Faction The Coronation Ball [First Order | Invited Guests]

[Onrai]

“It was easy enough to deal with them, albeit a tad time-consuming. The imposter was rather competent at his identity theft. I suppose the effervescent suspicions proved beneficial in this instance.” Truthfully, a part of Vanessa was still frustrated regarding the lack of a response from Vandiir himself. “I suppose you eventually got to examining the droid carcass and the amulet the imposter wore.” She had left them with Ingrid during her trip to provide stuff to Adrian directly, which did not result in a meeting as it stood.

“My apologies, Overlord L’lerim.” She gave Ingrid a look before responding. “Truthfully it wouldn’t have been out of character for you two to do so. I haven’t seen such a bond between two people in love with one another since the last time I saw Ashin Varanin and Spencer Jacobs.” There were other comparisons she could have made, perhaps to the Zambranos, but such seemed relatively important

As her eyes focused on the two she was conversing with, Vanessa noticed the shimmering crystalline form of her Herald having entered the area. How fortunate - Vanessa had not wanted to exert her mandate upon Dea over something as simple as a party, yet she did want her to get out more, to become more publicly apt. A subtle hint in the woman’s mind would indicate that her goddess needed her.

“Intriguingly, I suppose there is someone I should introduce. A herald, crafted through a combination of ancient ritual and primordial power. Dea.” She said, introducing her to the others.

Dea Ingrid L'lerim AMCO

 

[Darth Prazutis]

It felt like it was yesterday

When the First Order hit its zenith as a galactic superpower under the elusive Sieger Ren, when Natasi Fortan was just a Grand Moff back then. A Grand Moff who had consolidated near unlimited power beneath an ever expanding iron curtain of dominance over space. When the dogs of a decadent alliance had come demanding his and his nephews heads, the order refused. Imperialism had risen like a tide to meet the failed democratic values head on. The First Order had given them many things and one of them was time. Time to consolidate power and influence through the scattered Sith Order together into an Ascendancy. Until finally when the time had come and the whole of their number had been assembled, the greatest gathering of Sith in a generation and they had all submitted to the will of their new lord and master, their newly anointed Sith Emperor.​

​

That was the day they became an empire. ​

​

Together with their First Imperial allies they had shaken the galaxy to its core, brought down the aging alliance and looked to the core. The once prestigious, shining beacon of wealth and prestige. The precious core. The Imperial Bloc had burned ten thousand years of history to the ground in fire and chaos. They ripped the golden chip off their shoulders and took everything away. Families of immense wealth became broke and worthless, planets that once stood the richest went utterly bankrupt and the Imperial Bloc coffers surged. But in time it fell apart. The Galactic Empire had fallen, the First Order collapsing under the weight of a strike by the Ssi-Ruuvi Imperium. It brought a measure of joy to see them return once more. For them he would come. No tricks, no games. Regardless of the enemies in attendance tonight they had nothing to fear from him. Tonight he stood representing the Sith Empire as one of its reigning autocrats, the Dark Lord of the Sith that would carry them into the future. Alongside his fellow Diarch and the Emperor Emeritus, House Zambrano had made its entrance in earnest. The giant had swept a predatory gaze across the attendees, reading the room before he moved. ​

Darth Carnifex | Joycelyn Zambrano ​

 

[Noelle Varanin]

Tags | Open.​

Noel walked in alone, a silk dress of silver clinging to her like a shift. In her hands was her mother's diadem, an ornament she had nearly not brought with her today. Her mother's death still felt so fresh. The rumors of her sister's affiliations-- Ashin's return and reveal inside their family's kitchen...

The time for mourning had come and gone. She had things she needed to do.

She slipped the crown into her golden locks and stepped out of a shadowed archway. Observing would only get her so far. It was time to fetch a drink.

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

I M P E R A T O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
AVALONIA | DOSUUN
C R I M S O N _ K I N G
THE_BOYS | Jaeger Harrsk | Tyrell Paxxus | Djorn Bline | Lucien Dooku | Robogeber
Darth Carnifex | Natasi Fortan

For a few moments, the Sovereign Imperator was able to blend seamlessly into the crowds around him, the faces enveloping his vision distorting to hazy machinations of his addled mind. Honing in on the taste of his cigar, the faint buzz from each draw and pull of the sweetened herb. As he buried himself in his thoughts, hoping his sensory isolation might make this time faster or simply carry him elsewhere.

His focus honed in once more on those around him as more and more eyes fixated on his features, his silhouette as a whole. The group that entered just before him and his retinue of warlords and military men with their accompanying partners.

Sith.

He could eye the narrow gazes, make out the bitter whispers. He could machinate by brief glance what they'd thought about him in their looks of disgust and unease, no doubt regarding him the pitiful gnat and no doubt wondering how he'd thought about them in return.

A peculiar game, for Tavlar didn't think about them much at all. The real estate of his mind had far more pressing matters to wear at his musings than the Sith, beyond what pragmatic demands the waning Third Imperial Cvil War demanded of his thoughts.

The forthright revelry accompanied the entrance of the newly coronated Supreme Leader Fortan and the jovialness about her entrance was seemingly earned from Tavlar's past interaction with her. She had a sharp mind, an endearing attitude about her. Likely an easier figure for the common people to latch unto than himself, Tavlar could only think, being the rather reclusive, pragmatic military mind that he was.

Of equal interest, another marquee character of the night seemed to approach her. Kaine Zambrano, in the flesh. As far as he could ever recall, outside of sharing the battlefield on Harnaidan and Ravelin, this was the first they'd ever been in the same room, the Punished and the former Dark Lord of the Sith.

Regardless of his presence there or not, he felt it necessary to deliver his congratulations of her coronation in person, being for all intents and purposes his direct counter part in Imperial statesmanship, Fortan representing the resurgent Unknown Regions and the founded aristocratic traditions of the First Order while Tavlar had seen his 'coronation' as a declaration of defiance in the broken ruins of the Hand of Thrawn as he battled the Sith proper for control over the Seat of the Empire itself, posturing more the populist, the 'dirtier' half of Imperial ideology. More gun metal than regal gold.

Regardless, he held high respect for Fortan and seemingly, Kaine Zambrano carried the same line of thinking, already waxing poetically to the First Order's head of state by the time that the great and despicable traitor, last they'd ever been in the remotely same venue, it was the moment Tavlar had sown his fate as an enemy of the Sith Empire so long as he lived, breathed and roamed the plane of the living. The revealing of the darkness.

He pulled another draw from his cigar as he'd neared the periphery of this interaction, wafting the bout of smoke that vented from his lips immediately after as he approached the two, being sure to pluck a glass from a nearby servant's tray as he walked with a faux metallic, measured step.

His lone gaze shifted to Kaine Zambrano, eyeing the once Dark Lord in the flesh with a brief glance, in his expression, in his presence in The Force. He ultimately offered him nothing to read, that characteristic placid coldness even if their gazes were able to meet in earnest.

Only before he'd look to the woman of the hour.

"If I may interject for a moment, Supreme Leader. Though I hope not to interfere for too long as I merely wished to deliver my congratulations of your ascension to proper command of the resurgent First Order once more. Both you and the celebration are as enchanting as ever. Absolutely incredible effort by all those involved." He said, carrying his best officer's voice in his inflection...and then his gaze shifted to Kaine Zambrano.

As Tavlar's 501st and Kaine's Black Blade battled over the wide fields between the hardpoints of the collective front along the New and Sith Imperial borders, the two men could finally register one another in person.

