the emotional rollercoasters it put him through over the years. This feeling wouldn't be given time to settle too deeply though, as the Stormchaser (as per the name) was never one to be stationary for very long, walking up the steps and within through the doors with the smile brought down to little more than a stone-faced smirk, though Erskine's facial expression still would've appeared rather dour and threatening to softer, meeker civilian eyes.

Greeted by the bravest of the young librarians at the front desk, Barran simply drawled,'I'm looking for the Military-History wing, sir.', as clearly as his accent would allow. He could see the fear in their eyes, though not so much with the one who approached from the reception desk, but the Lord-Commander could tell that this fearfulness wasn't from meekness; these were the scars of the Third Imperial Civil War, scars of it's hardest battles, scars Erskine knew he hadn't the power to heal, the sort of power a destroyer would never retain the right to wield. It would give Barran enough cause to silently ponder on the matter, thinking on the Second Battle of Bastion in particular as the librarian led him down the west-facing hallway, though stopping not too far away at a large, brass-studded oak door and pushing it open for the officer in blue attire.

'Thanks for the help, sir. An' do us both a favour, will ye? Take advantage of this newfound peace around you. Men like me can't, but that shouldn't, in any way, stop you from giving prosperity a try for you an' yours. I can see that look in yer eyes, sir. Ah'm not that silly, but I won't grudge you it; after all,"No use in grudging others for what one sees in the mirror every day.". An auld maxim of the great Hoyler Thrast ah'll be swearing by until the day I kick the bucket.... Anyway, take care o' yourself, sir. I'll be here for a while yet.'

​

 

[Auteme]

Dagon Kaze Allyson Locke | NJO GANG | BIG TAMBOR'S CANTINA​

"Not like- oh, whatever," she said. Perhaps she could've specified to both get and hold everyone's attention. The latter part was up to her now, she supposed.

Auteme clambered up onto the bar, standing in front of the small stampede of people looking for another round. A titanic task given her heels and fancy dress, but through her determination she stood and raised her voice.

"HEY!" she screamed, so loud she surprised even herself. As the eyes of the patrons turned to her she was once more struck by the awfully odd situation she found herself in. Yet her gaze soon fell to Dagon, and she smiled, knowing it'd be just as odd for him.

"Have any of you heard of Dagon Kaze, the man buying your drinks?" She pointed to him.

 

[Ravraa Vyshraal]

He wasn’t sure how he had ended back in this spot. Standing at the edge of the Fortress Imperator, so recently renamed from it’s One Sith homage. This was supposed to be it, the triumphant jubilee that would have carried the fighting men of Dorn-2 to the finale, the last push, the last struggle, nothing between him and a final end for the nightmare besides a gathering of Sith and a few stray Dashade Shadow Killers. Now? He could still see the streaks from the gunship that blew the hole into the entrance for the 501st, he could still hear the rattling of comms chatter and the scream of blaster fire, despite the pristine restored nature of Ravelin, it was impossible to separate the history from the reality.

He bumped against the sides of the crowd as he walked. There was murmuring here and there as he passed, nothing too major, nothing that would drag him out of his state, but there were some in the crowd that had heard the story. That had kept up with the holo-news reports, who had seen shaky cam footage of Ravraa and his squadron storming the front and kicking in the door. Who had seen the rage of Dorn-2 and the bravest son of Shili, who had seen the last desperate throes of a man clinging to anything to end this war.

They knew him as the Standard-Bearer of Bastion.

Did they know everything?

The letter that he let loose to the wind would have never found the decimated family that it belonged to, the Legionary who had penned it left nothing but a husk during the First Battle of Muunilinst. His dreams having been forgotten the moment a blaster round had found him and sent him into the endless Twilight. That was the day he had made the promise, that not another member of Dorn-2 would perish during the war. Not under his command. Not after that tumbling crash and rescue attempt.

And what of the Captain?

Was he just to forget about her? She had fallen, just as so many Knight and Jedi during this conflict. Seduced by the nature of the dark side. He had no idea where she could have been, or if it had even mattered that much to begin with.

Of course it did, Ravraa. Don’t second guess yourself, that part of you is long dead now.

They may have just been desperate knife fights for entertainment, but outside of Dorn-2 and the brief chatters he had with some of the members of Gladius Company, Lyra Voi'kryt was the only one that he could honestly call a friend. She had always been there during their leave, off time, conversations in the mess hall when the rest of the squad finished early.

