Junction The First Bastion Games - DIA/RNR/SO [ Empty hex/Iktotch/Kinyen

[Persephone Dashiell]

SPECTATOR SPORT

Persephone gave a snort of laughter as Mary mentioned assembling everyone under one roof to kill them. A small bit of dark humor she could appreciate from time to time. Given it was in such a setting, it made it all the more amusing to herself. Really if such a thing were to happen, then Mary would be sacrificed. As she knew all too well, not all fathers cared for their children.

"Pleasure to meet you Mary." A dark look went in the direction of the boy speaking to Mary, the one who first introduced himself to her before their little party formed. "I think those of us who desire to watch the Games are free to do so. Others, like myself and possibly Mary, have other pursuits to entertain ourselves with."

Wine glass in one hand, a finely manicured hand extended towards the newcomer. A keen eye told her this one wasn't used to navigating such a scene. It radiated in her being, her posture, even the choice of words. She had been that way three years ago, trying to navigate on her own. The others? It was clear they were quite used to the 'scene' by now.

"Persephone, by the way."

Lady Nightmare | Bastien Sal-Soren | Annis Riyaré | Thayze Montserrat | Diarch Reign | Dominic Praxon | Rocho | Caelus Vire // NIHIL​

 

[Dominic Praxon]

Dominic’s gaze lingered on the arena below as Rocho spoke, though the edge of his mouth tugged upward in a quiet smile.

“There’s a kind of wisdom in restraint. One I think you’ve earned, Centurio. Or Rocho, if you truly prefer—I find titles are most useful when people don’t yet know where to place you. They smooth the social fabric, like starch in old linen.”

He glanced sidelong, appraising the man’s posture, the faint resonance of long-lived strength wrapped in patience. There was no need to flatter a warrior. Rocho already knew his worth. Dominic spoke as one who simply recognized it.

“The Chiss do come to mind, yes. Readiness without recklessness. It’s a rare balancing act. My people—on Naboo, I mean—can be too in love with their ideals to prepare for anything less civilized. The mirror cracks when thrown.”

His fingers brushed absently against the side of his coat, where a slim comm buzz had pulsed not long before. He didn’t acknowledge it outwardly.

“I envy those who can step into the ring without hesitation. Not just physically—I’m not so naïve as to think a diplomat’s spine can match a swordsman’s—but spiritually, too. There’s courage in confrontation. In accepting that pain is part of the process.”

The crowd roared again below—someone had made a bold move.

“I think perhaps I spent too long learning how to leave rooms, and not enough time learning how to stand my ground in them.”

He turned now more fully to face Rocho, voice still quiet but a touch warmer.

“But it’s a comfort to speak plainly. Most conversations in my life are freighted with veils, riddles, and agendas too delicate to name. It's why I find warriors to be… oddly refreshing. You don’t tend to conceal your blades behind your backs.”

His head dipped slightly.

“So, if you'll allow the continued breach of formality, Rocho Krul—I’ll simply say thank you. It’s good to be reminded that conviction still speaks in clear tones. And that some truths don’t require translation.”

Annis Riyaré Rocho​

 

[Bastien Sal-Soren]

“Persephone, by the way.”

The name was offered—gracefully, in time—but it never landed. At that exact moment, Bastien’s attention caught elsewhere.

He had spotted her from the edge of his vision: the girl in the skull-styled mask. Gold. Unarmored. Unbothered. She carried herself with the casual certainty of someone who didn’t need permission to be dangerous. Her presence was a smudge on the scene—something raw amidst all the lacquered polish.

He blinked once, as if adjusting his focus.

A heartbeat too late, the moment passed. Persephone’s name drifted through the air like an unattended ribbon.

“You’ll forgive me,” he said smoothly, offering the group a refined nod, “but I’ve just seen something far more compelling than etiquette would allow me to ignore.”

His gaze flicked back to "Mary," lingering just long enough to soften the transition. “I do hope our paths cross again. You have the look of someone I’ll regret forgetting.”

He gave the unnamed young fashionista a polite nod, as he did with the young wine expert. There would be time to speak with them again, surely. With that, he turned from the group—not rushed, but deliberate. On his way through the crowd, he passed near a familiar figure clad in fitted black and gold. Caelus. Too poised. Too neutral. Too perfect.

Bastien offered a quiet comment as he passed, pitched low and airy like a joke not meant to be laughed at. “You observe well, friend. But if you stare too long at the masks, they sometimes stare back.”

