Diplomacy Revelry in Ravelin | NIO Capital Crowning of Bastion

[Auteme]

Dagon Kaze | Bernard of Arca Allyson Locke Vaylin Kolson Vrask Sephi Karneh The Dark Inquisitor Sergeant Omen ​

The saber sprung to life in her hand. Contrary to popular belief, Auteme had touched a saber before. She was no expert, of course, but at the very least she considered herself familiar with the concept. It wouldn't take much for her to hurt someone with this. Yet still it was a shining beacon, an elegant tool to both protect and strike. The symbol of a Jedi.

Her eyes fell to Dagon. No, she thought, that is the symbol of a Jedi.

"Dagon Kaze, over the past few years you have conducted yourself in a manner equal to any Jedi I have ever met, through more difficult times than I have ever seen. By what little authority I have, I raise you," she said, moving the saber over each of his shoulders (carefully, of course, because she didn't want to chop anything off).

"To the rank of Jedi Knight."

 

[Sergeant Omen]

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TAG: The Dark Inquisitor​

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"Yeah, I've got plans, but being a Jedi for now comes first,"​

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With a nod, the clone accepted her statement. "It's always good to have a plan on what you want to do with your time here in this galaxy. Just making sure being a Jedi doesn't overrun any smaller goals. I don't want you to regret anything."​

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When the Trooper held her hand, he could feel her sorrow somehow. Something terrible must have happened to her or in front of her and she was still suffering from it. They weren't so different in that way then. He knew better than to ask her to tell him every single detail before she was ready but he could at least offer her some advice. "I don't want to imagine what happened to you. I've had my fair share of bad experiences as well. I know I can't see what you do but I've also seen a lot of death, some that I've caused because I had to and some that I caused accidentally. It leaves quite a weight on your shoulders. If you want to talk later about it feel free to comm me." He quietly got out a small pad of paper from his belt, wrote his comm number down, and gave it to her. With a playful wink, he explained, "Just in case you need someone to talk to later on." before he let her continue with the story of how she became a Jedi.​

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The Clone nodded along as he heard the story of her becoming a Jedi. It was fascinating how much the Order of today mimicked the Order of 800 years ago. It was pretty much the same training in every respect with the only aspect of the Order changing was the allowing of families to talk with Jedi family members and the ban on love and attachment going away, both of which he thought of as good changes that made the Jedi seem more normal and less grand protectors that got to take your stuff whenever they wanted like they did back in his day. When the Padawan mentioned she hadn't talked to her family in a year, the ARC could only frown a little as he sipped his drink. "You only get one blood family Kinhaes. While your family may be the Jedi now, I'm sure your folks miss you dearly. I sure miss all the brothers that I served with every single day. Now, this is just a suggestion but you should maybe try to leave them a message, just to tell them you're not dead in a ditch on some forsaken world away from home."​

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He smiled at her when he finished saying where he was from. It felt like they were really making a connection. Hopefully, he was in the safe zone... and then it felt like she had pushed him out of the clouds, mentally barring him from the bunker that was so close to opening up fully. Now all he felt was animosity and now he would know why. "You said you from Kamino. Does that mean you have the..." As she tapped her head, the Clone slapped his hand against his face, wincing. Of course, it was that, it was what every little padawan feared him for. No one cared that he had shrapnel in his head, or that 800 years in carbonite definitely had tampered with or broken the chip, all they wanted to know if they still had the chip in his head, that he still was able to become a crazy killing clone. Great, now all she was going to think about was how she almost got slaughtered by a clone. He needed to go before that knighting ceremony inside ended and everyone came out to see what bad man was going to hurt this innocent padawan. The ARC, annoyed and embarressed with himself for not getting this chip out of him sooner, quickly pushed his armored body out of his chair and shoved the helmet back on his head, not bothering with the drink that he knew was just going to slow him down. "It was good to meet you Padawan, maybe we can talk again sometime soon." With that, he threw his cloak's hood over his head and did everything but run away, skirting down a side alley between the buildings and disappearing from the padawans sight, disgusted with himself for even thinking he had a chance to make a friend with a Jedi when he was a mass produced monster.​

 

[Aerarii Tithe]

CARTEL CONDUCT // BASTION

Djorn Bline

The bustling streets of Bastion were filled with revellers celebrating the victory over the Sith Empire. In the densely packed throng of faces, it was easy for an individual to blend in, even one who helped lead one of the galaxy’s largest governments. The dismissal of his close protection team, with the exception of two plainclothes officers who had been forced upon him by the Senate sergeant-at-arms, allowed Tithe to enjoy the celebrations without recognition. His official state duties were long over, granting him capacity to take care of something much more important.

Business.

“Ah, Snake,” he replied as Commissioner Bline approached him in the crowd. “Yes, let’s decant from this jubilation. Too many prying ears I fear.” An enclosed landspeeder pulled up at the curb and admitted the two men. Tithe’s two chaperones chambered into the driver's compartment, separated from Tithe and Djorn by a privacy field.

As they made themselves comfortable, Tithe withdrew a bottle of aged Hapan sweet wine from inside his galaxy. “Countesry of the Imperator,” he explained with a sly grin, having pocketed the eight thousand credit bottle from a state function easier that day. He grabbed three glasses from the refreshments console and filled each of them. He handed one to Djorn.

“Commissioner Jaeger Harrsk ,” he proclaimed, offering a traditional Aargauun oath of mourning. “May his investments long pay dividends.” Tithe took a drink from his glass and poured the third one out the floor of the landspeeder in remembrance of the fallen COMPNOR official.

“Now, I understand you have a, ah, proposition?”