He was to forget that, he supposed.

He was supposed to forget that, his purpose in this war, and his reason for joining the NIO and enjoy the dull life of the Moff of Shili.

He stared up at the tall endless building that towered infront of him, a monolith to his sins.

For the first time in years, he wanted a deathstick...

 

[Vaylin]

Location: Tambor's Cantina
Allyson Locke | Dagon Kaze | Auteme
__________________________________________________________
​

Vaylin stood amongst the crowds on the streets, watching as the parades went by. She glanced up at a large holographic screen, a newscast on repeat talking about the war being over. The Zabrak let out an amused snort, puffing out a cloud of smoke from the corner of her mouth.

Was war ever truly over? Was this not just another respite before another breaks out? Or the remnants of the old one attempt to rise back up?

She had done her part over the years, for the Sith Empire. Fighting on the frontlines during her earlier years, alongside the rank and file Legionnaires. Her fellow Sith at the time, and then eventually descending upon the battlefields as a Valkyrie.

Those days were behind her now, she had a new lease on life. Darth Moirai had been exorcised, trapped away within the Netherworld. The mistake she had been manipulated into making had been reversed, but it had almost taken everything from the Zabrak. Made her eternally grateful that Kaalia had been there to help.

Vaylin’s presence in the Force was barely there right now, practically numb to it until it could fully recover. Oddly, Vaylin didn’t mind it in the slightest. For the first time in years, she could feel. Her emotions weren’t locked away, she could experience sensation again, be it positive or negative.

She’d much rather be numb to the Force, than be numb to everything else.

Vaylin exhaled one last time, before she flicked the cigarette away and crushed it beneath her shoe. She made sure her hood was fully adjusted over her head, before she crossed the street and slipped into the bustling cantina.

The racket of the cantina reminded Vaylin of the old days, before even the Sith. When Aria had dragged her about the galaxy, using her method of getting the Zabrak used to being more social.

In hindsight, it probably hadn’t been the smartest idea to throw someone who had just come from surviving alone in a hostile jungle, into the deep end of parties and nightclubs. Certainly the fastest way, but Vaylin did ponder whether that hadn’t helped her in the long run.

Stepping into the cantina, Vaylin looked around. The crowd had seemingly just stampeded over to the bar. She looked over, taking note of two individuals she recognized as New Jedi Order Knights; Auteme and Dagon Kaze. It was the Corelian at the bar however, that caught Vaylin’s interest.

Of course Allyson was here, and the Zabrak was thankful her presence in the Force was at its bare minimum right now. The years spent fighting each other had led to an odd sense of familiarity. It was easy for Vaylin to pick up Locke’s presence, and vice versa.

Thus, her current situation made it easy for the Zabrak to sneakily thread through the crowds and slide into the stool next to Allyson.

“Everyone's all happy and cheerful now, but give it a few days and a new war will break out, or resurface.”

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: Tambor Bar //:
//: Vaylin //: Auteme //: Dagon Kaze //:

Allyson laughed; it was hard not to after seeing the dress that Auteme wore, the chaos Dagon had started, and the mad rush to the bar. Carefully Allyson pulled herself out of the horde and stationed herself slightly away as the poor bartender now drowned in making drinks. "Oh, I should have tipped him more." Was this what peace was like? It was a weird feeling, and Allyson wondered if she'd get used to it.

It seemed the evening would be quiet, which Allyson wasn't too bothered. If no one came up to her to talk about war or blame her for something, it would be a great night. All a Corellian needs is some whiskey and possibly a mistake - one that she hadn't found quite yet - but there was one on speed dial. Sipping the whiskey slowly, she watched the younger generation celebrate. She tried to think back on a moment when she had tasted the revelry they were feeling. In her mind, there really wasn't a time like this before. The war with the One Sith and the First Order had been so close together. Where one ended, and the other began was blurry.

Her eyebrows rose as she took another sip; this was her first stint of peace as well, it seemed.

Even with how mute the presence was, something drew her attention - Allyson could spot Vaylin from the other side of the galaxy. An eye locked on the Zabrak as she carefully moved through the crowd, possibly trying to go unnoticed. It made the Corellian smirk from behind the rim of the glass. She'd leave the woman alone, for now, bother her later, possibly after another round or two. You don't just walk up to the woman who took your eye out just because you slept with her girlfriend and used her for information to ruin the government she worked for. Messy business spy work was, especially when emotions get involved. Still, the brunette enjoyed her drink, wondering what would bring Vaylin out to Bastion during a party.