"Dubious that the winds of fate had not seen us worthy of an encounter, face to face...but here we are...and under circumstances which I'll admit, far more cordial than I could ever expect." Tavlar states in an inflection most Imperial before he drifts his glass of liquor back to drink down a sip. Sweet and bitter all at once with a lovely burn to it all the same. Once more, he offered nothing but that coldness in anticipation of a reply from either of them.

HOUSE TAVLAR
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER​

 

[Salamander]

Messala had hardly taken more than a few steps into the ballroom when someone to his left uttered a harsh “psssst!” loud enough to be heard over the swell of the orchestra. Raising an eyebrow, he turned to see who was so desperate to get his attention.

A female Anubian stalked toward him, her muscular body covered in sleek black fur. Gold jewelry encrusted with gems circled her wrists and ankles, and a broad collar woven with colorful beads hung from her shoulders and around her throat.

“‘Who is this fair young god come into the house of pharaoh?’” she purred, recalling an old inside joke between them. “Fancy seeing you here, Arrius.”

She recognized me on sight. So much for all this cloak-and-dagger business. “Nefretiri,” he greeted her with a slight bow of his head. “Good to see you again, Great Lady. I must say, I’m surprised to find you here as well.” He managed to sound like he was fully focused on her, but his eyes under the hood were scanning the crowds occupying the ballroom.

“Oh?” She rested her hands on her hips. “Why, because the Bryn still cling to Ankhypt, and you Sith have failed to wrest it from their vicious, vile hands?”

Messala’s response was slightly delayed, being distracted by the sight of AMCO and Ingrid L'lerim reluctantly engaging in conversation with Onrai . If they were here, he was either in the wrong place, or the only possible place his elusive prey could be. “Not at all. I was simply surprised that you would bother coming to a party like this. It doesn’t seem to be your style.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Nefretiri muttered. “I was advised there would be intrigues here, opportunities to gain allies. But so far, nothing.”

“The night is still young,” he reassured her. Now a fourth party was joining the trio at Vanessa’s beckoning, some sort of crystalline being. Dea reminded him of the Bamarri, and with that reminder came a sharp pang of homesickness. Chaldea looked especially beautiful at this time of year...

“Perhaps if you had joined the fight, we would've had a chance,” Nefretiri went on, her disappointment in him plain. “Like you did all those years ago, when we suffered under Mythos…” She shook her head. “But then the Sith have outlawed slavery. If they had won, they would have taken our world and imposed their heathen ways upon us.”

“Replacing slaves with droids would have solved the issue of leaving them all to die when the Bryn came,” Messala pointed out. “Besides, your ways wouldn’t have been lost. Yours is a great and mighty civilization; surely they can withstand a little mechanization. After all, I haven’t forgotten the lessons I learned from your High Priest.” He leaned in close to her. “I still use the spells from your Book of the Dead in my own sorcery. Translated into High Sith, of course, but the beauty and elegance of the incantations is preserved no matter the language.”

“Really?” She coyly flicked an ear at him. “I’d like to hear a demonstration some time.”

Messala’s gaze was drawn away once more. He had spotted a dark-haired woman standing near the edge of the whirling crowd, only now coming into his view as the music changed. She wore a pale pink gown, the design suggestive of less a coronation ball and more of a bridesmaid at a wedding, complete with pearl earrings and flower blooms tucked into her styled hair. Her face, while lovely, was unfamiliar to him. But he detected the faint scent of black ichor, partially obscured by a strong perfume, emanating from her body as she came closer.

“I’d love to indulge you, Nefretiri,” he replied, turning back to the Anubian. “But I’m afraid I have another engagement soon. On the other hand,” he gestured toward the nearest exit, “if you would meet me in the library in twenty minutes, we may be able to arrange something very special.”

While Nefretiri nodded in dignified acknowledgement and headed in the direction he had pointed, Messala made his way over to the young woman. She was distracted watching the dancers, either looking for someone in particular, or a way into the spinning mass of bodies gliding across the marbled floor, and didn’t notice him until he spoke right beside her.

“Hello there.”

She froze, a gasping breath making her chest rise and fall rapidly over her bodice, which suddenly seemed much too tight. Slowly she turned to face him, her mouth agape. Evidently, she recognized the sound of his voice. After all, it was something quite literally out of her worst nightmares.

Before he had a chance to react, she reached out and flung back his hood, revealing his hideous head for the entire ballroom to see.

Not that any of the dancers were particularly affronted by it—they were busy enjoying themselves. But she seemed to think she had just pulled off some sort of dramatic reveal; she looked around at the bystanders, expecting gasps and cries and shouts of horror at the mere sight of his ugly mug, only to be disappointed by the apathy of the other guests.

Messala couldn’t help but laugh at her dashed hopes. “What am I, the Phantom of the Opera? You think that by tearing off my disguise, you can make me scuttle back into the shadows like a cockroach? No one cares. There are far worse-looking monsters in this galaxy, especially at this little party.”

Her face twisted with fury and her hands balled into fists at her sides, the woman gathered her skirts and stormed outside into the gardens.

Messala, of course, followed her.

 

[Phoenix Edorath]

A dress uniform. Fitted and finely tailored, which she had paid a pretty penny for once the standard garments had been issued to her. A dark silvery grey, with the appropriate ornaments in their proper places, including her newly minted rank bar.

Slender emerald-toned fingers smoothed out the jacket as she stepped out of the transport and rose to her full height. She had arrived at one of the side entrances to the castle grounds, and found herself spending a solid ten minutes in a security briefing. Her metallic coral gaze flicked back and forth from the General giving the briefing to the monitors that showed multiple angles of each of the public spaces guests were permitted into.

Phoenix nodded and saluted as the briefing concluded, turning smartly to make her way to the ballroom. Low heels clicked along the inlaid marble floors, the whisper of fabric rustling faintly as she moved. She had an assignment based on her unique physiology, which was to monitor those known Force Users in attendance and intervene if any of them tried anything particularly stupid. She doubted they would, considering both the public and diplomatic fallout that would ensue, but one never knew.

Nix had also bowed to her friend's wishes and accepted the fact that the woman had found her a date. She hadn't frankly wanted to bother with the convention of not being alone for the evening, but admitted the company would be a nice change of pace. Pausing in front of a hanging mirror, she took one last look at herself to ensure everything was in order. Fingers smoothed out her tailored skirt before gently adjusting the soft blouse beneath her jacket. Her jacket was carefully adjusted and buttoned before she assured herself her long hair was still in order, swept back and up into a neat chignon that was slightly outside of regulations yet suited her so much better.

She took a deep breath and strode through the small door and into the ballroom proper. Nodding to the security just inside, she slowed her pace and strolled along the side of the space slowly, taking the time to admire the sights within. She'd been part of the team to ensure preparations were in place but hadn't seen the final decor placed. No expense had been spared, and it was a feast for the senses. Her eyes swept across to the security points and found everything as expected, in perfect order.

Nodding, she continued and allowed her coral gaze to sweep across the guests, looking for a particular uniform in the slowly assembling crowd. Phoenix sighed inwardly and wondered what Bellam Malhan been told about her, if anything...her friend had been decidedly vague on detail and it made her slightly concerned.

 

[Hailyn]

x

For all the splendor of an Empire, despite all the power, the influence, and the pride that could come with its leadership, the only obvious tie to such that the young Shi'ido wore with her was the woman she strode in with. A ball, parties, and all the socialite fancies one could indulge in during times of relative, or even hesitant, peace were where the Sith had been most out of her element, and perhaps at her most vulnerable. Quinn Varanin was, of course, far more familiar with the tendencies of the social elite, or at least she was as far as Vesta was concerned, which was doubtlessly why she had been the one to receive the invitation for the celebration in the first place.