 

[Fiolette Fortan]

R A V E L I N​

Years ago, Ravelin was a different place - and she was a different person. Fiolette arrived in a sleek speeder to the former capital of the once Sith Empire. She recalled the schism that started the Third Imperial Civil War and somehow, somehow she still didn't see this particular path. She knew just from talking with Irveric Tavlar that he would make his will a reality. The Galidraani had to hand it to him, he and the people who followed him have created a proud Imperial nation unlike any that the Galaxy had seen in quite some time. Fiolette arrived in Ravelin alone, with plans to meet with Kassandra on Ord Trasi later on. ​

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Today she just wanted to explore what had become of a place that she once called home. Ravelin was where she and Taeli had created a home for themselves. A small garden oasis in the middle of the ecumenopolis, the Galidraani scoffed with disbelief. So much had changed in the last ten years. "So much more is set to change as well," she uttered quietly as she watched the crowds cheer. ​

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Fiolette wondered if the noodle hut she frequented was still around. Or, if that pub was still about - worth checking out she figured. Just a few places to check out before departing Ravelin. Of course, there was that part of her that wondered about investing in Ravelin. The New Imperial Order had thus far proved to be a profitable partner. Until then, she dipped into a local pub, not the one she was looking to check out. However, a pub - was a pub, was a pub. ​

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OPEN TO INTERACTION​

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[The Dark Inquisitor]

Sergeant Omen

Kinhaes' mind was a bit of a mess. She hardly registered that she had asked the Clone THAT question, until he got up. With a swift goodbye, Omen was gone from sight. The very pit of her stomach grew heavy. She was frozen for only a moment, before standing up and, without any other thoughts, ran down the same side ally. It wasn't the cleanest, or tidiest, but she pushed forwards. She almost stumbled over some bagged waste, as she yelled out. "Omen! Omen! I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything bad!" She ran down the side ally, her body moving between debris and even a already too drunken citizen, oblivious to her yelling. "Please, come back!" Kinhaes pleaded, as she kept running.

She wasn't exactly careful in her stepping, before she met the solider part of a disposed bag of what felt like screws and other metal pieces. She fell forwards and landed straight on her face. The impact hurt, but she didn't care. The Jedi mentors taught her to be kind, and caring of others, and all she did was say the worst thing possible to a new friend. One of her first outside the Order. Feeling herself sit up on her knees, she tried to stand, but found herself unable to do so. Her right leg was a half trapped under the bag and it was a fair bit heavy. "Omen, please, come back! I'm sorry!" Kinhaes said, trying to shout it, but her voice caught in her throat coming out only as a whisper. Kinhaes hated herself for what she did. Her palms hit the ground as she just stayed there. On her hands and knees, trying to think of some way to apologies to the person who was so kind to her. She could feel sorrow in her chest, knowing that she was anything but a good person at this point. So, she just stayed there for a bit, trying to calm herself down enough to try and pursue or go back. She couldn't think which she deserved more to do. To have this as a failure over her head for a while and go back, or leave and still try to find him among the thousands of people celebrating across every street. "I'm sorry," was all she could muster for a whisper, staying there, under a faint light from one of the above apartments.

 

[Sergeant Omen]

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TAG: The Dark Inquisitor​

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Omen had just rounded the corner when he heard a loud "THAWP" coming from the alleyway. Hopefully, the person didn't break their neck in the fall though by that loud sound he couldn't be sure. When he turned around to see the padawan was sprawled face-first across the alleyway, looking dazed with a trash bag trapping her leg to the dirt. The red-skinned Zabrak was flapping around like a Gooberfish out of the water, trying to get the bag off of her.​

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Thank the force for his helmet's insulation or the Padawan might have heard his laugh gaffing off the alley's walls as he pounded against the building with his fist. After getting the laughter out of his system (and getting a pic on his datapad from around the corner) the clone came back in the alley after deciding the Padawan had enough karma for today. He carefully took the bag off of her leg as he smirked inside his helmet, glad that she couldn't see his face or otherwise she might have punched him for making fun of her. He really couldn't help it though despite his best efforts. "If this is the best running that you, one of the famous Jedi can do, you might need to take gym again " As he threw the bag in an already full dumpster, he got down on his knees to her level, took his helmet off and offered an explanation about why he ran off. "I'm sorry I ran off like that. It is just with Jedi and especially Padawans who don't know any better like yourself, tend to look at me like a monster and well, I don't blame them because that's what I am. A monster made to kill and to be controlled, made to the exacting specifications of what would be the galaxies most famous dictator. It is better that I stay away from those people sakes, both for them and for me." He quickly stood up and offered a hand to the enlightened padawan "Can you stand" He shot a playful wink at the Zabrak without even thinking, maybe because he knew her a little bit already and wouldn't take offense. "I can always carry you over my shoulder back to the bar if that leg is shot. You would just have to bear with your comrades in arms looking at you funny and me trying not to shake the whole building down with my laughter." The Clone grinned widely, knowing that he had just found a good friend for life and those were a credit a dozen. Hopefully, he would spend that credit wisely in the future or just plant it and let it grow to its full height.[/CENTER]​

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[The Dark Inquisitor]

Sergeant Omen

Having fallen on the ground, her chest heavy, Kinhaes was surprised when she heard the clone's voice. Feeling the bag on her leg being lifted after a joke about her running, her eyes locked onto the Clone's. The way he spoke, made what she did sound like she was prejudice to him, based on the older records of the Clones during the Clone Wars. She knew that she was wrong, and she would do anything to help make up for it. She made repeated mental notes to keep others from the same mistake she made.

