Seasonal The Feast!

[Diarch Rellik]

- For those who prefer conversation to games the Academy Promenade offers a place of refinement amidst the revelry. Along the central avenue, under strings of silver lanterns and hovering lights, the Diarchy has arranged a continuous banquet that lasts from the festival's opening to its final hour.

Here, the air carries the scent of roasted delicacies, spiced desserts, and imported drinks. Waitstaff in Diarchal attire move gracefully between tables and lounges set beneath banners of the ten sided Star. Glasses clink, laughter rises.

For our adults and guests of distinction who want to do more private interactions, an enclosed section offers a quieter space to relax, talk, and enjoy yourselves, complete with live music, warm lighting, and beverages of all kinds. (Yes, there are wristbands for those of you enjoying the stronger drinks. Be responsible, heroes.)

The Feast embodies what the Diarchy strives for: unity, peace, and a place for us all to celebrate the people that make this galaxy whole. Here, strangers meet like friends, rivals share stories, and for one night, the only thing that matters is the sound of laughter beneath Bastion's single moon.

 

[Dragana Zagova]

It had been many months since Dragana had been in Diarchy space, and she could not have picked a better time to arrive. All Soul's Day was a time when she needed no guise to walk amongst people. It made her cold blood feel just a tad warmer to not need to hide her fangs. Though, a monster she still was, and that meant the feast was of no use to her.

No matter what they offered, be it roast bird or sugary delight, Dragana would deny the offer. Instead, she sipped at a cup of caf, it's bitter and acidic flavor the only thing she could stomach. She was a bit of an expert in the black drink, and what the Diarchy offered was quite adequate, pleasant even. She had to admit, there were many around her she wouldn't mind having a bite of.

That was the greatest concern for her, maintaining control over herself as she sat at the feast table. It would be so easy to grab a hold of one of the strapping young waiters and just feast upon him. Easy, yet the consequences would be more than just a chewing out from her superiors in The Order.

Now was the time to play it safe, to mingle and dance with those in attendance at the feast all. It would be better to be patient tonight, to see what might grow in the garden of the night! Revelry was always a plus of these sorts of events, getting to laugh with all of the partygoers was enough to make an unbeating heart soar.

"Darlings! I simply must thank all of you for the kind words! It is not often this old soul is allowed to feel so young!" Dragana said with a short giggle, speaking to some of the masked men and women in around her. Several of the men had complemented her "costume" for the evening...

 

[Lyssara Thrynn]

To open the ball, Nyva and I decided to make a statement with a synchronized dance. There we are, standing on a brightly lit stage, moving perfectly in sync with the music. It took us quite a few rehearsals to get to this result, but it was worth it. The Trident really helped us during our practice sessions!

On the dance floor, we spin, raise our arms, and move through a fast, fluid routine. The ribbons attached to our dresses flutter in every direction, adding a touch of magic to each step. We're having fun, we've got rhythm, and this duet meant a lot to us. It's our way of putting on a bit of a show and as a council member, it feels only right to help set the mood in my own way.

I'm wearing a purple and silver dress with Halloween patterns, while Nyva's outfit is orange and black, also themed for the occasion. If we're going to put on a show, we might as well go all in we really dressed to impress.

Every now and then, I glance at her she's focused, taking it seriously, but I can tell she's enjoying the moment. As the music fades and our dance ends, we head over to the champagne table for a drink. I raise my glass and wish her a happy celebration.

tag : open

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Remembrance"

Tags - OPEN

The fire hissed softly against the chill.

It was not a grand hearth — only a ceremonial brazier placed in one of the Academy's open courtyards, its white stone cracked by years of cadet parades and pageants long forgotten. But the flame burned clean, pale, and steady; its light traced the edges of the armor seated beside it, shaping reflections like blade edges drawn across glass.

Darth Virelia turned a page.

The book rested in her clawed hands, a battered Republic primer on Basic Naval Logistics. The diagrams were childish — fuel chains, fleet organization, resupply ratios — yet she read it with the stillness of someone reading scripture. Each paragraph was a fragment of a larger order, a discipline she had once dismissed as tedious and small. Now, in exile, such fundamentals felt holy in their simplicity.

Beyond the walls of the courtyard, Bastion celebrated. Lanterns flared violet and gold above the promenades; laughter and music echoed through the colonnades of the Sloane Academy. The air smelled of spicewine and festival smoke. Somewhere, children chased paper effigies of Sith and Jedi alike — equal parts reverence and mockery.