And with a small lift of his glass in parting, he continued on—making his way toward the woman in the golden skull. Not to challenge. Just to understand.

Persephone Dashiell Thayze Montserrat Lady Nightmare Caelus Vire // NIHIL Roxsie
​

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Objective: 3
Spectator
Allies: Everyone

Iandre lived aboard the space station above Bastion. She had only left it a handful of times and felt the games below would be a good excuse to leave it again. She did not possess much, but she figured she could pick up a souvenir or two while she was watching the competitions.

Boarding a shuttle that took her down, she stared out of the viewport at the planet. During the Clone Wars, this was a Confederacy planet, and she wondered if there were any signs of its past left. History wasn't why she was here, though, and she thought about her future—what her place in the Galaxy was and where she was going.

The Diarchy was starting to feel like home to her, and she relished the warmth it brought. Her master played the largest role in that, and she was thankful he was the man he was.

The pilot's speech brought her out of her reverie and back to the present. Walking out of the spaceport, she was greeted by the sounds of multitudes, and she followed the noise.

 

[Cerys Dyn]

A shadow passed overhead. Heat. Motion. Blades.

Cerys stepped off the line—just enough for space to breathe. She rotated low as a strike grazed air beside her, sabers lifted in a tight defensive cross. Her boots shifted smoothly over the sand, body angled, keeping distance open but measured.

She wasn’t chasing control anymore.

She was holding it.

Another attack came—her sabers moved in response, one high, one down and to the side. Angles. Economy. She let the strikes come, absorbing them into motion, not into force. Stillness inside the storm.

“You’re not just testing me,” her thoughts whispered, “You’re enjoying this.”

She let the rhythm of the moment stretch—then altered it. A subtle lift of her arms. A shift in stance. Her guard left just high enough to open her centerline. It wasn’t a flaw. It was bait.

When the next pressure came, she pivoted, catching it on the inside and drawing it across her body in a sharp bind. Her second saber aligned instantly—not to attack, but to intercept, bracing as her footing locked down.

In the same breath, she exhaled. The Force moved—barely more than a breeze.

A pull. Low. Targeted. Just enough to slide a step too far, to leave a beat of imbalance.

Her saber snapped out in a short arc, controlled and fast, halting just short of contact. Her other blade kissed air just beside her opponent’s flank. A silent statement.

Cerys re-centered, boots firm, sabers lifted.

She was still.

And she was ready.

| TAG: Kivah |

​

 

[Caelus Vire // NIHIL]

Objective BYOO - Socializing - analyzing
Outfit: Fitted black suit with a golden trim on the barchetta pocket, black turtle neck
Tags: OPEN

---

[Internal Line] : Dominic Praxon - second son of Lord Ordon and Lenna Trozky, older brother, Vizion, on the path of a Jedi and his younger sister working within political circles. - Had not found the political life until later on, a rebel in the eyes of other social elites from a society that values lineage highly. - Intel over:

The words of the :Network: were seeped directly into Caelus's subconscious; in a display that could be seen as normality he instinctually looked towards the man, analyzing the words on repeat while taking in his features. Video recording through his eyes relaying the information for a later time. Caelus believed Rocho was doing an excellent job at breaking down barriers. The previously aloof Dominic was opening up in well fashion. A fine job done by a Liaison.

Staring was the first mistake in a hopefully long commission of work. As Caelus had been made by a passerby.

"You observe well, friend. But if you stare too long at the masks, they sometimes stare back."

: process, initiate, re-direct :

As swiftly as the man had approached he was leaving. If given enough time Caelus could have given a response. Something along the lines of dissuasion - "The people of Naboo to seem to be so beautiful" - Alas the moment had passed. - Instinctually, if not to only practice the discourse Caelus lifted his glass with a laugh and smile, A small wink to the back of his leaks head.

Internal: Update and adjust course appropriately.

Laughing with the other dignitaries at the bar he dismissed himself as having had one to many drinks and being perhaps to love struck with the fashion of these RNR officials.

It was simply an excuse to leave and move to the next section.

To recalibrate Caelus moved to where Diarch Reign was. Subtly attempting to open conversation with those around him and the barge by speaking loudly and deliberately. The man would know of his true nature and presumably act appropriately at his approach.

After some time, he found his way to the dominating spirit of the Diarchy.