The offered hand was a comfort. He didn't at least leave her after removing the bag. The wink was also a welcomed sight. He didn't hate her after what she said. The question she had asked was complete Scrag and now she knew it. But thinking about Omen's situation with people like her, gave her a sense of pity. Not out of feeling sorry, but rather because she felt annoyed that others would have such mindsets. It was a pity for them, not him. Even the way he talked about how he distances himself because of the mindset Jedi had about him was hard to know, yet easy to understand.

Hearing his alternate offer in case she couldn't walk being to 'carry you over my shoulder', Kinhaes tried to stand, using the Clone's hand. Giving it a light push off of to help herself up, she found her ankle to be sore, but not sprained or pulled. Probably get a bruise later on, but it wasn't any more serious than that. Giving the Clone an apologetic smile, she looked to the ground slightly when she stood up. "I'm sorry. I was wrong to think like that," Kinhaes apologized, her left hand shaking softly again. She couldn't bare to lose any more people who saw her as friend, comrade or more. "I'll buy to a drink when we get back, to make up for my idiocy," her offer was sound, not to mention she would buy any drink he wanted, regardless of how much credits it costed, "If you still want to drink with someone like me?" Her question was more sincere and by her expression, clearly showed that she was still hating herself for what was said.

 

[Sergeant Omen]

TAG: The Dark Inquisitor

The Clone could only accept her apology, seeing how easy it was to say the wrong thing in this galaxy. He had been in that situation many times before and the other people definitely weren't as kind as he wanted to be. Besides, it was nice to have something to cash in in the relationship category at the end of the day. "It is okay, we all think the wrong things sometimes Kid. How we make up for those times that counts and an apology in a drink is enough for me right now. And of course, I can still drink with you, who wouldn't want to drink with a Padawan who can't run or do stealth for her life." The ARC could only shake his head in mock disgust "Your teachers have got a lot to answer for young one." With a wave for her to follow, Omen started to walk back to the Cantina, looking back over his shoulder at her. "You coming or not, I got to show off the picture of your face first in this alley and ask them what they have been exactly teaching you. I would rather dress them down while you get me that drink with an embarrassed look on your face than not have you at all." Oh yes, this was a good day, a very good day indeed. Embarrass a Padawan, get a couple of drinks and make a new friend, Omen couldn't ask for anything less.​

 

[The Dark Inquisitor]

Sergeant Omen

With a Clone, no, a person, so kind how could Kinhaes be worried. Omen was a strong person, if not without a devious side. He would make a great friend. Not to mention a fantastic ally to have in any battlefield. The added comment on how he was still able to drink with her even though she tripped. Kinhaes felt he would hang that over her for the remainder of the day, or even their careers. The additional point of how her teachers would be talked to, the Zabrak's face became almost worrisome. Her mentors, whilst not a true one on one Master, would get a bit annoyed at her for such a display. Oh well. She'd just have to take it in her stride.

When Omen asked if she was coming, Kinhaes' feet moved, until he mentioned something about a photo of her and the rest of the patrons of the cantina. Her face went from her usual red skin, to an almost slightly deeper red. "A photo?!" Kinhaes said, her words almost a yell as she realized what Omen had done whilst she was face first in the ground, not seeing him right in her path. "You... you...." she started,stopping when she realized she couldn't win, before hanging her head a little before walking. A chuckle escaped her lips. "Your not going to let me forget this for the rest of the day, are you?" She asked, catching up to the Clone. She knew he'd do it when she was right in the thick of the crowd. Or even right before she even walked in.

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

4
THE_WOAD

Tyrell Lockhart FN-999 Sergeant Omen

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

'Interesting fellow, isn't he?', Erskine said to Tyrell with a sidelong, knowing glance that was accompanied by two prods against his own temple with the tip of his index finger. All eyes then drifted back to the guest who was already beginning to outstay his welcome by the time he mentioned the poison to open his introduction, even more so when his earlier backstory mentioned what type of trooper was sitting with them, as old relics being reawakened was something Barran's lot in particular took serious issue with, especially since the situation with the Anaxsi on Nirauan. The recent-history troubled the Stormchaser also, as he had never known Mawite fleeters to let shots like those go unanswered, especially not in the case of the Athysian League's ships, known more for all-out assaults over measured retreats in almost every setting they'd deployed to. Picking up the Mandalorian's,"Batch" bottle, the old Woad laughed before continuing,'It's not all doom an' gloom anyways, Omen. I'll drink some o' this, but only you and I will be sampling from this bottle, sound good?'
Only God would know how Gowrie would react to idle threats like Omen's, the lad's surely lucky it's me here instead anyways.

Lockhart would chuckle as his hand pulled away from his hip, casting a knowing glance back at Barran and Nines as the Lord-Commander slid the Cladhan bottle his way. Lockhart would then pass his rye to Nines and keep a close, watchful eye on the encounter, ever ready to step up when required. Everyone present seemed to understand well enough that if Omen was to drink from the same hypothetically-poisoned beverage, he'd be only be taking one other individual along with him to the afterlife, though the laughter from Nines and Lockhart certainly would've come across almost as eerily unperturbed as Barran had in that moment, especially when no second thought was given to picking up the bottle and uncorking it in plain sight of the 800+ year old clone. Politely pouring the contents into his own mouth without letting the rim of the neck touch his lips, Lord Erskine gulped twice before tilting the bottle back up and gulping a third time and passing it back, curtly nodding with mild appreciation for the berry-filled aftertaste as the Arc-Trooper Sergeant followed suit under close watch.

