Public The Moonlight Masquerade [OPEN TO ALL]

[Isobel Serraris]

THE MOONLIGHT MASQUERADE

Ever since the first stones had been placed on the grounds of House Serraris, the place had always been destined to grow as a garden rather than a palace. Built on the outskirts of Theed, the estate's grounds were surrounded by plenty of merchant stores and of course endless gardens. At its heart lay the castle: a domed building of brass and sandstone, its faces covered by countless vines and encircled by flowering trees that stood an endless vigil. Yet tonight, they bore not flowers, but numerous lanterns and fairy-lights, guiding the foreign guests towards the grand entrance of the ballroom.

For weeks, servants and gardeners had endeavoured to transform the halls for the masquerade. Weaving plenty of flowers together into wreaths, which hung from the open balconies overlooking the dancing floor. Or to stitch the petals to a statue at the centre of the ballroom, depicting the visage of the older Lord awaiting his guests. Beneath the grandeur of the artistic floristry, there stood endless tables laden with fruits, desserts and pitchers with Blossom Wine produced from a nearby vineyard.

And as the first guests poured through the gates of the estate, the orchestra began to play their instruments, allowing various Neoclassical tunes to echo throughout the large chamber, varying from waltz music to the infrequent sonata.

Still, amid the warm welcome, none could deny the sharp blade at their side. For the multitude of guards stationed throughout the grounds (be it outside or within the hall) kept a watchful eye on any and all of the masked figures entering their sanctuary. For even peaceful events may end up sullied by the ambitions of the cruel.

After a moment, a raven-masked Lord stepped from the dais, looking down at his guests, clasping his hands together. A bright smile appeared on his lips, revealing the lines around his lips. "Friends, allies, and all in between," his voice carried a friendly charm, but not entirely without danger. "Tonight, we honour the victories and defeats that have coloured these trying times. Dance, socialise, and remember, both those we have lost, and those we have found."

And with that, the celebrations ensued. . .

THE OBJECTIVES


(Little note: These are but guidelines on what you can do, you may also do something entirely different. So long as it fits within the rules and does not devolve into violence.)

OBJECTIVE 1: THE MOONLIGHT WALTZ

Socialising
​

The grand hall of the Serraris Estate has been prepared for an evening filled with dancing, socialising and most of all merriment. With plenty of wine and other liquor to elevate the senses, it lays the foundation for a joyous night filled with gossiping, flirtation, or even veiled insults in a shared dance. The Orchestra shall continue to play their neoclassical waltzes throughout the entire eve, and the kitchens shall continue to replenish the banquet and wine pitchers.

And who knows what kind of scandals may yet blossom on these grounds?

OBJECTIVE 2: THE MEMORIAL GARDENS

Socialising/Adventure
​

The House Serraris is known for their floristry, but also for the elaborate memorial gardens. Some have speculated relentlessly about ghosts and evil spirits roaming these grounds, being the source for the family's rise in power. While others only view it as a serene place to cherish the memories of those lost to war or the threads of fate themselves. So for the ones not in their element in the ballroom, the labyrinthal gardens awaits them...

Spoiler: ooc

Should you desire to uncover the mysteries of the gardens, it is preferred to approach me about it for any sort of guidelines. Nevertheless, this objective is there mostly for personal stories to unfold.

OBJECTIVE 3: THE LIES WE SHARE

Spionage/Blackmail
​

With both friends and foes invited to the masquerade, the perfect opportunity for spionage presents itself. Listen in on conversations behind pillars or from the floor above, or fabricate lies to undermine one's opponents. The choices are endless, and who knows what lies may yet be brought into the papers afterwards. . .

As mentioned earlier, the main goal of this event is simple: HAVE FUN! I'm excited to maybe see rivals dance, allies navigate their way through the labyrinth of enemies, and just see where the thread takes us. There's plenty of room for personal plots to hatch or develop, so I won't be driving the plot forward myself, unless the event itself suddenly calls for it.

As hinted in the objectives, by the end of the masquerade, I'll be putting together an article/paper detailing all the gossip and happenings. After all, who does not love a little drama?

Spoiler: TAG LIST

Sibylla Abrantes Madalena deWinter Darth Anathemous Qyssiyana Braze Loomi Kitter Bitters Vexia Tahl Aiden Porte Lysander von Ascania Adelle Bastiel Marlon Sularen Judah Dashiell Jack Sandrow Lily Rhodes Reina Daival Kazian Blackwood Aerik Lechner Seagulls Domina Prime Aether Verd Acier Moonbound Devin Virell Connel Vanagor Corazona von Ascania Calyx Sundrift Eaton Waters Adrikobe Kellrule Pom Stych Tivé Alina Grayson Malcolm Ironmaster Daroli Spesto

​

 

[Isobel Serraris]

THE MOONLIGHT MASQUERADE​

Location — Naboo, Serraris Estate
Objective — Objective one: The Moonlight Waltz
Tags — Open
Paraphernalia — Outfit, Lightsabers (concealed)

Masquerades were an infrequent occurrence at the family estate, father had deemed it too risky, and yet as the guests poured through the gateways... Isobel could not help but wonder what may have convinced him otherwise. Was it brother's ambitions or mother's longing for Alderaanian customs? Or had another party forced them into this vulnerable position? Who might hold the answer... Yet when the orchestra began their performance, and the servants placed the elaborate pastries on the tables, those thoughts were dismissed and the sole conclusion reached her mind: the event had begun and thus the dance of intrigue and deception. . .

It was never her fancy; to lie, to scheme, to pretend to be someone you are not to achieve what you so desire. Yet being prey forced many a player to adopt a new strategem to survive. And while the guards may seek to hold a careful eye on everything, they could not put a stop to the verbal duelling and spats between guests. Unless it tragically devolved into more. Should that be the outcome, the Padawan still held her lightsabers with her, but prayed to Shiraya and all other Gods that there should be no need for violence to sully a place meant for diplomacy and festivities.

