Public The Moonlight Masquerade [OPEN TO ALL]

[Jack Sandrow]

Location: Memorial Gardens
Objective: Socializing & Adventure
Equipment: Just a tailored suit and mask (and the Leaves)

---

Jack chuckled softly, nodding towards the garden. "Was just there; it's really pretty." Even if the plants were caged, they were well-kept. Kudos to the horticulturalists the House employed. "And quiet. Seems most everyone else wants to stay with everyone else, and dance and make merry." He tilted his head, before turning back towards the gardens proper. "You two prefer the peace and quiet, then?"

He hadn't mentioned it before (mostly because he was only just beginning to realize it himself), but something was oh so slightly off in the gardens. Having company would probably make it easier to not be singled out by anything hostile, and having other Force-sensitives would definitely help to find out exactly what, if anything, was out of place.

---

Alina Grayson
Aiden Porte

 

[Judah Dashiell]

OBJECTIVE TWO : GARDENS

Dressed in all black suit and masquerade mask, Judah idly wondered why he attended these things anymore. Cigarra lit in hand, the old salvager took a deep drag, releasing the taste of the sweet rashallo leaves that had made up the vice. Exhaling the smoke, he shook his head. Part of the reason might have been habit. Another the fact he had no real social life. Friends? Those bridges seemed to be irreparable. He definitely didn't have any lovers.

It was like being in a vast ocean on an island all one's own.

Of course he had been blessed with family. Two sons. Two grandchildren that were growing like weeds. Yet a feeling lingered. A feeling he was no longer needed anywhere in the galaxy. His business could easily continue running without him. Anyone in his orbit would eventually move on. He worked hard to build a legacy for his sons and with that achieved, was he obsolete? He liked to think not but pride could convince the most useless fool he was valuable.

Another drag, the bluish smoke curling into the garden air. In the short distance, he could hear a few others talking, voices carrying past the carefully manicured foliage and stone paths. He had heard through talk there was a labyrinth or something similar on the grounds. Maybe before the night was over he would take a trip through it - although it seemed more an activity young people would do drunk for kicks.

For now, he would enjoy the cigarra and the night air and his thoughts. At least he had left his hermitage - a bright spot in the evening.

OPEN

 

[Braze]

Tags: Loomi
​

Braze offered a hand to Loomi assisting her as they stepped up the stairs that opened up on to the main event. "Here we are. " Braze offered and looked up towards the various decorations perhaps trying to spy out a refreshment table in the distance.

 

[Eira Dyn]

Objective: 1/3
Outfit: Dress with Mask
Equipment: None
Tag: Open

Eira flashed the invitation she had for the event. The young Sith assassin was disgusted inside to allow herself to be surrounded by the filth that was the Jedi. To be at the capital world of the High Republic and not be here to attempt to wipe it out from root to stem seemed foolish to Eira. But there was a challenge she had set in her mind when she first gazed over the invitation for the event. She was an assassin, trained to be highly effective and efficient in killing but also she had to blend into a crowd and be stealthy. Eira needed to demonstrate and practice her abilities to hide her connection with the Force but the emotions that often lingered on the surface. The traits that made her seem feral.

And so Eira arrived in the main hall, dressed in a beautiful black satin dress with red piping. Colours that Eira felt highlighted the red eyes she naturally. It was a form fitting dress that left little to the imagination, meaning that Eira could not bring her usual weapons concealed. It was too risky and this was not a mission where she intended to fight. The mask was ornate and red gems were embedded into the mask. She was attempting to seem important, mysterious and maybe a little dangerous. It was something that she had found in the mask usually drew a few people in.

Her heels clicked against the hard floor as she let her fiery red eyes scan across the room, gazing from person to person. Seeing who might be important or easily convinced to divulge secrets that Eira could then take back to her Master. That was another part in this that Eira felt was important to see how well her training had come along. To see if she could maintain hidden within the crowd while also being able to learn important information to bring back to her Master. Luckily, she had been trained in hiding her Force signature so she wouldn't be standing out as a blaring Dark Side presence as she normally would be.

Collecting a glass of ruby red wine, the sharp long nails of her left hand tapped idly away at the glass. Wondering who to approach first and where best to approach from.

 

[Jorryn Fordyce]

// Lady Jorryn Fordyce //
// Objective I // The Moonlit Waltz //
// Focus // // Corazona von Ascania //
// Attire //

---

---

Boots lightly tread upon the centre of the High Republic, Naboo in all its splendour opening their gates to one and all in an attempt to garner peace and favour for their little slice of the galaxy. The Lord of the event had sought remembrance, though all the recent conflicts had given the Echani was research.

Nobody was fool enough to believe that only the Republic's allies would attend such an anonymous gathering, though decor demanded elegance and nobility from their less savoury attendants.

