This! Is! Wroona! | CIS Dominion of Wroona

[Eternal Wholesomeness]

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[SIZE=11pt]Wroona had always had a wealthy, healthy, spiritual, and fun-loving society. Everything about Wroonians implied a wild lifestyle, they often had piercings and tattoos, wearing ornate clothing with wild colours. They adored travel, and most of them were owners of hardy, sailing boats that they sailed on the vast seas of Wroona, or speeders that they drove around the miles of sandy coast, highlighted in a vibrant blue. Fewer, yet still most of the population owned ships that ranged in size from starfighters to yachts fit for kings for them to travel the Galaxy in.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Wroona was not without sprawling cities to fill its populace's needs. Yet all worlds had a capital, did they not? And this capital was the city of Pars, translated from the Ancient Tongue used to name the city, it means Party. You could not go a street without finding a nightclub or bar. The streets were littered with celebrations, especially today. Today was the day the new King of Wroona took his throne, and killed the Old King. The new King was the former Champion Gladiator from the Pits of Pugiles, the City's Gladiatorial Arena. He had stormed the Old King's Throne Room, and taken him hostage, forcing his way to the Throne.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]This is how the Monarchy of Wroona took a turn, and became an Empire. This had all happened a week ago. The celebrations hadn't stopped, but the Wroonians were not happy. The newly crowned Emperor had begun to force Wroonians into the Pits of Pugiles, where they were forced against their will to fight for their lives against Nexu, Acklays, Lyleks, Wampas, and so many more beasts, Rancors were even known to make an appearance. But what made it all worse was when the beasts had all been slain, they were forced to fight each other.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Now, this might've been alright with the Confederacy of Independent Systems, had the Emperor not gone and unleashed an Abomination to fight with the Gladiators. It had seemed alright on the first day, before they knew the Abomination was the final kill needed to move on. Within two days, the Abomination was crowned as the Champion Gladiator. And those who surrendered to him during the battle were taken as slaves. Something the Confederacy would not tolerate. At the end of the week, the Confederacy had just received the first report, before two hours had passed, the Confederacy had received close to a thousand reports from concerned and distraught family and friends of those conscripted to fight in the Arena for the entertainment of the Emperor and his Lords.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Armed with a burning passion to liberate Wroona, the Confederacy made it's move.[/SIZE]

Objectives​

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[SIZE=11pt]The Emperor has recently opened the Arena to those who wish to willingly participate in Gladiatorial combat. You need only sign up before 7 AM on Wroona, and you will be allowed entry into the Arena for that day. It is in this Arena where Champions are born. The Pit of Pugiles hungers for blood, and will reward it’s Champion with the glory of being a Champion of Pugiles. You are free to bring your own armour and weapons, but there are only three rules:[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]1. Thou shalt not use lightsabers[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]2. Thou shalt not harm your fellows till the last beast lays dead[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]3. Thou shalt not use ranged weaponry aside from pistols, bows, crossbows, slingshots, dart launchers, or similar[/SIZE]

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[SIZE=11pt]Distract the Lords: The Emperor’s Lords are all seated on the balcony, watching the fighting. The Confederacy has offered the Lords of Wroona some of it's military and political leadership to enjoy the fighting with. Refreshments will be provided at no cost to the Confederate Leadership. In a show of gratitude for the opportunity to mingle with some major players in Galactic Affairs, the Lords of Wroona have decided to provide dancers aswell as alternative forms of entertainment on the balcony. Such as music, holo-TV, and holo-videogames.[/SIZE]

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[SIZE=11pt]Overthrow the Throne: The Confederacy has dispatched strike teams to the Emperor's Throne Room on Wroona. As the Emperor has decided to sit out the Political Party on the balcony this day, he will be residing in his Palace. The Throne Room is on Floor Four, along with the Emperor's Private Chambers, the Viewing Chambers, which hold space to view the Opera, movies, or television. The Emperor's Private Chambers include his bathroom and bedroom. One would also find the Training Chambers, Guest Chambers, Meal Chambers, and Emperor's Personal Balcony on this floor, their names all speak for themselves. The job of the Strike Teams is to form a coordinated assassination on the Emperor. The options are at their disposal. But they are warned to be mindful of the Praetorius, the Emperor's Elite Guard, that could rival the Royal Guard of the Galactic Empire. They are led by Captain Horrus, and wear Royal Purple with their black and gold armour. Preferentially, they would remain alive to serve the Confederacy in other purposes.[/SIZE]

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[SIZE=11pt]BYOO: Once again, we return with the BYOO, or Bring Your Own Objective to the uninitiated. The Streets of Pars are crawling with bars, nightclubs, and other celebrations. Mostly led by those unaffected by the Emperor's cruelty. Feel free to do what you want! Get drunk in a bar, sail the seas of Wroona, camp on the blue-sand coasts, enjoy some fine cuisine from all over the galaxy, or march in a parade! The choice is yours.[/SIZE]