'Now, there was quite a lot that was revealed in the answered content of your,"Questionnaire", it seems, but what stood out most to me is the Csilla matter, you see? I know it's not a fleeter's job to know what happens on the ground most of the time, but it was quite vital to know these ground-details at the time - and you would've seen files on everyone else you see here as well..... Ever heard of the Dunwall Irregulars? Their commander is sitting right there, opposite me, and to my right, the Lef- excuse me, the Lieutenant-Legion Commander of the 454th Regiment. One such individual I know you'll be reading about as you get to know this - er - future of yours. Both fight and lead from the front of their formations when required, something you'll come to understand is still a norm in this day and age.'

Passing the bottle back after drinking his part, Omen would watch as Erskine took another heavy portion of this clone-made hooch, not realizing that he was sitting in the company of a lifelong alcoholic, functional though it had been throughout his multiple career-tracks in command. Though it did taste very good, there was no way it had been distilled long enough to pack more pound-per-punch, so the Lord-Commander knew the hooch would do little to stop him from continuing,'And as for me, well.... I'm just an old Lord who misses his home-world, an' every field and hedgerow that grows on 'er surface.', as he watched his counterpart appear to match him drink-for-drink. He wanted to get along with this fellow, but the Stormchaser felt like there was something of a disconnect on the Csilla matter, and this had never happened to Lord Erskine on this particular matter; the suspicion was naturally struggling in it's process of making way for curiosity, but there was enough intrigue rattling around in Barran's mind that he chose to humour their guest for a little while longer than initially planned.

'I will not accuse you of this or that, Omen. I'll only ask that you take further care to see how it was for us on Csilla's snowy surface, though rest assured it'll prove for entertaining research on your part. Many elements were at play down there, and many names you'd do well to learn going forward in our next battles with the Maw.... The Sith, in hindsight, were easy-going in comparison to the Mawlerites we've faced so far, an' that's no joke by the way. I personally wouldn't joke about the faction that killed my firstborn an' wiped out two of my brigade's three previous iterations, but the threat brewing in the Unknown Region is something quite different indeed.'

 

[Mithrad]

STATE SECRETARIATE
CHISS REMNANTS
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
RAVELIN

Willan Tal | Irveric Tavlar | Orika | Kiara Ayres | Ryv
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Rodam'ithra'dovor would have been found standing, hand rested gently upon a curved balcony's railing as he spectated from far above to one of Ravelin's many, many celebratory military parades. Down below, amidst the cheering towards were rows of imperial assault tanks, stormtroopers in gilded and polished armor and scores of upswing citizens, all reveling in the thought and realization that the age of Sith tyranny was gradually coming to an end. Lifting a cigar-like roll to his thin lips with his free hand, the Secretary took a prolonged, thoughtful sighed puff, as his own mind was still taken by the sheer complexity of the many hurdles that yet laid in his and his people's path- For whilst the Empire at large celebrated a daunting, grueling victory, the Chiss had lost their very own Bastion.

It was on such thoughts that the angular Mithrad would find himself momentarily interrupted, his attention bringing his well-kept hairline and sharp, tiger-like traits to turn to his right, finding himself faced with the Galidraani legend himself, Lord Protector Tal. The Chiss bureaucrat had learned to recognize the man by name, by appearance and by authority, yet very few times thus far had they gotten the opportunity to have a proper, informal and frank face to face meeting. He turned, his attention momentarily steered away from the ongoing parade by the man clad in an alpine white coat.

The chiss himself had traded his usually corporatist and diplomatic-appearing garments for a more in-line uniform, bearing similar imperial norms to what other Moffs and central government high ups would clad themselves into. Alongside the Imperial Order's sigil pin, he had also inserted a small broach with the old crest of the Chiss Ascendancy, symbolizing without a doubt his dual background, a very real conundrum that no one but the Galidraani could understand as well.

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Keeping the hand that held the long cigar locked between index and major aloft, Mithrad offered a faint, vulpine smile, before bending his head in polite salutations.
"Lord Tal, this is quite an honor."
Although his tone of voice was casual, if slightly friendly, every one of his words appeared well thought-out and meant. The Imperial Secretary took a step forwards, nodding as the Lord Protector mentionned such a quest for His Majesty. Bringing his free, left hand to the back of his belt and sliding it beneath to rest there, Mithrad nodded, beginning to walk back towards the inner corridors of the imperial establishment.

"Let us find him, then, before His Majesty bores himself with pleasantries." The Chiss remarked with light humor, before returning to a slightly more serious tone.
"The time soon comes for the liberation of your homeland, does it not? I am curious as to what sort of World it is. Perhaps soon, I will place my eyes upon it to find out myself."

As he spoke and walked, a lazy tendril of smoke continued to rise from the tip of his cigar, drawing a vanishing line across the air of the celebratory halls, the Imperial Secretary beckoned to an open threshold leading to another spacious room within which, as the pair entered, they would likely find Imperator Irveric Tavlar , already in conversation with several others. Straightening his posture slightly, Mithrad, accompanied by the galidraani Lord Protector, would make their way towards the Imperator, the Imperial Secretariate quickly hailing a nearby servant for drinks as they moved so.

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[Rika Hiro]

Lady_Silence
COMPNOR
Streets of Ravelin
Tags: Ravraa Vyshraal RIP

DEATH OF THE SOUL



"I...understand then."


Yubari placed the commlink back in her pocket, eyes staring blankly ahead and zeroing in on the person in question with silent intensity. Then, amidst the crowds of citizenry ignorant and unaware of the cat and mouse chase unfolding before them, Agent and Moff, hunter and target, cat and mouse, The HRD made its first move. Moving through the masses with all the grace and invisibility of a ghost, for she was but a face in a sea of faces and to the Moff nothing but another lost soul on the grim streets of Ravraa. Cast in a long black coat and wearing blacked-out shades, she just looked like any other party goer returning home from a long night of drinking in the name of the Imperator and victory. They knew of the Moff, and they knew of Ravraa before the Togrutan stepped foot in the assembly, an alien bound by the fallacy of liberalism and an aversion to the preservation of the state, a liability to the order of things and a pest with an expiration date. Just like the king of Ketaris, they were both bound by traitorous ideas and hostility to the greater good, to the preservation of the new order, Enlil would come to see in time what his transgressions would cost him and the lives of those he protected.