And so the former Lord Inquisitor wore her best behaviour, presenting the front of a simple bachelor seeking validation. A mask of brilliant white lace covered the amber eyes the revealed her Sith nature.

No reason to spoil a good surprise.

The horns on the other hand.

They had been less easy to hide, and so Jorryn would celebrate them instead. Brilliant red flowers elevated their appearance, weaved on her horns with bands like a row of corsages. The flowers were of her own design, an early attempt in her research of botany. They held a faint smell of iron to them, and lacked any reasonable name so far. They hung and added the only bit of colour that the Echani wore outside of her monochromatic attire.

A white dress presented her as innocent and virginal, neither the least bit true, but enticing enough that she had already been approached by many of the Lords either bored of their wives or having outlived them already. Second and third sons attempted their charms as well, to little success.

At first it offered entertainment, but the twelfth attempt to intertwine her horns and a pick up line had soured the affair for Jorryn.

A lithe hand held a glass of chardonnay aloft as she scanned the room, a pout having taken her lips. Amber eyes caught yet another bachelor lazily making his way towards her, back hunched and mouth agape as he shambled to her vicinity. Whether it was nerves or the semblance of some nonchalant appearance, neither appealed to the Sith. Generations of intermarriage clear in his appearance, the Echani decided that she would prefer company of her own choice.

So she shifted towards more preferable company, falling across the fields of other masked individuals.

Eventually, her obscured amber gaze fell upon an appealing figure. A blonde girl dressed entirely in black posed strategically beside the table awaiting the snack to arrive. The blue of her drink was only matched by the brilliant orbs framed by a lattice of black crystals, framing them in a way that enhanced their brilliance.

"Oh, hello. I see that you-"

The words of the dithering fourth born fell away as the Sith made her slow escape, seeking the company of someone that could be more entertaining. The boy sulked and then sauntered off to attempt his seventh proposal of the day, to much similar success.

"Smart choice, wearing black." The Echani spoke low as she moved to the side of the blonde, a hand strategically reaching across the woman as she vied for her attention. "The noble Lords and Ladies might not notice if I make a misstep with their food if I had followed your example. Perhaps I could have even enjoyed some red wine to make the night even easier."

Her lips parted as the sandwich died a quiet death in the pit of her stomach, it's death unmourned by the galaxy.

"Perhaps I could have even joined you in a nice glass of milk." Jorryn teased softly as a smirk stained her lips, teasing the woman for her choice in drink. "Not that I would have, the wine has made the approach of these old men a more tolerable affair all things considered."

The smile remained as she turned towards her newfound companion, amber eyes hidden away as she observed the girl.

"A dietary choice, or perhaps you enjoy their solicitations sober?"

 

[Kasir Dorran]

OBJECTIVE 1: THE MOONLIGHT WALTZ
Tag: Open

Captured moons burned in the form of chandeliers, an echo of the grandeur that swept through the hall he strode through. Clearly, he was not the only Sith in attendance, though it would have made no difference if that had been the case. As such, his presence was its own gravity, and where he roamed, the debauched revelry so often bent and twisted around him.

Clad in the color of death, as ever, his form was a study in darkness. The toned tunic revealed paled arms carved from obsidian shadows, and fitting leggings clung to him. Boots were polished, but unadorned. His left arm, mechanical from the elbow down, glinted in the light, its servos whispering secrets with every flex of his fingers.

A simple black mask concealed his features from brow to cheek, its shape unremarkable, though its purpose was hollow. In truth, he loathed the mask, for it was a lie, a concession to the pageantry of the night.

Cascading like a river of ink down his back, the raven strands of hair were the only thing to break the stillness of his lithe frame. Beneath the mask, his features were statuesque, sculpted with the precision and artistry of porcelain, each line and curve crafted to perfection, the signature of his unnatural state.

The music was a hunt in velvet, and the Sangnir understood it as such.

Conversation and laughter swirled effortlessly around him, though it carried no sway over his black heart; and the flirtations and scandals heard from afar simply drifted like smoke in the air, unable to stir the faintest touch of emotion within. Anger, a slumbering beast awakened all too often, coiled deep within his core. There was a primal hunger gnawing at his insides, but he refused to indulge. So often, restraint was his most potent weapon.

And though his silence was not hostile, that wasn't to say it was pregnant with patience. His gaze scanned about, studying the figures, capable of repelling and sucking all light into its void.

For now, Kasir just stood at the edge of the dance floor.

 

[Qyssiyana]

Location: House Serraris Estate - Naboo
Objective: The Moonlight Waltz
Attire: Mask │ Dress
Tag: Darth Anathemous Lysander von Ascania

Although Qyssiyana was not truly familiar with the ballrooms of galactic nobility the likes of House Serraris, she was intimately familiar with the main activity that people did in them—dancing. Thus, when Darth Anathemous invited her to the masquerade as a date, she had taken some time to study what would be expected of her before accepting the Sith Lord’s request. After that came preparation; purchasing a dress, studying etiquette protocols, and practicing the steps of the common Naboo waltzes until they flowed like second nature.

