Faction Revelry in the Holy Worlds

[Haro Aven]

LOCATION: OUTER RIM > SITH HOLY WORLDS > KORRIBAN > VARDIN CITY​

TIMESTAMP: AFTER THE INVASION OF BROSI​

OBJECTIVE: WIN SURVIVE THE RACE​

TAGS: Naamino Zuukamano | Varin Mortifer | Leshanna Dromar | Lodd Grimmin | Maiza Vex | Glissara | OPEN​

Heart thundering in his chest from his sprint, Haro slowed to a jog upon reaching the Nar-Hakal Circuit stables. He'd started this day fully intending to indulge in the revelries of Korriban before he'd been reminded he'd signed himself up for the fething sithspawn race following a stupid tiff he'd gotten into with Naami a few days ago. At the time, it had seemed entirely worth it to prove his point. Now, he wasn't so sure, but he wasn't about to back down. Besides, it couldn't be too different from pod-racing… right?

Still huffing from the exertion, Haro glanced around, searching for someone who looked like they might be in charge, and found a surly Sith pureblood who he was sure must've eaten rivets for breakfast.
​

"Hey there, 'scuse me, I'm uh reporting in for the race?"​

The broad man turned to appraise him, clearly unimpressed. ​

"… are you asking me or telling me?"​

"Telling you… Sir." Haro corrected his tone and posture, adding more conviction.​

"Name?" The pureblood glanced at his datapad.​

"Haro Aven."​

"Right, well," the stablemaster began, his voice like the dry grind of stone on stone, "you're late, and you didn't previously identify a mount. So you're gonna be on the drexl."​

"Yes, sir." Haro answered diligently, watching the stablemaster gather equipment with a growing sense of dread. "...What's a drexl?"​

The big man barked a laugh and shoved a bundled up harness and a pair of goggles into Haro's hands.​

"Here, put this on. And follow me."​

Haro blinked, briefly stunned by the reaction before his growing anxiety propelled him onward. He laughed nervously as he shuffled to catch up to the stablemaster, fumbling to pull on the harness and goggles.

"So uh, heh heh, funny story, I've never actually done this before. I mean, I've raced but never—" Haro suddenly yelped and practically leapt out of his skin as the massive toothy maw of a caged creature snapped aggressively against one of the durasteel gates they passed.

"They can smell your fear," the stablemaster cautioned with an amused smirk as he unlocked and open one of the gates, ushering Haro inside before closing it behind them.

Haro's gaze slowly rose to behold the creature before him, mouth falling open in a sort of horrified awe. Multiple Jen'ari servants pulled tirelessly against leads tethered to the beast in an attempt to wrangle it into submission. The drexl was a nightmare given flesh and scale, a predator bred from the uglier edges of evolution. Its hide was a shifting lattice of purple plates. Muscles coiled beneath the armor, twitching with predatory energy, as if the creature's bulk strained against its own skin as much as it strained against its shackles. Its wedge-shaped head jerked on a sinuous neck toward the newcomers, the movements too quick, too insect-like for something so large. Its tail, long as a starfighter's fuselage, whipped around with a crack, revealing a cruel barbed stinger at the tip. A trio of beady black eyes flashed hungrily and it loosed a guttural chittering sound that made Haro's skin crawl, its mandibles vibrating eagerly before it struck out with blinding speed and snatched one of its Jen'ari captors up into its cruel maw. A sickening snap sounded, then the lower half of the undead corpse went flying from the creature's mouth to land at Haro's feet.

Stepping up close to the horrified young man, the stablemaster gruffly adjusted the harness as he spoke.

"This is Bonta. She's a bit fussy 'cause she hasn't had her supper yet," he explained, pulling a couple of the tabs to tighten the adjustable straps against Haro's lean frame.

"Couple things to keep in mind. She does have wings, and she will use them, so strap in as soon as you mount and stay strapped in until the end of the race. Steer clear of that tail, nasty toxin. Oh, and don't look her in the eyes." The pureblood gave Haro a crooked grin and gripped his shoulder.

"Good luck out there, kid," he said, shoving Haro toward the beast, before calling out a command to the Jen'ari. "Bring her down!"

The undead responded diligently, a few more even joining in to force the drexl to lower herself enough for Haro to climb on. Panic rose like bile in his throat, threatening to overwhelm him, but he shoved it down and set his jaw with determination. If Naami could do it, then so could he, dammit.

"Force be with me," he muttered. He blew out a short sharp breath and surged forward before he could change his mind, skirting around to the drexl's rear flank while it was distracted with being upset with the Jen'ari and scampered up onto the saddle. He barely got himself strapped in before Bonta's rage reached a fever pitch and she bucked upward, tossing the Jen'ari about and releasing a piercing screech.

A moment later, the drexl tore through the gate that opened from her stall to the start of the racing track and stalked forward to join the other racers. Haro scrambled to grab up the reigns and pulled back on them as hard as he could but it seemed to have no effect. The only reason the drexl was stopped from charging past the starting line was because of the guards with electropikes. While his mount was distracted with the guards, Haro stole a moment to glance around and take in the other racers. He immediately recognized his fellow Badawans and flashed them an adrenaline-fueled grin. He'd been expecting to see Naami and Varin, but he was surprised Leshanna was on the track with them. The pressure was certainly on. Failure was not an option. If ever there was a time in his life to showcase his uncanny luck, it would be now.​

 

[Genesis Draykin]

Theme: Bad Moon​

Location: At the Bar
Outfit: [X]
Tag: Kaila Irons

She flipped the glass she was fumbling with over as Darth Anathemous agreed to take the conversation to a more private setting. For moment she thought she might have a way to escape and get as far from this place as she could. Find a new hide away on some backwater world for a decade to wallow in her pain of now knowing a truth she never wanted.

Her mother would scold her and shame her from running from her troubles, fears, and regrets. Yet it had been what she had always did, she could kill with out a second thought for the life she snuffed out but when it came facing her own emotion all she could do was run from it.

"We will discuss this in private, because I believe there is more to you than just some spy."