Though a stray lock of hair refused to fall into place behind her right ear, hanging teasingly to frame the side of her face, the rest of the skin changer's hair was tucked back and tied intricately into what she could, personally, only describe as a bun. Rather than wear the blatant red she'd shown off in fights the galaxy over, and perhaps give to those that knew whom Quinn's master was an inkling of understanding to her identity that she'd prefer to keep to herself, the shapeshifter's locks were a pleasant brown, though her eyes still gave some clue to who she was. Her hair and makeup contrasted rather well with her simple silvery dress, a choice in clothing made in hopes of refraining from competing with her partner in appearance.

As the pair walked through the door she glanced towards her Echani partner, the corners of her lips pulling back subtly to hint at the beginning of a smile, and exhaled lightly out of her nose with a slight shake of her head. 'It's her day today, I'm just along for the ride.' Her thoughts echoed deep in the depths of her mind, reassuring herself that she could leave things to Quinn like her partner would have in the past. "I'm glad you asked me to come." She said quietly as red-tinted eyes drank in the sight of so many more people in a far more casual setting than she was typically comfortable in being. Internally she shuddered, feeling much smaller in such an enclosed space where so many were readily abandoning thoughts of self-preservation for idle banter and gluttonous fancy, but on the surface her slight smirk only slipped for the brief moment that she forgot herself.

A simple drawing of breath returned her to her senses less than a handful of seconds later.

"You look stunning, by the way." She quipped as they started to meander in, her attention split between her date and the memory of the faces of people she'd prefer to avoid - particularly family. Her guise might be different, but there was a special knack her father and cousin had for picking her out of a crowd that she'd prefer to steer clear of, at least this early in the night.

 

[Kassandra Distorith]

The lady had arrived just after Her Grace had alighted from her motorcade, keeping to the periphery and savoring the moments inherent in the newly crowned monarch's arrival. It was a stunning spectacle, and she was delightfully pleased to see how perfectly everything had thus far been executed. Pausing briefly to offer Darth Carnifex and Darth Prazutis her greetings, she proceeded on her way inside, the nearly sheer vinesilk of her gown shimmering in the carefully placed light sources.

Natasi Fortan would know to reach out to her should she wish a moment of respite or the simple comfort of her company.

Stiletto heels clicked along the marble floors, and Kassandra breathed a deep sigh of relief. It was a singular delight to have her aura free of it's usual constraints, the comfort of having her full range of senses available setting a sensual smile on her features. Manicured fingertips plucked a glass from the tray proffered to her, pausing to take a sip of the heavenly deep red wine within. Kassandra continued onward, sauntering gracefully through the warmly lit spaces, pausing every so often to greet one of the many familiar faces in attendance.

Free of any official duties for the evening, as her presence within the First Order was merely as a favor to Natasi, the lady chose to avail herself of the freedom to explore the gardens. It was a lush, formal layout, with many a spot to sit for a rest or a discreet conversation amidst sculpted greenery and flowering plants alike. The fountain at the center was lit for the evening, and she paused beside it a flick of her fingers seeing the water flow with a touch more animation and glittering energy sheerly for the lovely visual effect.

Kassandra chose a nearby alcove, ensconcing herself amidst the heady scent of evening jasmine, sitting on the plush velvet cushions placed within. With luck, there would be others to converse with eventually, and she would take a turn or two on the dance floor as well. For now though, she savored the evening air and the strains of music that rang softly from the discreet speakers placed throughout the garden.

 

[Dea]

And there it was, a ping that was more like a beacon, beckoning her towards Onrai . She felt it before she could even see the woman among the crowd of people, which in and of itself she found slightly annoying. Hopefully in time she'd be able to attune herself better.

But there was much to learn.

She weaved through the dancers, the minglers and the loners, making sure to actually touch them. Her crystaline body was still new to her, and everything about the physical around her was different. She wondered if she felt different to others too. Was she warm? Or cold? Soft? Or hard? Did her touch bring disgust or intrigue? There were just far too many questions that she had.

Finally she found Vanessa, speaking with Ingrid L'lerim and AMCO . The former she knew of, but the latter she didn't. Still, it wasn't as though she wanted to be recognized at all.

"How do you do?" That was appropriate, right? Oh by the Force she wondered why she had decided to drag herself into this. No doubt she'd just make a fool of herself. It was just far too soon.

 

[Sigrid Adair]

Lady Sigrid Eronde Astris Adair
Heir of House Mecetti, Obulette, Tapani Sector
Confederacy of Independent Systems

E N T R A N C E
​

Tags: Xander Blackmoore | Otherwise open!

Were her Father not ill, and her mother fretting over him, she would be elsewhere.

It wasn't that she disliked these kinds of events, no, they were all well and good, and served many purposes. It was just that... if you had been to one, you more-or-less had been to them all. Except this was the first ball in celebration of a coronation that she had been party to, both of the recent coronations of the current and assassinated queens of Naboo falling beneath Obulette's interest and notice, for Naboo elected its royalty, and it was wearing to attend to every... what was it? Four years, usually? She pursed her lips, and softly shook her head to herself in the private, luxurious cabin of their vessel, where in the cockpit sat her two assigned babysitters escorts from Mecrosa's ranks, who would remain on-call, for whenever she might be done with this.

Checking her lipstick and soft, relaxed red curls in a compact mirror one last time as they landed, she flashed one demure, nigh-playful smile at her reflection, then snapped the compact shut, tucking it away in her clutch when they set down. The cockpit door opened, and one of her escorts emerged, coming to her in short order, to escort her out of the ship.

'My lady, we have arrived.'

Sigrid looked up at him, through long lashes as she rose from her seat, using almost the same smile on him, devoid however of the note of interest, "Thank you, Bostri," she replied, ducking the upper lip of the egress, the nearly forty-year-old man bowing his blond head in unsaid welcome, "I trust you both will wait, for my message, however long it takes?" She emerged fully from the vessel, smoothing out the skirt of her dark green gown, as Bostri followed her down, struggling momentarily with what he should say; after a moment when he was near, she put a hand to the elder assassin's shoulder, "I know you may still see me as that little girl you were first tasked with watching over as an acolyte, Bostri," she gave his shoulder a squeeze, "but we both know I'm a grown woman, and you know I can take care of myself."

Bostri let out a long, sighing breath. He knew. He'd had a hand in her extracurricular education. 'Yes, my lady,' a moment of hesitation, then: 'Just... think of your Lord Father.' He saw her almost as one of his own daughters, in some ways, though his own were still in school, and Sigrid had finished her academic education a small handful of years prior.

She frowned, delicately, her eyes going to one side, then mustering up a cordial face, she looked back to the much older man, "I haven't stopped doing so... none of us have," she, like many of the denizens of their house, hoped this would pass, "try not to get too bored without me, hmm?"

Bostri put on a stiff upper lip, gave a curt nod, and went to ascend the ramp, but hesitated and turned back to Sigrid, reaching inside his coat and pulling out an envelope that he looked more than a little uncomfortable to have in hand, as well as he hid that fact. She felt it too, as unendowed as she was with the intangible power that the man in front of her and so many others could bring to bear. His face became a stern, impassable thing as he closed the distance once again, offering the envelope as her delicate hands rose to accept it, her visage a faint question.

'The...' he stopped, as if he were to say something else, then decide against it, '...Lord Emeritus requests that you not open it until you are alone.'