Tags

Spoiler

[SIZE=11pt][member="A'Runda"][/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt][member="Adelle Bastiel"][/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt][member="Akabane"][/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt][member="Alden Akaran"][/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt][member="Alkor Centaris"][/SIZE]
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[SIZE=11pt][member="Alwine Lechner"][/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt][member="Amarant deWinter"][/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]@Amaya Cardei[/SIZE]
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[SIZE=11pt][member="Amethyst Atreides"][/SIZE]
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[SIZE=11pt][member="Danger Arceneau"][/SIZE]
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[SIZE=11pt][member="Dalton Kenway"][/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt][member="Darth Tacitus"][/SIZE]
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[SIZE=11pt]@Kalee Bladesworn[/SIZE]
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[Eternal Wholesomeness]

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The Emperor looked out into the vibrant blue sand of the Pit of Pugiles. He looked down, into the pits from where he himself had fought not months ago. He still tasted the metallic bitterness of his own blood from the many times he had been hit, and made to bleed in these pits. In a show of what he could only guess to be irony, he wore a polished and repaired version of his old gladiatorial armour. He turned his gaze out to the crowds amassed in the stadium, who all sat and waited patiently, he then looked upwards to the balcony opposite his, where his Generals, Admirals and Favoured Politicians sat. There was no question, anybody who meant anything on Wroona was here in this Stadium. Droids hovered around him, with microphones to pick up his every word, his every breath, and cameras that captured his every twitch. Today would mark a new page in the history of Wroona. Today was the day Kings died.

He fixed his gaze infront of him, on the white, plentiful hairs on the back of the Old King's head. He was dressed in his old royal robes. He stepped back after considering what he was about to do. He knew his fate, and he knew the King's fate. He looked around, making sure the droids were in position. He then looked forwards, and raised his leg, giving the Old King the final kick that shoved him off his throne and to the open arms of death. And in perfect synchronisation, three words came from his mouth, three words that echoed across the entire stadium, three words that could never be truer.

"This! Is! Wrooonaa!" ​

He then turned, and left. He walked the minute to his royal speeder, that flew him back to the palace. Captain Horrus was waiting in the center of the main chamber. The Captain's hand flew to his head in a salute, as the New Emperor of Wroona walked in, flocked by eight of the Praetorius. Then the Emperor moved to the balcony, guarded by his loyal Praetorius.

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The Abominationem Dominus watched as the gates of his chambers slowly raised to allow him entry into the pit. He grew tired of waiting, and quickly grabbed them, pushing the pure steel gate up with the strength of his three arms. He walked under it, and out into the arena. The tusks on his helmet pointed up to the skies as he raised his unique axe and spear combination in one hand, and his iron flails in the other. Standing up to his full ten foot height, the fire in his stomach flared, as the crowd cheered. Then the beast gates opened slowly, one by one, a pack of ten Nexu prowled out of one, two Rancor out the middle, and five Acklays out the final gate. Then the four gates back behind him opened, letting the other contestants in the Arena out. The crowd cheered, ready to watch the entertainment begin.

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The Lords of Wroona stood on their balcony, turning around to face their esteemed guests from the Confederacy of Independent Systems. The Lords were the elite of the planet. The most revered Admirals, Generals renowned for their tactical prowess and their skills with weaponry. Not to mention a few higher ranking members of the Wroonian Parliament. The dancers moved forward, the Holo-TV sat waiting, and so much more entertainment. They all had the smirks of those who thought they knew the prey of another predator.

 

[Srina Talon]

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Location: Balcony​

Tag: Open [Come Play!]​

Wearing: XoXoXo​

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The young woman watched the arena from the gilded balcony above. Silver eyes changed, moving, every now and again while corruption sang in her veins. They flared with gold. Some might have called it stunning if they didn’t know what it meant or where it came from. Srina had accepted it. Her head turned when the Lords of this world approached, all at once, interested in their new visitors. The Exarch looked them over with cold silence and found them wanting.

She was much more interested in the fighting below.

“Thank you for your…”, her melodic voice trailed off, cold, but with a frozen sense of overly sweet honey. She was annoyed, but, these men weren’t worth her time. “Hospitality.”

The Echani had very little patience for little men, that looked down on warriors, who truly deserved praise. Despite her personal feelings on the matter the Sith Apprentice performed her duties to the letter. When her Master could not be present, she was the exceedingly long arm of his wrath, and no part of her minded. There were a lot of moving parts to this planetary acquisition.