Allyson didn't have to wait long for the answer; the woman seemed to have picked up on her too and found a place nearby. Allyson looked at the Zabrak with her good eye and nodded. "Yup, but it's better to let them have a moment of peace. Once we go back to the reality of how chaotic this galaxy is, they'll know what they're really fighting for." Allyson shrugged; maybe she had grown cynical over the years, having been fighting for peace since she was tall enough to look over a cantina bar top. "Ah, karking chaos Vaylin we can't both be cynical here." She grinned, nudging slightly at the Zabrak. She waved a hand and pointed to her glass, then flashed the number two with her fingers.

"So, you here to rip my other eye out, kill me or kiss me again?" Maybe she was drunk, or perhaps she just liked to poke and prod the former Hand of the Emperor. No one ever said Allyson Locke was wise, but she was pretty daring.​

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

I M P E R A T O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
RAVELIN | BASTION
Kiara Ayres | Orika

P O W E R
​

He'd never once thought he would've been here to see the end. Muunilinst seemed like an all but certain death. The New Imperial Order was hardly the Galactic Superpower they were now. They were a renegade host of Imperial rebels, exiles and hopefuls trying to make their way in the Galaxy. If anything set it from the legacy of the Imperial states it inherited. Now- returning to the ultimate venue of his vindication, he was hailed as the victor. The summation of his life in the past decade all made due.

He was able to silence the ghosts for now in pursuit of his destiny and take this moment of respite to relish in victory- even if it was brief. He was always out of place in these environments, the regal revelry of upper class celebration. He'd certainly felt alien in Coruscant- Bastion, his own world, wasn't much better off.

He still donned his military uniform, decorated with barely enough finery to seperate him from the usual dress uniform of the New Imperial Stormtrooper Corps but his presence alone was enough to distinguish himself starkly from the rest of the troopers enjoying their well earned victory.

Within Fortress Imperator- the very same halls pilfered from the dynasty of Zambrano nearly six years ago, he was able to spark a cigar to life, content to lose himself in the moment before inevitably, he would be approached by another. The Grandmaster of the Silver Jedi. Ever the dynamic their two nations had- but now, it certainly seemed to be mutually favorable.

Now certainly wasn't the time to dredge up the sins of the past, sins of her predecessors.

He looked in the direction of the Chiss woman not far from his side, Orika. Someone who'd quickly become a confidant of the Imperator. Based on her appearance here- it would be no surprise to anyone at all.

"Grandmaster." He said, trying to pin down if he'd ever truly interacted with any Silver Grandmaster previously. No. The wars with the Sith and the Bryn'adul turned what would have more than likely been a tense dynamic in the past to something too minor for them to ignore their respective existential foes in favor of it.

"It was the impulsive directive of the Lord Executor. One I'm glad he opted to take. Regardless- the presence of your Jedi in Harnaidan is not lost on me. A selfless act- something I'm hardly used to Jedi actually partaking." He admitted honestly.

"No doubt this celebration is something the Silver Jedi are observing all the same, no? Though they were quick to forgive for a time- the Sith Empire was an existential rival to your own state. I was there at Kintan...almost a decade ago now. This is a victory for the Silver Jedi to share all the same. But you've not ever ventured into Imperial space before have you, Grandmaster?" He inquired- to shift the topic of conversation away from war and politics. No doubt, the Empire would certainly be a culture shock to a Jedi no doubt used to a theological upbringing in dedication to her cult.

 

[Kolson Vrask]

G R U N G E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
RAVELIN | BASTION
TAMBOR'S CANTINA
Sephi Karneh

​

The glass thudded against the booth table immediately after Kolson let the burning liquor course down his throat. A rare smile- nay, grin coursed his lips. He'd been a while in the fire now but that hair raising announcement of victory certainly played a part in throwing the proverbial mynock off his back. He'd always lived in the shadow of the other troopers and commandos who'd been in the sh*t longer than him, several recruitment and enlistment waves now veterans to a war that lasted nearly a decade.

But now- it was over. And even better, the matters of the Galaxy meant they were still a job market in demand. But for now- the time for work was set aside. He certainly needed the rest. He'd gone through a few operations and deployments without- but so didn't a vast majority of the other drunken troopers who'd begun to fill the streets and watering holes of Ravelin.