Thus, as Qyssiyana stepped into the grand hall alongside the Dark Lord and her apprentice, a smile touched her lips as she absorbed the spectacle of waltzing aristocrats. Much to her surprise, there was also quite a number of Mandalorians present, some wearing helmets in lieu of masks. She supposed that such bold fashion choices were somewhat in line with the evening’s theme. Not to mention, their beskar’gams were fashioned in such a way that they more resembled works of art, rather than simple battle armor.

Still, no one present looked better to her than Darth Anathemous .

Qyssiyana offered Lysander von Ascania a delicate flutter of her fingers in response to his two-fingered salute, before turning her triocular gaze fully towards the Dark Lord. As she craned her neck to look down at her, the Elryssia did the opposite, a playful smile gracing her lips as she did. In doing so, she had a stunning view of her dress, which reminded her of scaled armor.

Was it armor? The thought came as a whisper in the back of her mind. The Dark Lord might not have been paranoid, but she was certainly cautious. With so many masks around, it seemed intelligent for a woman with powerful enemies to don a dress that could double as both fashion and armor.

"I think we shall make for the dance floor, unless you'd fancy a drink first?" she hummed.

“Dancing, first!” Qyssiyana replied, her tone an eager chime. “Then after we have say...developed a thirst, we can peruse the bar or maybe something else~” she added, her tone dipping into a demure, yet provocative murmur!

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Location: Dancing Dangerously Close
Tags: Sibylla Abrantes

Aurelian's laughter was low and rich, curling through the music like smoke. "Tastefully radiant," he echoed, amusement heavy in his voice as he guided her through another turn. "That's a very generous way of saying gaudy, Nez." His words were teasing, his tone soft; too soft to sting, in fact. His hand slid slightly lower on her back, drawing her closer into the rhythm, firm and warm through the silk.

The waltz built in waves, a gilded current carrying them along. He matched her easily, every step precise, his movements assured. What caught him off guard was how utterly effortless she made it feel. She wasn't just following; she was a natural, unflinching under his lead. For someone who lived and breathed rigid diplomacy, she moved like a woman who'd spent her whole life learning how to let go. It was profoundly distracting.

His focus narrowed entirely to her: the sweep of her neckline under the lights, the faint hitch of her breath, the spark in her eyes behind the mask. Every turn, every brush of her skirt against his leg, seemed to pull him deeper into her orbit.

"Shiraya, you're dangerous when you smile like that," he murmured. His voice was low, threaded with laughter. "You make it hard to remember which of us is supposed to be leading."

The dance tightened, the space between them evaporating until her perfume lingered in every breath he took. He leaned in, his words brushing the shell of her ear. "As for those lessons you mentioned…" His smile curved, sharp and slow. "Now that's something I'd very much like to see for myself."

He spun her out, her skirts flaring in a burst of light and motion, then caught her back into his arms with a deft pull until their chests nearly touched. The world beyond them blurred into motion, music, and gold. Aurelian's eyes lingered on hers, his grin softening, the mischief giving way to something dangerously close to tender. "Careful, Nez," he said quietly. "You're starting to make this look easy."

​

 

[Fatine von Ascania]

Moonlight Waltz | Cassian Abrantes ​

As Cassian leaned in close, the warmth of his breath washed over Fatine's ear. She couldn't help the little goosebumps that pebbled at the back of her neck, tiny hairs rising to attention perhaps for the heat – but perhaps for the whispered words, or even the smooth, deep cadence of his voice.

Stars, it was as if he'd fallen out of some soppy romance novel.

Then there was the way his hand brushed her waist, giving rise to unladylike thoughts that jumbled the words in her head before they could ever reach her tongue. A dusting of pink bloomed at the edges of her gilded mask, and that salacious smile she wore began to wobble.

For everything that she wanted to project – mature, confident, and perhaps a bit suggestive – Fatine was still woefully sheltered, having only dipped her toes into high society off of Ukatis fairly recently.

Freedom tasted sweet, and she wanted more.

Fatine was quick to unfurl her fan, gently wafting it against the lower half of her face while peering at Cassian over the painted panels. It seemed to take her only a few moments to recover.

"Ukatis?" She tsked, her words elongated and teasing. "Ukatis doesn't teach us how to do anything fun. Not for girls, at least."

Dark eyes seemed to shimmer with amusement around the golden rim of the mask, watching him with all the interested poise of a highborn aristocrat.

"Our lives are embroidery lesson after posture lesson after piano lesson after...oh, something else positively dull," she waved her hand with a breathy, dramatic sigh. "So you'd be an absolute gentleman if you were to save me from such a tedious, uninspiring fate – provided you can do so before I expire of deadly boredom, of course."