She planned to win. That’s all it was, just a game of clever and cruel, right? There was no good. No evil. No right—No wrong. There was only those who were strong enough to withstand the gale that the universe threw. The Confederacy, their nation, was strong. These people would see the path ahead as choices they would make on their own, but truly, it was the will of [member="Darth Metus"] that chose. They were here. The people would bend. The ruler would break, or die, while they brought an annoyance to heel.

One of the dancers seemed to want to come closer to her but a piercing stare caused the scantily clad woman to keep her distance. Instead, one of the more confident Lords approached, with dark eyes that figuratively dissolved the blood red fabric she wore. He was confident. Used to getting his way. Srina didn’t need to read his mind to realize that he was a lecherous old man. No honor, no humility, and nothing of value. The ivory haired woman offered a pale smile. “May I help you?”

Srina smoothed the front of her robes, as if she worried about wrinkles, while she awaited a reply. Perhaps some kindly soul from the arena would manage to hit her with a crossbow bolt from the ground floor so that she could be put out of her misery. Why could she not fight with the others? Why did she have to deal with this Lord, who wished to stand too close, while reeking of expensive liquor.

“Can I get you something to drink while you wait fair one? I assume that you must be part of the retinue for Exarch Talon…?”

Her eyes flared, briefly, but settled into ice. Women were clearly not highly thought of here. Where was her Master? Where was [member="Adron Malvern"]? [member="Aryn Teth"]? Someone would likely need to keep her from removing this man’s hands out of sheer spite, if, he kept looking at her like she was something he wanted to eat. It was strange. She did not understand, but moreover, she didn’t like it.

“I am Exarch Talon.”

The man faltered while taking goblets of wine, one for her, and one for him. “Oh—I see. What a pleasant surprise. We were informed that Exarch Talon was fearsome.”

Srina did not respond but only let her lips curl into a partially bored smile while she took the offered goblet. She did not drink from it, and instead, took no small amount of joy in making the Lord in question squirm in discomfort. There was something about her eyes.

Gods, they could be so cruel.

 

[Romulus Revnar]

[SIZE=15pt]Objective: [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]the Arena[/SIZE]
[SIZE=15pt]Time: [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]Earlier[/SIZE]
[SIZE=15pt]Location: [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]Wroona, Estate of Lord Jaebry[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt] Rome watched the elderly Lord pace ever so slowly before the great fireplace that burned with a blistering fire that matched the Lord's own mood. Heat rolled off both at the rage that threatened to escape Lord Jaebry at the injustice that had taken place. For generations his family had served the people of Wroona diligently and with justice under the monarchs of their planet. But with the new self titled emperor, the future of House Jaebry had neared it's end.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt] The youthful children, Elenore and Eric, twins of the Lord had been collected and conscripted into the gladiatorial games that were to take later that morning. The Lord knew that his stance against the new emperor had cost him favor and the protection of the people his family had sworn to protect. But instead of punishing the elderly Lord, the emperor had the youthful children taken. At first Lord Jaebry thought they would be hostages to force the emperor's will onto himself. But in the end the evil machinations became clear.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt] The emperor wanted to punish Lord Jaebry and wipe his lineage from the face of Wroona permanently.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt] With limited options Lord Jaebry sent word to a figure known to have a sharp sword, an unshakable resolve, and a sense of justice. And that was what brought Romulus Revnar to the great hall that early morning. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt] The exhibition was planned for the day, the great battle royale which would have the combatants face creatures before turning on their sentient opponents. Mixed within the transcripts and volunteers were heirs of other houses that foolishly opposed the new emperor. And with champion of the Pits, Abominationem Dominus, slated to fight … it was a death sentence for all involved. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt] The older man left the Lord standing before the fire to head to the great coliseum to sign up as a volunteer. His mission was to protect the youths, somehow get them to safety, and if that proved impossible, to slay the champion of the Pit of Pugiles.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=15pt]Time: [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]Now[/SIZE]
[SIZE=15pt]Location: [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]the Pit of Pugiles[/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]

Spoiler

[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt] He stood in the pit, armor plates over leather jerkin. A slugthrower rested on his right hip, the butt pointed toward his midsection with a handle polished from use over time. On his left hip rode a sword within it's sheath. On his hip behind the pistol a smaller blade resided. His head was uncovered in the morning light, the perspiration glinting slightly in the morning sun as green eyes scanned the other combatants. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt] The gates opposite of where he had entered were peeled open by a gargantuan figure with three arms and an imposing presence. A frown stretched the weathered face of Rome as he gauged the champion of the Pits as a deadly opponent. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt] Then the sunlight glinted off of pale hair of a woman in the stands where the lords and ladies waited to watch the spectacle. The distance was to great to see with exact detail and his attention was pulled away as he sensed the two youth he had come to protect nearby.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt] Using the Force to strengthen his focus he made his way leisurely through those gathered on the sands to stand near Elenore and Eric. Jade eyes left the white haired spectator and returned to the champion as he spoke quietly so as not to be over heard.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt] “Your father, Lord Jaebry, has sent me to protect you. Stay behind me and do as I say.”[/SIZE]