It needn't have been said, the whom of which the letter was from. She knew the names, knew what they meant, her hazel eyes focusing on the detail of the script written by his hand. What did the most esteemed progenitor want with her, now, of all times and places? She broke her gaze from the envelope, and set about tucking it away in her clutch, then with one last look at the retreating form of Bostri, her shadow, she turned and delivered herself many paces apart from him, to her new escort, whereupon she was whisked away to her motorcade, her mind abuzz with curiosity, and a healthy measure of concern.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The transit was uneventful, but the scenery of the countryside was peaceful to look on, almost idyllic. It was such in a way that Obulette could not be, in perpetual twilight as it was, yet that held its own particular beauty. However this held only a small measure of her attention, for when her privacy was reasonably assured, she pulled out the letter, and opened it from one end, rather than the top, sliding out a single folded page. Setting the empty envelope on her lap, she unfolded the cream-coloured paper, and began to wordlessly read its contents:

Granddaughter, blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh...

I regret that I am unable to accompany you to this coronation, but you are well aware of the reason for it, so I will not waste the words. In my place, I have arranged for you to be accompanied by a very old friend -

'Old' could be a loaded word, or it could mean nothing out of the ordinary. Fine brows rose, then fell, and she read on.

-and you have my word that he will be nothing short of a gentleman.-

An implied 'or else', perhaps? That was only a little disquieting.

-Regardless, keep your wits about you, and have a lovely evening. I will leave the introductions up to you both.

And with his signature, that was all the letter contained, leaving her with only more questions, and a sense of being at a disadvantage. Sitting with those questions for several minutes, she then re-folded the letter, tucked it back into the envelope and returned the whole package to her clutch. There was always the chance that she was reading too much into it, but it could be hard to tell where the author was concerned. That aside, she had to stifle a quiet few notes of laughter, at the simplicity of the letter - a missive on paper from the Lord Emeritus could be anything, but this was nothing at all! When her amusement quieted, she considered the very real possibility that... no. He gave his word he wouldn't, and her father's illness tempered her ire at the possibility that he had asked her ancient progenitor to meddle in the one choice in her life's path that she had wrested from her father's grasp... but maybe the deep realisation of his mortality changed his mind. Whether that was true or not, he had always wanted to see her happy before he passed from this plane of existence.

She and her father had never quite seen eye-to-eye on what that word meant.

When it came time for her to exit the motorcade, and proceed forward to give her particulars, it was just one part of the many businesslike elements that ran through being titled, positioned, as she was... but being announced, in full title, somehow never got old; nor did the way it provoked a warmer smile and mood out of her, regardless of circumstance. The welcome, sociable face was an easy costume to put on, one practised over many a year. It was hardly ever worth a thing to let others know how you truly felt, particularly in the company of so many unknowns... her hazel eyes scanned the already-arrived, for any familiar faces as she descended into the room. Was that Presbilliah Ausbern, she saw? Oh, she hoped not. That woman didn't know how to shut up! Sigrid covered those thoughts with a cheery smile when one foot hit the ballroom floor, as eyes moved to her, or from her, and the next name was announced.

"Well," she murmured to herself, "let's try to have a good time?"

But first? Wine - one of society's best social lubricants. She glided off in search of it, greeting here and there as new faces presented themselves, wondering who this mysterious plus one that was thrust upon her might be...

Chaos NaNo: 1391 words

 

[Gat Tambor]

X X I I : T H E _ G A L A X Y
DIRECTOR OF THE TRADE FEDERATION
G O R G E O U S
OPEN TO INTERACTION | SHOOT A PM
Salvor King | Alban Roble ​

---

---

---

Every seperate faction hailing from the rest of the Galaxy proper proported themselves a grand and opulent entrance to the Coronation. Or at the very least, made their presence known with a symbol of their corresponding allegiance on each side door over their hover car as they arrived.

Then...

Then of course, there was Gat Tambor.

His hover car approached, the exterior made of a smooth plating of pure electrum, with the characteristic symbol of the Trade Federation embedded into each side door carved out of what seemed to be pure diamond. But he was admittedly, not as much of a sore thumb out of the crowd as he might've preferred. If the First Order could manage anything, it was a truly opulent celebration. And they clearly thought that their resurrected Supreme Commander was worth the bill.

More power too them was all Gat could think as the suicide door of the hover car slid open with a faint hiss of the mechanics and the castle was graced with the presence of the Skakoan Lord of War. At the very least, those of higher society could assume that if Gat made his presence known here this was a well and truly worth while event. Donning his electrum pressure suit with violet silks draped over the otherwise pragmatic ensemble the Skakoan pressed his finger tips to one another over his chest as he began to over up the stairs and into the castle proper, his bodyguard Salvor King at his flank as his entourage of other Trade Federation goons spread out to enjoy the festivities and all that Rosewood Castle had to offer them.

"OWERERERRRRRERR- I must say, the First Order has certainly come a long way in regaining lost spoils. What are your first impressions, King?" The Skakoan inquired in genuine curiosity as he ignored most of the other party-goers, including a rather attractive woman who tried to accompany him at his empty flank only for the Skakoan to wave her off in outright disgust.

HOUSE TAMBOR
TRADE FEDERATION​

 

[Nora Lithos]

Nora Lithos, part of the Korrado entourage adorned in deep blue robes with white detailings in the shape of a Lotus flower. She felt like she stood out from the others in their fine dresses and suits, but ultimately that mattered little. These robes held importance to her and were a reminder of that small spot of good that had once shined in the galaxy. The Lotus itself had faded but the people had not, and Nora always took the chance to remind people when the opportunity arose.

Having been ushered inside there was just enough time for her to take the sights in to such an extent that she would need to find her friends. Somewhere in this crowd were her friends, the reasons she was even here. An Echani and an Avalonian, a couple. The stairs offered a wide view of the area, but it was a needle in a haystack situation nonetheless.

“If I were an almost sickeningly cute couple, where would I hide?” Nora mumbled before her eyes got caught on Carnifex and his entourage. A spike of worry shot through her chest but she shook it off and began to glance around for her friends again.

Little would Nora know, the countdown to her truest reunion had just about begun.

… The one that had a chance to end it all.

… The chance to right her biggest wrong.

And it all happened in three...

Elisea Korrado / Nylea Apollodor
Hazel Zanteres

 

[Salvor King]

BODYGUARD TO THE DIRECTOR OF THE TRADE FEDERATION
U N S C R I P T E D _ V I O L E N C E
OPEN TO INTERACTION | SHOOT A PM
Gat Tambor | Alban Roble

​

Electrum cups, electrum plates, electrum doors, the Trade Federation's special pre-coronation accommodations spoke volumes of their wealth. Even more so spoke the solid electrum vehicle in the motorcade, and Gat Tambor's radiantly luxurious pressure suit. The interior of the transport itself was nothing short of a King's suite. Befitting of King, or perhaps more appropriately, The Lord of War.

King knew this gathering was going to be far more upscale than his tastes often indulged. He opted to dress for the occasion, but only just adequately. Gat Tambor's presence would likely be enough to staunch any objections of such a low-effort ensemble. A lot more than King's would be, as much as it pained him to admit.

The five-time champion maintained a deadpan eyes-front demeanor as he entered alongside Gat Tambor, showing very little awe or outwardly inflected response to the opulence.

A server approached. A silver platter of devilled kaadu eggs held out before King. "Devilled Egg?" The young man inquired. King reached up slowly without even looking the server's direction, grabbing not an egg, but the edge of the platter. There was some resistance at first, but after a gentle, dogged tug accompanied by an aloof lack of acknowledgment, the server obliged begrudgingly.