"You know- can't remember the last time I was drinking for a good reason. Good 'ol change of pace- won't lie. What about you, Greenie?" He said, the impromptu nickname leaving his lips for a first time, a realization that let him smirk to the woman across from him in the booth. He was glad to be here with her more than anything else. Not only was there a mountain high list of close calls between them, but that burdening weight of another mission on the horizon, another training exercise to slog through was set aside in exchange for just...being themselves.

He poured himself another glass, content to nurse it a moment longer with a brief sip as he awaited her answer.

 

[Sephi Karneh]

A F T E R
starring N O V A
at TAMBOR'S CANTINA
featuring Kolson Vrask

The celebrations were unlike anything she had seen before, dwarfing the crowning of Fortress Imperator ages ago now, it felt like. That had been something of a formal event in comparison, a gala, with suits and uniforms and ties and uncomfortable, but necessary conversation. This, this was different. This was needed. It was something to be cherished, a weight lifted, a burden temporarily relieved. She'd been dragged out of her quarters, almost against her will, to attend some of the festivities, when in truth she would have much preferred to be in the garage working.

That, however, did not last long.

The potent cocktails poured down her throat had burned away her mild annoyance, replacing it with a content numbness, one whose ante could only be upped further by the addition of liquor on its own. It was a lot for her, all the noise, the crowds, the jovial nature of it all. For so long now, it felt, she had slogged through grief and trial, laboring beneath the establishment of order and repurposing of worlds for their greater good. She'd taken hits. Dealt them. Suffered. Triumphed. Over and over, endlessly, on a treadmill with one speed set on throwing her to the ground and dragging her beneath its weight. Yet, she had survived. More than survived, she had been remade once more, renewed into a different woman than the fresh-faced commando thrust out of specialization training.

Kolson's grin was contagious, one she couldn't help but mirror as she looked to him, and then beyond, surveying the clamorous cantina with the expression still plastered on her face. His question breached the muffle of her ears and she turned back to him, blinking a few times as it all processed- what he had said. Her split brow raised and she nodded some, hefting her tumbler to her lips for another sip. "Yeah, I... it's different, that much is for sure." She stated, shifting her hips in her seat, allowing herself to relax and slouch a bit, leaning away from the edge she so frequently walked. "I just... I can't believe it, honestly." Emeralds fixated on the glimmer of the glasses between them with her attempt to fumble her words into a coherent thought and once she had it, she spoke with a much lighter tone. "After all the sh*t we've been through, Kolson, after it all, I think we've earned our fair share of drinks for good reasons, don't you? Zombies? Yeah, we did that. Ziost, been there, done that, got shot."

Sephi couldn't help but laugh at that memory, finding herself embarrassed by the fact soon after, so much so that she lifted a hand to trail down her cheekbone and off her chin. "Hell, I was stimmed out of my mind." That cast into the air aside, she rested the edge of her jaw against curled fingers, shoulders still bobbing with her dying snickers. "It's good to see you smile for a change. And not that, 'Oh-sh*t-help-me' smirk you have going on when the pretty girls talk to you, or when you think you're out of smokes and find one left in the carton, I mean an actual smile." ​

 

[Noel Strasza]

S A C R E D & P R O F A N E
S T R A S Z A
SIDEWALK
Julian Qar

She wasn't far from Carlac, but it felt like it with every step she took down the reconstructed street. She hated parties. She hated parades. She hated crowds. She hated people. She hated this city. She hated the fortress in the distance. But damn, if she wouldn't do it all again to protect it. A strange figure in the roving bands of celebrating peoples was a Warmachine, alien in such an environment where there were no hostiles to face, no soldiers to defend, and no objectives to seize. It was times like this, those minute flashes of peace and rest between conflicts, where she felt the most alien amongst her comrades.

Noel exhaled deeply, filling her lungs with filtered vapor, doing little to soothe her mind with a cigarette, but the itch was scratched, and the habit brought some comfort regardless. Red, augmented eyes fluttered over the heads in the crowd, watching them as if she expected a bomb to rock the block and send everyone into a state of screaming panic. It was too good to be true, wasn't it? There was no way the war had ended so quickly. It couldn't be possible. Her harsh gaze bubbling with anxiety, overflowing nearly as she struggled to grasp what it meant for her in the long run. Between strands of cropped, feathered black, she watched the parade pass by. The marching soldiers- that infantry given the chance to be seen and heard by the peoples they had signed their lives away for.