"Lord Diarch Reign - Caelus of the Chancellery of Administration - I came to wish you a hearty congratulations on the event at hand." Caelus's eyes gleamed synthetically. As if speaking directly to the man in code.

"It has been fascinating meeting people of such culture as the member planet senators and royalty of the RNR. As I am sure you know I have not stepped foot out of Diarchy space. Who knew fashion, alcohol and subtle flirting could be the back bone of nation building." He let out a half hearty laugh "Of course to be fair, I have reports of Diarch Rellik doing the same." Shrugging his shoulders slightly as he spoke "Alas, how are the games for you my lord? Is there anything I may help with?"

Tags; Diarch Reign Lady Nightmare Bastien Sal-Soren Annis Riyaré Thayze Montserrat Dominic Praxon Rocho

 

[Briana Sal-Soren]

The thunder of thousands rolled across the arena as Briana Sal-Soren stepped beneath the Gate of Triumvirs, feeling the rumble of the crowds in the soles of her boots, the vibrations traveling up her legs and coiling beneath her ribs, settling into the rhythm of a heartbeat that wasn't wholly her own. It was that same relentlessly bright tempo, that magnetic energy, that'd once launched her up the podium stairs on Corellia's junior-athletics circuit, back when she couldn't see her future beyond the length of a sprint and a gold medal.

That woman, that younger version of herself, would have let the crowd's energy sweep her away — reckless and wild, and burning as hot as the engine fuel of a thousand starfighters. As a young woman, and the Grandmaster of the Shirayan Order, Briana had learned, somewhat, to temper that fire that burned in her, even now. Though, it typically smoldered low and steady as a familiar presence, rather than an unruly force. An ember, rather than a star threatening to go supernova. Typically.

But beneath the titles, beneath the formalities, and restraint, and ceremonial expectations, she was still a Sal-Soren. Still her father's daughter. Still the blood of Olys Corellesi, with the grace of Naboo woven through her in equal measure. And while she knew she had nothing to prove — part of her didn't mind proving it anyway.

The sand shifted beneath her boots as she crossed into the colosseum proper with measured steps, her spine straight as a rod and head held high. When she reached the edge of the arena, she stood still, tilting her gaze up to the holoboard and watching the numbers on the screen roll by until the board froze, locking the whirling characters into two sharp lines of aurebesh:

SAL-SOREN, BRIANA

— VS —

INDRA
​

A ripple of excitement swept the tiers; the announcer's voice boomed overhead, repeating the pairing as if the letters alone weren't enough. Briana felt the faintest hitch in her pulse. Not from fear, but merely that bright jolt of recognition, adrenaline. The excitement a racer feels when the starting gun is raised.

She turned on her heel towards the opposite side of the arena, the warm breeze catching her face, brushing soft, brown tendrils that'd managed to pull from her tightly styled bun, to face the whisper in the Force speaking to her of an approaching presence that seethed with a darker, focused sort of energy that passed through her core, but faded as she basked herself in the light of the Force. The warmth of that light washing over her, would be more than evident as the individual, whom she assumed to be her opponent, approached — clad from head to toe in dark, freshly polished armor. A single well-manicured brow was quirked at her. She looked every bit the kind of warrior Briana spent a majority of her teenage years fighting against in the last war.

But this wasn't war, and that, more than anything, made the moment feel all the more surreal - wrong. Facing a darksider like this, with rules and an audience. With decorum and applause. It chaffed against everything she believed in on a foundational level.

The marshal gestured them each to move forward and enter the chalk-white dueling circle, Briana reaching for her belt and unclipping one of the two sabers at her waist, thumb brushing against the emitter—but leaving it dark for now — training mode already dialed in. "Strange, isn't it?" she asked, her head tilting, trying to get a read on the small, faceless woman. "Usually when I meet someone like you, the stakes are a lot higher." She lifted her blade, brilliant blue igniting with that familiar snap-hiss, offering a respectful salute — the same as she would any other Jedi she might duel, not bothering to take up a stance just yet. "May the right path win."

OUTFIT: XoXo | TAG: Indra Quin | EQUIPMENT: Ligthsaber, Teyla's Lightsaber, Echo Stone, Astor's Dagger

​

 

[Lady Nightmare]

Objective: Don't blow it
Tags Bastien Sal-Soren Persephone Dashiell Annis Riyaré Thayze Montserrat Roxsie

---

Nightmare was a little taken aback by the immediate attention from the young Sal-Soren, as she hid a small blush she responded

"Mary is... a nickname.. perhaps when we become friends I'll let you in on the secret"
she said with a small laugh before turning her eyes to the other young woman that began speaking to her.