Enlil had killed Commissioner Harrsk and killed a servant of the state, something Yubari and the committee didn't forget nor forgive. They always knew, they always listened, they always observed. Nothing was a secret in the New Order. The HRD had served the late Harrsk in a number of missions and hits, diligently executing and carrying out the Imperators law under the Tetan commissioners bidding. Harrsk was a good boy, and now he was gone, retired from duty and put to rest with cremation service and placed in a tiny urn in some agency cenotaph. Like many other agents whom Yubari was expected not to outlast, Harrsk fell to the mortal coil that cursed the real fleshjobs in the agency. Yubari's model was only designed for ten-twenty-year life expectancy before retirement, never to be held down by emotion nor the onset of mortality. Their only purpose was to preserve the new order and keep Tavlars word alive. Perhaps it was ironic that Yubari outlasted so many of her human bosses.



Yubari moved to the side of the flowing crowd and blended in among the customers huddled around the various street vendors, never breaking eye contact with the Togrutan who passed ever closer. Tucked away in her sleeve was a small needle blaster, pathetic by military standards and regarded as a woman's gun fit for keeping in a purse. By all means, it was a perfect assassins tool, and when modified with a silencer, it served Yubari and many others well. The HRD slipped back into the crowd and closed distance in on the Moff, slowly shifting her blaster out of her coat sleeve while keeping up the facade of being a random pedestrian. And in that fleeting moment of opportunity, the HRD moved up to the Moffs side and fired two shots to his stomach and side in quick and quiet succession before stepping away and vanishing into the night once more like a phantom before any onlookers realised a hit had took place.

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[FN-999]

N I N E S
Interacting With: DECEASED Erskine Barran | Sergeant Omen | Tyrell Lockhart

MILITARY HISTORY WING, GREAT IMPERIAL LIBRARY, RAVELIN CITY, BASTION​

'Nines! I should've known you'd prefer bein' here, lad.', Lord Erskine replied, pausing in his warm verbal welcomes to make it appear more like his young friend was welcome also. Standing to extend his right hand in fellowship to the approaching Lieutenant-Legion Commander, the grey-clad legend would meet the offer in the middle, also accepting Erskine's free-hand gestured offer to grab himself a spot at the table as the Woad continued,'An' by the way - likewise, lad. No many ah'd be happy to see when ah'm tryin' to avoid the crowds, but you're obviously an exception to this rule. Remember 864, Nines.... We're here now because o' your part in that. Don't - forget, aw'right?'

"You're going to have to be more specific." stated FN-999 mockingly.​

"I've been part of so many battles in 864 that I can't admit the final number sober without bragging or breaking down in tears."

'Nines, meet Tyrell Lockhart, commander of the Dunwall Irregulars.... An' quite the juggernaut in his own right, you'd do well to find this one in the field for sure.'

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Commander Lockhart." introduced FN-999, finding himself in a surprisingly firm handshake.

"That good Dunwall rye, reserved for only the best!"

Just then, the perfect convenience arrived.
"I'll take you up on that rye, Commander." exclaimed FN-999. "I've got some drunk math to do."

"Hi, is this where the old soldier's book club is supposed to meet?"

The lieutenant legion commander briefly stilled at the new presence. Despite having a gut feeling that he had never met the other man at any other point in his life, his face seemed... familiar.

The sudden realization hit FN-999 like an artillery strike.

In his military historical studies as an officer in the First Order, one of the topics FN-999 had delved into had been the collapse of the old Galactic Republic. In order to combat the Confederate defectors, the Republic had secretly ordered an army of clones based on the template of a famed bounty hunter, using the planet Kamino as their main production facility. The face of the man in front of him was the same face he had seen in various illustrations, the same face shared by that uniform army.

FN-999 silently took his seat and observed silently as the clonelike figure joined the trio, their conversation beginning in earnest.

'Better than most of the swill that passes for whiskey these days, an' then some. Give it a try, Nines. Trust when I say that you'll consider seeking it out for yourself after trying it.

The mysterious Dunwall rye had arrived, pale liquid sloshing in the flask. FN-999 grabbed the flask from General Barran and took a small sip, the richness of its flavor instantly seeping into his veins. He was right: Dunwall rye was a delicacy he would most certainly be eager to find on a future commission. Still, it would not be in good form to become drunk in front of such influential men as General Barran and Commander Lockhart. Later, in the company of only his squadmates, he could indulge in his spirits. FN-999 cautiously drank some more as the other trooper stated his story, nearly spitting out the rye currently in his mouth as he admitted to being an ARC trooper.

A relic quite literally frozen in time, eh?

FN-999 observed as General Barran began to question the ARC trooper, mentally noting the passive bitterness in the general's voice. Feeling a sudden urge to step up and take responsibility for the next few minutes, FN-999 spoke up on his own accord.

"So you're a wanderer, it seems." stated FN-999. "I know that feeling, I've done the same, even if it's been in different circumstances."

"I don't even remember where I was born, I don't even remember the faces of my parents. All I remember was being a child in the dumps of the dumps, with a family that saw me as little more than a financial burden. Needless to say, it was not a happy arrangement. By the time I was eight, I was quite literally thrown in a dump after suffering an especially rough beating. Fortunately, a First Order recruiter was there. He took me in, treated me, and sort of abducted me. It’s not like I had anything to lose though.”