"You wouldn't believe half of it." She muttered under her breath; the truth was more unbelievable than the lie. The darkness of her legacy, their legacy and the futures that had been lost. She looked up at the Lord of Echnos as she uncrossed her legs and stood up still shorter, but the distance didn't seem quite as far now.

Gen's posture was straight that of regimented soldier, like someone who could hold their own. "I'm sure you do, but I am pretty good at hiding if I ran and I am faster than I look." Just playing the same game her daughter was playing with her. Not having any plans to run she resigned to the fact it was time for her to answer for her crimes.

Part of her relieved she was going to let her burdens go, but mostly she was terrified. Her grown daughter was a sith, their inclination was to slaughter those that had wronged them. Yet if it was vengeance her baby girl wanted, she would give it to her. No, she was more terrified of what the truth might bring upon the one person she had loved more then life itself. Death would be a consequence of her action and choices one she would deserve, but Kaila did not deserve the shattering doom the truth would bring.

"Do not waste Sith hospitality."

For the first time in a very long time she dropped her suppression of the force upon herself in a public space. Opening herself up to being scene for what she was in front of on lookers as the two head for the exit to find a more private meeting place.

"The sith only have hospitality to those they can use. I will make a very unruly slave, Kaila."

Her mind projecting those words into her daughters mind. The name mentioned signifying she did in fact know Darth Anathemous more than she was letting on before. The message showed a disdain for sith or maybe even force use in general but the use of Anathemous's real name was mark with a loving reverence tinge with a regret like they had no right to speak that name.

 

[Ayiaz]

Objective I:
Ascendent Revelries
​

Oh my stars, that voice in her head! -- That was Lysander.

The Lovalla barely registered his warning about red flags, stupidity, running away, and bloodshed. Instantly, Zaiya spun left, then right, her hood bouncing as her opal blue eyes went darting through the haze and crowd looking for Lysander von Ascania .

Did he see me? Was he nearby? Was he -- oh no. Was he actually working in a food stall?

Zaiya immediately went looking towards the line of food vendors, her nose twitching with every breath. Spice, incense, pheromones, fried Nuna grease; it was enough to make her sneeze and lose track of her focus as the spice started to make her more than a little absentminded.

"Lysander?!" She muttered, half hopeful, half panicked, before someone bumped her shoulder.

The Lovalla blinked up at a tattooed teen with more ear piercings she’d ever seen on anyone!

The shiny hoops and studs caught her eyes though.

"Oh sorry -- nice earrings!" she blurted, before stumbling away with her hood tugged lower. Too late; her bioluminescence flickered in a bright blush over her skin, lighting her up like a glowrod.

And then, there. Blonde hair. Panicked expression. Plate of fruit in hand.

Zaiya's stomach growled loudly while her brain screamed: They really made him a food server slave!

She rushed forward, waving a little too enthusiastically.

"Hey -- eep!!" she started, only to squeak in alarm as a speeder shot past, whipping her hood nearly off. She flailed both hands like a startled Tooka, teetering before she caught herself with a gasp.

Somehow, she made it. Breathless, glowing like a festival lantern, she planted herself right in front of him. Her hands shot up to grab his shoulders as if to check him herself, those iridescent opal blue eyes wide and bright with relief.

"Thank the stars! I found you!" she blurted, words tumbling out fast. "Wait -- you're not hurt, are you? Are they really making you flip burgers and serve fruit?!"

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Mercy //:

Quinn pondered the question. She was still searching for the answer, but knew enough to give something to Mercy. "To be better than those around me, who sit on their laurels and those that wait for the Force to bless them."

She had seen so many of her peers wait or be given things without conquest. Few felt the same about her, but there was a deep desire to prove herself otherwise. Quinn wanted to be better than her name and wanted to be remembered for what she did, not her parents.

Her answer was basic, but one she hoped Mercy would accept for the moment.

As Mercy pulled the flute and the Princess closer, Quinn chuckled softly. Their little game had started, and she watched as Mercy took another sip of the champagne while letting Quinn feel like she was still in control of it.

Remembering how Mercy often was, Quinn knew a better way to answer. Tilting her head, the Princess smirked, "I'd rather show you why than just tell you," she mused. "We both know I was born for this…"

Quinn wanted to continue, to mention that they both were. She knew the fire behind the woman's eyes wasn't something anyone could teach. Mercy had been born to lead, to sit upon a throne and guide a nation to prosperity. A part of her was jealous; the Knave dared to be what she wanted despite everyone around her.

In essence, having Mercy back at her side helped Quinn find that resolve once again.

Mercy remained close, their conversation now becoming further private. Her free hand rested again on the woman's navel, caressing gently as she listened.

She let the words linger, letting them hang between them as she thought of her answer.

"My devotion?" she echoed softly, "How could you even ask such a silly question, my Herunín."

As she finished, she looked up to the woman's gaze and smirked. She knew Mercy had only asked because she enjoys hearing it. Her love of it all fed her ego, and Quinn would indulge her just enough.

"Terminus is perfect, you and I both know that. The shadowport and Polis Massa's governor being exiled recently just makes everything ideal." Her hand continued to rest against Mercy and toy with the fabric of her suit.

"Mercy, I want you to meet one of my mothers — the one that raised me," her features softened as the gentlest of memories filled the woman's mind. No one has ever been introduced to the Empress ( Srina Talon ) by Quinn.

"You think you can handle it?"

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Objective I: Ascendent Revelries
Ayiaz

​

Lysander traversed through the groups of guests, bringing him closer to the Lovalla. As he passed, his gaze caught sight of a familiar duo: the striking Chiss and Falleen, memories of recent events surfacing in his mind. They were no strangers to the teen's thoughts, as he recalled a summoning before the battle on Brosi. Beside them stood another Sith Lord, a being whose presence radiated with menacing power. And yet, he continued on his path, completely focused.

That was, until suddenly, the voice cut through the noise.

Carnifex.

The name alone carried weight. Enough to make most acolytes buckle.