She bowed her head low, no lapse in decorum for the daughter of the Diarch here.
"I have to agree with you, I am here for the pleasant company, not to watch the games themselves. I guarantee you I will be given the recordings to review anyways. Seems to be the way things go with my father. Besides, I have a bias, I believe my sister is competing and I can't bring myself to root for anyone else!"

As the young man went off in the direction of Roxsie, Nightmare couldn't help but chuckle. She knew the other woman, she'd fought with her father when they brought down those tyrants on Bescane. If he wasn't careful the young Sal-Soren would end up as lunch for the fierce warrior.

Turning back to Persephone she stifled the giggle with the back of her hand.

"He'll need to be careful with her, Roxsie is beautiful but just as deadly as she is pretty.. anyways, tell me more about yourself! let's chat and maybe get another glass of wine!"

 

[Lady Shadow]

Objective: Have a good showing for Father
Tag: Yasima Zyntra

---

To say she was excited was an understatement. She had seen plenty of war, it came with the territory of being Diarch Reign 's daughter, but this was something new. Games, thought up by Laphisto , which meant there was to be honor and restraint. This was no war but Shadow was determined to bring victory to the Diarchy all the same.

As her opponent entered the arena, the young teenager stretched. She had swapped out her usual tunic uniform for practice robes. Still jet black with hints of gold (Couldn't get away from the house colors after all) she loosened herself up. Waiting for the battle to begin.

As her opponent called her blade to her hand, Shadow did the same. Her saberstaff igniting with the dual snap-hiss she had grown so accustomed to. The glow of the golden blades giving her confidence. This blade had served her in battle and against opponents much her senior, she hoped it would bring her honor today.

She performed a quick solute and then dropped into her form VI ready stance. Squashing her usual aggression and need to act first, she wanted to test the waters of her opponent.

 

[Roxsie]

Objective: BYOO. Just a social event.


Direct tags: Diarch Reign Laphisto Bastien Sal-Soren
Possible locational tags: Persephone Dashiell Thayze Montserrat Annis Riyaré Bastien Sal-Soren
[open]
Roxsie watched the event, so many people talking. So much going on. She had forgone some of her attempts to try and understand all of it, politics. That was just...so confusing. It was better to keep things simple, 'I don't like you, fight me!' seemed WAY easier. Or maybe 'Here I want it this way, you want it that way, so let's haggle out.' But hey at least these duels were looking pretty interesting, and she liked the idea of this naval contest too even if she always preferred her feet on the ground.

Her attention disengaged when she realized someone was coming her eyes, it took her a second glance to realize and she cursed herself for getting distracted already so easily. This was the risk of these parties! Someone could be an assassin at any time! He didn't seem like one though...but that was the whole point wasn't it.

Roxsie stood still for a moment considering, before adjusting her stance, not a combative one, so she could greet the young man. Oh that definitely had to be a noble. Ok, how could she avoid committing an incident without, "Need something?" that came out a little sharp but she didn't take it back, she glanced past him at the group she was pretty sure he came from and looked back, "I don't think I'll be the right choice for the kind of discussions you'd keep. Politics aren't really my thing."

Roxsie was now ever vigilant. She didn't actually think he was a threat, probably. But you could never be too careful! He could be hiding his presence, or have a poison prepared. But then that was the reason for the mask partly. Still, she remained calm...relatively speaking.

Phrik sword
Rebreather that is styled like a golden lower skill.

 

[Rocho]

BYOO: Observe and Interact
Direct tags: Dominic Praxon
Indirect tags: Caelus Vire // NIHIL Annis Riyaré

Rocho smiled again nodding his head at him in appreciation, considering the statement, "They may be used that way. In my mind, they help clarify a persons standing. But once they've been given, I don't think they're truly needed anymore beyond ceremony and formality."

"They have an admirable degree of skill and resolve. Barring offense, Naboo seems to have the latter more than it does the former when it comes to military matters. But that can be fixed in any generation. It just requires the choice." he shrugged, the comm buzz didn't distract him from the conversation, his eyes and senses glancing at the progress in the arenas. He'd remember these, remember their presences in the force, even those who were weaker. This one may matter, so it was good to keep him in mind too.