“Ah, sorry. I’m being a bit sentimental. I suppose I should wrap up my lecture soon.”

“Anyways, I ended up serving in the ‘second’ First Order, the one that was annihilated by alien invaders. I barely made it out of Dosunn alive, and after seeing the brutal infighting of the surviving generals, I fled to the nearest stable power I could find. I don’t regret it, it was a necessary move, I just hope the current regime doesn’t interpet it as treason.”

“And that’s how I arrived at the New Imperial Order a little under four years ago.”

​

​

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Tag: DECEASED Erskine Barran , Tyrell Lockhart , FN-999

As soon as the words come out of Omen's mouth, he wanted to push them right back in. It was clear that the Empire's officer core took jokes seriously. Well, he guessed he knew what Padawan Kinhaes felt when she had asked him about his chip earlier that afternoon, a whole lot of regret. "I must apologize, my sense of humor isn't exactly something that I'm proud of. It is not the first time my words have gotten me into trouble and won't be the last. Plus I'm not the best at speaking to people, especially scary officers in uniform. The Kaminii must have forgotten to load the public speaking gene into my tank when I was a baby." Or they put a lot of unusual things in me like force powers. Never can tell what one of those long neck scientists' end goals when I was created. Maybe I was one of a kind project that they shoved into regular service when they didn't get the results they wanted. Who knows, I just know that I have to not look like a threat to these three people.

Ah, they thought he was there on the ground during the battle. Well, he guessed he had to explain his role to them then. "I actually didn't show up on the scene until way after the planet had exploded. The SJC and the FO were working on clean-up duties with the Maw Dreadnaught and its three escorts bumbling about a little ways away on the edges of the system. When an FO admiral asked for all available allies to come to help out against the Maw and I thought it was a good opportunity to test my ship's newly purchased weapons out by diving in a little recklessly and targeting the big ship's engines with all so the Maw wouldn't be to attack the people salvage operation. An opponent swatting at a fly is easier to beat than an alert one. I thought I would be getting assistance from the FO but none came. I mostly survived through adrenaline rather than skill. I eventually got out thanks to some SJC fighter support with a nice piece of metal about the size of my forearm lodged in my head and a hecka lot of blood loss for all the trouble I went through. To be honest. I'm honestly surprised I'm sitting here and not in the ground on Kashyyyk. To be sure, I thanked those doctors an awful lot for saving my life.

When the gentleman said fleeter, the trooper could only chuckle. "Interservice rivalry I see?" He would have to put that in his notes. for later. "Just so that we are clear, I'm definitely am a grounder and I would have joined you in defending the planet if I wasn't ferrying goods around between the CIS and the SJC. Besides, I'm not an official SJC military member you see. I'm something much worse..." Without hesitation, he got up onto his chair and cried out as he posed like a superhero in a hololflick, high enough to be effective but low enough not to get the library helpers on his case. "I'M A PRIVATE CITIZEN!" As the clone quickly scrambled down from his chair before he was spotted a bright smile on his face. "I don't have to follow military orders anymore which is a plus. The real minus is that I don't have any support behind me but I can only play with the sabacc hand I'm dealt." He didn't tell them that he would be trying out missions with Omega sometime soon but they didn't need to know that. He also didn't tell them that he might not be mentally ready for a ground battle again or if the chip would let him be ready.

When their valiant leader of the conversation introduced the other two men at the table, he pleasantly smiled and offered to shake each of their hands. "The pleasure is all mine. I'm certain your actions have given you a place in the history books that are on these shelves. I've always have admired an officer that leads from the front. The Jedi do of course but they are superhuman, something out of the ordinary. When a regular bloke leads his men into battle, knowing that his orders will make his men live or die, it brings a whole new meaning to the word leadership." He quickly poured just enough of his own creation into a wooden shot glass that he had carved himself in his off time that the trooper had gotten out of his belt. He couldn't waste the Imperials supply on himself. All he hoped is that the alcohol didn't make his nightmares worse at night before presenting his glass for a toast. "Cheers Gentleman, I hope I don't have to fight against you anytime. To the Imperium and its honored fallen who helped it to get where it is today." Once their glasses clinked together and they all had taken a sip of the drink of their choice., he listened to the Lord say about his homeworld. The common soldier bet it was a wonderful place, all flowing grass laddened hills and the coasting currents of cold streams. Maybe he would take a visit there one day. "It sounds like a marvelous place. Maybe I'll get there and pitch a tent on your castle grounds one day my lord if I can afford the rent." He wasn't using the term "my lord" in jest, he was treating the man and the term with the respect and admiration they deserved, just like the other men at this table. He also suspected that the Lord didn't tell of his whole role in the fighting because he had that large of a role in trying to win it but he ultimately failed in his own goal. Maybe he was saddened with guilt or maybe some other more personal reason. Either way, it wasn't his place to get into and he was already on thin ice with the man, a feeling that was all too common to the trooper now. But all too quickly more questions from the mouth of the Commander of the 454th Regiment. The armored individual also said his own back story which made the clone frown, finding it hard to imagine that there was a harder childhood than the one he and his brothers had endured. If anyone had one though, it was the Commander. "Yes, you could say that I'm a wanderer. I also find it more relaxing in my ship traveling through hyperspace than staying on the ground of Kashyyyk waiting for the Bryn to arrive. I just have always wanted to get up and move. The ship makes that possible for me though I mostly dock up with Silver Rest as my primary home base of operations. I'm extremely sorry for the hellhole of a childhood that you had. No living being deserves treated like that. Hell, I thought I had the worse childhood of all as a product of cloning facilities. We clones had to deal with getting electroshocked from ships from above but at least we got three meals a day. How you got here is all the more testament to your character. Speaking of alien creatures, were they the Bryn or something else entirely. Because I know you will have the Bryn coming up through former TSE territory soon as it starts to collapse. You'll be fighting a two-front war just like we do..."