Fatine closed her fan with a flick of her wrist, the sharp snap! carrying through the air. She grinned, then bopped her escort gently on the nose with her accessory. Where she came from, proper women were not so bold.

"Come, General Abrantes. Let us dance."

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Moonlight Waltz | Jorryn Fordyce ​

Whenever the form of a hopeful suitor loomed in her periphery, Cora would angle herself in such a way that the pale gold gem of her engagement ring caught the light, drawing attention to the wedding band beneath it.

It worked most of the time. A man nearly twice her age, either less sharp-eyed or simply bold, had to be politely waved off.

The figure that approached her next was far prettier, and by virtue, far more welcome. Cora placed her fingers to her lips, throat bobbing as she swallowed the last of what had been a tiny cucumber and dill sandwich. She never quite cared for dill, but for some reason it seemed to hit the spot tonight.

Blue eyes flicked down, then back up again.

"If you had," she began, "then perhaps we wouldn't be complementing each other as well as we are."

There was a subtle lift in her tone, one that recognized an eye for fashion. Indeed, the woven, lacy mask of white had something of a delicate appearance – but taken together with the sharper cuts of her skirt, the scarlet flowers twining over what she presumed to be a headpiece, and the tapered turn of her jaw, Cora imagined this woman to be anything but.

"Men? The men are easy." From beneath the lattice of black crystal, her lips could be seen curving into the suggestion of a smile. "In my experience, it is the women who require a tempered approach."

Ah, she'd clocked the blue milk. Cora gave her glass a gentle swirl before reaching for another of those delectable finger sandwiches.

"I prefer to keep my head clear. And," she added before lowering the glass beneath her mask for sip. Ashla, eating in this thing was going to get annoying. "My bones strong."

Next came a tiny, ladylike nibble of the sandwich. Which was, given its size, about half of the appetizer. Cora tilted her head to the side, admiring the blooms adorning the white-clad woman's horns.

"Those flowers are lovely. Oh, let me guess…" Her voice lowered to a murmur as she peered closer, inspecting the blossoms with the trained eye of a hobbyist gardener. "Ladalum? No, perhaps mysess?"

Cora leaned forward, angling for their scent when she caught a trace of...was that iron? Her nose wrinkled in surprise, gently shifting the thin line of dark crystals draping down her brow.

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

OBJ:1
Moonlight Waltz
Fatine von Ascania ​

Cassian caught the playful snap of the fan with a quiet laugh low, rich, and full of restrained mirth. "Deadly boredom." he repeated, voice warm enough to soften the words, though his eyes or what she could see of them beneath the mask glinted with a knowing edge. "Tragic. I'd hate to have that on my conscience."

He tilted his head slightly, regarding her with that infuriating calm of a man who'd been trained to disarm not only with a blade but with a smile. "You're rather dangerous yourself, milady." he murmured as his hand found hers again, "Escaping your embroidery lessons and such, that's almost rebellion."

He let the tease linger, his tone sliding easily between gentle mockery and charm, until at last he offered his hand properly, palm open, patient. His fingers traced the edge of her hand before settling properly, formality reclaiming him like a cloak he'd worn all his life.

The orchestra's rhythm swelled, and Cassian's first movement was precise, guiding her effortlessly into the turn of the waltz. "Rescued." he said quietly, the corners of his mouth curving slightly showing another smile.

"Ukatis must be dreadfully cruel." he said as they turned in time with the music, his tone smooth, conversational, yet teasing as his gaze softened. "I wonder if they trained you all to suffer beautifully instead of live freely?"

He guided her into a turn, one gloved hand brushing against the small of her back just long enough to test a reaction before retreating again. Cassian went on, his lips curving faintly. "You don't seem like someone content to play the part others wrote for her. What does a woman who tires of embroidery and piano truly hope to find?"

The question lingered not mocking, not dismissive but curious in so many ways, a soft challenge wrapped in the civility of his tone. He dipped her lightly as the music swelled, every line of him poised and sure.

 

[Jorryn Fordyce]

// Lady Jorryn Fordyce //
// Objective I // The Moonlit Waltz //
// Focus // // Corazona von Ascania //
// Attire //

---

---

A small chuckle escaped the dark lips of the Echani as Corazona compared their dresses, black and white like a pair of monochromatic debark pieces. They complimented one another far more than any of the chuffed up princelings in their purples and golds could ever have.

The noble bearing of the woman across from her was apparent, an expert in managing the wiles of the bachelors of the court. But to hear words of women being rebuffed as well was not unpleasant on the ears of the former Lord Inquisitor.

"Oh, should I have tempered mine a bit more?" Feigning shock as she spoke before her lips returned to an impish smile. "Or less?"