And she sat alone, surrounded by silence and ghosts.

The polished plates of the Tyrant's Embrace caught the light of the fire like living glass. The six violet eyes of her mask glowed faintly, half-lidded, watching the reflection of the city's revelry through the flames. Her every breath pulsed through the crystalline node at her sternum, runes flickering with each measured inhale. She could feel the rhythm of Bastion beyond the Academy walls — a planet rebuilt upon the bones of empires, much like Saijo.

Saijo.

The thought came unbidden, and the page stilled beneath her talons. The fortress-world of Darth Fury — the Tsis'Kaar's pet. Once the bastion of discipline and power she had sought to break. She had broken it. She had seen its towers collapse under orbital fire, its oceans boil, its people — millions — turned to ash. At the time, it had been righteous: vengeance against the order that caged her, proof that she could unmake what they called eternal.

And yet now, years later, she could not remember their faces. Not the officers who died defending their fortress. Not the civilians who had believed in it. Only the light of its burning — that vast, orange wound carved into the void — remained in memory.

Virelia turned another page, her claws clicking against the paper.

She had come to Bastion for diplomacy. The Dark Court needed allies, recognition, trade, perhaps even legitimacy. And yet… she could not bring herself to rise, to mingle among the costumed masses who sang beneath the hovering lanterns. The idea of celebration felt almost profane.

A world she had burned for defiance, and for what? To prove herself to a hierarchy that later exiled her? To spite masters who had long since turned to dust?

She could still hear their voices, those lords of the Tsis'Kaar, whispering of restraint, of hierarchy, of patience. And she could still see the moment she silenced them — with fire, and thunder, and inevitability. All so that now, years later, she might sit in exile, reading logistics manuals beside a ceremonial fire, surrounded by laughter that was not hers.

The violet eyes of her helm narrowed faintly as the crowd's song swelled in the distance. A child's voice shouted about ghosts and heroes. She closed the book.

There was wisdom in the simplicity of ships and numbers. Supply. Demand. Flow. Balance. A galaxy could not live on conquest alone — nor could one's soul.

She rose at last, silent as shadow, her armor whispering like silk and steel. The fire's glow caught her one final time, painting the violet filigree across her chest like veins of light.

 

[Helix]

Objective I: The Feast
Costume: Diarch Rellik
Tags: OPEN​

Helix had been a little surprised when he got the invitation, truth be told. He'd have imagined that he was the last person Rellik wanted anywhere near Diarchy space, after their last meeting. Civil as it had been, it ended with Helix being informed that he was considered responsible for the death of one Varis Oakertain, a close friend of the Diarchy's ruling body.

On one hand, Helix thought this a little unfair. He had perfect recall of every person he'd ever killed, and certainly would have remembered (and gleefully taken credit for) the death of the enemy commander on Serenno. Then again, that front of manor had been under his command that day. Despite rigorous review of his droids' photo-feeds from the debacle, he'd never managed to find who was responsible.

That was unsurprising. Battle was chaotic and unpredictable, and charting every possible event and variable was impossible, even for him. Not that he felt anything approaching guilt or empathy for the enemy. Helix could seldom muster anything but contempt for his own "allies" let alone manage to dredge up anything positive for a hostile nation.

Hostile to the Sith, he reminded himself. Not to Helix per se. He might wear the Order's military titles, fight their wars, and send their enemies running, but he was well aware that there was little glory (let alone gratitude) to be found in doing so. Only two, Lirka Ka and Darth Nefaron , had ever taken pains to make the colony-commander feel recognized for his efforts on the Order's behalf.

Both were doubtless doing so falsely, for their own ends, but that had been more than he'd been able to get from anyone else. Lirka in particular seemed to aggressively seek out his company, to no apparent gain. Helix couldn't pretend to understand what thoughts swirled in the Imperator's mad little head, but he could think of no one else who seemed to find him interesting to simply be around. To everyone else, he was a club to bludgeon their foes with, a terror to be avoided, beneath notice, or some combination of the three.

Helix had been a little surprised to learn that he wanted or needed recognition, but supposed it was just another aspect of his emerging personality. Deep down, it was nice to have other beings at least pretend to acknowledge what one did.

Chasing the newborn dragon of recognition had cost him countless credits and droids, the respect of the late Tsis'kaar, and the allyship of the Order of Wonosa. Was it worth it?