There stood Salvor King, Athlete of the Year, with a platter of devilled eggs.

"OWERERERRRRRERR- I must say, the First Order has certainly come a long way in regaining lost spoils. What are your first impressions, King?"​

King gently slid one of the eggs into his mouth. He chewed slowly, his shaded gaze still seeming to aimlessly stare forward. Several tangible moments of slow chewing later, King finally responded to the Lord of War. "Good catering." A good enough first impression in his book.

 

[Darth Metus]

Wearing: xxx

A lifetime ago, they had been allies.

When the Vicelord of the Confederacy was an infinitely younger man, fate steered his path towards the original Sith Empire. Despite his Mandalorian heritage, the man formerly known as Isley Verd had subjected himself to the tutelage of one Gregor Gideon. The Sith Imperial had been Isley's introduction to the Dark Side of the Force. But, more importantly, he had been the gateway to meeting Natasi Fortan . In those days, while Darth Metus served as apprentice and Enforcer to Gregor, Natasi served as an intelligence specialist for the Sith regime. Together, they all aided the ambitions of the Emperor, Tyrin Ardik, until his throne was quite literally broken by a coup. So it was that both Natasi and Isley were introduced to the fragility of religion-based leadership.

And so it was that their paths diverged.

They would encounter one another again, briefly, when the old First Order was but an infant. In those days, Darth Metus busied himself in the realm of Galactic commerce. Thus, his ship-centric efforts had seen him form business contacts with Natasi once more - even culminating in a brief governorship of Virgilia. Yet, as the years rolled ever forward, their destinies differed. Their ideals changed. Yet, the common ground of ambition remained the same. Though they had been on opposing sides of ideals later on, to hear that Natasi had seemingly fallen during the fall of the First Order had been a somber day for the Sith. Yet, now, a face from the days of his youth yet lived. Now, a crown had been placed upon her head and a regime built anew.

So it was that an invitation came across his desk - their paths converged anew.

This day, the Confederacy of Independent Systems was fashionably late to the Coronation Ball. Yet, like all others, their motorcade arrived at the entrance and disembarking was swift. There were no complication, nor hidden weapons, nor wardrobe malfunctions to be had in the Vicelord's party - though his nose briefly wrinkled upon feeling his might dampened as he walked. Nonetheless, he would deal. For one, he had an old acquaintance to see before the evening was over. For another, it was not too often that the Sith got to enjoy an evening. Since the move to Naboo, his days had been filled with paperwork and his evenings had been filled with (you guessed it) paperwork. A bottle of Idlewil and a nap upon his office couch were the conclusions to most days.

Enjoying the First Order's finery was a welcome change to his schedule.

Joining him for the occasion were the literal who's who of the Southern Systems. The Exarchs Srina Talon and Adron Malvern . The "First Lady" Darth Elyria , and Minister Visanj T'shkali would all enter the ballroom together. Beaming, the Sith turned to his fellows. "I'm feeling the dance floor, how about you?"

482

 

[Resurgent Narrative]

​

​

As guests continued to arrive and as the night settled in, Castle Rosewood gleamed brighter still. The divergence of groups new and old, allies, and enemies alike now moved about the estate's grounds. This was a moment unlike any other in the First Order's history for where they had been closed off, distant and aloof in the past. No longer. There was no doubt in the minds of any of the First Imperials that there would be political games afoot whether that was from the tug and pull of the Sith and the New Imperials. Or, from the ever growing cold war with the New Imperials and the Galactic Alliance.​

​

Once the herald had announced the arrival of the Confederacy of Independent Systems. Ariel Yvarro was grateful and her spirits rose, no longer did her heart sink at the idea that the First Order would be left alone with the New Imperials and the Sith Empire. Rather, there was a government present that had made things work. Made them work in the spirit of individual freedoms, something that Ariel cherished. She spent little time within the Confederacy space while on trips with either her mother or step mother.​

​

"I told you not to worry," Laan whispered to Ariel.​

​

"Thank you," she replied quietly and nursed her whiskey ever slowly. "Now, then I suppose we should get started."​

​

The young woman set her glass of whiskey down on a small stool beside the microphone stand.​

​

After all this was a ball and there was to be a celerbation, and slowly the sounds of the Coronation March drew to a silence. Music had faded and Ariel Yvarro walked across the stage and took the microphone has it was given to her. Holocameras turned their lenses in her direction, and the ballroom at the very least grew silent. The Herald halted people at the door lining them up quietly whilst the Moff looked about the room.​

​

"Ladies and Gentlemen," she began to speak, Ariel was just hoping she had remembered her speech. She took a deep breath and exhaled, she could do this, and so with the confidence of a Galidraani woman and the tone of a stateswoman. Ariel pressed forward, "I want to thank all of you for attending tonight’s ball. Your attendance means a lot to me, and to the First Order. I’d also like to take a moment and thank the citizens and the members of the armed forces here in the First Order. For without your sacrifice, your perseverance, and determination, we would not be here today; and to the Chiss, the Echani, and all of the refugees who arrived on Dosuun looking for a new place to call home."​

​

A pause as more eyes turned and the emblem of the Camden Broadcasting Corporation seemed to stand out above the SINN logo and others that were in attendance. "You who saw we were in need of help, and rather than turn away, you decided to stay, and it is you who have made this moment possible. I have the utmost gratitude for the men and women of this world. More importantly, I am humbled by stories of survival, the tales of defiance against the Ssi-Ruuvi, and the will of the Imperials. Not just here in Avalonia but to Sejong, Cape Velikaya, New Laveau, and all throughout our realm."​

​

"You who refused to go quietly in the night, you who refused to give up, to those who are no longer with us. May their memories live on forever in our hearts. Tonight, we celebrate not just the crowning of our Supreme Leader, Natasi Fortan. We celebrate you, all of you who have struggled, who have strived to carve out a path for yourselves in this galaxy."​

​

Another brief pause as she once more looked around the room, by now she had relaxed and it showed. Still her voice continued to carry that unwavering confidence that the Galidraani were known for, the tone of the stateswoman and to those who could hear it. The sound of an Imperial who knew how to work a room. "Know that we here in the First Order want to become part of the change in the galaxy. We want to see peace and stability restored here within Wild Space and the Unknown Regions. We want to bring prosperity through service and strength to those that will stand with us. We remember what has been in the past, knowing that we must keep ever onward, ever forward unto dawn."​

​

She took hold of the glass and raised it. "I raise a toast, to the health of all those here, to the memories of those who are no longer with us, and to the bright future of the First Order. Under the guidance and leadership of Her Majesty, the Supreme Leader, Natasi Fortan."​

​

Only a small sip for Ariel as she then set the glass back down. "Now, without further ado, I introduce to you our conductor for the evening an old friend of the First Order. Conductor Laan Kenmen and his new First Imperial Orchestra, enjoy the evening everyone, and welcome to Avalonia."​

​

Ariel took a small but respectful bow and proceeded to head off the stage, while Conductor Laan Kenmen approached the microphone from the right. "Thank you so much, ladies and gentlemen let us put our hands together for Moff Ariel Yvarro."​

​

He took the time to applaud her and then took the conductor's baton from within his suit jacket. Laan turned toward the orchestra and looked at them for a moment and smiled, one-two-three taps of the baton onto the conductor's stand. ​

​

The sounds of the Masquerade Suite - Waltz, began to play.​

​

This would now be the time for those seeking to dance, to dance. ​

​

The Herald would resume his duties there at the entrance, announcing those who had been invited along with their guests. Traffic outside the castle and estate respectively could continue to move along at its gracious pace. Festitivies within the castle resumed as did the noise level of those talking, drinking and now the dancing. ​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

Spoiler: Tags

CIS: Darth Metus | Srina Talon | Adron Malvern | Visanj T'shkali | Sigrid Adair
NIO: Irveric Tavlar | Lucien Dooku | Djorn Bline | Jaeger Harrsk | Tyrell Paxxus
TSE: Darth Carnifex | Darth Prazutis | Joycelyn Zambrano | Hailyn | Quinn Varanin | Onrai | Salamander | Dea
EE: Ingrid L'lerim | AMCO
GA: Allyson Locke | Amea Virou
IND: Hazel Zanteres | Nylea Apollodor | Nora Lithos | John Locke | Farah
TF: Gat Tambor | Salvor King
FO: Natasi Fortan | Kassandra Distorith | Renata Westaway | Phoenix Edorath | Kurayami Bloodborn
Apologies if I missed anyone!