 

[Isadora Lycinius]

Objective: Overthrow the King​

Wearing: Light armour underneath a black bomber jacket. Combat boots.​

​Wielding: Verpine Shatter Rifle, DL-44 Pistol (modified), and KC-95 Ace of Spades Blaster, as well as various knives and small explosives. ​

Tags: [member="Kelsie Sylvan"], anyone else who wants to overthrow some empires​

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Isadora didn't usually do teams. She didn't like them. And standing near the entrance of the palace, waiting for her so-called team members to show up, she didn't feel at all inclined to change her viewpoint. Being relatively new to the Confederacy, she hadn't wanted to delay after the authorities-that-be requested strike teams for overthrowing the emperor -- and she was never one to shy away from a little blood -- but as she waited she wished she had done a little more research. There was a king, and he had ousted another king, and then became an emperor, and then started a one-week reign of terror... Never a student of any sorts, she had no familiarity with Wroona's layout or politics and was mostly going in blind.

The roar of the crowd filled her ears. The festivities would make a perfect cover for their stealth operation... if anyone else had shown up yet. Ten minutes before go in myself. And Isadora would, too. As nice as it was to have someone watching your back, it became useless when you had to watch over them, too.

"This is Wroona!"

Resigning herself to wait for the others, she leaned against one of the many columns near the entrance and busied herself with braiding her hair. Since she wasn't sensitive to any of the telltale force signatures another member of the strike team, she kept her eyes up and out, looking out for anyone who might be CIS-sent.

 

[Morgan E. Longstreet]

Objective: Fight in the Arena to keep the lords distracted. And end this farce.
Equipment: Songsteel Vibro-blade, Songsteel Vibro-rapier, two revolver slug throwers (Six shots each before reloading), hat, leathris jacket, extra slugs, back up combat knife
Tags: [member="Alwine Lechner"]
Theme

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The other gladiators gave the tall cyborg looking creating uneasy looks. Mechanical fingers carefully filled the chambers of the revolvers in his hands. At his sides his two blades rested and shimmered in the low light. This was not his standard fare, he normally was a soldier commanding droids into battle. However, in his cold mechanical chest, a small fire of pride burned. He wanted to prove his strength to all, and in doing so, he could also fulfill his mission of taking out this den of slavery. End the life of the beasts, end the abomination, and when the primary objective was completed, take the lords captive.

But to accomplish this, he had to survive. When loaded, his lower set of arms pushed him from the cool stone wall. As he turned to the gate, his leatheris coat fluttered around him. Morgan walked over to Alwin. He had been partnered with the Wolf for this mission. Failure was not an option, so he grasped the idea. The lady was much smaller than he, however, this would be a benefit in this engagement, a smaller target area, and closer to the ground. If he used his slug throwers in his upper arms, he had a much less chance of hitting her.

Morgan tipped his hat to the woman. “Ready?” The man's voice was deep and gravely, unlike almost any other vocabulator in existence. It sounded alive, and had proper inflections. This was not a droid pretending to be alive. This was sentient, self aware creature that simply wore the body of a droid. The gates would open almost any time now. At any moment the mission would begin in earnest. Far above the planet in an inconspicuous freighter, another of his bodies worked, providing logistics support for the endevour, ready to pull people out, or insert new forces in. With luck, Morgan wouldn't need to do that. However, the AI believed it was better to be prepared than to be found lacking later on.

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Location: Geonosis
Objective: Teach Jazzy a new song


While he was vastly aware of what his other bodies were doing, in the same way a living being knew what their hands and feet were up to even if their focus was elsewhere, Morgan's entire attention was on this beautiful, small little mirialan girl infront of him. His little daughter, his world. Gloved fingers reached out and ran through her silken brown hair. “Not quite, my Jazzy. Let's try again.” His voice was deep, but gentle and compassionate. This was his world, his entire reason for existence. She was why he did anything at all. He kneeled infront of the green skinned child and nodded. “Once more!”

He sang, it was not the prettiest sound in the galaxy, but it was melodious, and he stayed on key at least. “A sailor went to sea sea sea. To see what he could see see see. But all that he could see see see. Was the bottom of the deep blue sea sea sea.” The little one's brown eyes went large and she clapped. “DADDY! I love dat song!” Jazzy hopped from foot to foot as he sang to her. “More! More, sing mores daddy!”