The words faded silently as she crept back away for another sip of her wine, wondering why the girl she was with had chosen something so difficult to manage food with. It was clear the girl had no plans to sacrifice her hunger or her fashion, a woman after Jorryn's own heart.

"I suppose you'll have me at an advantage before long then." The wine fell past her lips before she spoke, not hiding her own intention to dull sobriety during this gala. "So I'll push mine early if you don't mind."

The words came with a wink, not realising the pointlessness of the action as her eyes remained obscured.

As Corazona leaned in to take a breath and examine the flowers decorating the horns of the silver-haired Sith, she would notice no strap attaching them to the woman's head. A tilt of her neck allowed the blonde inwards towards her, and it was clear that the scent of the flower was not entirely present.

"Syringa Sanguis," A proud voice presented the undiscovered flower as she spoke, unable to hide her ecstasy that someone else appreciated the botany. "A plant created from my own experimentations so far, though far from finished. The scent as you can tell needs refinement, as do its practical elements. A proper name as well, but I am not the type of girl to hide my work away for the sake of humility."

A hand carefully loosened a band that held one of the flowers from her horns, delicately taking it away as a free hand gently took Corazona's in her own. She slipped the bloody corsage upon the wrist of her new companion, her hands lingering for a moment longer than would be considered proper as she looked into the woman's blue eyes.

"Not the most intricate of gifts, though I'm sure you'll wear it well."

As she held the woman's arm, a faint glint shone from the girl's finger.

A wedding band.

The smirk faded away from her lips for but a moment, before returning just as devilishly.

"Married? Congratulations, it is difficult to find one worth committing to at these things. Best to journey out past these mansions." The jest came softly, presented as a light joke between new friends. "I assume your wife or husband isn't with us at the moment, I couldn't possibly imagine them leaving you alone otherwise, unless they've taken to fighting off your suitors in a more literal sense."

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

House Serraris Estate
Location: Careful what you wish for!
Aurelian Veruna

Hazel eyes rolled behind the mask, though Sibylla's lips betrayed her, curving upwards as she gave a light laugh in a way she wouldn't have dared in the Assembly or in Court.

"You lead well enough… though I suspect that's only because you dislike the idea of anyone else taking charge," she teased, the jest slipping out softer than intended, caught somewhere between banter and distraction. Especially after how he painted images in her mind after murmuring in her ear about the lessons. That and Shiraya help her, he was infuriatingly handsome tonight. The dark silk of his suit moved like liquid shadow when he turned, and that mischievous twist at the corner of his mouth made it impossible to tell whether he meant to say something scandalous or simply provoke her with another laugh.

His hand settled more firmly at her back, and the heat of it bled through the Karlini silk, spreading like a spark along her spine. Their steps quickened, the waltz carrying them through a blur of movement and light, Sibylla losing herself in the dance in a way she hadn't in years.

It was wonderful. It was exhilarating. The anonymity of the masks, the glimmering haze of the ballroom, the rare freedom of not being watched. Here, she was not the Daughter of Abrantes, the Voice of the Royal Houses, or even the Interim Queen of Naboo. She was simply Nez, laughing, reckless, and very much alive in his arms.

The waltz rose toward its crest, and for a breathless moment, all she could see was him; the gleam of his eyes behind the mask, the heat of his breath brushing her skin, the curve of that knowing but tender grin. With every turn, the thread between them pulled tighter until the air seemed to hum with warmth and challenge. Her heart quickened, and before she could stop herself, she leaned in, mischief sparking in her gaze.

"If you find my smile dangerous, then you've only yourself to blame," she said teased in playful challenge, meeting his gaze through the shimmer of her mask. "You're the one who told me to live a little. So tell me, Marcus… how will you manage when I finally do?"

 

[Darth Anathemous]

OBJECTIVE 1: THE MOONLIGHT WALTZ​

Wearing: Mask + Dress
Tag: Qyssiyana

Kaila smiled warmly.

How long had it been since she danced with so well dressed a woman?

The Elryssia's pale skin clashed beautifully with those pink hues, and she couldn't help noticing the mask matched her lipstick. Well, she assumed it was lipstick anyway? No matter, it was difficult to tear her eyes way all the same.

The only thing that could, was Lysander von Ascania 's departure.

"Do try to have some fun while you work, yes?"

She returned the boy's salute as she turned, leading Qyssiyana deeper into the masquerade.

"The boy does good work but I hope he gets distracted," she chuckled, "he's been through it, could use the pleasantries."

Arriving on the dancefloor, a colorful array of masks captivated her attentions a moment longer, then the artistic floristry of House Serraris, bathing the entire room in such pleasant fragrances. She'd have to find out if they made perfumes, or perhaps strike a deal with the house to produce them herself. Though covered, her gaze seemed to sweep the room, soaking it all in.