Most faces were unfamiliar to her, hidden behind masks that only covered the eyes or even full-face masks. Who knew what allegiances were concealed behind silks and gems, what secrets. Part of her was intrigued, the other was disgusted that this level of disguise was needed. Yet she too donned a mask all the same, and her father did as well as he held a brief welcome to guests and adversaries all the same. He seemed in his element, almost too much, the kind that made a shiver of discomfort run through her as she stood by his side on the dais.

Only when the Lord's dialogue had come to an end, did she try to approach the dancing floor. Try, for a hand found her puffy sleeves and held her back, forcing her gaze to land on her elder. "Do not stray too far, 'Bel. Even with our guards, we have still invited vipers into our den." Her father's voice was hushed, but commanding, demanding she'd obey. Isobel inclined her head in accordance, and felt his grasp loosen, until she was freed once more. Stepping onto the marbled tiles that composed the ballroom, she anxiously waved her fan near her face, awaiting whoever dared speak with her.

 

[Korda Veydran]

If there was one thing Korda despised more than silence before battle, it was silk.

The suit fit him well—painfully well. Tailored by someone with far too much patience and far too little understanding of what made a man comfortable. The dark fabric, trimmed with silver thread that shimmered under the lanternlight, hugged his shoulders like a restraining harness. Beneath it, the faint weight of a dagger nestled against his boot and another hidden within his sleeve—a quiet defiance to the evening's civility. The mask he wore, an angular thing of deep chrome, covered most of his face. Only the milky red of his left eye, scar bisecting it like a lightning strike, broke the illusion of refinement.

He stepped from the terrace and into the ballroom proper, the polished floor reflecting dozens of dancing figures and floating lights. Perfume, spice, and the faint metallic scent of wine mingled in the air—suffocating to anyone who'd rather smell ozone and carbon scoring. The music, though masterful, only reminded him of the eerie rhythm of machinery before ignition.

"Formal," he muttered under his breath, voice like gravel under pressure. "They said it would be formal."

Still, he moved with a predator's grace, his discomfort buried beneath the slow, deliberate poise of a soldier long accustomed to blending into hostile terrain. His gaze—one crimson and one pale—swept the hall with methodical precision, not admiration. The guards were too rigid, too obvious. The servants, too calm. The guests… too many unknowns behind masks.

He accepted a glass from a passing tray, more to appear sociable than to drink. As he turned, his attention caught upon a young woman standing by the edge of the dais, fan fluttering like nervous wings. Her attire spoke of nobility; her posture, of tension—an unease that mirrored his own, though she wore it with far more grace.

He lingered for a moment, then stepped closer, the polished heel of his boot striking softly against marble.

"Forgive me," he said, voice low, carrying that restrained power that could never quite be tamed by etiquette. "But you look as though you'd rather be anywhere else in this hall."

A faint tilt of his head revealed just enough of the scarred eye to catch the glow of the lanterns. "If it eases your burden—so would I."

He offered a small, humorless smirk, the kind that suggested he'd rather be discussing tactical withdrawals than waltzes. Yet still, he extended a gloved hand, both out of courtesy and subtle measure.


"May I?"

Isobel Serraris

Objective one

 

[Soliane Verd]

THE MOONLIGHT MASQUERADE​

Location – Naboo
Objectives – Objective one: The Moonlight Waltz
Tags – Open (notify me beforehand)

The life of an explorer featured many surprises, be it falling through a roof on your way in, or attending a masquerade to figure out anything about nearby treasures. One could never declare this life dull or repetitive, so here she was, donning a white mask and red robes opposed to the armour the Mandalorians had forced on her--while the weight difference was surprisingly pleasant, one could not deny how suffocating gowns could be. While others of the clan or faction awhole wore their beskar'gam and what not, Soliane was pleased to not be forced to do the same. Mayhap it was the liberties of being a part of the star corps, or she had willfully ignored not read some holo-message regarding this matter.

So as the gates to the ballroom opened, Soliane swiftly forced herself toward the nearest table with wine and pastries. Not even paying any mind to the chatter of some fancy lord. Not while the food and drinks were free, or on the Mand'alor's tab. Grabbing one of the chalices and filling it with the oddly scented wine, if it were poison, then she was pleasantly surprised about how floral it could smell. Immediately throwing the drink down her throat, as unpleasant as chugging wine was, and moving onto the next. For what celebration could even be declared fun when one was fully sober? 'Least not one Soliane had the pleasure to attend...

It only took ten or so minutes before she had lost a drinking competition, and was trying her best not to sway as she walked or danced(?) throughout the ballroom. Humming along with some song in her mind, while trying to find anyone she recognised along this mess of nobility and the fancy and rich type.

​

 

[Kiran Arlos]

OBJ: 1
Tags: @Open
​

The air was soft with perfume and candlelight when Kiran Arlos arrived at Estate. He could feel the hum of wealth and history in the air before he even passed beneath the flowering arches. The scent of blossom wine mingled with the faint tang of burning oil, drifting down from lanterns that swayed gently in the Naboo breeze. The guards at the gate eyed him, but his invitation seemed to go through okay. He had to think Makai and Persephone for that one.

He wore a mask of hammered bronze, half sunburst. Beneath it, his expression was composed, curious. Perhaps a touch of amusement. He'd been only to a few of these events to know that they were always equal parts diplomacy and theatre. He didn't know the Serraris family, yet that was the point of tonight. To listen and gain some understanding of a larger world that he didn't know too much about.

Inside, the hall dazzled. Chandeliers hung like constellations above, their reflections scattered across marble floors that shone as if they'd been polished by moonlight itself. Laughter fluttered like silk ribbons between the songs of the orchestra. Dancers twirled, masks brushed, secrets passed from one elegant hand to another. Kiran paused at the edge of the crowd, eyes wandering over the figures gathered under the lanterns. His mind catalogued faces, voices, the careful tilt of a senator's mask, the subtle insignia stitched into a noble's cloak. Information came to him the way scent might to a hound natural, instinctive.