​

​

​

​

​

 

[Daegon Corvinus]

WEARING: xxx
TAG: Seraphina Corvinus | Fevris Derzelas

The First Order. Daegon had not given them a second thought until their resurgence back onto the galactic scene began to make ripples in the Southern Systems. A certain medical scientist had reached out to him in regards to a potentially lucrative partnership, one, which if proved successful, stood to fund all the terraforming which remained to be done on Thyferra, and then some. Attending the Coronation Ball of Natasi Fortan was a small price to pay to ensure the relationships he had been building remained profitable and friendly.​

​

His attire was as it usually was. The Demon dressed in a black suit, a red shirt, and a tie to match. The colors and accents were chosen purposefully in honor of the First Order itself. He was skilled at what he did, and Daegon knew the moments where flattery was something he needed to employ. Even at a young age Daegon had learned the art of employing it to get what he wanted, and this occasion was no different than the many times before.​

​

As usual, his bride was with him. Seraphina was dressed as resplendent as always. Even if she did have attendants helping her to dress and do her hair, the choices from her wardrobe remained hers. It astounded Daegon how much progress she had made using echo location to "see" in ways that she would not be able to otherwise. There were times when the Demon could no longer tell she was blind, save for the silk she wore over her eyes to keep them hidden from the public.​

​

How he missed seeing them.​

​

"I am hoping that we will run into Fevris Derzelas this evening, my Angel. Her ideas on how we can begin to make true bacta that will work even on those allergic to it are outstanding. If she were not so loyal to the First Order I would employ her full time. I hope that you do not mind me doing a little work along with the celebration we are supposed to be here for?"​

​

All Sera had to do was give the word that she would prefer to spend their time dancing the night away, or finding some other diversion for the evening. However, Daegon was also well aware that his bride loved being involved in his work. There was nothing he had to hide from her, and no reason that she should suspect he did. Daegon was many things, but disloyal was not among them. She had been his prize, and he was her love. They shared in all things, including all of the Demon's ventures. Seraphina would likely have her own questions and insights.​

​

"I believe Exarch Malvern's wife is allergic to bacta. If anything success would put us in their good graces, considering I have yet to answer Adron on his proposal to join the Aristocratic Party he has been attempting to form in the Viceroylaty."​

​

Had the Angel of Thyferra thought it foolish? Daegon had not asked. One thing which would always be a weakness for the Demon was his damnable pride.​

​

As the two entered the ballroom, after having been escorted as per the instructions which had followed the invitation, Daegon stretched a smile upon his lips. The Demon of Thyferra put on his mask, and would become the charmer, and the charismatic man, he needed to be for the evening.​

 

[Srina Talon]

_____________________________________

Tag: Darth Metus | Adron Malvern | Visanj T'shkali | Darth Empyrean | Ariel Yvarro | John Locke [+Any Others I missed]​

​

Srina closed her eyes, briefly, as the Herald announced the names and titles of the Confederate Delegation to the Ball. ​

​

Once upon a time she would have stiffened and turned to walk away in the very same path she had traveled to arrive. Their travel had been lighter than expected. The Southern Systems was closer than some to the newly revived First Order that had returned to the galactic stage after a prolonged absence. Disappearing into the crowd, to her own designs, was no longer an option. Delicate features had long ago settled into a perpetual state of ice and emptiness. None would know outwardly how she felt about attending events such as these. Inwardly, the warrior she suppressed railed against it. ​

​

The diminutive Exarch was meant for a battlefield. For a bloody, haggard, and lengthy war of attrition. She had not been created for an ivory gown of floating shimmer-silk and antiquated lace. Her impractical footwear made her teeth clench, though, they didn’t seem to hamper her movement. For every inconvenience her attire provided she still held the inherent grace and poise that she was known for—And her chin never lowered. The Echani felt the loss of her saber as one might feel a phantom limb. It ached. Still. She would not show it. ​

​

Her presence was not for her own benefit; but at the behest of an invitation accepted by the Vicelord. It was important to the people of the Confederacy and thusly, truly, she could not refuse. Mercurial eyes followed the back of her Master and his black goddess before their trip through the entryway eventually gave way to a myriad of faces. Both friendly, neutral, and outright hostile. There were strict rules on this gathering but the young woman was steeped in a lifetime of habit. She couldn’t help but begin to disassemble those that they passed to their base parts. First, by affiliation. Then by threat level. ​

​

It was true that their weapons had been left respectfully behind. Their armor had been relegated to the joyful job of collecting dust; while their droid complements would spend the eve in standby. That was all true. It didn’t take away from the fact that there were individuals within this gilded castle that could rend flesh from bone with their bare hands. ​

​

They didn’t require anything, not a weapon, and certainly not the Force to do that. ​

​

The young woman momentarily turned her eyes toward Ariel Yvarro who seemed to be calling the masses to order while the pomp and circumstance of a Coronation March faded. A speech followed that seemed to have been well-rehearsed, but, from a place of good faith. A celebratory opening to what appeared to be an equally well-planned evening. Srina did not have the skill to speak in such a way until the circumstance required it. Usually, not until hounds of the nether were nipping at their heels. ​

​

That burden belonged to the Vicelord.​

​

The speech was neither too long nor too short and when the elegant melody that filled the ballroom rushed in the pale creature inhaled deeply. The Confederate Exarch would try to find some level of enjoyment in an evening of civility and courtesy. Try. Likely, with difficulty. She would find danger and warning signs everywhere she looked. Even as she memorized the entrances and exits. Even as the opening speech still lingered in their ears. There was no way to avoid that with so many influential individuals pressed into one place. The Rosewood Castle was a sprawling, rolling, feat of glorious architecture—But it almost felt too small. Briefly, her primrose tinted lips edged upward at the kiss of her mouth while Darth Metus took the Coronation in stride. Of course, he did. ​

​

“If you wish it.”, soft words, lovely and distant as dawn, would meet his request that his retinue find a way to busy themselves. Dancing, was easy. Better than playing the grand game of political intrigue and far closer to combat than awkwardly standing still. Silver eyes turned toward her plus one. He had been rather silent throughout their entry, but for her, it was a comfortable silence that could not be blamed. ​

“Would you prefer to lead?” ​

​

It was an offer that she made to few. She was headstrong and typically led everything she touched. Large, or small. Darth Empyrean had been absent for quite some time—Pulled across the verse by his own necessary ventures. They were a strange pair to behold. Too pale, too aristocratic, and far too flawless to be anything but fragmented within. Each had their demons. Such differences left them sharp, and effective, rather than stagnant. ​

​

“Or would you prefer to visit the amenities first?” ​

​

The typical hollow intonation that she held seemed a little less empty, though, her posture remained as it was. As if she were barely there and a strong gust of air might cause the mirage to shift and wink out of existence. The delegation that she moved with would know better. Maliphant, would know better. ​

​

Srina was as the room would expect of someone that seemed to have been poured into an evening gown. Harmless. ​

​

Totally.​

 

[Salamander]

“What are you doing here?” he called out to her once they were in the garden.