“Then after we have say...developed a thirst, we can peruse the bar or maybe something else~”

And just like that, drawn back in.

"Something else?" her smile turned toothy.

"We may have to. That dress is... doing something to me." she said with a nervous chuckle.

Once she'd wrangled her wandering thoughts however, there was more;

"That shade, fuchsia I think? It really brings out the color in your eyes. The mask was a nice touch too, matches your lips."

When at last they arrived on the floor, Kaila paused a moment, tilting her head from one side to the other. The height difference between them was... extraordinary. Qyssiyana didn't even come up to her shoulders, and it took some time to figure out their positions.

"Hm. here," she said, guiding the small woman's hand to her waist.

"Let's see... Your hand on my waist, mine on your shoulder,"

She put a hand on both Qyssiana's shoulders, though one began drifting down her arm.

"And we hold these hands?" she smiled.

​

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Location: Too late now
Tags: Sibylla Abrantes

Aurelian's grin deepened. He drew her in tighter, catching his breath on a quiet laugh. "You're not wrong," he murmured, his voice low enough to thread through the waltz like a secret. "I don't like anyone else taking charge." His thumb brushed a deliberate stroke along the small of her back. His tone dipped lower, rougher. "But for you, Nez, I might consider making an exception."

The next turn pulled them close, chest to chest. Every breath between them felt stolen. Her perfume, soft and clean, was maddening. The gleam of her eyes caught his, sharp with mischief and something far warmer underneath. He felt her quick, uneven pulse against his palm, answering his own. The world beyond the music faded to a blur. All that remained was her laughter and the flicker of candlelight.

"Live a little," he echoed as they turned. "You're taking to that far too well." He spun her out, letting her skirt flare like moonlight before seamlessly reeling her back in, ending with her pressed against him. One hand slipped up to the curve of her waist. His breath brushed her cheek as he bent closer. "But if this is you living, Nez," he whispered, a faint smile ghosting over his lips, "I'm not sure I'll manage at all."

She laughed and it hit him like a spark. The line between teasing and temptation blurred completely. He leaned in further, until the edge of his mask nearly touched hers. The movement was unhurried, deliberate, daring her to close the last inch. "You keep pushing," he said quietly, his tone threaded with amusement and challenge, "but I don't think you're ready for where that leads." His eyes flicked down to her mouth before finding hers again. "Careful, Nez. I bite back."

He let the words linger a heartbeat too long before spinning her again, the motion swift and dizzying, designed to steal her breath and give her no time to think. When he caught her this time, his hand found her jaw instead of her waist. He tilted her face toward him, thumb grazing the edge of her mask. "Now," he murmured, the grin returning, charged with heat, "show me if Dee'ja Peak taught you how to keep up."

​

 

[Siv Kryze]

.​

OBJECTIVE 1: THE MOONLIGHT WALTZ​

​

The great hall shimmered with motion and light — the air alive with the murmur of laughter, trade, and quiet rivalry. Crystals swayed from vaulted chandeliers, catching the flare of banners from a dozen worlds. Jedi robes mingled with Mandalorian armor, nobles in polished silks brushed shoulders with smugglers wearing blasters like jewelry. It was not a battlefield, but Siv Kryze could feel the same energy — tension dressed in civility.

He walked beside Veyla Krinn through the heart of it all, his Vestments of Iron whispering faintly as they moved. Polished beskar caught the hall's glow, and the faint blue threading of Clan Kryze sigils shimmered along his arm. His helm stayed on — the mirrored visor cutting through the crowd like a blade wrapped in velvet.


"Stay close," Siv murmured, voice deep and even through the vocoder. "This isn't the kind of fight that leaves smoke behind, but it still leaves marks. You'll see."

He guided her through the current of nobles and warlords with a subtle grace, his movements economical and deliberate — more escort than sentinel, yet unmistakably protective. His hand rose slightly, gesturing toward a figure ahead near the dais.


"That's Domina Prime , one of the more prominent voices here," he continued. "Sharp tongue, sharper sense for politics. She'll either like you, or test you."

The faintest tone of humor flickered through his words, the kind that hinted at long familiarity with both outcomes.


"Either way," he added, "you'll learn something useful."

As they approached, Siv inclined his head slightly to Domina — not a bow, but a warrior's acknowledgment.


"Domina," he said, his voice carrying the polished cadence of Concordian steel. "Allow me to introduce Veyla. She's learning the rhythm of Mandalorian ways — thought it best she start with someone who understands how they clash with the galaxy's."

His tone was respectful, balanced between courtesy and confidence, an unspoken assurance that this introduction carried weight.

He stepped back slightly to give Veyla space to speak, his stance relaxed but watchful, a silent guardian amid the storm of finery and politics.

"You'll find the Domina knows the room better than anyone," Siv said quietly, a subtle note of amusement under the helm. "Try not to let her see you flinch."