He accepted a flute of blossom wine from a passing servant and took a measured sip. Sweet, floral, a hint of tartness at the end. "Goodness...." He coughed a bit as the end caught him off guard.

For now, though, he played his part. The wandering student, the quiet diplomat, whatever story he would make tonight.

Then, feeling the shift in music strings rising, the floor opening for the first waltz he turned, scanning the crowd once more. His gaze caught on a woman in a mask of deep green feathers, laughing softly as she adjusted her gloves. Another figure lingered by the balcony, their attire too muted for a mere courtier.

Kiran smiled faintly beneath the bronze sunburst.

And with that, he simply watched a night of silk and lights.

 

[Daroli Spesto]

Objective 2
Tags: @Open

It was a very strange day for Daroli Spesto, who figured he would be on his way off-world to the next problem. He nabbed the contract to bring 500 tons, a full load, of every kind of food and drink one could provide for a masquerade ball. There were other ships of course; he wasn't the only one, but he was one of the last ones. Fresh meat of almost every kind, fine wine and ale, several tens of tons of potato salad for some weird reason, and a bunch of other goods for a banquet to appease the tastes of every species that was ordered. By the time everything was unloaded, Daroli wanted out. While his ship was clean as was Daroli, he didn't want to be associated with the upper-echelon of society who would bore themselves with a masquerade ball. Shaking his head, he was looking around for the one to sign for his shipment. No signature, no payment. Daroli didn't want to play around, so he ventured to find someone to sign for his shipment. Every person he asked all shook their heads saying that they weren't able to sign.

It happens.

And so, after securing his ship, he ventured around to find a signature. He didn't want to go into the building, least of all the ballroom, so he wondered outside to find a servant or whatever to guide him, but as he found said servant, he didn't get what he wanted.

"Sir?! This is a masquerade event, you need to be in a mask!"

Daroli tried to explain that he wasn't a guest. No one like him were invited to these sort of things.

"My apologies, I'm just looking for someone to sign..."

The freighter captain never stood a chance.

"You need a mask. Please. Come with me."

As if he was a spy, under protest, he was rushed inside of the servant's hall where spare masks were to be found. A pink mask with crimson trim with a pink feather was placed on his face. This was too much for Daroli, who was tempted on drawing his lightsaber.

"Stop, stop, stop, please, stop."

There was a pregnant pause.

"I am not here as a guest, I do not have an invitation. I'm the freighter pilot who brought in the last shipment. I need someone to sign for it."

Finally, everything dawned, and a deep understanding was held between the two.

"No invitation? Oh dear. Come. Come with me. Please."

"Wait!"

Again, Daroli was rushed into another place, this time to what looked like the gardens. The servant looked at Daroli, seeing that they were far enough from the nobility and various aristocracy.

"Please wait. I will find someone who can help you. It might take a while. Please, enjoy the fruits of your labor."

And with that, the servant left. Taking a deep breath, a waiter came up to him with a glass of wine. Sighing, he put on a brave face and he willingly accepted the glass. When the waiter left, he looked around and decided to make the best use out of his situation. He was a Jedi Knight, and he was trained in this kind of situation. He nodded to several guests who wanted to enjoy the gardens, deep down though, he wanted nothing more than a signature and a new job.

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

Darkest-sider disguised as a young girl, donning destructive Potions hidden within crystal buttons sewn about her dress.

Word came to the Matriarch during scrying, straight from the jinn slaves of the Nether World,

'The one who came to establish domicile upon Dathomir is planning to attend a public event.'​

Disguised as a partygoer, the Nightsister, wife number 13 to the Dark Lord Carnifex of the Kainate brought the entire Wanica Coven along to play, encompassed within the depths of her soul, 13 Matriarchal ancestors unified, living as one, sharing all as one single entity, passions, knowledge, Will…

A perfect invitation comprised, perhaps even stolen and doctored, she did not even bother to inquire of its presentation, but it certainly was not written out with her attendance in mind. As always when she walks amongst the public at large, she donned the disguise of a young girl, innocent, lively, quirkiness expected; for the Nightsister is an oddball considering all of humanity amongst the galaxy.

She may have hid her true face, one of the most notorious amongst the Nightsisters, her feared magickal abilities no longer worn upon her shoulders labeling her a target. Besides her unusual nature she simply cannot comprehend how much she stands out among the crowd, her magickal transformation cannot conceal the prominent malicious gaze, emanating from her blackened soul through her vibrant colored eyes. Nor could her magick begin to conceal the most distinctive drawl of her native tongue, one which most nobody anywhere ever can pinpoint to Dathomir, for simple fear of ever stepping foot upon the land which itself fights back against trespassers.

As she entered, where most seemed enthralled at the lavish decoration, this Nightsister remained intent on one thing, the jinn who whispered to her, commanded to point out the one she seeks to study, known as Aether Verd .
​

 

[Josiah Denko]

SERRARIS ESTATE, THEED
The Moonlight Waltz

The music was soft, but the memories were loud.

It had been years since Josiah Denko had set foot in a hall like this. Years since he’d stood beneath chandeliers that shimmered like the stars he’d abandoned, or watched nobles spin in silks and perfumes while the weight of the galaxy pressed quietly against his mind. Yet here he was, a man once tempered by war and scarred by conviction, moving through the gathered crowd like a ghost that had finally remembered how to live.

Once, he had called himself a crusader. A weapon of the Light, forged by faith and fire. He had believed the Force to be something pure, a flame that burned away the corruption of the Dark. But zeal was its own corruption, and in his hunger to destroy the shadow, he had become a mirror of it. That hunger had driven him to ruin, and the ruin had driven him into silence. Solitude. For years, his only company had been the hum of meditation and the steady beat of his heart as he fought to master the storm within.

He might have stayed in that exile forever, had the stars not called him back.

The Empire had returned, and with it, the shadow of another Death Star, a symbol of tyranny reborn. He could not, in good conscience, remain still while such darkness moved unchecked. And so he had come home. To Naboo. To the marble corridors and emerald hills. To a family that had thought him long vanished. He had rejoined the Order, quieter now, tempered by age and failure both. The fire had not gone out, but it burned cleaner.