Another smile, or more of a grin, at talk of entering the ring both physically and mentally, "That's why you start with a hunt. Not a farm, where killing an animal is nothing more than ending a life. A hunt, where the prey has a chance, and you have to work for it. And where there's the risk, even small, that they charge you back." her offered it, an edge of predatory nature in his voice though he offered it as if philosophical or practical advice, "I don't mean people, to be clear. If you truly want to encourage your own resolve to stand your ground and push back, that's just my advice. Hunt, the more dangerous and elusive the prey or terrain, the better for you if you succeed. Or you can do it the way I opted for most of the time, and try and face them head on. But that also nearly ended me indefinitely last time so...take care with that."

A sense of humor met the mans eyes at the talk of hidden blades and truths, "I am glad to be of service." he said, with something nearing formal tones, "Though this may count as a hidden blade if you don't look close enough." he tapped the 'cane' against the ground, "But I am glad we can speak in open and honest words. Excess trickery is for spies and assassins. And preferably can mostly stay that way."

Outfit
The Beast (inactive, held like a cane)
t-7-vibro-brace (left arm.)
g-11-shield-gauntlet (right arm)

 

[Laphisto]

Tags Persephone Dashiell Bastien Sal-Soren Annis Riyaré Dominic Praxon Thayze Montserrat Rocho Roxsie Lady Nightmare Caelus Vire // NIHIL @


Laphisto had just finished compiling documentation and final notes for an upcoming memorial ceremony in the Hall of Remembrance. The event had long been overdue a tribute to those lost during the battle on Serenno. He had hoped to hold it before the Bastion Games began, but time had moved faster than expected. They were still counting the dead… and the missing.

With a quiet sigh, he rose and boarded a shuttle bound for the delegation barge. While he was attending the Games as a judge, it remained imperative to meet with the assembled nobility and VIPs from visiting factions.

When the shuttle touched down and he stepped into the viewing gala, Laphisto paused. His eyes shimmered with a brief pulse of teal-blue light as he scanned the room, subtly reaching out with the Force poking, prodding, brushing across the alignments of those present. The gesture was habitual, but it made his presence known to anyone sensitive enough to feel it.

A low rumble echoed in his chest before he cleared his throat and stepped forward, his gaze landing first on familiar faces. He offered a respectful bow to Diarch Reign , who was engaged in conversation with a cluster of delegates. Laphisto's tone was lightly amused as he addressed him. "Good to see the Games are earning a solid reputation. And to think we haven't had to arrest anyone for misconduct… yet." He glanced briefly toward Iandre Athlea , acknowledging her presence with a faint nod, before turning his attention back to the gathered dignitaries.

 

[Indra Quin]

The cheers from the crowd were a dull roar, distant and irrelevant.

Indra crossed beneath the Gate of Triumvirs as if walking beneath the weight of judgment. Her armor glistened in the light, yet it bore the gravity of Paschendale in every step. She had survived. Barely. And survival, she’d learned, was not the same as honor.

She didn’t expect the crowd to cheer for her. Nor did she want them to.

As her name solidified in bold Aurebesh across the holoboard, she didn’t flinch. The voice announcing her pairing—SAL-SOREN, BRIANA — VS — INDRA—echoed like a bell struck in bone. And yet, still, she walked.

Each footstep was measured. Controlled. Beneath her helm, her breathing was quiet and even. Every nerve focused. Every scar sealed behind layers of alloy and purpose.

She saw Briana now—open-faced, radiant in that way Jedi always were. Cloaked in confidence and the comfort of approval. Indra didn’t envy it. She resented it. That warmth Briana basked in? Indra had clawed through darkness just to be allowed to stand in the light’s presence.

Her Lord watched from somewhere above. He had said nothing of her failure at Paschendale. Not with words. Not with expression. That silence was more chilling than any rebuke. She would not give him reason to look away today.

The marshal gestured. Indra stepped into the circle.

The Jedi spoke. "Strange, isn't it? Usually when I meet someone like you, the stakes are a lot higher."

There was a pause. Indra's head tilted slightly, helmet betraying nothing. No answer came.

Briana continued, offering a formal salute. "May the right path win."

Still nothing. Then—click.