 

[Krystal]

Objective: Distract the Lords​

​Wearing: Something Scandalous​

Tags: [member="Srina Talon"] , anyone else interested​

Wielding: A small DL-44 is holstered at her side, but other than that Krystal appears unarmed, despite several blades concealed in the folds of her skirt and her tall boots. ​

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​

Confidence radiated from the girl as she strode into the room. Krystal didn't recognize any of the lords, but she assumed that those of any import had been... done away with when the rule shifted hands. Though not usually one for the whole 'court intrigue' aspect of overthrowing monarchies, there were definitely some perks to dining with lords while others did the dirty work. Plucking a small glass of champagne from a wandering droid, she took small sips as she began to survey the room. Definite perks.

Her gaze skipped around the room, jumping past dancers not much older than she was and projections of games and shows. There were leaders here, men and woman in charge of large swaths of the galaxy, but Krystal wasn't here to rub shoulders with the rich and powerful. Rather, she would distract and disguise the true purpose of the CIS's visit to the galaxy. The men of Wroona were easy to spot -- in contrast with the dangerous figures of many of the galactic powerful, they seemed to have an aura of oil. A few such men were consorting with the dancers, but they were aptly distracted already. They were talking amongst themselves, playing the inane holo-games... On the balcony, a man who she could only assume was another one of the greasy lords stood next to a woman Krystal seemed to recognize from somewhere. A step closer revealed it was the Exarch of the CIS herself -- no wonder she seemed familiar.

Without a doubt this lady was simply having her own fun at the Lord's expense -- indeed, Krystal wondered if he even knew who he was talking to -- but nonetheless Krystal walked over to the two of them.

As she neared the edge of the balcony, she made a show of accidentally catching one of her heels on an uneven tile. Her small glass of champagne went directly onto the front of the man's surely expensive suit.

A look of concern crossed her face as the man turned to face her.

"Oh dear... Terribly foolish of me!" She looked at the man innocently. "I'm so sorry to bother!"

 

[Adron Malvern]

​

Location: Balcony | Objective: Tolerate Stupidity | Wearing: This | Post: I​

​

Lord Ashlan was bulbous and obese, an obscene presentation that could best be described as gluttonous. He was a massive man, still he barely reached six feet in height. His mass was accumulated in a more horizontal manner. Even his walk was no more than a troubling waddle that led him from one part of the balcony to another. A crimson juice fell from his lips, which he wiped away with a silken cloth presented to him by a downtrodden serving girl. The glutton moved from the bar with a hawk-like look in his eyes. Those eyes, the Ashlan family were known to have pure golden pools that gave them the name, The House of Golden Waters. No, with this lord the golden pools were considerably murkened and they seemed more like pools filled with a sickly yellow bile than any type of pricey mineral.

The large man waddled over to the Exarch, [member="Srina Talon"] with a smile that would make even the most oblivious women uncomfortable. A man who obviously took to indulgence whenever he wished, his gaze could not bode well. He approached her, showing a row of teeth that had been overly whitened to the point where they seemed stained or painted. He was a repulsive figure, even among the lowest of the lords. Yet, he was one of their greatest, or at least one of the richest. He paid little mind to those others crowded on the balcony, not even the young woman who spilled her drink on another of his class. No, Lord Ashlan was of a singular mind.

"My Lady, your likeness has never found itself to our doors before. I welcome you to Wroona." His bow was shallow as that great belly of his would not allow much in the ways of movement, but it was there nonetheless. He recovered, exhaling briefly before moving closer to the woman with an unexpected move of swiftness. His words were a cloudy whisper that reminded most of a pig's squeals as he spoke in what he passed as a sultry tone. "Perhaps after the event I could escort you, though nothing on our world shows such beauty as you, it is still a world to be seen." His hand rose as if to press itself to the fair woman's cheek.

Before it met its mark, another hand wrapped around the lord's in a vice. The hand went pale and the large nobleman made a sound as if a lump had been caught in his throat.

"I can assure you, my lord. Should that hand touch the Exarch, it will never again touch another." The silvery voice that came was Adron's. It was silken and careful yet still it held a weight to it. He had seemingly materialized out of nowhere, merely finding a space to be filled beside the bulbous Lord Ashlan.

The words were not spoken in a threat, no they were actually a word of warning. Adron had no mind towards harming this man, it was the other Exarch who would claim his hand for such an insult and Adron did not see such a thing as beneficial to the Confederacy, however satisfying. The Noble grunted, attempting to snatch his hand from Adron, yet the Exarch did not release him, instead his amethyst eyes washed over the man with a indifferent gaze.

Disgusting. The single though that came over Adron's mind. Finally he released the man, before he decided to make a fuss.

"I never!" The pig-like voice of Lord Ashlan called out, before he turned from the group making his way to friendlier company. Adron himself, simply pressed his hand against the wine-colored blazer he wore, as if wiping the memory of the man from his hand.