The clone quietly drank from his cup quietly for a few moments, feeling like he was trapped in a room that the lord was slowly filling with water. He clearly was more two-faced than he seemed and the clone-like always had blundered through the conversation without knowing the supporting details that fueled the talking. When he did continue, it was in a quiet tone, almost like that of a whisper, trying not to set off anymore hidden landmines as he stared at the rich oak reading table and all the facets of it in detail.

To be honest, I feel their first target in Imperial space would be Mandalore just because they're after the strongest people out there and Mandolarians are near the top in that regard. As for the Maw, I always respect the enemy in front of me, whether they are alien or not My Lord. I mostly talk about the enemies of the galaxy so they seem... well more beatable... I know neither threat is going away anytime soon and will kill billions if not trillions or more in their wake as well as more planets just like Csilla before they are fully dealt with. I'm... I'm sorry that your son had to pay the ultimate price with his life just like most young men do when this galaxy goes to war..." Just like my brothers paid their price... He then fell completely silent for the second time so the other men could talk without the burden of him stepping in. He would talk to the Legion Commander in a more private setting if he could but that was not available to him right at this moment. For now, he would just wait until he could dismiss himself or the lord waved him away like a servant or an akk pup wanted to play. His social meter was at an all-time low as well, having expended it during that entire barrage of words just sprayed out of his mouth over the last 10 minutes. All he needed now was his bed.





"

 

[Ravraa Vyshraal]

I wanted to be like you, dad...​

The sound was barely under a snap, something that most wouldn’t recognize, just the noise of the trigger falling followed quickly by a singed pain and shooting nerves, the cindered scent of the hole burned through his overalls lofting into the air. Hollowed, he felt hollow.

His hand went to his stomach before turning back over, stained with ash and a spattering of blood. He was used to this kind of pain, of the searing shock of blaster bolts finding their way home. He didn’t even give the attempt to look for the shooter, someone had brushed close to him, but whoever they were had already vanished deep into the crowd. Besides, what was he thinking? A moff on the public streets, after the things he had said to other Moffs, to other governmental officials, the things that he had said about COMPNOR…

He had made a lot of enemies in life he supposed, though he never wanted to.

Why was he damned for just wanting a better life for everyone? Is this his reward for believing in the Imperial dream?

For a brief moment, he saw himself standing next to Jeresan. The warmth of a hearth bathed over the two of them as an adopted child of an ambiguous species ran throughout the humble house, chased close behind by some four-legged pet. Details were fuzzing, the spice of Correllian ale filled his nose before he clinked the glass with his husband, smiling. He was saying something, though the words never reached Ravraa’s ears.

Another life, perhaps.

Looks like pa was right, all this service ended with was him getting shot…

Hopefully, he had done something of value with his service. All he could hope is that someone wouldn’t leave Shili, and the NIO as a whole, to fall fully into authoritarianism. That was all he wanted of the Galaxy. Peace, love, a chance to actually enjoy every day instead of worrying about an oppressive boot on your neck.

Here’s to you, Jeresan, Hope you’re ready to hold down the fort, snap-elections should start soon, hopefully. Until then, you’ll be acting Moff. There’ll be a lot of challenges…

Though none of that weighed too heavy on Ravraa right now, nothing seemed to hold in his mind. Drifting away moment to moment, no glorious last words or final salute as the darkness swallowed around his vision. One of the party goers walked by, gave him a hearty slap on his back.

Moff Ravraa Vyshraal, Captain of Dorn-2, Lord-Protector of the Shili Sector Auxilaries, husband to Jeresan Alverm, son to Zohlees Vyshraal, collapsed right there on the streets outside Fortress Imperator.

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

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

It was rare that Ryv and Irveric got to truly interact- the Imperator cutting through the bustling fraternization surrounding them to focus on the words and sentiment of the Sword of the Jedi. They had a great deal of differences between them- but in far too many ways were they similar. Renegades, defiant to a system that was plagued to its roots. Just as the Imperial had its identity stolen from them- so too were the Jedi mired and corrupted by a code which had been used to the whims and wishes of morally corrupt me and women throughout history.

But that was hardly even comparable in scope to what they dealt with concerning the Maw. As much as it was victory to slay the dragon that was the Sith Empire- the Sith were not so easily solely consolidated beneath the boot of the Zambrano regime within the banner of the crimson saber. They were well and truly everywhere and there was only so many proactive measures the New Imperial Order or Galactic Alliance could implement to root them out. While the New Empire had made their stance on the dark creed clear- there was no doubt in his mind that darkness lingered in their midst. It was the perfect place to hide after all and the New Imperial Order's origins were steeped in dark alliances- long snuffed out but existent none the less.

In the wake of the fall of Zambrano- the Brotherhood of the Maw remained the greatest threat to the Order and the Galaxy as a whole.

"They're hardly idiots- deranged? Certainly...but hardly idiots. They have a set intent and aim and above all- the determination to see through to their goals. But tell me- what do you know of the head of the snake." Irveric said, stepping away from the others for a moment- even as his gaze continued to linger on his Chiss confidant for a moment ,eventually diverting his focus wholly back to the Jedi.

"All I know of these Sith that operate within the Maw is that they are divergent from any other group and are all but the victors of the Sith schism. Their power grows hour by hour and yes- they do have agents within nigh all Galactic governments. I only wished I could say the Empire is the exception...but it isn't." Tavlar said- hardly with any shame, only in overt honesty.
"And with who else are you pursuing these leads with? Is this something the New Jedi, the Alliance know well of?" He inquired curiously.