A snap-hiss of her own, sharp and clean, as a red blade ignited with precise, controlled movement. Not in mimicry. Not in mockery. In response. Indra lifted it in a salute that was not about honor. It was acknowledgement: I see you. You are a threat. I will not underestimate you.

Then she moved. Not forward. Not back. She circled.

Every step around the chalk-white ring was deliberate, silent, smooth. She made no flourish. No show of stance or spin. Just a measured repositioning, blade angled low across her body, defensive yet coiled like a predator.

This was not a contest of blades. It was the silence before the storm—the stillness between heartbeats. Two warriors. Two convictions. Two destinies on a collision path. Only one would read the truth in the other’s movement. Only one would act without hesitation.

And the one who faltered…would fall.

Briana Sal-Soren​

 

[Bastien Sal-Soren]

She didn't bow. She didn't curtsy. She didn't smile.

Bastien rather liked that.

"Need?" he repeated gently, the syllable curling like smoke. "No, not particularly. But want? That's always the more dangerous question, isn't it?"

He came to a relaxed stop, a comfortable distance away. Hands loosely clasped behind his back, posture easy but entirely intentional. His eyes—green and unreadable—glinted as they passed briefly over the golden skull mask she wore.

"I wasn't looking for a political conversation," he added mildly. "You don't strike me as someone interested in committee reform or procedural doctrine. Which, to be clear, is to your credit."

He let that sit, watching her for a breath longer.

"You looked like someone worth speaking to. That's all."

Another glance toward the arena where fanfare continued to rattle the air with smoke and light. Then back to her.

"Most here are trying to be something. You seem content just being."

He tilted his head slightly.

"I find that refreshing. Or at the very least... curious. Name's Bastien Sal-Soren...Corellia."

Roxsie @open​

 

[Dominic Praxon]

Dominic's eyes followed the duel below for another beat, but his posture turned slightly, an unspoken gesture of deeper attention.

"No offense taken," he said lightly, "Naboo has always favored grace over grit. We elevate peace so highly, I sometimes wonder if we forgot how we earned it."

He offered a small nod of concession.

"But you're right—it only takes one generation willing to remember."

At Rocho's talk of the hunt, Dominic's expression shifted—curious, not afraid, but clearly one for whom the metaphor was closer to poetry than practice.

"I've never hunted anything more dangerous than a lie," he admitted, "and even then, I've rarely brought one down clean."

A brief pause. He glanced to the 'cane' Rocho tapped, a knowing smile curling.

"Still, I understand what you mean. It's the chase. The awareness of risk. Knowing the terrain is indifferent to your intentions. That it could turn on you at any moment."

He hesitated then, as though weighing how far to press forward. But there was something about Rocho's presence that invited honesty—wary but welcoming.

"Truthfully, I admire men like you. You don't ask the world to bend. You meet it where it stands."

His gaze lingered on the arena, but his voice quieted a touch.

"I was never taught to fight. Not in any meaningful way. My family had other plans—negotiation, analysis, legacy." A small laugh escaped him. "I was meant to inherit a name, not survive a battlefield."

His fingers briefly touched the inside of his coat, resting where the broken commlink still sat, unseen.

"But life has a habit of rewriting you, doesn't it? Somewhere along the way, I stopped wanting to be what they shaped."

He looked back to Rocho, gaze steady but unguarded now.

"Tell me… when did you know? That you were no longer the weapon someone else forged—but your own?"

Rocho​

 

[Jairdain]

Objective: 1
Opponent: Lily Decoria
While she felt her choice made Lily curious, she was still happy. Even if she lost, this was an opportunity to learn and grow. Even a Master had knowledge to gain, and she was smart enough to know this.

Taking up a defensive position, she had her hands in front of her, slightly held in a clawed formation. Sensing the confidence of her opponent, Jairdain knew she was in for a challenge, even if she might have some unexpected moves planned. She had learned her fighting on Iridonia and carried herself like a Zabrak would.

Hoping to catch Lily by surprise, she attempted to grab the incoming kick and throw her off balance. As a follow-through action, she reached out with one of her hands to try and punch the underside of the leg she hoped she had a strong hold of.

 

[Jara Voss]

​

Jara Voss // Codename: Sunfire
Location: Ravalin Colosseum, Bastion Games - Upper Spectator Tier

Jara Voss stood at the railing of the third tier, wearing a silk-sheer wrap too light for the wind and sunshades that did absolutely nothing to hide her sideways glances. She'd already cataloged seven diplomats who thought they were being subtle about their affairs, three black market arms reps pretending to be "sport financiers" and at least one exiled monarch who hadn't received the memo that velvet is a dead textile.