This war had cost her everything, nearly.

Her life. Her body. Her men.

It had nearly taken Julian from her, on more than one occasion as well, something that she would likely never be able to simply let go of. He was the only anchor she had, that bridge between what it meant to be alive and what it meant to just exist. The reason her routine was not a chore. The reason she even tried to survive the risks of the missions she had been handed down time and time and time again. Her unit was a suicide squad, a cursed ship, and she was doomed to be its captain regardless of the cost or rocks on the horizon.

It all should have been a relief for her, the promise of respite and release from the endless, cyclical battles.

But it wasn't.

Some nagging voice in the flank of her mind would not leave her alone, no matter how briskly she cut through the crowd to walk away from it. It was there in the stares of the strangers she passed by. It was there in the flashing alerts across her implanted HUD. It was there in the mechanical hum droning from her steely chest. She was a tool, an asset, used for war. Flesh separated her from the others, it made them weaker, slower, more vulnerable. But here, in this place, this peaceful city, the others were all stronger, faster, and more enduring than she ever could be. Strasza had tried to hide in the crowd, tucking her mechanical body away beneath the familiar, asymmetrical drape of Carlaci fashion, painted in drapes of black. She shrouded her half-human face with the shadow of a hood.

And it still wasn't enough to escape her reality.

It wasn't enough to deceive those around her that she was anything like any of them.

A heat rushed across her forehead and bled into her cheeks, stopping at the scarred edge where skin melded into metal. The cigarette tumbled from her mismatched lips, bouncing on the path before her. Unnatural tightness clenched her throat into a vice. Hands, unseen, gripped her nerves and fried them, that point of vulnerability exposed at last. Panic set in, recognized only by the natural failure to breathe. Abruptly, Noel shoved her way to the right and cut into an alleyway away from the coursing crowd.

She did the only thing she knew she could do.

His portrait flickered on the edge of her HUD briefly, his answer coming nearly as fast as the encrypted signal could be sent.

"I- Jules- where-" she stammered, vocoded voice breaking on itself as her fabricated tongue failed to act.

<"I know, I gotcha, stay right where ya are darlin'.">​

​

 

[Sergeant Omen]

​

TAG: Sephi Karneh, Kolson Vrask, open to anyone​

​

The Arc Sergeant walked down the street in his full combat gear and his verpine sidearm under his cloak, not wanting to be caught unprepared by the locals and have a repeat of Denon. He could only shivered when he remembered that cold dank cell that he was placed in for having something in his head that he didn't put in himself and couldn't control. Maybe he shouldn't have put himself on foreign soil but he decided that seeing these celebrations was worth the risk of being carted away to jail. As the Clone looked around, a smile touched the ARC's face as he watched people dance in the streets, confetti flying down as citizens of the New Empire threw it from the windows, the laughing and shouting with joy at no more sending their sons and daughters off to die, that their planets wouldn't be invaded anymore by the wicked Sith menace, that they didn't have to deal with the boogyman under their beds for so long. He wondered if the Republic had celebrated the end of the Clone Wars. With the shake of his head, the trooper guessed that Palps when he was crowned emperor wouldn't have allowed it, the demagolka that he was only liking stuff that honored him and his terrible deeds. Anyway, he needed to get out of this crowd, his head was already started to hurt from all the noise and he only had walked 5 minutes away from the spaceport. What is that sign ahead say... Tambor's Cantina. Well Tambor, I don't think you'll mind another customer so I'll just walk right in.​

​

As the ARC Sergeant opened the door and took off his hood and helmet, showing his clone face to every patron, he looked around at the customers to see if they would pic up on this new face. What the Sergeant found was that while some glanced up at the newcomer and their eyes tried to figure out if he was a cosplayer in a mask with a lot of makeup on, most just stuck to their drinks and their partners in crime. An example of the latter being two imperial soldiers conversing in the far corner of the room. Maybe he could introduce himself and get them to try out his new tihaar. No Omen, they are clearly talking about something important and you know better than to interrupt two people of the opposite gender talking to each other. Besides, why would they want to talk to the likes of you? Let us just find a table and get a snack. As the clone soldier found a seat in one of the booths and looked at the cantina's menu for himself, he wondered when or if he would stop being the odd one out and actually have a partner to talk to, just like in the holoflicks. Just keep dreaming Omen, just keep dreaming.​

​

Bounty: 1,000,000 credits paid upon delivery on Denon by Owen Gates.​