He still wasn't sure. That was life, though. One had to make sacrifices if one wanted to improve one's station, and Helix intended to make sure his station was inviolably secure. Inside and outside the Blackwall.

Which was why he had decided to accept Diarch Rellik 's invitation. The Diarch had been nothing but civil when they met, even respectful, so Helix had shown up to return like with like. In the interest of avoiding his rightfully-stolen credits winding up in the hands of an orphanage fund, he'd come disguised as Rellik himself.

Given the colony's near-flawless shapechanging potential, it had been an easy matter to replay his internal memories of their meeting and get every single detail perfect. It likely wouldn't fool a close friend or family member for long, but Helix flattered himself that it was as close a facsimile as could be found.

As an afterthought, Helix had attached a small nametag reading "Helix" to the front of his robes. Tempting as it was to use the Diarch's appearance to extort free drinks and food, he was here as a guest, and even he wasn't one to abuse hospitality extended in good faith. With luck, he might even be able to secure a greater foothold in Diarchy space. It never hurt to have a wide circle of friends.

 

[Zaytee]

Zaytee stared at the long tables in front of her without blinking, her eyes wide and her tail swishing behind her excitedly, making some of the less careful guests trip in it from time to time as they walked past the kiir visitor.

But she didn't care.

There were so many delicious smelling roasts, creme filled cakes, and freshly baked delicacies standing in tall piles next to colorful little drinks in weird glasses, bubbling yellow liquor standing in tall, thin metal cups, with some even having fruits dropped into them for extra taste.

So many delicious snack to try, and so little stomach she had...

Back at her home planet, foods like this were rarities. They had no time to glaze the meat in honey and fruitjuice, or to trade enough ingredients to bake a cake like these ones. Quantity over quality was important for her tribe, especially with how many people they had to feed with each rarely successful hunt, meaning that even smoked and salted meat jerky was enough to make them grateful.

So in the next second, she grabbed a plate without thinking, and by mimicking the others around, she picked the plate full of everything she could fit onto it from all the different kinds of meals, herbs filled oil from a fatty piece of meat dripping right on top of a berry pie and a piece of bread that was filled with sweet seeds, mixing together with the sugary creme.

The smell immediately made Zaytee's tail wag around again, smacking against the leg of the table, but without giving it a second glance, she happily hopped toward one of the open seats, putting down her plate and sitting down quickly.

Tags: OPEN

 

[Shade]

The promenade glowed in soft silver and gold, its lanterns swaying gently in the autumn air. Music wove through the laughter of Bastion's festival crowds, but beneath it all ran a quieter pulse the steady hum of conversation, of deals, of things left unsaid.

Shade preferred the quieter edges of such gatherings. Here, near the terrace rail where the silver lights met the dark sky, she could almost pretend this was neutral ground. Almost.

The scent of roasted spice and candied fruit mingled with the sharper memory of Naboo: wet stone, cold air, and the riverbank where she'd first crossed paths with Cassian Abrantes. The memory still had weight: his defiance, her restraint, the silent recognition between two professionals who understood the game too well to take it personally.

Now the game had changed.

He wanted to recruit her that night and she needed to think about it. Maybe she had an answer for him and she had agreed to talk. And tonight, the Diarchy's festival offered the perfect cover, just another pair of guests beneath the strings of silver lanterns.

Her crimson eyes caught the reflection of Bastion's single moon as she watched the crowd. No armor tonight, no mask, just the simple black weave of her formal wear, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal the faint marks of old charric burns on her wrists. The kind you didn't bother to hide once you'd survived them.

A ripple of sound in the crowd, the shift of footsteps, familiar cadence. She didn't need to turn to know he'd found her but her eyes shifted slightly.

"I wasn't sure if you'd actually come," she said, her tone smooth as glass, but edged with quiet amusement. "You seemed more comfortable when I was trying to drag you in, not invite you out."

When she did turn, the red glow of her eyes caught the lanternlight, bright, unblinking, predatory but calm. Her lips curved in something close to a smile.

"Sit, Cassian. The night's too pleasant for old grudges. And if you're here for my answer..."

She lifted her glass, the light flickering crimson through the liquid.

"You'll get it. But you might have to earn it."

A pause, deliberate.

"Fair warning: I don't join easily. What do you have to offer I don't already have?"

Cassian Abrantes