"The term nobility once held more meaning than coin and fine silks..." Adron muttered as his eyes flickered from lord to lord, weighing them against his mind's judgement. Few met his expectations of the word Lord. Now he turned to [member="Krystal Estain"], giving her a measuring gaze as well before inclining his head politely. "Exarch Malvern, I appreciate you keeping these...nobles from bothering my partner too much. I'd hate for some of them to see death this day, before they prove their benefit to The Confederacy." Adron was like the others, and not like the others. He had been bred into riches and titles as they had. Yet, every title he had, he earned in full.

​

​

​

​

 

[Don Cagliostro]

​

[SIZE=11pt]Objective: Arena, Break apart this operation, and win.[/SIZE]​

[SIZE=11pt]Equipment: Augmentations, Jetpack[/SIZE]​

[SIZE=11pt]In his turbulent hobby of busting illegal or less than legal operations. To some extent he felt like it was a little messed up for this independent planet to practice slavery, for some intergalactic government to creep its way over and violently have them change their ways. Even he figured that conquest was a less practical and effective way to abolish something with the social magnitude as slavery. He would recommend incentive for them to abolish it themselves, that way they don’t just go back to doing it when they think no one’s watching.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Roy had signed up as a voluntary gladiator. He didn’t even bring his durasteel mandalorian armor, just his jetpack to aid with mobility. He was also let down to realize that he couldn’t use his blaster augmentations, yet slug thrower pistols were okay, but he didn’t bring any. Meaning he’d need to get really up close and personal, and rely of his strength, dexterity, and constitution to get through the fight.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]He just hoped that he wouldn’t go too overboard with fighting. He feels like he’s been having difficulty controlling his programs designed for self defense, but more recently they’ve been turning into self offense. Nonetheless when the time arrived to head out into the pits he felt more than ready. Looking out at the first group of foes, they were beasts, but considering how many there were Roy was beginning to think that this Abomination guy was going to be real challenge when they had to face him after the animals. Readying himself, two razor sharp claws shot out from his robotic knuckles, showing that he was ready for action.[/SIZE]

 

[Kyyrk]

​

Equipment: Rags, Chains​

Objective: Overthrow the Emperor​

Status: Under Guard​

Tags: [member="Isadora Lycinius"]​

​

Voph walked slowly, flanked on all sides by guards. None of them the elite guard, but they knew what they were dealing with. He was clearly a Miraluka. And they knew to be careful with Force Sensitives. His arms were chained in front of him, his legs bound at the ankles. His hair hung around his face, the only thing masking his true visage. Of course they had not permitted Voph to keep his mantle. His head was bowed in submission has he walked. He knew better than to fight a losing battle.

As they walked past the entrance, Voph glanced to the side. His empty sockets fixated on the figure of a small girl inconspicuously waiting outside the palace. He knew that the collection of guards would garner enough attention. He offered her a nigh-imperceptible nod, before bowing his head again, allowing the tangled mass of white hair to fall about his face again. The Dauntless were nearby. That he knew. They were just waiting for the signal.

For a split second Voph wondered if Luna would even bother to bring his blade. But deep down, he knew the Dauntless commander could be trusted. She would be there. On time. Voph just prayed that there wasn't a rogue element he'd forgot to take into account. This plan would work...but it could end badly if...say...one of the Mandalorians got the bright idea to storm the palace alone. No, better to infiltrate quietly. As the main doors closed behind him, Voph took a breath. He was on his own now. Living on a hope and a prayer. Just him and his wits against an Empire. And deep down, it was a thrill to be back in the hunt...

 

[Darth Metus]

Objective: II - Balcony​

Tag: [member=Áine]​

He was to Proud to admit...

As the gilded halls of the Emperor opened to receive the Confederates, the Viper's eyes widened in awe. From the moment of his birth up until very recent history, Hisashi believed he understood what it meant to be a Lord. He thought that subjugation was the totality of the burden of leadership. That battles and rending apart one's foes were all that mattered. However. As the group moved deeper within the center of opulence, it became quickly apparent that this understanding was simply one side of the coin.

For where there was victory, there was prosperity. Through prosperity, there was an opportunity to revel. Thus, the warrior was greeted with a cacophony that offended all of his senses. Rich perfumes invaded his nostrils upon the instant that his footsteps entered the balcony. The chatter of posh voices caused his teeth the touch. Aromas of different refreshments attempted to combat the cloud of expensive scents - but to no avail. To say that Hisashi was out of his element was an understatement...but he would never admit as much out loud.

Rather, he did what had been instructed of him during the morning of. Hours before this very moment, he had been standing before a mirror - once more out of his element. A fiery-haired woman busied herself in making them both "presentable" for this presentation...or whatever it was...that the Confederacy was attending this afternoon. Overall, both Sins knew that this was simply a facet of a larger operation and that their role was to ensure their VIPs had adept protection when the fighting began. However, that meant looking the part. Or at least, that was the story that [member=Áine] was selling.