His pulse may have even skipped.

"Appearances can be deceiving, Marquess,"- Darth Carnifex

His head whipped around, intrigue clear beneath a veneer of nonchalance. Spinning on his heel with the grace of a Maskashi practitioner, he continued with retreating steps that were equally fluid. His voice just above that of a casual conversation, just loud enough to be heard. A retort flew out, cool as ever. "Bold words coming from a rizzlord dressed like seduction.”

In truth it had just spilled out naturally.

Flashing his signature Loth-cat smirk, he raised both arms. One stretched forward, the other trailing behind. Both thumbs popped up, and index digits were like barrels of a blaster. Squinting down the shorter arm as if it were the scope of his precision rifle, he then mimed the squeeze of triggers.

Gracefully, he turned one more, now closing in on Zaiya. Despite the underlying tension felt, each step was like a dance, moving with ease. But as he drew closer, his silence began to speak for him, disbelief etched across his youthful features as though he had stumbled upon a den of Rancors. He scanned over familiar details, from radiant skin to the wild eyes, and hair he once dubbed a 'birds nest' back on Theed, which nearly ended up with them throwing hands.

“No,” he finally said, voice firm, “I’m not flipping burgers. I was just vibing.” The half bitten fruit still dangled from his fingers, and the haze that had settled over him since leaving the greenhouse was fading fast. Of course, only Zaiya had the power to sober all senses so quickly. Lysander's chest rose with a sharp inhalation. He blinked at last, trying to anchor himself, while brushing a stray lock of hair behind his ear.

Finally, he set the fruit down on the nearest table before both hands raised in protest. “You’re really freaking me out, man.”

Closing the distance, his arm curled around her bicep, born of protectiveness. He cast a glance over his shoulder at the Sith Lords, offering a rare smile that said, ‘Please do not follow us.’ Similar to a shield, he gently guided the girl away from the gathering, and into a shadow of the next corridor.

At first, he shrugged, hands returning to flick outward with random gestures. The humor that once danced in his gaze faded. "I sent that message and the credits on a half-baked impulse," he admitted. "I figured you would ignore it, even if I was kinda sorta being honest about the nuna burger bit." One eyebrow raised as he exhaled through his nose. A dry laugh escaped through parted lips. "Just admit it, you have always found pleasure in stressing me out," he accused. A brief silence settled between them, and he squared his stance. "Gurl, if you happen to get us both killed today, know this.. I will never forgive you."

 

[Darth Strosius]

Tags: @Madrona A'Mia / Open!
--------------------------------------------

The mirroring of His own head tilting was easily missed by the masked man in favor of paying more attention to the Neti's words instead. Not those in response to His remark on alliance though, rather the more pressing issue of the latter question which had stumped Him a moment ago. Darth Strosius looked as though He was going to jump out of His robes whenever she actually took His hand, seemingly due to having not noticed her new closeness in addition to the contact.

"Huh?" Evidently He wasn't paying enough attention to Lady Madrona's movements, a fact only cemented when the masked man began to slightly sway with her own motion. Albeit much less intentionally than she did of course. Darth Strosius found His personal sense of propriety at odds with His dignity at the moment, a stalemate which rendered Him tense and yet limp at the same time until He began to subconsciously match her motion. More or less.

"This is nothing like sparring, Lady Madrona." He hissed under His breath as He finally, stiffly, accepted her grip on His hand. "Sparring is a common activity and practice. Dancing however, is something that Sith do not do. Ever." One might say that He sounded rather flustered, a tone which was as foreign for Darth Strosius as it could be. His typical composure and assured words had been throughly staggered it seemed. Yet surprisingly He did begin properly moving in time with her, His free hand coming to rest on her waist even as He grumbled.

"Didn't you have business to attend to? Something more important than dancing?"

 

[Darth Avida]

Perdió Este Culo​

It was her first outing since returning home from the Netherworld.

What was she supposed to do, and who was she supposed to be, now that she was Darth Avida - was she still Amara Zambrano, her parent's daughter, or was that name as dead as the sister that came before her? Already she had introduced herself by both names in the short time she'd been a part of the festivities, as unsure of herself as the planet Korriban itself was of whether it was or wasn't Moraband. She put on a rather deceptive mask, still, and kept whatever uncertainties lurked beneath the surface from being visible to the people she passed by or spoke to as best she could - it was generally easy when she gave a warm smile and an occasional wink or a rare blush. Politicking wasn't her thing, either, so rubbing shoulders with people who had a bit more relative importance than her wasn't something that was going to be putting her on edge or ruin the facade.

"Do you ever feel like, I don't know.. everything is just pretend?"

She cast a sidelong glance at a man that'd been pushing his luck for much of the evening, trying to feed her drinks and keep up with her at the same time without realizing that, for most force sensitives, remaining sober wasn't exactly difficult as long as she wasn't willfully getting herself drunk. He leaned forwards, his arms resting against the bar they'd stopped at, and tilted his head at her with a look of genuine confusion. "What d'you mean?" He asked, moving one of his arms to prop up his head, which apparently must've felt a bit heavy given how awkwardly his palm pushed against his cheek, and his fingers disappeared up into his gelled-back black hair. They'd been making a bar crawl, with a stop at a few food stalls along the way, and hadn't been here for more than maybe ten or fifteen minutes but it'd been at least a couple of hours and nearly a dozen drinks since they'd started.

"It's just, you know, my mom and dad are a lot like most of the big names here, right?"

"You mean Darth Prazutis and Darth Alekto?" He asked with a bit of a drawl, shifting his posture a bit to make his lean appear a bit less lazy and messy. She nodded, taking a sip from her cocktail glass, some bright blue blue drink he'd gotten for her, while he seemed to mull that over. "What about them?" He asked, still not quite sure where she was getting at with this. Those two seemed very much like two well put together people who knew what they were doing, and certainly weren't pretending to be powerful Sith lords or anything insane like that, so he didn't understand what she was implying there. "I'm sure your parents probably do a lot of stuff where they don't really know what they're doing, they just kind of wing it because they think it's something they should do, right?" She asked, to which he nodded - his parents were just normal people though, not big names or powerful movers like some of the people enjoying their time on Korriban today.