But none of them were as strange as him.

There, moving like a chess piece guided by a very polite ghost, was a man she hadn't seen before - not in dossiers, not in side-briefings, not even in the ever-growing whisper network of diplomats and spies who were already gossiping about everything.

He was too smooth, too measured, too… rehearsed. Every time he spoke to someone, it felt like the scene had already played out in a rehearsal hall in his head. He even laughed like he had practiced the waveform.

She clocked the name when someone else said it. Caelus. Huh. Very clean. Very neat. Probably fake.

He wasn't looking for friends. He was tracking data. And he was good at it.

Jara leaned back from the railing, sipping from her mocktail like a debutante bored of the attention. Behind the gloss, her ocular lens blinked, zooming into the man's features, capturing biometric cues. He wasn't a politician. He wasn't a soldier. And he definitely wasn't just some clerk in the Chancellery, no matter how nicely his suit fit. And stars help her, it really did.

Caelus moved with a grace that screamed not of confidence, but calibration. His steps were measured. His gaze swept not with curiosity, but intent. Someone was watching through his eyes.

Her smile widened - like a flame curling at the edge of silk. "Oh, hello, mystery puppet."

When he peeled off from his task and bee-lined it toward Diarch Reign, Jara practically lit up. A figure who moved with the mass of an entire government behind his shadow. And this Caelus? He just wandered up like some polite dinner guest with a secret blade in his back pocket.

She inched closer along the upper tier, feigning interest in a conversation about hover-yacht tariffs while keeping her ears on the interaction below. His tone was friendly, deferential, but his words… a little too practiced. A little too dry.

Jara Voss wasn't sure who or what he really was— - ut she knew what she felt. And that was the itch of a new thread unraveling, just begging her to pull.

She tapped twice on her comm band, voice soft but edged with a grin.

"Sunfire here. Tag new target: Caelus. Unknown alignment. High probability Diarchy asset. Tracking."

Behind her sunshades, her eyes glittered.

Tags: Caelus Vire // NIHIL
​

​

 

[Zara Saga]

Zara Saga did not walk, she arrived.

She glided into the Ravalin Colosseum with the deliberate elegance of a sovereign who had no need to explain herself. Clad in flowing Diarchic silks, sun-gold over obsidian, the hem of her coat whispering secrets across the polished stone beneath her boots - she moved through the upper-tier observatory with a languid precision that made lesser officials scramble to get out of her way before they knew they were in it.

Her lightsabers, not concealed, but not exactly flaunted either. They were ceremonial today, like the tilt of her chin, like the polite smiles she wore like veils. Everything about Zara was by design, especially her presence here.

She leaned against the balcony rail of one of the private viewing decks, far above the masses. Below, the banners snapped in the wind, and somewhere, a dozen dignitaries tried not to make eye contact with her unless she initiated it. She didn't.

Instead, her sky blue eyes swept the plaza beyond the colosseum floor, half-interested, half-predatory. And then-

There.

Moving through the crowd like a thread woven clumsily through silk, a young woman emerged. Civilian clothes. Tentative steps. Hair tied back like someone who didn't know if they were planning to stay or run.

Zara's eyes narrowed slightly. Iandre.

Not a student. Not officially. But a hanger-on of some importance. Zara had seen her before, near the Crucible. Once orbiting her master like a quiet moon. Bastion's underlings all had a look about them - raw metal waiting to be forged or discarded. Iandre was still untested steel. But steel, nonetheless.

Zara turned from the railing and gave a slight wave to one of her aides - impeccably dressed, teeth too white, annoying. "Tell the venue steward I'll be inspecting the coliseum perimeter. Privately." She didn't wait for confirmation. Let them sweat.

A few minutes later, she appeared as if summoned, drifting through the crowds now with her hood drawn low and her aura politely dimmed, just enough to avoid spontaneous kneeling or whispered reverence. She stepped in front of Iandre with the timing of a stage cue, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, Zara offered a smirk. Just the edge of a blade.

"Well," she said smoothly, "they really are letting anyone down from orbit these days."

Her tone was teasing, but her posture was imperial.