She slowed down as she crossed the green grass, her heels ill-suited for the uneven terrain, and seemed to realize there was no use trying to outrun him. The gates had already been sealed, and she was here as someone else’s guest, required to stay as long as they wished. “I was asked to come,” she answered coldly.

He already knew who had brought her, of course. She had managed to obtain a spot as the companion of the current ruler of the Empress Teta system, through some less than savory means no doubt. What he didn’t know—and what he was determined to find out, even going so far as to pursue an invitation from Vanessa Vantai in order to get in—was why she had gone through all this trouble to attend the coronation ball of a faction she had no ties to.

“There’s no need to be coy, Miss Hoole. I’m quite certain you came here with an objective in mind.”

“It’s none of your business,” she snapped, yanking off her shoes in preparation to run again.

Messala lunged forward and grabbed her arm. “Vanessa Vantai is here, in all her newly-deified glory,” he sneered, his tone dripping with almost gleeful mockery as he spoke of his Sith comrades. “Not to mention AMCO , who goes wherever the Empress drags his leash. That’s two people you’ve made enemies of gathered in the same place, and yet you still came to the party. Bad luck comes in threes, doesn’t it? Or are you not surprised to find me here as well?”

Inanna glared at him, her jaw clenched. At the edge of the garden, a guard watched them with keen interest. Sighing, Messala released her. “I heard Vanessa infected you with Sith poison,” he muttered. “Nasty stuff. Really gets the blood going though, doesn’t it?”

She spat in his face. While he wiped away the projectile saliva with his glove, she snarled, “I wish I could spit poison at you.”

“Enough of these theatrics.” He flung the spit onto the ground with a jerk of his wrist. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“No.” Though the volume of her voice had quieted to avoid drawing the guard’s attention, she was still seething with rage. “You’re the last person I expected to find here.”

“Well. Now that you’ve found me, what do you intend to do?” When she refused to respond, he added, “What is so important to you that you’re willing to breathe the same air as your former master, or risk bumping elbows with a man who told you he never wanted to see you again?”

She flinched from him. “Stay away from me, you snake.”

“Very well.” He wiped at his cheeks again, just to be sure. “I approached you because I saw an opportunity to speak in a civilized setting. Everyone has to play nice tonight. We can talk without fear and paranoia looming over us.” He held out his hand. “Will you walk with me?”

She still wouldn’t look at him, standing with her arms crossed over her chest. He took a few tentative steps, but she didn’t follow. So he lingered.

“Your Jedi hireling managed to capture Thetis,” he began. “I assume you questioned her. What did she tell you?”

“She told us everything.”

“That tells me nothing. Did she confess that I never asked her to abduct the child? I gave her power, and she abused it to serve her own ends.”

Inanna raised her chin. “She said you were responsible for everything, and she acted according to your orders.”

He shook his head, laughing bitterly. “I gave her a ship full of medical equipment and an opportunity to prove her skill as a healer, using the knowledge I had taught her. Oh yes, Miss Hoole, I am capable of healing with the Force. Shock and awe. Instead of doing as I asked, Thetis accepted a bounty contract from another Sith who was angry at Nimdok for plundering some tomb or another. That was why she was mixed up with Fenton, that bumbling con man she had to kill just to cover her tracks, and it’s why she abducted Nimdok’s daughter—to use her as bait to draw him out.”

“If she was only going to be used as bait, why experiment on her?” Inanna shot back.

“I was monitoring her progress. She needed to look like she was using the medical equipment, so she sent me false reports along with ‘medical data’ from the machinery she was using on the poor girl.” Feigning disgust, he threw his hands in the air. “As far as I’m concerned, Thetis is dead to me. Do with her as you will; I’m sure justice will be served now that your Jedi friend has her. But you must understand that all of this was her doing, not mine. I would never hurt a child. If I had taken the bounty on Nimdok, his daughter would’ve remained safe.”

Like any good liar, his concocted story was constructed from half-truths and carefully worded phrases that were true ‘from a certain point of view’. But he didn’t necessarily expect it to work on Inanna. Instead, he was using the fabrication as a test to gauge how much she actually knew.

Sure enough, she shook her head. “I don’t believe you. There’s no proof. It’s just your word against hers.”

“What’s so unbelievable about it? That I would send my apprentice out into the galaxy for a benevolent purpose? That I had nothing to do with the cruelties inflicted on an innocent child? That I’m not actually the devil incarnate?” He heaved a sigh. “Is it just because I’m a Sith? You were training to become one of us not too long ago. Surely you must know by now that we aren’t the ultimate evil in the universe.”

“I’m not so sure,” she replied, her tone cold and jagged as broken mirror glass. “Maybe you are. Either way, I’m sick to death of it all. You fething space wizards and your sorcerous ways—all of you see the galaxy as one big toy box, the people in it mere playthings for you to do whatever you want with. The Sith and the Jedi are both guilty, and they’ve been a plague on ordinary people since the beginning. If ever there was a justified reason for eugenics, it’s the existence of Force sensitives.”

Well. He hadn’t been expecting that. A timid little woman in a frilly pink dress telling him that his mere existence was a good enough reason for genocide… phew. This was shaping up to be quite a memorable evening. On the other hand, he knew in his gut that this was all a diversion, an avoidance tactic. Perhaps Inanna Hoole thought she was being clever, spouting off the most insane and unpleasant vitriol she could think of in hopes of scaring him off.

“I hear the Eternal Empire has a cult for that,” he commented, playing along. “Wardens of the Shroud, they’re called. Or perhaps you should leave our galaxy altogether. The Force doesn’t apply beyond our little cluster of stars and systems, as evidenced by the Yuuzhan Vong.”

“I’m strongly considering it, yes,” she replied blithely, as if she was merely discussing where she’d like to live when she retired. “But I have some unfinished business to take care of first. I still have to kill you and erase all your research so no one can ever mimic what you’ve done. I’m not going to stop until I’ve completely annihilated the Lord of Doubt.”

He couldn’t help but be impressed by her single-minded determination, even if it was being channeled in an unfortunate direction. Still, he could work with this. He got down on one knee before her. “While we’re here, why not give it a shot?” He removed his silk cravat, unbuttoned his vest and shirt, and tapped his exceedingly hirsute chest invitingly.

“You’re crazy,” she said, a slight tremor in her voice. “They’ve confiscated anything that might be used as a weapon, and there are guards and surveillance cameras everywhere. We can’t fight here.”

“You may have no weapons, but you can certainly kill me now.” Though she resisted, he took her wrist and lifted her stiff hand so that the tip of her middle finger was pressed to his chest like the point of a spear. “Your body is a weapon, Shi’ido. Harden and sharpen your fingers into a blade and pierce my heart. I don’t have the Force to protect me. End this, here and now.”

She was silent, her eyes wide with fear, and her hand trembled in his grasp. Seconds passed before she stepped back, pulling away from him. “This is some kind of trick.”

“No trick. You could have done it, but the guards would have come for you before my body hit the ground.” He rose. “Still, it would’ve all been finally over with. You would have stopped me.”