"My parents, though I'm sure my father would disagree, are pretty much the same way. Like.. my parents getting together? You'd think they were in love at first sight or something with how they stick together so much these days."

He nodded, thinking maybe he had an idea where this was going now.

"My mother was with the old Galactic Alliance, from what I understand, when she met him and they fought against each other, alone, and it wasn't just to keep up an image or anything like that because nobody was going to hear about it, much less see it happen. Mom told me she didn't really think she was all that into him until the Aing-Tii got involved and they were, like, captured or something." He nodded, listening on rapturously with a nod at every pause - he had no idea what or who the Aing-Tii were, and certainly didn't have a frame of reference for what the "old" Galactic Alliance was or how involved someone like Braith - Darth Alekto - could have been to still end up with Darth Prazutis of all people. "Their whole relationship was a lot of I feel like this is what I need to do, and not a lot of this is how this will work out so let's do this, you see what I mean?" Avida asked, to which he seemed a bit unsure of himself despite nodding in agreement.

"I've just been wondering if maybe that's how all of them are, that nobody really knows anything, at least not for sure, and they're all just kind of pretending like they knew what was going to happen all along and just made the right choices at the time on a lucky guess - or maybe they just don't talk about where they messed up."

"Oh, yeah, I get what you mean now." He said.

"So maybe let's not talk about this with other people, because I feel like maybe the right choice for me is to go find some other people to meet. Unless you want to tell people about this, I guess." She said with a smile, setting her glass down and sliding a few credit chips towards the middle of the bar before standing up and walking away without another word - leaving the poor military man behind to wonder what had just happened.

 

[Ayiaz]

Objective I:
Ascendent Revelries​

Zaiya blinked at him. Once. Twice. The fruit in his hand, the ridiculous deadpan about 'vibing,' the way he was still very much not chained up at a fryer somewhere flipping nuna patties... it all made her head tilt like she couldn't decide if she should laugh or throttle him.

Her skin flickered a mottled mix of pale pewter with faint teal stripes curling along her arms, her nerves and relief tangling so fast she couldn't mask them before her amulet dampened the shimmer.

"Vibing?" she whispered back in disbelief, voice pitching low as he tugged her through the corridor shadows. "Lysander, I thought you were enslaved! In a diner! On Korriban! Toiling away flipping Nuna Burgers with a ball and chain, then being sent to bed without dinner!"

She let him steer her, but her free hand jabbed against his chest with all the indignation of a friend who'd just crossed half the galaxy on the wrong assumption.

His dry accusation only made her bristle more -- and made her light up in color and bioluminescence under her heavy hood like a walking kaleidoscopic holo disco ball.

"Oh, I stress you out?" she shot back, whisper snapping at him as he guided her deeper into the shadows. "Who's the one sending cryptic coded food messages in the middle of Sith space, huh?"

"Do you know how long it took me to figure out Sith eyeliner? I almost poked my eye out!" Her voice whispered in a low hush, jabbing a colorful finger against his chest, glaring up at him even as her voice trembled with relief.

Finally, her hand clutched at his sleeve, her fingers tightening as though she was afraid he might vanish if she let go.

"You really scared me," she admitted at last, her hand finding his sleeve. The contact sent all the tangled emotions she'd been holding back, rushing to the surface: the worry, relief, frustration, even the faint thread of amusement at the absurdity of it all, her skin becoming a living canvas of everything she couldn't keep contained, ebbing and flowing like the Flamewind of Oseon in the midst of its radiation storm.

"I'm just... glad you're ok."

A pause, as if the absent-minded Lovalla finally realized where they were.

"Well... as much as you can be," she whispered, leaning in close. "We.... umm...we should... find a safe place...."

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Objective I: Ascendent Revelries
Ayiaz

​

Underneath her almost chaotic description of diner nightmares, including a ball, chain, and flipping burgers, there was genuine care woven through them. It was strange, really; how amidst the noise, he too could sense the underlying concern, a rare glimpse of something real that made her words carry more weight. In some ways, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise, given his memory of her back in the Mid Rim.

Even now, donning clothes in the shade of midnight, on Korriban, the pieces just didn’t fall into place; all she could picture was him chained to a fryer, or something of the like. It surprised him to see how blissfully unaware the girl was. The adrenaline pounding through his veins slowed, becoming a steady pulse beneath the ribs, warning him to stay guarded and avoid drawing unnecessary attention in what could be a hostile environment. Especially for her.


Lysander had to restrain himself from her anxious streams, though he did wince when she poked him for a second time. "Ow. That's where all my quips come from. If you bruise that, I'll lose them."

Maybe that was his way of extending an olive branch, for now, at least.

In hopes of easing her worries.

The mention of eyeliner from the Lovalla caused a twitch in his lips, a barely contained grin threatening to escape his carefully composed facade. So, he clamped his mouth shut. The facade was cracking. "You almost poked your eye out? Can’t say anyone’s ever done that for me. Quite heroic, actually," he chuckled. "I mean.. I guess you could consider that a rite of passage here. Most acolytes wear it as a power move, if you ask me."

Fingers would drum a rhythm against the wall, and behind that gesture, he was busy grappling with different thoughts, trying to make sense of everything. “It almost feels like you crossed half the galaxy just to yell at me,” he mused.

A glow stirred from his arm, traveling up to his heart where her grip had found purchase on his sleeve, and for a moment, he relished the undeserving warmth that flooded his veins, knowing he shouldn't have. His gaze eventually drifted away, but not before guilt slithered in like a serpent. Then, it coiled around his conscience without mercy. The messages were meant to be lighthearted, perhaps even charming, not to instill fear, but the colors she bled, the signs emanating from her body, made it clear that this place pressed her nerves.

Leaving the event's grasp would be difficult, for reasons he couldn't quite explain, not yet, for his hand found hers, fingers fitting perfectly in the spaces between his, offering a touch of safety if nothing more, before the palm pressed gently.