Tonight, that flame led him here. To the estate of House Serraris. To the masquerade thrown by a young woman the Council had seen fit to name his Padawan. He had yet to meet her, the Lady of Serraris, child of gardens and moonlight, but he intended to change that before the night was done.

He moved through the hall in measured steps, a silent figure in simple robes. The only ornament he wore was a mask of silver and black that covered his eyes and nothing more. The lower half of his face remained bare, and those who had known him before his seclusion would know him still. The Denko name carried weight on Naboo, even if he no longer cared for titles.

For now, he lingered at the edge of the dance floor. Lanternlight played across the brass and sandstone walls, flickering like old memories, and the hum of conversation rolled through the chamber like a tide. His gaze swept over the swirling masks and painted smiles, searching for a presence that might feel like dawn breaking through shadow, the young Light he was meant to guide.

And in that quiet search, there was a trace of something else. Not quite peace. Not quite restlessness. A faint, hard-earned balance, as though the man himself had learned at last to walk between the two.​

Isobel Serraris + Open​

 

[Devin Virell]

Acier Moonbound ​

The limospeeder wasn’t exactly his style, but he wasn't entirely against it either. It looked like it belonged to a Hutt crime Lord. But then again, perhaps that was the appeal, something to prove that he was more than just another broke pilot, capable of the big leagues. Either way, he scored it fair and square with leftovers from a Sabacc game on Ord Mantell.

And he drove it like he drove anything else. It wasn’t built for combat runs, but he treated it like one.. hands steady, eyes forever scanning, shoulders loose but ready. The hum of the repulsorlift was oddly comforting, like the cockpit of his X-Wing. He leaned into each turn as though it were another blockade run.

Different mission, same muscle memory.

The windows were down. From the dash, the Holonet feed pumped out a track with a heavy bassline.. nothing elegant, but definitely something to keep the nerves steady, something to get his mind right.

He decided to park a little further down the street. No sense in drawing more eyes than necessary, but he didn't bother cutting the engine just yet. Devin glanced down at himself. Black suit.. rented, of course. Too poor to buy one, and definitely too practical to care. One stain of wine or a drop of blood, and that deposit was forfeited.

His chosen mask was nothing more than a modified flight helmet, only now the visor had been tinted black, carrying its own kind of mystery. The ink crawling up his neck was impossible to hide, but he didn’t bother trying. They were part of him, same as the other scars from Coruscant.

Drumming his fingers against the handle, he looked to the space wizard in the passenger seat.

“You clean up alright, Ace. Almost convinces me that you don't spend all your free time meditating.”

The limo’s doors hissed open and Devin stepped out, boots hitting the cobblestones with a thud. Adjusting his collar, he turned his head toward the estate, observing the many guests arriving. Then he glanced back at his friend, and for just a second, there it was.. a flash of pearly white teeth.

“Subtle.”

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Location: Enclosed Speeder
Nearing House Serraris Estate
Aurelian Veruna

The hum of the speeder softened as it approached the sweeping archway of House Serraris's estate, the gentle thrum fading beneath the distant music and laughter carried on the evening air. Sibylla adjusted the fall of her skirt once more, fingertips grazing the cream Karlini silk as it settled in graceful folds about her legs. The fabric shimmered faintly under the glow of passing lights, soft as moonlight and twice as unforgiving to any wrinkle. Satisfied, her gloved fingers gave one last smoothing pass before she lifted her gaze to the man seated across from her.

"Well," she began, the faintest curl of humor tugging at her lips, "I'd say you look very handsome, but I'm certain you already know that."

The tease lingered with the upward curve of her lips as she reached for the gold-embossed mask beside her, vines and grape clusters winding together in intricate filigree. She turned it in her hands once before letting a quiet chuckle slip past her lips.

The gown she wore was simple by court standards, though no less elegant. Cream silk, off the shoulder, leaving her skin pale and luminous beneath the soft interior glow. Only a single cameo pendant rested against her collarbone, and her rich chestnut hair had been left loose to fall in gentle waves down her back. There was no diadem, no sash of office, nothing that screamed her title. Tonight, she was not the Voice of the Royal Houses, nor the interim Queen of Naboo.

Just another guest behind a mask, free to dance and breathe without the weight of politics pressing down upon her.

Masquerades always thrilled her in quiet ways. There was freedom in anonymity, in the game of pretending, in the unspoken challenge of recognizing someone not by their titles, but by their manner, their eyes, their voice. It was a kind of honesty few understood.

Her gaze, however, lingered on Aurelian a moment longer. It was rare to see him stripped of the vibrant finery that so often marked his station. The dark spidersilk suited him far too well, hugging the lines of his frame in a way that made restraint seem deliberate rather than modest. From the sweep of his curls to the faint gleam of polished shoes, he looked every bit the mystery he was, a man who could step into shadow or spotlight with equal ease.

"Such an air of mystery and mystique," she said with a wry lift of her brow at his dark burnished mask, lips curving into a smile that carried more warmth than formality. "I daresay you'll still turn plenty of heads even with that mask of yours, Aurelian."

 

[Domina Prime]

​

I'm Kind of a Misfit, I Don't Hide My Religion
Probably Going To Hell Cause I Told God I'm A Witness

Regalia of Ha'rangir
OBJ 1​

The chandeliers of House Serraris shimmered like captured suns, scattering gold and violet light across the ballroom's marble floor. Silks swayed, laughter rang, and beneath it all hummed the faint percussion of Naboo's orchestral elegance, too refined, too delicate, for someone like her.

Dima was going to have a fit.

The Warpriest Prime of the Iron Citadel, Mad Menace of Mandalore, saint of slaughter...was wearing a dress. A long one.

The gown clung in all the wrong places, at least by her estimation. The slit that ran up her thigh felt positively scandalous, and the shimmering violet fabric looked like it might cry if it ever saw a battlefield. She stood before a decorative vase taller than her waist, using its glossy surface as a makeshift mirror, trying to flatten imaginary wrinkles that weren't even there.