“Like I said,” she growled, gingerly clutching her wrist where he had touched her as if it caused her physical pain. “I didn’t come here for you.”

A cruel smile slowly spread across his face, baring sharp fangs. “Then you must return to your task, of course. Can’t stay out here with me all night. People might say we’re in love.”

Recoiling, she backed away from him, hurriedly put on her shoes and all but fled back into the comforting anonymity of the crowds within the castle. Messala fixed his clothes, then turned to glance at the guard who had witnessed the whole operatic scene unfold. With a wink, the old satyr raised his hood and checked his chrono. The entire episode with Inanna had taken less than ten minutes to play out, leaving him with some time to kill before his library rendezvous with the Ankhyptian princess in exile.

He glanced around the gardens, spying a lone female figure seated in an alcove, looking ravishing, pale and, somehow, tragic. His first impression was ‘vamp’. Might as well see if his conclusion was correct.

Walking among the plants, he made his way over to where Kassandra Distorith had ensconced herself. “Forgive me if I'm intruding on your solitude,” he said. “But I can’t help noticing you seem to be the only other person out here, while everyone else is inside.”

Stooping to pluck one of the jasmine blooms from the plant growing nearby, he bit the flower off, then let the stem fall from his fingers. From inside the castle, the opening strains of a famous waltz drifted out into the open air.

 

[Seraphina Corvinus]

Tag: Daegon Corvinus | Fevris Derzelas
Wearing: XoXoX
Inviter: Daegon Corvinus

Seraphina was gladdened to simply be named as the wife of the Viceroy of Thyferra by the Herald that greeted them after they left what she assumed to be a motorcade. She could not actually see the no doubt luxurious palace that her beloved had been called to but the high arcing acoustics told her that they were in a most splendid structure. Little threads of excitement ran through her while she held delicately to the arm of Daegon Corvinus . She almost didn’t hear him over listening to everything else when he started speaking but the familiar call of her moniker from his lips was easily grounding.​

​

“Will Lady Fortan mind? It is her party—Is it not?”​

​

Of course—Sera did not mind. She only worried that the individual for whom this gathering was for might take offense. It felt akin to not paying attention to the bride at a wedding. Was there some custom that they were expected to observe? Rules to follow?​

​

Innocently lovely features pressed into an expression of worry. She did not want to do or say the wrong thing. Not, here. Daegon had warned her that not everyone at the event could be considered a friend. Simply pardoned. For the night. “What if Ms. Fevris does not arrive?”​

​

She fluttered.​

​

Soft glowing wings were tucked tightly down against lightly tanned flesh. She didn’t want to accidentally bump into anyone. Not being able to see hindered her now more than ever because of the crowd. She could use her ears for a facsimile of sight—But it wasn’t quite the same. The red blindfold that matched the skirt of her evening gown was tied securely and woven into auburn tresses. Curls and little jewels fell prettily to frame a heart-shaped face. “You are correct. She mentioned it to me, once.”​

​

“Kolto also gives her difficulty.”​

​

The Minister of Commerce had explained that her mother had managed to produce something that hadn’t burned through her veins like fire. But, that it was of limited supply and hard to come by. “She worries…”, Seraphina began, carefully, broaching the subject. She still didn’t know exactly what Daegon thought about children even after a decade of marriage. She didn’t vie for it. But, she understood the concerns. “She worries that it is genetic. That if something should happen to her son; he will suffer as she suffers. Ms. Alessandra stated that he is a Prince by birth... And we both know what princes do…”​

​

They went to war. Conquered.​

​

His mother merely wanted him to come home.​

​

Seraphina identified with that. Anytime Daegon left without her, which was rare, she felt that nagging worry that something might not go as planned. Crimson skirts swirled while she reached for her husband and let her hand slip between the buttons of his vest, fondly, resting her form against his side. Not at all inappropriate. Simply, fond. This was his world. He loved to discuss business and make deal, after deal. She was simply gladdened that he took the time to explain things to her. Included her. “There is—”​

​

The diathim was cut off when a voice rang over chatter and her ears perked up to listen to a woman (Ariel Yvarro) speak. The winged woman liked the sound of her voice. It was confident, but not arrogant, gentle, but far from weak. The words she spoke caused Sera to raise both of her hands to clap politely when the noise rose. It took courage to speak like that before so many people. The adulation was deserving. She allowed Daegon to pull her away afterward, but she couldn’t help but notice how much less she could hear than normal. How much less she could sense.​

​

As if something was blocking her.​

​

“Do you feel strange?”​

​

She could only feel certain things. Certain people. The Vicelord stood out, among a few others, but also people that she didn’t know by the sound of their voices. ( Darth Carnifex / Darth Prazutis ) People she had never heard, never seen, but could somehow still feel. “Ever since we were picked up by the motorcade, I feel…Not myself. Not poor, exactly, but it’s not normal either.” ​

​

Sera fluttered again, concerned, but too distracted to focus on it fully. She didn’t know that something was dampening their connection to the Force nor did she even know that was where her talents partially stemmed from. It was all very, very strange, for a blind princess in a very pretty party dress.​

 

[Darth Elyria]

Tag: Darth Metus & Everyone else....​

Attire: Black Itchy Frock​

​

The edges of her tailored black frock ran along the ground as if it were a thousand shadowed tendrils dancing at her whim. Elyria did not like this place. No, it was not the building. It was not the festering wounds that mouth-breathed with impotence and false importance. It was the simple fact that she felt weaker in this locale. She did not like anything that directly interrupted the fount of sheer power that she drew upon. Her every step she took should make the panes of glass in illuminated viewports shake. As if a behemoth had suddenly crossed their midst and challenged their fragility into the sand from whence it had been forged. Back to parts. Back, to minuscule pieces.​

​

She had allowed Isley to entrap and tackle her with attendant droids to place powder and paint on her face. She had allowed him to choose the itchy fabric that she wore. He seemed to think it complimented her earthen tones and she could only look down in baleful disappointment at the sacrifices she made for his contentment. Did he not know how she suffered? Elyria, rather, Selene in polite company glowered while crimson lips sat in a frown that had been perfected for centuries. “I do not know why I must be dressed as such. It is you who must impress—Their opinion weighs less than sunlight to me.”​

​

Isley or Darth Metus or whatever name he wished to court was so jovial she wanted to tear his throat out.​

​

Only, it was a nice throat. So—She withheld.​

​

The raven-haired specter trailed down the steps with the Vicelord of Everything Purple and lingered at his side whilst he made his rounds and introductions were made. She squinted when a blow-hard at the door lambasted the guests with random gibberish and names that she cared not for. There was only one person in the castle whom she cared to know. She already knew his name—And he hers. This was redundant.​

​

Why were they here again?​

​

A young female near-human was kind enough to answer the silent question she asked the ether. As if sent by the nether to save her from the inevitable scolding she would receive for burning the itinerary rather than reading it—Selene could now pretend otherwise. What a nice, helpful, morsel. Woman. Person. Not food. She sighed as the clapping began. She was starving.​

​

Elyria was always starving.​

​

Hearing that the Vicelord intended to dance she shot him a withering glare before her hair rose of its own accord and wrapped around his wrist. The rather ancient, however, extremely well-preserved woman walked away long before he would notice but prehensile hair would pull him along with surprising strength. Whatever trickery had been utilized to dampen the sheep in this killing pen seemed not to have affected that. A pity, for Isley, and his possibly broken wrist. “We are dancing now.”​

​

“Next, we will give praise to the Fortan. Then we will find wine.”​

​

A lot of wine. ​