“Well.. you came all this way. You deserve answers.”

Shifting his frame, he guided her down the corridor, away from the main hall, away from the aroma of spice. Somewhere between the steps, he found her shoulder, to guide, a tether in this strange reunion.

Odd, it seemed, how in a less occupied area, his voice took on an edge of vulnerability. “You crossed half the galaxy, you got the mark of the Sith on your eyes like warpaint, I can't even imagine how you made it past the Blackwall.” A soft laugh stirred, then a heavy sigh. “And you still don't see it.” Silence spoke next, before continuing, at least, it was as much silence as this area would afford them.

“Zaiya.. I’m not just here… I’m..” The confession lingered. Lysander’s voice lowered. “I didn’t lie.. I just didn’t say it.” Everything else fell away, and a flare rose in the depths of polished emerald. “But.. the celebration, the blood, the banners, I..”

 

[Mercy]

Quinn Varanin

Mercy didn't blink, but she did the next best thing that offered a measure of surprise. She tilted her head a fraction. As if she hadn't heard it correctly before the words processed and settled into place.

"Hm..." Then her arm wrapped lazily around Quinn's shoulders, tugging her in lightly, as if the Sith Princess belonged to her. "I can handle anything you throw me and more. But, we wouldn't want the Sith Empress to wait for us, do we?" Drawled, warm, but oh yes, Mercy was interested. Srina Talon was one of the few current Sith that she held in quite high regard.

Powerful, forceful, she made her presence known simply by being. She was also an Echani, so gorgeous too. Mercy briefly wondered why fortuna kept visiting her with the presence of drop-dead gorgeous Echani. First Spencer, then Quinn, now she was getting to meet the Empress.

It proved to her that luck certainly served the bold.

As they walked, taking the scenic route, so the Empress could finish her procession, Mercy hummed softly to them both. Taking a drag of her cigarette and guiding it to Quinn's mouth every once in a while. Nobody ought to say that Mercy was selfish or ungenerous. "Have you introduced anyone to the Empress before?"

The question was posed with curiosity, Mercy didn't particularly care who Quinn's lovers were in the past or present, but it would determine just what sort of reception the bold, titanic Sith would get.

This was rather like bringing a leather jacket-wearing, cigarette-smoking, hoodlum back to your posh suburbian parent.

Hilarious.

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

"Nothing like it, are you so sure?"

There was a sudden, victorious bite to A'Mia's voice and a gleam of mischief in that blue-green gaze of hers. With a burst of speed to match the rising music and surprising strength she quickened their steps, his forward and hers back, before spinning herself out from his arms.

Finally, she broached that last unspoken boundary to speak directly to his mind, as it really wouldn't do to be waxing philosophical in the middle of the dance floor for just anyone to overhear.

You have no discerning eye for the arts then? A pity, Alisteri. There is so much you can learn about a species based solely upon their art. You can know their trials, their tribulations, understand what gods they worship, and glimpse far back through the span of their history. Knowledge of that kind is power.​

With one of his hands still held in hers, she flung her other arm out wide to accentuate the twirl, the petals of her dress swirling dreamily around her. Without missing a beat, she rewound the move to end up in his space once more, again leveraging her strength and skill to execute a shallow dip in his arms before returning upright and continuing their original stance.

It was Grand Admiral Thrawn who spoke to war itself being an art form. He famously studied the art of hundreds, if not thousands, of species.​

Now they were returned to a basic flow of movements, hand in hand once more and stepping to the rhythm. A'Mia gazed at him in that way she had. Her eyes seemed to look through the mask to trace the lines of his face beneath.

"This is business, Darth Strosius , and all the better that I happen to enjoy doing it."

A faint smile touched her face, and she added with no small amount of mirth.

"Oh, I should perhaps do away with your title though— since Sith don't dance."

 

[Darth Strosius]

Tags: @Madrona A'Mia / Open!
--------------------------------------------

"Quite sure." It was the only thing that He was certain of at the moment in fact. Other concerns such as where He was going weren't certain at all in comparison, mainly due to being at the whim of Lady Madrona herself. Darth Strosius had never thought of her as the particularly sadistic sort until today but now the evidence was all splayed out before Him as she spun away from Him with a flourish. Lady Madrona was cruel indeed. But cruelty was an arena that He did know how to play in, unlike that of dancing.

The final nail in the coffin, of His pride, was her voice slipping into His mind. A development which made Him click His tongue as the Neti pulled herself back from the twirl and into a dip. Darth Strosius, in spite of letting Lady Madrona have her way with the pace and movement, nevertheless kept pace with her just fine. "I have no issue with art nor the study of it, Lady Madrona. In fact I'm quite partial to a bit of metalworking myself." With their return to a more steady and slightly less stylish stride, the masked man began His counter maneuver.

"And as for war," Suddenly His swaying in time with her shifted into His a brief stance in place as He pulled her closer, twiring the pair of them together on His heel before ensuring a seamless return to their previous pace. "I am intimately familiar with it in all its many forms." The familiar composure and hints of pride had slipped back into Darth Strosius's tone, His flustering seemingly having lost the battle for control. For the moment at least. A fact exemplified by Him gently pulling her into a quicker pace with Himself at the lead.

"Dancing I find quite droll in comparison. Recreation for recreation's sake. Nothing constructive, only indulgent." While He could match Lady Madrona's mental philosophy in kind, He chose instead to make use of their proximity with a lowered tone that just barely slipped through His mask. "Sith have no need for indulgence, Lady Madrona. We do not recreate, we conquer. Even on the dance floor, if that should be the battlefield of choice."

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

Her mild surprise was evident in the arch of one brow, both at the fact Darth Strosius did not rise to her goad about his title but also the little trinket of information about metalworking. Was the comment made in earnestness or jest? Perhaps he was alluding to the development of spacecrafts and armor.

"You make such sweeping claims, and with such authority too— but I'm not bound by the chains of your certainty Alisteri. Nor is nature, the Weave itself. These things reward diversity of thought and multiplicity. Sith too are stronger when we are varied."