Nonetheless, due to how excited the woman seemed about their preparations, Hisashi did his best to humor her. And thus he committed to memory the flurry of instructions she provided before the mirror. Make yourself look like you belong. She'd say. Or. Offer me your arm and walk around. Chat. When the hour finally came and they arrived upon the balcony, Hisashi attempted to enact that which she asked. His dominant arm was offered as they took their first, tentative steps onto the balcony. And Hisashi did his best to look like he belonged - straightening his posture with each step.

And given the fresh robes she had managed to procure for him, the warrior looked less the part of Executor and closer to Atrisian nobility. Not that he'd ever willingly adopt such a description. The difficult part came in "chatting", for Hisashi was not the Galaxy's greatest conversationalist. He could discuss tactics until his tongue fell off...but the intracacies of current events? Hardly. So, as a stunning alternative, he plucked a flute of champagne off of one of the multiple trays moving about and offered it to his companion. "Can't I just chat with you? You're far better company than these..." he searched for a word that wasn't offensive. "Nobles."

 

[Luca Donskoi]

Location: Balcony (Overlooking Pits)​

Attire: Service Dress Uniform (LINK)​

Armament: Lightsaber (hidden)​

Objective: II. Distract the Lords​

Tags: [member="Adron Malvern"] | [member="Srina Talon"] | [member="Krystal Estain"] | [member="Hisashi"] | Anyone Else​

“High Marshal Akaran?” The inquiring voice was soft in nature, seeming nearly hushed as a dainty female approached the man from behind. She was dressed in what resembled something of a uniform dotted chaotically with ribbons and medals of various kinds which offered image perplexed in a riot of color. Large, polished insignias were emblazoned upon the lapels of her silken-looking coat. Her champagne-colored hair had been pulled back tightly into a bun that she’d obviously taken a considerable amount of time to fashion as not a single fiber of hair seemed to fly free of the bundle which protruded just beneath the seam of the eccentric cap which adorned her head. Her eyes were an amethyst hue, her lips a faded red.

She wasn’t like many of the other Wroonian types that dotted the balcony of brushed, stone tile. No, certainly not. Where many of the Wroonian Lords and delegates echoed the gluttonous obscenity presented by Lord Ashlan, this small woman reflected another side of Wroona. It was certainly a favorable side to that which had presented itself thus far.

Alden’s arms were crossed and pressed to his chest, even as the woman approached his, coming to a halt off his left flank. His gaze lay on the unfolding scene of the Pits as barbaric and archaic tradition would no doubt draw a rise from the crowd soon. As his gaze drifted across the coarse sand of the arena floor to the same brushed stone the line the boundary as a wall, his sapphire eyes took in the blood stained smudges of discoloration which told the tales of the thousands which had breathed their last breathes upon its very sands. Man and beasts alike. It was a vile and cruel sport which Alden would never understand. The thrill that riled a bloodthirsty crowd for the very lives of those who’d been enslaved for nothing more than their mere entertainment. Whether or not these men and women had volunteered to feed the unrelenting hunger of the crowd’s ire mattered little to him, as for him, it only called out to a barbaric and undeveloped age which he’d hoped would have been snuffed from existence by this point. To him, there was only one place for such uncivilized proceedings and that place was in the archives and historical texts. A place where one would be able to revel at just how far the greater galaxy had come.

“High Marshal Akaran?”

The voice came forth once more, pulling Alden away from his thoughts. His arms unclasped from in front of him and fell to his sides, where he then pivoted to his left in a counterclockwise fashion. His gaze fell downward to the petite figure of the woman garbed in that riotous appeal of a military service dress uniform.

“Yes,” he said, pausing for a moment and collecting his thoughts. His eyes closed briefly, opening a fleeting moment later. “I’m sorry, I was caught up in my thoughts.”

Alden extended his hand in the offer of a handshake.

“Admiral Hercchel.” Her hand reached out and accepted the handshake, gripping his hand in a far firmer manner than he would have expected the small woman to be able to muster. “It’s a pleasure to host one of The Confederacy’s finest.”

Alden released a short, and dismissive huff at her statement declaring him one of the Confederacy’s finest and he let go of the handshake. “Finest is quite the title to use,” he retorted. “There are many fine men and women in the Confederacy’s ranks. Who am I to hold myself above them? After all, it’s because of them that sit where I do today. I am nothing without them and I will not decree myself to be more than them.”

Alden motioned with a hand toward a collection of personnel dressed similarly to himself, wearing the formal uniform of the Confederate Navy’s ranks. “The day a leader believes themselves better than the men and women under their command, is the day they’ve lost site of what it means to command. Those under our command are the true heroes. Each and every leader would do well to remember that.”