"It's okay, girl," she whispered to herself, tail flicking in barely contained frustration. "You look just like a princess."

She tried a smile. Then a smirk. Then a predatory grin that probably looked more at home on the battlefield than a ballroom.

"See? Totally normal. Regal. Adorable. Nobody suspects the warlord," she murmured, giving herself a little spin-

SMASH.

Her massive tail whipped around and obliterated the priceless vase into a thousand glittering shards.

The orchestra faltered. Dozens of masked heads turned toward the sound. Dima froze mid-spin, claws still raised daintily, her masked face staring blankly at the mess as if sheer willpower could undo the damage.

"O-oh...sugarsnaps," she squeaked.

And then, in a move of pure chaotic brilliance, she folded all four hands behind her back, whistled innocently, and used her tail to sweep the shards under the nearest rug. She even lifted the corner of it and gave a satisfied little nod when the fragments disappeared.

"Perfectly fine," she muttered under her breath. "Flawless execution. No witnesses. No evidence. The gods would be proud."

Then she waltzed away, stiffly, like a criminal pretending to be part of the marching band.

"Dima!"

She yipped. Actually yipped, spinning around so fast she nearly tripped on her own gown.

"I ain't break nothin'! Whatever it was, it wasn't me!" she blurted.

Her fellow Mandalorian, a tall, amused warrior wearing a wolf mask stood there holding two crystalline glasses of Blossom Wine. He looked at her with the kind of expression one reserves for a wild creature caught sneaking bread off a banquet table.

"Relax, Lady Prime," he said, extending a glass toward her.

"Oh. Oh, right. Yes." She took the drink with all the nervousness of someone handling a live grenade, peeled her mask just enough to sip, then threw back the entire thing in one go.

"That's the stuff," she coughed, then, in an act of inspired subtlety, placed the empty glass exactly where the vase had been destroyed. "See? Decor restored."

Her comrade blinked. "...You replaced an antique with a cup."

She gave him a sly little nudge with her elbow. "Pssst. Be honest with me, I look as pretty as these fancy noble girls, right?"

He blinked again. "You...what?"

She leaned closer, eyes gleaming behind her mask. "Don't play coy. I'm stunning, right?"

He tried not to laugh. Tried very, very hard. "...Yes, Dima. You're the prettiest of the girls."

Dima beamed. Her tail flicked happily as she preened, claws toying with her hair in bashful little curls. "Heh. I knew it. The gods did bless me. Beauty forged in blood and sanctified by holy warfare~"

She paused mid-giggle, scanning the ballroom like a predator among songbirds. "YOU THERE! Cute boy, come here~"

A young noble froze mid-step, blinking, pointing at himself in horror.

"Yes, you," Dima purred, gesturing with a claw that looked far too capable of bisecting a person to be inviting. "Don't be shy, I don't bite, unless I'm bored."

The poor man hesitated, caught between terror and fascination.

Her Mandalorian companion sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his mask. "Warpriest, please don't start a duel at a masquerade."

Dima just grinned wickedly. "Oh, hush. I'm being sociable!"

And for the first time that night, the Warpriest Prime, breaker of crusades, herald of flame...actually fit in.

Sort of.

Her laughter rose like music, mingling with the orchestra, bright and untamed, the sound of a creature trying to learn the dance of gentler worlds.

O P E N​

 

[Aether Verd]

SERRARIS ESTATE, NABOO
The Moonlight Waltz

It was not often that Mand'alor the Iron left the anvil of his Empire. The forge-worlds, the halls of his warriors, the duties of the crown upon his head...these were where he belonged. Yet diplomacy was its own battlefield, and in recent months, the High Republic had proven itself a partner worthy of the blade’s edge. For that reason, when House Serraris extended an invitation to its masquerade, it did not fall upon deaf ears. It was a chance to show the Republic that Mandalore could stand beside them in peace as surely as in war.

Truth be told, Aether had been on the fence about attending. He had no love for noble dances or whispered politics. But the spirit of strengthening their bond, and a promise owed, had drawn him here. There was someone he had not forgotten. A woman who had fought beside him when lives hung in the balance, when Mandalorians and citizens alike faced ruin. She had shown courage without the shield of armor, and such things, Aether remembered. He had told her once that they would share tea, a simple vow that now found its place beneath the golden lights of Naboo.

Thus, the Mand’alor arrived.

He came without procession, but subtlety was impossible. Even among the masks and silks, he could not vanish. The beskar’gam he wore was unlike any other he had ever donned, a suit forged not for battle but for ceremony. Its plating shone with a deep cobalt hue, like the last breath of twilight before nightfall, and was traced with fine veins of gold that caught the light as he moved. The armor was sleek and seamless, every curve polished, every mark deliberate. Upon his shoulders draped a grand cloak of black and crimson that flowed almost to the floor, the mythosaur sigil stitched upon its back in glimmering thread. It was armor fit for a king at court, still capable of protection but clearly not intended for war. The warrior in him felt exposed, yet the symbol of Mandalore gleamed all the same.

When he entered the ballroom, the sound of the orchestra rolled over him like a tide. Lanternlight flickered upon brass and marble, casting reflections in his visor as he swept his gaze across the room. He saw familiar faces among the guests: Sol, ever the explorer, standing near the edge of the crowd; Korda, whose posture betrayed the readiness of a soldier even beneath fine cloth; and Domina, his executioner, her presence sharp enough to cut through the perfume and laughter. To each, he gave a silent nod, a brief acknowledgment between kin far from home.