"Iandre, isn't it?" Zara tilted her head, blonde hair catching the filtered sunlight. "You look… almost like a local. I take it you're not here to reenlist in obscurity? Or are you just hunting for a commemorative mug that says 'I Survived the Bastion Games Parade'?"

She waited, arching one brow. Behind her, a passing parade-drone caught her in its lens and lingered - golden light wreathing her like a crown.

Zara didn't glance at it. She was too busy watching Iandre like a cat who'd discovered something small and interesting.

Iandre Athlea​

 

[Roxsie]

Objective: BYOO. Just a social event.


Direct tags: Diarch Reign Laphisto Bastien Sal-Soren
Possible locational tags: Persephone Dashiell Thayze Montserrat Annis Riyaré Bastien Sal-Soren
[open]
Her brows furrowed and she narrowed her eyes at his initial response, "Sometimes." she answered. Technically she didn't entirely disagree but she wasn't going to say that outright, she knew full well a proper want for something was plenty dangerous, by the right people.

Relaxed, suspicious. No wait, that wasn't suspicious at all was it, these people were politicians and nobles. The whole point was to project some kind of presence. She knew she could kill, but all he'd see was someone with a mask and a sword....maybe.

She tilted her head forwards as she saw him watching the mask, waiting to see if he was going to bring it up. There was a simple answer, well, a couple actually. But he didn't. He continued, complimenting her lack of interest in the listed topics. He was right, obviously. But it was weird to be told that here. She stood fast, waiting for him to continue.

"Someone worth talking to" that made a slight smile. She wasn't entirely sure that there was interesting conversation to be had. But she'd hold off a little on judgement. That one. She shrugged at the next comment, "I'm not interested in impressing politicians and nobles. I don't need their money or their praise. Makes it easy to just 'be'"

The warrior half followed his gaze to the arena, before her addressed her again, she didn't recognize the name off hand. But she probably wouldn't recognize anyone's name off hand here. "Roxsie Nurran V'Trechen." she doubted he'd know her name either so at least they were square. Not like it was a secret now that she had an official job. Technically any potential crimes or sins associated to the name were probably mostly those of her parents anyway. And most of those were at least 10 years old by now unless her mother did something she didn't know about. "Of Diarchy. Or Bespin maybe. Depends how you spin it."

"So what makes it worth talking?" The next part came out half honest and half challenging. She wasn't sure what she was actually hoping for, whether a reason to tell him off, or a reason to actually talk. At least she could do something other than wander around this way.


Phrik sword
Rebreather that is styled like a golden lower skill.

 

[Rocho]

BYOO: Observe and Interact
Direct tags: Dominic Praxon
Indirect tags: Caelus Vire // NIHIL Annis Riyaré
One generation, and they could become a challenge. Good for them. Good for everyone seeking points with the scorekeeper. Except him, they were not enemies now from anything he gathered. So were off the possible target list. If that day came anyway.

He grunted, not exactly disappointed, but not surprised, "A hunt still...maybe a challenge even. But not necessarily the kind to encourage proper toughness of heart."

The man understood the meaning regardless, his lip curled a mildly amused smile at the 'admiration', but he only shrugged beyond that letting the smile fade again. The world simply was what it was. Dominic explained his own past, raised to inherit. That was a common story wasn't it. For many. Soldiers, farmers, and noblemen. Even pirates sometimes. "I wouldn't trade places certainly, though there is value to the role too. Even if there may be more than is needed to do the job."

The next question caught him by a little bit more surprise though, he stopped, considering. But it didn't appear to take long, "This is only the second time I've served a government properly. Not just as a mercenary or hunter. But it was probably when I saw the first, I could feel it failing, and that there was nothing I could have done to save it. " his eyes drifted into the past, "I'd fought on my own before. Plenty, but in a way I'd grown up and been trained by them as a Knight. Not a jedi knight mind you, not a sith one either. But when I saw it falling with no nets and no means..." he nodded, "That would be it I think. Decades ago by now....After that I was simply who I chose to be. I chose the Diarchy for my own reasons just the same, they suited my own goals well, and I was glad to accommodate theirs. Ideals aligned well enough."

His gaze returned to the present, and the man with a house, "Perhaps not a weapon so traditional, but I take it that means you've realized you're your own too at some point as well? Not the pen of the family perhaps? Or the holo-comm of the house."




Outfit
The Beast (inactive, held like a cane)
t-7-vibro-brace (left arm.)
g-11-shield-gauntlet (right arm)