 

[Kiara Ayres]

The Jedi nodded understandingly in response, respecting the Imperator's dedication to his people and cause, even if their beliefs didn't align. It was why both major powers would never see eye-to eye: both were truly dedicated to their cause and there was no contesting with someone with that degree of fierce determination. "Of course. As it should be." She agreed before her attention turned to the woman accompanying him.

It was far from the cold standoffishness she had come to expect from Imperials, so much so that she expected there to be a falseness to the Chiss woman's behaviour. Kiara quickly tried to dismiss any cynical thoughts that slipped through the cracks. Regardless of how the other woman conducted herself, it would not affect the Jedi's treatment of her.

"Exceptions can be made." She replied with a gracious smile, reaching out to accept the glass. "Thank you." She took a small sip, testing the drink she hadn't tried before - a luxury she had never been afforded until now.

"It certainly is." She agreed. "Somewhere along the line, meeting over a trade agreement stops becoming your idea of a day out." She half-joked. Having been an emissary for several years, she was no stranger to the nuances and tribulations of diplomacy but they did not become any more enjoyable in time.

Kiara glanced between the Imerator and Orika and hesitantly shook her head, assuming the woman was talking about herself. She was certainly an eye-catching woman, especially in her current get-up which was much more stunning than the drab robes of a Jedi. Her attention was briefly drawn to the conversation happening beside them once she saw Tavlar speaking with the other Jedi and heard the content of their conversation.

However, it was quickly drawn back to her current conversation which was taking a much more positive turn than dwelling on the current state of the galaxy. "t's certainly some pressure off our backs." She nodded in agreement. "I don't care much for the victory, mostly the peace left in its wake." She replied in a stereotypical fashion before she took another sip of the drink, feeling like a fish out of water, though she was somewhat comforted by the nearby light-sided presence whose following comment struck her.

"Are you talking about the Brotherhood of the Maw?" She interjected.

Irveric Tavlar Orika Ryv Mithrad

 

[Enedina Tal]

Roselina Tal Fiolette Fortan | location: Ravelin

"We were so young when we left."

Those words stung at her core deeply, and she hid her pained expression behind her cup as she finished the last drops of wine and put it back down. Enedina knew, she knew all too well how she had lost a normal childhood. In some way she was lucky being older, at least she had some idea of it all. Roselina was barely a toddler when they left home.


"Please-i uh... I'm good, why don't we find you one then," she deflected back at Roselina with an uneasy grin, looking around before pointing at a famous face in the crowd and tapping Rose on the shoulder.


"Look, another victim of a social gathering; it's the famous Fiolette of house Fortan, the terror of the male nobility and anyone dumb enough to be in her cruisers line of fire," Enedina chuckled to herself as if her comment was the funniest thing since people knew Jawas were an actual thing and not some comedic foil in a Galidraani children's book. She might've met Fiolette when she was a child, but those memories were scant, and Enedina scarcely didn't remember much; her father had respect for the woman though, and so did Enedina as she was a prime example of a Galidraani woman who made it in the military and climbed over societal expectations and traditional Galidraani military sexism.


"Well, lead the way silly."​

 

[Kadan Scipora]

.​

REVELRY IN RAVELIN​

​

His eyes narrowed at the Twi'lek, a degree of suspicion at her words. Then again...were Imperial citizens normally like this? She seemed far more cheery than he expected and...how the hell did a civilian get in here? Maybe he didn't read the invitation correctly, or she was a date for one of the more pretentious guests here. Either way, Kadan found himself thinking too much over a simple Twi'lek woman, and threw the issue aside. Frankly he was just here to be a good padawan, after all, he was the Grand Padawan. True, he had come off as a fool with his drink fumble, but he recovered quickly.​

​

"I'm just here for moral support." He stated, knowing that it was probably the closest thing to the truth. Kiara didn't need him honestly, but he was more of a glorified secretary than her noble padawan. Wasn't something he cared much for, but it was something for certain. "Eye candy? This stuffy bunch?" He chuckled, glancing around and finding very few people to take note of. Perhaps his Aayla Shan had just set his standards so high that no one drew his notice. Of course, it didn't matter, he was just here to assist his master with administrative work and advisory work. "To each their own, never been one for this sort of thing." He admited, taking another sip of his drink and feeling it burn down his throat. Least they had some good stuff here.​

​

Eira Dwynwen​

 

[Roselina Tal]

Tags: Enedina Tal Fiolette Fortan | open | im too lazy to make pretty, sue me

Roselina rolled her eyes at the less than tactful dodge. "You will have to find someone and marry someday, you cannot give birth to gunpowder-- no matter how much that would please father," she muttered under her breath. Another look at Enedina showed the woman wasn't budging. Roselina sighed and took her arm once again.

"Oh, very well. We'll consider this a warmup."

She led her through the crowd, the duo hard to miss as they approached Fiolette Fortan with all the confidence of a wine glass downed too fast. Truth be told Roselina only knew the woman by name. It was rather impressive what Fiolette had made of herself, in a distant, enigma sort of way. Roselina was sure they were unlikely to ever cross paths again.

It was this confidence that had her trading a first impression for some good-natured sibling sass.

"My sister would like to ask you to dance," Roselina stated, pulling up before the woman with no introductions or further fan fair.

She hid her wicked pleasure behind a pleasant smile, not even showing teeth. Yes, she did a fair job at hiding her motives when it suited her. She nudged Enedina with her elbow, not giving the elder any time to sputter or recover her senses in light of the prank.

"Isn't that right, Enedina?"