Then, with deliberate steps, he moved deeper into the crowd. Beneath the veil of lights and laughter, he searched for her, the one to whom he owed that cup of tea.​

Persephone Halcyon , Soliane Verd , Korda Veydran , Domina Prime , Pom Stych Tivé + Open​

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

The Moonlight Masquerade
​

Location -- Naboo, Serraris Estate

Objective -- Objective One: The Moonlight Waltz

Attire -- Mask | Dress

Tags -- Soliane Verd | Open

---

She could almost pretend this was another ball thrown by CorSec--or one they needed her undercover at. Adelle listened politely to their masked host as he welcomed in the guests and began the festivities. Sparkling chandeliers brought elegance to the halls while flickering lanterns threw warm light against sandstone walls. She threaded her way through the crowd, playing polite with the nobility present. As a Mandalorian Knight, it had been her thought to attend and perhaps shift the perceptions of the Mandalorian Empire for the better. Show that they knew more than just warfare.

Although that was probably wishful thinking.

A man with a bronze mask and a sharp, observant presence ( Kiran Arlos ) milled about with purpose. Another older gentleman with a tempered presence ( Josiah Denko ) watched the dancers going through their steps, skirts swirling in synchronicity with the music. Adelle herself headed for the generously laden tables, taking a champagne flute. Something shattered across the vast hall, causing a brief pause in the music before the musicians dutifully resumed. Even from here, Adelle could see Warpriest Prime ( Domina Prime ) doing her best to fit in among the finery. She did wince though, thinking about the price of whatever had been shattered.

A woman shorter than her--surprisingly--with dark hair and a white mask walked through the crowd. She seemed familiar but Adelle couldn't put her finger on why. Adelle causally made her way towards the woman. Might as well try to be friendly. And possibly figure out why she seemed familiar.

"Good evening," she said. "I was hoping to find an interesting conversation partner tonight. Would you join me?"

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Naboo - Serraris Estate

Equipment:
Masquerade Attire | Lightsaber (hidden)

MOONLIGHT WALTZ​

Ace watched Theed drift by, chin resting against his palm, eyes half-lidded in the reflection. He'd been quiet most of the ride. Not brooding exactly, just hollow. Recent weeks had left something brittle in him, and no amount of meditation or field work with the Path had filled it.

He caught his reflection again in the glass: same freckles, same scar, same eyes that once burned with direction and now just… didn't. He felt like a shell walking around in borrowed skin.

Ace had thrown something together that looked "smart" enough to pass inspection. Functional, not fancy. The masquerade had been the last thing he wanted. But Aether Verd had insisted, doing that big-brother thing where concern sounded like an order. The Mand'alor had told him to get out of his head for one night.

Now, he was here with Devin. Representing the Path, maybe. Ace sighed, rubbing a thumb along the edge of his beskar mask resting on his knee. The bass from the dash thumped beneath the hum of the repulsorlift. Devin's music.

When Devin threw the backhanded compliment, he might've smiled if he hadn't been so uninterested in everything tonight. But the mask of boredom cracked just enough to let the faintest grin through.

"And you almost convince me that your helmet-visor counts as formal wear. Nice suit, though." He fired back, nodding toward the modified flight gear Devin had the nerve to call a mask.

The limo eased to a stop. As the door hissed open, Ace straightened, sliding the mask over his face. He stepped out first, then sighed.

At the foot of the stairs, Ace paused. Beneath the hum of strings and chatter, he felt it... the Force gently brushing against his senses. Familiar threads in a crowd of strangers. One was steady, calm, anchored in a way that pressed against the hollow inside him; it grounded him before he could name it - Aether was already here.

The other presence was sharper, lighter, carrying that same warmth he'd once only found on the lakes of Naboo. It hit him like a heartbeat he didn't know he'd been missing. It was Sibylla Abrantes . Small galaxy.

Then, with the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth, he tilted his head toward the grand entrance. "Alright, Flyboy." He said quietly, voice just above the violins. "Let's see how long it takes for us to get into trouble."

And with that, he started up the steps, a shadow born of the streets walking straight into a hall of mirrors.

Devin Virell | OPEN​

 

[Aiden Porte]

OBJ: 2
Memorial Gardens
Tags: Open
​

The night air around House Serraris shimmered with the glow of celebration. Naboo's moon hung high above the Theed countryside, their light mingling with the cascade of lanterns that adorned the estate's sweeping gardens. Music swelled from within the domed halls, flowing outward through open balconies and across the perfumed air like a living tide. The scent of lilac and spice mingled with that of candle wax and Blossom Wine, carried on a soft evening breeze that stirred the petals scattered along the marble steps. Every flicker of light seemed to catch upon silk and metal alike masks and jewelry glimmering like stars adrift in the sea of the ballroom.

The structure itself House Serraris had always been more than mere stone. The sandstone domes reflected the warm gold of torchlight, and the brass filigree woven into its doors seemed to breathe with the life of the gathering. Once the private seat of a Naboo noble line, tonight it had been remade into a living monument to opulence and diplomacy. Beneath the grand archway, servants in pale uniforms moved in perfect rhythm, guiding new arrivals across mosaic floors depicting ancient victories and celestial constellations. Each guest was greeted with a polished glass of Blossom Wine and a faint smile before being ushered toward the heart of the revel.

Within the ballroom, splendor had been raised to art. The ceiling an enormous fresco of spring's rebirth caught the light of a thousand flickering orbs that hung like suspended stars. The statue of the elder Lord Serraris stood at the center of it all, adorned with a garland of white roses and gold filaments. The faces of the dancers blurred together behind their masks: foxes, stags, sirens, and kings all equal beneath the anonymity of festivity. Laughter and murmured politics intertwined beneath the waltz as silk brushed silk, and the glint of hidden weapons occasionally caught in the corner of one's eye. Nobility and soldiers, merchants and emissaries, all moving in unison to the melody of fragile peace.

A murmur of approval rippled through the hall before the orchestra struck up once more, this time with a melody faster and brighter than before. Champagne flowed, laughter rose, and dancers swept across the polished floor like waves under starlight. From the balconies above, the guards watched with silent vigilance, their eyes keen for the slightest disturbance. Somewhere, amid the swirl of silk and music, a shadow moved against the light a subtle reminder that even beauty could conceal its dangers.