Tag: Persephone Halcyon Soliane Verd Korda Veydran Domina Prime Pom Stych Tivé Adelle Bastiel Veyla Krinn​

 

[Diodoros]

Location: Naboo, Theed
Objective 2: The Memorial Gardens
Tag(s): OPEN

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“Are you sure it’s gold? It could very well be polished Bronzium.” One of the guests ask their friend.

“Regardless, the craftsmanship is impeccable. The detail is stunning and so lifelike. The organizers here even dressed it up and painted it for the occasion.” They replied. Meanwhile one of the garden’s tenders looked at the sculpture as well. Wondering where it came from.

Diodoros sat himself down on a stone in the gardens and was in one of his rare pondering moods. Using what he could of his mess of a brain. His posture hunched over with his hand brought up to his chin. He was completely still, unblinking and hardly breathing.

Ruminating on how he loathed his current state and the happenings of the galaxy. He felt that it just wasn’t fair. He wanted to fight. To test his strength and grow stronger through conflict. This is what had informed so much of his decision making.

It was why he swore himself to the Sith as a privateer. In the hopes of coming into greater conflict with the Galactic Alliance and by extension their Jedi Warriors.

But right now it wasn’t the Sith that were bringing the Alliance and Jedi to heel. Instead it was the damnable Galactic Empire, and that made his blood boil. If there was one thing in this entire galaxy that Diodoros hated the most, it was Imperials. A hatred fueled by a millenia old grudge kept alive and well by Firrerreos like himself. Now they were back and he wasn’t in the middle of their war cracking skulls and taking names.

Instead it was the Jedi and their allies that got the pleasure of turning stormtroopers into worm food and not him. An enemy he idolized and an enemy he hated having so much fun together and he got to share in none of it.

“Woah… Did you see that? I swear it’s finger moved.” One of them said, catching the slightest movement from Diodoros. Their friend looked at them skeptically through their mask and back at the statue.

“That’s ridiculous…”

Diodoros was feeling tempted to revoke and unbind himself to the letter of marque that made him a privateer for the Sith. Go rouge and independent and take the fight to those he believed deserved his wrath. But the smarter members of his crew had informed him on the pros and cons of such a rash maneuver. Having the Sith as allies meant that their territory could be used for safety. A place to retreat to for repairs and supplies and to sell their stolen goods without as much hassle.

It would make their piracy much harder, needing to rely on more criminal elements to maintain their operations. Which could be risky. There wasn’t much honor among thieves.

There was another problem as well that Diodoros didn’t really mind as much, but could still be a hassle. That would be the added threat of mutiny amongst his crew. The letter of marque kept his crew in line, from trying to dispose of Diodoros every time he did something foolish. Because he was the one contracted as a privateer and they would lose that privilege if they stepped out of line.

However, Diodoros was fully confident in his ability to keep his crew in line, at least most of the time, through his raw physical might alone. Even though enough adversaries would surely overpower even him.

It was all so frustrating. But he felt as though he needed to make a decision and soon. Stay with the Sith or discard them and become an independent force all on his own. He did have some connections to the black sun so he wouldn’t be entirely alone if he went rogue. It might be time for him to start a new chapter.

Letting out a deep sigh Diodoros’s body began to move. Shifting his weight some before finally standing up and straightening his posture with a bit of a stretch.

“Oh good heavens!” One of the two guests that had been watching him this whole time exclaimed, before they both fell back onto the ground in a panic. Looking up at the living golden statue in astonishment. Finally noticing the two gentlemen Diodoros turned his head to face them. Deep blue eyes peering down at the two of them from behind the mask that concealed his face.

“Huh… What’s got the two of you so scared?” Diodoros calmly asked as he loomed over the two of them.​

 

[Korda Veydran]

For a time, Korda lingered where Isobel had left him — hand still faintly raised, his expression unreadable behind polished steel. The fan's quick snap still echoed faintly in his ear, a gesture sharper than most blades he'd seen tonight. He gave a quiet exhale through his nose — not annoyance, nor offense, merely resignation. He was a creature of war wrapped in silk; this was never his arena.


But then again, even battlefields had music.


He drifted through the crowd like a tide of darker water among bright reflections, the low hum of conversation and laughter becoming just so much static beneath the orchestra's steady rhythm. The mask let him watch without being watched — to study the restless hands, the hidden glances, the nervous smiles that said far more than words ever could.


That was when he noticed her.


A figure clad in black satin, the red piping catching lanternlight like threads of fire. Every movement calculated; every look measured. There was danger there — not obvious, but familiar. The kind that didn't come from vanity or envy, but from precision.


He adjusted his gloves and crossed the distance, the faint clack of his boots softened by the murmur of silk and shoes. As he passed a servant, he took a second glass of ruby wine, swirling it once before speaking — his voice quiet, rich with restrained gravel.