Recognizing that connecting directly with his mind was still a bridge too far, she ceded ground on that front. Speaking quietly aloud and following his lead smoothly. He'd earned that much.

"How very droll to always march in lockstep. You benefit, I think, from the occasional push back delivered by those who hold you in high regard and I'd hazard a guess that you even admire the grit shown by those same people when they speak their minds even when it differs from yours."

Though A'Mia's emotional range was so often muted and flat, it was obvious that the dance paired with a verbal spar was great fun for her.

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Mercy //:

Mercy pulled her in, and Quinn fit easily against her side. She'd grown used to the comfort of the woman's arm around her shoulders. The cigarette met her lips, and she inhaled, exhaling the faint cloud with casual ease. She usually disliked them, but the way Mercy smoked was different, almost enticing.

She let her gaze fall and focus on the route they were walking. Srina Talon was busy being fawned over by Quinn's Uncle — a display the young Echani had grown accustomed to. Quite often, Quinn would look forward to the man's visits, only to see her mother's reaction, everyone knowing full well she hated the attention.

The Princess carefully wrapped her arm around the Knave's waist, her other hand gently still pressed against the woman's stomach. Their steps were in sync as they walked. She was slightly taller than usual, her heels giving her some height advantage more than normal, but she was still nearly a whole head shorter than Mercy.

There was an urge to rest her head against the woman as they walked, but she kept herself composed. Mercy's humming made the Echani smile, as feeling the vibrations from her voice was almost more soothing than the sound itself.

"Hmm?" Quinn tilted her head up as she glanced up, "No one actually." It was true. There had been no one she had introduced to Srina or Empyrean. Of course, knowing the pair, they would easily spot or know who the Princess's paramours were. But she had never gone out of her way to introduce anyone.

Not even the woman she had once been engaged to.

"You are the first," Quinn grinned as she nudged against Mercy playfully. "Potentially the last, depending on what you do."

Quinn mused as they started to draw closer.

"Have you met anyone's parents before… minus mine, of course, they don't count in this case."

 

[Spirit of Korriban]

OBJECTIVE II — THE NAR-HAKEL CIRCUIT​

He was here under orders...

Darth Thaliax, Battlemaster of Korriban's Kor'ethyr Academy, limped onto the main thoroughfare of the Nar-Hakel Circuit's starting line. Gusts of wind sent his tattered cloak snapping back around him, threadbare and in disrepair... as he seemed to prefer. His body was encased in a patch-work of worn-down and time-nicked armor, grafted with life-support systems which kept him alive after grievous injury many years ago. Barely opaque feeding tubes coiled from neck to low torso, carrying nutrient pastes in a simulation of his now-removed internal organs. His face, or at least whatever yet remained of it, was obscured beneath a tinted breath mask such that only vague shapes were caught in movement—rasping as if every intake of air was a personal war, the sound wet and gargled like a sick cough. The place where his left arm had once been now ended in a jagged stump, replaced only by a lingering phantom pain.

All of the way down here, the harsh noise of distasteful music was cancelled out beneath the press of a yelling audience. Vardin had opened itself to neighboring cities, and citizens from all over had lined the streets and created pop-up tents to house themselves comfortably for the race's duration. Flags waved in various Kor'ethyr House colors, and unfortunately loud, jubilant celebrants shrieked and shouted their support for this racer, or that one. Thaliax groaned. Would this revelry never cease?

He reached the center of the lane and came to a stop, pivoting to face the racers. He took turns eyeing each racer from behind the opaque viewport of his mask. Korriban's Beastmaster Zal Aditi should have been the one to officiate these kinds of events, he thought; though perhaps she lacked Thaliax's undeniable sense of charisma. When he spoke, he did so through the linked megaphones which lined the track and the swelling, churning audience stands.

"Some of you may die," he said with the intonation of a man chewing through well done, gristly meat—his best approximation of an inspirational greeting.​

"A few of you almost certainly will."​

He let the black and white checkered flag unfurl from his one hand and raised it out before himself like a saber blade in challenge.

"There are no rules for engagement, yet this is no brawl nor war game. Complete the race. Stay within the bounds of the Nark-Hakel track, and try... try... try to survive." ​

Thaliax grunted to himself, contentedly. He wasn't so bad at this, after all. With the decorum of a saber expert, he held his flag out to one side, preparing to wave it in initiation of the race. Hoots and yells from the audience died down into anticipatory whispering, and there was the subtle impression of many thousands leaning forward in their seats.

"Racers!" He shouted, wet-gravel voice booming for all to hear.​

"On my mark... get set..."
He cracked the flag out in a Djem So slash, brilliant checkered pattern catching in the wind.



"Go!"


Naamino Zuukamano Haro Aven Lodd Grimmin Varin Mortifer Maiza Vex Glissara Leshanna Dromar​

Spoiler: The Rules

RACE RULES

• How to use the dice on Chaos? This race involves the use of dice (which are an official resource provided by the site). If you have any questions about the use of dice for this thread, please contact Darth Caedes for clarification. When you go to post, there will be a "Roll Dice" button already integrated, near the posting box. Click it to roll, and make sure that you've selected 20 sided dice (it defaults to 6 sided), and check that you're only rolling 1 of those dice. You actually have to post in order to see the roll's results, and the results cannot be changed or re-rolled once posted. As such, many racers elect to write their posts intro, post with the dice roll, then go back in and finish their post according to the number they've rolled.​
• 5 legs, 5 rolls​

( Streets of Vardin, Ashlan Crash Site, Valley of the Dark Lords, Nethermaw Tunnels, finish at Streets of Vardin ) 1 post, 1 leg.

For each post, roll a 20 sided die. Include proof of the roll in your post (there is a function in the post box for this).