The air outside the ballroom was cool and fragrant, a balm after the swell of music and conversation within. Aiden Porte moved quietly down the stone steps that led from the terrace into the gardens. Lanternlight pooled along the paths like captured starlight, glimmering over marble statues and flowering vines that twisted up ancient trellises. Every petal seemed to hum faintly with the Force, alive with the memories embedded in this place.

Aiden swirled the glass around a bit as he took a small drink. He wondered how long this would continue....The Jedi Knight, who vowed to uphold his Fathers stance on hope, beneath the flesh however....there was a storm. He wondered how many more people he would have to lose. Pushing aside his thoughts and focusing on what was going on now. And for that, he forced a smile out. For the moment....

House Serraris stood radiant a living dream of unity and decadence, of peace precariously gilded. And as the night deepened, the masquerade truly began.

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Location: Enclosed Speeder
Tags: Sibylla Abrantes

Aurelian leaned back, one arm resting casually on the speeder's window as the moonlight washed over Sibylla. He watched her with quiet amusement as she adjusted her gown; the silk seemed to flow like liquid. She looked breathtaking, exactly as he expected, yet seeing her like this, unburdened and laughing, was everything to him.

That familiar, dangerous smile curved his mouth. "You'd say I look handsome?" he echoed, his voice low and laced with laughter. "Well, I won't argue the point. I always do." He tipped his head, his gaze sweeping over her elegant form before meeting her eyes again. "But I'll accept it from you, Sibylla. You just make the compliment sound better."

He straightened the cuff of his dark spidersilk jacket, the fabric catching the interior glow. "For what it's worth," he added, his tone softening, "you look beautiful tonight. Dangerously so."

The speeder slowed, cresting the last hill toward the Serraris estate. Aurelian turned, watching the gardens bloom into view: an ocean of lanterns and lush blossoms. "I've never been to this side of Naboo," he murmured, tracing the winding paths with his eyes. "Gaudy, isn't it? Even for my taste." His voice was purely amused, the dry remark of a man who found such grandeur faintly absurd.

The speeder eased to a stop outside the grand archway, where the sound of strings and laughter spilled into the evening. He looked back at Sibylla, mischief glinting in his eyes. "You assume I don't always turn heads with my natural air of mystery?" he teased, his brows lifting.

His voice lowered, turning earnest. "Still, I'd prefer not to tonight. Let's just enjoy the company. Nez. And Marcus. No titles, no duties. Just a little freedom behind the masks."

The doors opened, and cool evening air spilled into the cabin along with the hum of conversation. Aurelian stepped out first, his dark coat brushing his boots as he turned, offering a gloved hand back inside. His smile softened, completely genuine now.

"Shall we, Nez?" he asked, his voice low and inviting, promising mischief and a night without crowns or titles.

​

 

[Kinley Pryse]

You've been hit by... you've been struck by...

O B J E C T I V E - 1

Kinley Pryse is so wild The Force has a bad feeling about her​

Kinley Pryse stuck out like a grease stain on a silk gown. She wasn't built for chandeliers and corsets, more blue jeans, battered hat, and a quick draw than delicate conversation , but an open invitation to the governor's party was an open invitation to credits. Rich people bought good liquor, paid well to keep their vices private, and fumbled secret pockets of information like loose change. Tonight promised all three. If she could lift a few jewels, move some spice, and maybe pinch a useful whisper for later blackmail, it would be a very good night.

She arrived as a maid and kept her head down, hands busy with folding napkins and arranging flowers. The work was oddly soothing: chopping, carrying, pretending to care about silver polish. For a few minutes she let herself imagine a quieter life of the steady pay, the honest exhaustion of a hard day's work, then remembered who she was. Black Sun didn't trade in honesty, and Kinley belonged to Black Sun more than any slave on Tatooine did.

Once the guests arrived and the room filled with laughter and the clink of glasses, Kinley slipped away. The mansion's security was a puzzle, but she loved puzzles. She picked the vault's lock like it owed her money: deliberate, a little ruthless, entirely efficient. Jewels in hand, she ducked into the servant's bathroom, shrugged off the uniform, and let her hair fall loose. She sent the maid dress tumbling down the laundry chute, gave her reflection a hard, appraising look, and stepped back into the party like she belonged.

Now properly dressed and dangerous-looking, Kinley melted into the crowd with the kind of face that drifted past linen and laughter and didn't raise suspicion. First prize in her satchel, she was ready to sell spice in a back corner, trade secrets for a bottle's worth of craziest lies, and if neither of those paid, pick a pocket or two. Whatever it took, tonight would be profitable.

A Smooth Criminal

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

Darkest-sider disguised as a young girl, donning destructive Potions hidden within crystal buttons sewn about her dress.

The young lady stepped gingerly about the outskirts of the dance floor, gazing at each guest one at a time. She grimaced as the jinn scrambled away from her reach; and she could not reach out to gather them again. Not here. Not in front of everyone. Not before she got to learn what she wondered about. Dathomir deserves her every effort!

The Nightsister's thoughts echoed with the gripes of the 12 additional life forces which inhabit her being. They wanted to do something for her! They offered assistance, but they could not feel Aether Verd amongst the many force imbued presences scattered throughout the room. They, along with PomStychTivé, suddenly felt steeped in a nausea naturally caused by her aversion to the Light Side of the Force. The Nightsister scowled distastefully, and began to rethink her attendance here, when the presence of J e d i caused her to throw-up a little in her mouth. Her mind went to memories of Jax Thio . She felt her scowl deepen, and realizing her surroundings, she forced her lips to curl into a farce smile. It looked quite predatory, but it was the best she could muster.

It took all the strength and conviction that the 12 coven ghosts could do, to keep from expelling themselves from her body right then and there at the intensity of her physical discomfort! They would do anything for her, but this sensation happens to be too much to bear! She began to overheat and her heart raced as she felt herself begin to sweat.

'WHY?!' she wondered through gritted teeth still gleaming through her creepy smile, if anyone here would call it that.