"You wear the color well," he said, offering the second glass, the faintest ghost of amusement behind the polished mask. "Though I suspect it's not the gown that turns heads — it's the way you stand still in a room that fears stillness."


He inclined his head, not yet close enough to break etiquette, but near enough for his presence to feel deliberate.


"Korda," he introduced simply, as if his name were explanation enough. "Forgive the intrusion. I find most company here prefers conversation that says nothing. I'm partial to the opposite."


He raised his glass slightly, scarred hand catching the gleam of the chandelier light. "To masks, then — and what they're hiding."


The faintest twitch of a smirk followed, half-shadowed beneath the mask.


"Would you care to drink with me, or am I intruding on a hunt?"

Eira Dyn

 

[Soliane Verd]

THE MOONLIGHT MASQUERADE​

Location – Naboo
Objectives – Objective one: The Moonlight Waltz
Tags – Adelle Bastiel

What laser-brain had been put in charge of this slow, tiresome music? Did they long to curse people into an eternal slumber with this pace? And while some of the nobility took a liking to it, twirling around on the marble dancefloor, Soliane mostly tried to dance to the familiar melodies in her minds. Old songs such as Niamos! and Huttese songs, that had accompanied her endlessly on her travels to the outer rim. And while her mentors or companions had argued that it was a dangerous endeavour--exposing one to more hazards than not--she had to think of something to keep her sane amid the temples and ruins she explored.

So while others danced slowly and spent more times gossiping and swooning over the other's eyes and what not, the Chandrilan continued a quick and upbeat dance until she reached the other side. Swaying left and right as the alcohol poisoned her systems. Her shoes tapping on the floor over and over again, in rhythm with the imaginary beat. Her shoulders occasionally bumping into the figures of passersby, mostly two figures dressed in Gold or Aurodium tones garbs, who eyed her with disgust as she moved by. Why wouldn't people liven up for once? This was marketed as a feast, a masquerade, as if its core did not revolve around a masked party? Dance, drink, have fun... Though nobles always had their little schemes to uphold--It was a miracle no deaths had yet been reported.

In time, the short woman made her way to the other side of the party, nigh on bumping into one of the grand pillars that supported the second floor's balconies. It, without a doubt, drew the eyes of the other guests attending the event. But such lapses or silly accidents would not deter her from having a grand time, as she already found the next drink upon a table, taking a large swig to fuel the fire in her throat. If she kept drinking, mayhap the hangover, or memories, would not be too bad on the morrow. . . As the burn grew unpleasant, Soliane grabbed three of the buttersweet puffs from the tray beside the chalices and stuffed them in her mouth. Only to hear a voice call out to her, although not by name... She turned to look at the figure dressed in blue, her own cheeks appearing swollen by the sweets.

"If you can handle a drink," She more or less slurred, a puff of powdered sugar leaving her lips alongside her words.

​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

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House Serraris Estate
Location: Come undone
Aurelian Veruna

For you, Nez, I might consider making an exception. The words curled through Sibylla like warm wine.

"You already do," she whispered before she could stop herself, the admission slipping free in a rush of daring.

Then came the spin, and suddenly she was pressed against him again, the warmth of his chest seeping through her silk gown. She felt her breath hitch when his hand slid upward, the sharp angles of his face drawing close until his breath brushed her cheek, a touch that felt like both a dare and a warning.

She froze, not from fear but from awareness, the kind that made her pulse trip and her thoughts scatter like petals in the wind. And while the mask hid most of her face, but it did nothing to shield the heat rising over the curve of her neckline and over her thoat. Hazel eyes lifted to meet the amber ones staring down at her, drawn in like a tide. That mischievous spark in his gaze was impossible to ignore, and when his eyes flicked toward her mouth, her breath caught entirely.

Then came his low and dangerous quip. Careful, Nez. I bite back.

She had honestly meant to keep up with his teasing, to meet every grin with one of her own, but Shiraya help her, he made thinking near impossible. His nearness pulled at her until she could no longer tell if she was resisting or giving in. Full lips parted in surprise, then curved into a smile that was all challenge and charm.

"Do you now?" she breathed barely enough to hear above the music. The warm press of her hand moved of its own accord, sailing from his shoulder to the center of his chest. This time it was she who leaned into the warmth of his touch has his hand cupped her jaw, tilting her head up toward him, her pulse thundering, every nerve alive beneath his hand.

"You keep saying that as if I should be afraid," she murmured, her gaze flickering down to his mouth before finding his eyes again.

"But I think I'd rather find out what happens if I'm not."

The final note of the waltz lingered like a held breath as they stilled, the world narrowing to the space between them. Her fingers brushed the fine fabric of his coat while his thumb traced the edge of her mask. For one suspended moment, neither moved.

Then the orchestra seemed to fade into silence.