• Score of 1 (or lower) = a wreck, you're out of the race!​
• Score of 20 (or higher) = immune to crashing in your next post!​
• Some locations will add/subtract from your roll, affecting your performance based on the track's difficulty. Add or subtract these modifiers from your dice roll, then add bonuses from Sabotage/Support actions. Any subtractions which reduce a roll score to 1 (or lower) do count as a wreck. Any additions which raise a roll score to 20 (or higher) grant the rider immunity from crashing in their next post.​
• Score of 10-19 = Sabotage/Support. Target a racer. Sabotage: -1 to their next roll. Support: +1 to their next roll. Each racer may sabotage once per race, and support once per race. When sabotaging or supporting another racer, be sure to tag them and let them know! Kor'ethyr faculty will be watching to help out.​

LOCATIONS

• Vardin City Streets: No terrain modifiers.​
• Ashlan Crash Site: -2 terrain modifier.​
• Valley of the Dark Lords: +1 terrain modifier.​
• Nethermaw Tunnels: -3 terrain modifier.​
• Final Stretch: +2 terrain modifier.​

Highest Score = fastest time. A tie results in multiple victories.

Spoiler: The Course

Nar-Hakel Circuit. The Kor'ethyr Academy's Nar-Hakel Circuit, on Korriban, is a grueling test of speed and skill, winding through iconic locations steeped in world history. Starting in the bustling streets of Vardin, the course quickly takes racers into the trackless Golg Desert, where racers navigate through the wreckage of Ashlan battleships at the Ashlan Crash Site. Next, they enter the Valley of the Dark Lords, a winding canyon passage lined with towering statues and enshadowed tombs, before descending into the treacherous Nethermaw Tunnels—pitch-black caverns filled with jagged and dangerous rock-column formations. Finally, emerging back into the open desert, racers speed toward Vardin's towering skyline in a straight shot to the finish line, cheered on by the gathered crowds.​

_____________________________________________
​

Streets of Vardin (start). Amid the bustling streets of Vardin, the race begins as spectators line the towering spires, waving banners and cheering on the students. The gathered Sithspawn mounts line up in loose starting grids, each bearing the vibrant colors of their houses: sandy browns and oranges of House Tuk'ata, the fierce reds of House Rakghoul, and the elegant purples and silver trim of House Derriphan. The track winds through Vardin's main promenade, a relatively straight stretch that offers racers a fast-paced warm-up before plunging them into the open desert. Engines ignite in unison, filling the city with a thrilling hum.
Modifier: N/A​

_____________________________________________
​

Ashlan Crash Site. Crossing Vardin's city limits, the racers enter the expansive Golg Desert, where the massive wreckage of fallen Ashlan battleships punctuate the sands like colossal gravestones. Rusting metal fragments and shattered hulls jut out of the ground, grim reminders of Caedes' brutal reclamation of Korriban. Navigating this graveyard demands agility and nerve, as the course weaves between fallen behemoth-battlecruisers, forcing riders to dive under twisted wreckage or through hollowed passages in the crumbling warships. A foreboding silence fills the air, and the ships seem to loom, casting long shadows that stretch toward each starfighter as they race by.
Modifier: -2​

_____________________________________________
​

Valley of the Dark Lords. At the edge of the desert, a massive cliff rises like the walls of a fortress, marking the entrance to the Valley of the Dark Lords. This winding valley stretches for miles, flanked by colossal statues of ancient Sith and dotted with shadowy tombs. The course is wide enough for speed, but sharp turns around ancient stone figures and sudden gusts of dust-laden wind challenge each racer's skill.
Modifier: +1​

_____________________________________________
​

Nethermaw Tunnels. From the valley, racers plunge into the gaping maw of the Nethermaw Tunnels, a subterranean network of blackened caverns that carve through the desert rock. Here, visibility drops to nothing but the faint glow of their starfighter lights slicing through darkness in cones, illuminating rows of jagged stalagmites and stalactites that crowd the narrow passage. The tunnels twist unpredictably here, forcing caution in the pitch-black void. Every turn and tunnel wall poses a new risk, making this the race's most harrowing challenge.
Modifier: -3​

_____________________________________________
​

Final Stretch. Emerging from the Nethermaw Tunnels, the racers are greeted again by the vast Golg Desert, Vardin's towering skyline beckoning them on the horizon. A straightaway welcomes them, lined with roaring crowds and the glint of celebration as they re-enter the city. With the finish line in sight, the cheers and flash of lights add fuel to each racer's last surge of adrenaline.
Modifier: +2​

 

[Lodd Grimmin]

Naamino Zuukamano Haro Aven Varin Mortifer Maiza Vex Glissara Leshanna Dromar Spirit of Korriban

The Neimoidian was absorbed in filing his nails when the piercing voice of Darth Thaliax echoed across the trackway to signal the start of the Nar-Hakel Circuit. He realized that the Kingdom of Korriban was somewhat lacking in wealth compared to Jutrand, but surely they could manage to hire a Zeltron or Twi'lek announcer, that would be far more enjoyable not only for the crowd but for the Trade Monarch's sensitive hearing.

"Well....let's hope they refrain from singing. That alone could be considered a war crime," Lodd muttered to himself, trying to avoid picturing the type of singing that might be deemed acceptable on the Sith Planet of Korriban. Perhaps this time the Mandalorian Empire would launch an invasion of the planet, if only to eliminate Darth Thaliax as a danger to everyone across the galaxy.

It didn't take much time for the other racers to advance, or at least try to, in his situation, as the Shadow Rancor beneath him had a sluggish start due to the weight of the jewels and the heavy harness burdening the poor beast.

"Come on, Moneybags! I dropped a small planet's GDP dressing you up in jewels and shiny junk. The least you can do is waddle a little faster before I have to return half of this to the store and explain why my investment has fleas." Lodd expressed his frustration to the creature with a sharp pull on the reins, fully aware that his reputation was at stake. He was worried that the Korriban Department Store might close soon, leaving him unable to retrieve his credits and that was a worse fate than losing the race.

Street after street flew by as the first lap of the race began to intensify, crashing through market stalls while the Rancor lurched from one block to the next.