She turned tail towards the buffet, praying there would be something palatable available. She sought anything carnivore. Then she realized…'OMG. Darth Carnifex 's little soldiers erected his flag high upon her summit yet again.'

Daroli Spesto was putting out raw liver?
​

 

[Isobel Serraris]

THE MOONLIGHT MASQUERADE​

Location — Naboo, Serraris Estate
Objective — Objective one: The Moonlight Waltz
Tags — Korda Veydran Josiah Denko / Closed
Paraphernalia — Outfit, Lightsabers (concealed)

Her father's words echoed in her mind, drowning out the melodious music of the gala, and replacing it with the harsh commands that always left his lips when something was at stake. It made her even more worried about the importance of this performance, or well feast. With all that had occurred in Naboo in recent years, it felt as if conflict trailed them akin to how shadow followed light. Yet pessimism would not win the day, and instead her thoughts recentred on the here and now, that being the loud neoclassical waltz and the chatter of all the participants. The music almost brought her back to the soirees and galas her mother had thrown when she was younger--when she had to discuss business with the other women and at the same time, teach her only daughter the manners of a feast such as this.

One of such topics was the intricacies of the secret language of the fan, the same one Isobel flickered back and forth in a repeated manner-- its face embroidered with the House's raven and roses. The breeze lightly forcing her dark brown curls to sway. All while her brown eyes loomed over the ever-growing crowd of the feast, quietly awaiting the dancers and the action... Until she was suddenly surprised by the rather tall and broad figure of an unfamiliar man, staring down at her. It immediately forced her fan to hide more of her masked face as she awaited whatever this figure wanted of her.

All that left his lips were presumptions about her, not the type that would flatter any lady within these halls. The Serraris took a step back and with the flick of her wrist forced her fan to close before placing it on her left cheek, a no, to his invitation. Before curtsying and bidding a farewell to the more warrior-like man, and opening her fan once more as she stepped into the labyrinth of people and servants. Her steps were light and careful, as to not step on her skirt or trip over any feet. Accompanied by the occasional side step in accordance with the waltz, and the twirl as the music called for it. Oh how she adored this type of music, it always brought a sense of familiarity, of home, to even the most foreign of halls.

So enraptured by the harmonies, she failed to recognise the person in front of her and bumped into him without excuse. Isobel let out a sharp gasp and stared at the older man, an apologetic smile finding her lips before she may cover it with her fan. "Apologies, mister... I-- My Lord." She did not know how to address him, and just took a step back, away from the dance floor. "I fear the music has dulled my senses and I pray I have done you no harm with my lack of tact." The young Nabooan inclined her head, and sought to avoid the man's gaze.

 

[Persephone Halcyon]

OBJECTIVE 1: THE MOONLIGHT WALTZ
Aether Verd
___________________________
_______​

The Serraris Estate breathed in beauty the way that others breathed air.

Even from the outer gates, the soft hum of life carried through the gardens, settling in the area as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The faint trill of nocturnal birds, the sigh of leaves under lanternlight, all made real, by a golden thread of music weaving through it all. It felt like a dream. Her eyes lingered on the fairy-lights that hung from flowering trees. Two of the three moons seemed visible in the full night sky, and if she looked hard enough, she could see the telltale domed palace looming in the distance. The brass and sandstone seemed too pale—washed in light.

Persephone lingered at the edge of the path for a long moment before stepping forward.

Her attire was not what most would call battle-ready. It was delicate, almost ceremonial, with gleaming silvery plates that had been polished to a mirror shine. Traditional beskar had been broken, woven with fine lines of bronze, and layered over with white shell-spider silk that flowed like water when she moved. The design was distinctly Mandalorian, yet touched with something gentler, perhaps, a reflection of the man who had gifted it to her. She was a battle-medic…Not one of his warriors.

It felt out of place to wear beskar so freely…But the Mandalorian Empire had become her home in the last few years. She would always carry the Core in her bones, however. It was the place where she had first been found as an infant by the Jedi Order. It was the place where she had first learned about the Force and all that it entailed. The joys and sorrows. Naboo was not home…But it reminded her of that.

Of temples and courtyards…Serenity, learned and lost.

The scent of blossom wine and honeyed fruit wafted through the air when she finally entered the ballroom. She had arrived early and had taken to the gardens, the cool evening air, to spare her nerves the fire of being surrounded by so many people. The large hall was a wonder of motion and sound. Pale blue eyes took in the masked guests drifting like constellations across fine marble, laughter catching her attention, if only because such an unrestrained sound was so rare. She buried herself in work.

In mending broken people—Broken bodies.

There was very little laughter to be found there.

For all the warmth and color, though, Persephone felt like a brushstroke out of place. A healer in armor. A stranger among revelers—An interloper.

Still. She had come for a reason. It had been a promise made in smoke and rain, an agreement, to meet her sable-skinned Mand'alor for "tea" when the crisis on Iridium ended. This was hardly the event that she had expected, perhaps, a small shop on some no-name corner in his Empire…

Not a party fit for Kings and Queens.

Persephone searched for him now, flaxen hair worn half-up and half-down. It was tied loosely back with a simple white ribbon while soft waves spilled down to the middle of her back. It was an honest style, simple and unguarded, something that one might wear at home rather than this gilded event. Her makeup was the same. Understated, soft. Would he recognize her with a golden mask on that obscured half her features? Without the Force?

There were too many hidden faces…Too many.

She drifted away from the music, toward the edge of the hall, where an open archway led back toward one of the gardens. There she found a marble fountain shaped like a ring of lilies, and she decided it was a good place to wait. It would be easier for Aether Verd to find her if she stayed still, somewhere, between the ballroom and the gardens, in an area that attracted foot traffic. He could pass by her without any trouble at all. But, maybe he wouldn't.

For the moment, she simply watched her reflection ripple. Trying in vain to match up who she was with the resplendent creature who stared back at her. This wasn't who she was, but for the evening, it would be the woman she pretended to be for the sake of a new friend.

Promises were meant to be kept, after all, not broken.