First Post: 6

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

Equipment: Riding Harness, Mask,
Rakghoul House Robes, Well Worn Boots,
Blue Hand Wraps

Tags: Varin Mortifer | Maiza Vex | Lodd Grimmin | Glissara |
Leshanna Dromar | Haro Aven | Other Racers​

It was fortunate that Naamino wore a mask, or else his cool composed demeanor would have been completely blown by the bright, perhaps flirtatious energy suddenly being directed at him by Glissara. At first all he could do was straighten his spine a bit, tapered ears pulling back faintly with surprise. Zafira snorted but soon her electric blue eyes were drawn by the approach of another racer.

"Uhh— pretty fething fast," Naami managed a little two finger salute at the woman, "Haven't properly clocked her at full speed though."

Distracted by that interaction, the zabrak hadn't noticed the arrival of other familiar faces until they were right up against the starting line. Posture straightening at the sight of both Varin and Leshanna, Naami tipped his chin up to hold his head high while observing how regal his girlfriend looked on her horrifying steed.

"Lesh… wow— uh, I wasn't expecting," he called to her haltingly, trying to find the words.

"You look stunning, y'le."

Then his gaze was caught yet again but this time all sense of composure left him and he leaned forward to get a better look, Zafira craning her long neck at the same time.

"Haro?! What in all the hells-?"

But before the young man could complete his thought, Darth Thaliax took to the track and called all attention to the start of the race. The zabrak buried his bafflement and locked in, checking the straps of his riding harness then tightening his grip on the reigns.

While Naamino had been juggling social expectations, Zafira had sent some loving slow blinkies Lesh’s way. Her attention was soon drawn by Varin’s mount though and a growl began to form low in her throat. By the time they were given the all clear to “GO!”— Naamino’s Sithspawn companion had already coiled her body and dug in her claws for a powerful leap into the air.

All thought of further conversation, well wishes, or confident shout outs were cut short for the time being. Zafira’s powerful wings pumped hard, propelling her and the zabrak both forward and higher.

​

 

[Mercy]

Quinn Varanin

"Hmm?" Quinn tilted her head up as she glanced up, "No one actually."

That answer surprised Mercy.

She knew the woman next to her had been engaged once upon a time and Mercy knew that she was in at least one serious relationship currently. Yet, it was Mercy that she was planning on introducing to Srina Talon . Sure, Mercy was amazing, frankly. She deserved every inch and ounce of adoration that she received, but even a self-obsessed psycho like herself realized how important this must be for Quinn.

Usually Mercy was great at ruining the moment.

This time around she simply squeezed Quinn's shoulders as they walked. "I will probably embarrass you in front of the Empress." Mercy whispered conspiratorially in her ear. "I have no manners, remember?"

Then Mercy drew back a little and laughed at her question.

"No, darling. I am not the creature girls bring back home to their parents." She drawled lazily, entirely uncaring about that. "So this should prove interesting, no?"

 

[Rowyna Galeway]

Stepping further into the revelries, Rowyna let the chaos of it wash over her, the sights, the sounds, the smell of spiced liquor and overheated bodies pressed too close in gilded halls. Laughter mingled with boasts, goblets clashed, and the air was thick with the arrogance of victory. She moved carefully, letting her gaze sweep the chamber as she mapped the faces in her periphery against dossiers etched into memory.

It was then she saw him, impossible to miss. The Dark Lord himself, Darth Carnifex, a looming specter even in this sea of black cloaks and red eyes. A man, or monster, who could silence this cacophony with a single breath. Rowyna steadied herself, spine straightening as if to remind her body who she was, and why she was here. She had not come to fawn or bow, but to stand, to represent the Commonwealth among allies as strange and dangerous as these.

Her uniform did the rest. White and crisp against the deep shadows, its lines and pins declared what words need not: she was not Sith, but she had fought beside them. She bore no saber, no crimson mark, but the crest on her chest was proof enough of where she stood.

She drifted along the edge of the revels, keeping a deliberate distance from the densest clumps of revelers. Their merriment was not hers to share, nor would she force herself into it. She moved as though along a shoreline, letting the tide of their voices lap close but never sweep her in.

She drifted along the edge of the revels, keeping a deliberate distance from the densest clumps of revelers. Their merriment was not hers to share, nor would she force herself into it. She moved as though along a shoreline, letting the tide of their voices lap close but never sweep her in.

It was during one of these quiet orbits that she found herself near another figure, one she recognized not from the battlefield's chaos but from hours studying intelligence briefs. Elmindra Xitaar , the lead of the Holy Worlds' fleets. They had exchanged only brief words in the thick of the fighting, clipped and tactical over comms. Now, removed from the hum of battle stations and tactical overlays, the sight of her in person struck Rowyna like a recognition long delayed.

She inclined her head in acknowledgment, words already forming, weighed carefully between diplomacy and sincerity. The Captain turned in their direction and noticed of course, a Chiss nearby, rather close to Elmindra. As she closed the distance she lifted a flute of liquid charisma in their direction.

Ufsa'ynth'aris ​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Varin's gaze tore down the line, sizing up all of the other racers.

“Haro? Why are your straps loose? Your saddle is going to slide sideways before you kno-”

Cut off before he could finish he watched a rather old man, no an old warrior walk slowly across the track with his flag by his side. He looked like he was struggling to….well to do anything quite frankly. Almost like at any second he could just keel over. His voice boomed around the racers as Varin got himself ready, wrapping his fists with the reins, lowering his posture so he was leaning forward to accommodate for the upcoming kick up.

“ON MY MARK!”

His heart began to thunder in his chest as he gritted his teeth, grinding them together in anticipation.

“GET SET…..”

He set his boots into the stirrups ready to kick off.

“GO!!!”

Rampaging off the line Varin's Adar tore its claws into the sands as it began to flex its wings, gaining the momentum needed to take a low flight. As the began to take some air the Adar bore its claws into the wall of a nearby building propelling itself forward for more momentum. All Varin could do during the chaos of the take off was scream his head off all while flying over the track.

Haro Aven Spirit of Korriban​