He hadn’t been speaking in any manner as to berate or cast down the Admiral as she had attempted only to offer him a compliment, but he was strong in his feelings that he was nothing more than a product of the efforts of each and every person under his command. That was his leadership philosophy, and even if it was flawed, it’s what he held firmly to.

 

[Romulus Revnar]

[SIZE=15pt]Time: [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]Now[/SIZE]
[SIZE=15pt]Location: [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]the Pit of Pugiles[/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]

Spoiler

[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt] [/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt] The gates clanged shut with a resounding slam that echoed within the arena like the heralding of the beginning of battle, and the death toll for those who would water the sands with their life blood. At the sound of finality the arena burst into activity as the combatants leapt to action and the beasts went on the attack. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt] The ten nexu attacked the nearest group of gladiators as a single unit, the slavering foam dripping from the beasts’ mouth turning red as they ripped into the contestants. The ferocity and suddenness of their assault proved to be the demise if the group of gladiators they drove into first.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt] Meanwhile the two bull rancors, both male, trumpeted their challenge to one another and surged forward. Their clash of bodies created a shockwave that could be felt as tremors within the arena as they grappled one with another, trampling contestants who were not quick enough to escape the path of the battling titans.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt] The five acklay broke up and drove forward into the clusters of gladiators. One such acklay turned it's three eyes upon the two youth directly behind Rome. As it approached with a warble of chitter from it's fang filled mouth several other teens fled from their places to bunch with Elenore and Eric behind Revnar turning his charges from two to over half a dozen.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt] Motioning for the children to hug the wall behind him, Rome reached down and pulled the sword from its sheath to advance forward putting a cushion of space between himself and the youths now under his protection. Another acklay who had made short work of a pair of warriors approached from his left. Turning his body he shifted his left side forward while holding the sword in his right.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt] The second acklay attacked first, prompted by Rome's turned back. Pivoting on his right leg he spun his body while raising the sword above his head, narrowly avoiding the front right leg that lanced down where the man had just been standing. The blade swung down biting through the joint of the leg and severing the majority of the leg. The acklay withdrew with a chittering hiss.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt] The other acklay seeing the distraction drove forward toward the children seeking the easy feast that the youth offered. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt] Leaping forward the sword lanced up deflecting the two forward legs that struck out for Rome's chest. The powerful attack pushed Rome down into a crouch as the acklay rose on its hind legs and reared back, this time intending to strike with four of it's forward legs. Jumping forward he slipped between the legs and drove his sword into the acklay's chest, allowing gravity to bull the sword down, with his weight as an anchor, to slide the sword through the underprotected belly of the beast, disemboweling the creature.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt] The acklay fell backwards as Rome turned back to the other acklay who approached once more. The vile juices from the acklay had sprayed the man across face and chestplate painting him a visceral green.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt] The screech of the acklay sounded out as it lanced it's neck downward in an attempt to end Rome with a well placed bite. The maw of its mouth was open, razor sharp teeth glistening with sticky saliva as it fell downward toward the man only to be met with the thrown sword that slipped between teeth, the blade driving through the roof of its mouth and into its brain.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt] The creature slammed to the ground dead as Rome retrieved the blade and placed himself once more in front of the youth as beasts and warriors battled against one another in mortal combat.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt](OOC: ⅖ acklay killed in post)[/SIZE]

 

[Áine]

​

Location: Balcony | Wearing: [xxx] | Tags: [member=Hisashi]​

Áine was in awe. The expensive lifestyle of expensive and tasteful had always captivated her attention. From the moment she stepped out of the pod fresh and full of new life, to the very moment her heels now clicked against extravagant marble floors, she had been breath taken by the beauty of it. In truth, as they paced the grand halls that lead toward the balcony, she felt she belonged. When they'd first received the details of the operation, Áine must have worn the smile on her face for a week straight. Where others had spent hours training in combat Áine had spent training in the art of nobility. Áine was just as much born and raised amongst nobles as she was the darkness, she thrived in the middle of lavish. Everything she was taught had been leading up to gatherings like this one. They were her hunting grounds just as much as her playground, and she saw the attendees as pleasure and prey alike.

Further than that, she had taken no amount of pleasure in adorning the glamorous attire required to fit in, as well as ensuring her companion stayed true to their role too. Hisashi had easily been convinced to wear the new set of robes she'd picked out for him, in fact, his muscular frame rather suited the tight fitting fabric. Part of her hoped he'd warm up to the idea when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, but she had been a little too eager in the advice she bombarded him with whilst they changed. As for Áine herself, when she had donned the crimson silk dress that clung to her curves, it felt like a second skin. Centuries had gone by since she wore it last and she had gone out of her way to fetch it from Yavin 8, along with the flashes of starlight silver jewellery that adored her porcelain skin. Áine not only looked the part, she was the part. Distracted a few Lords and provide protection to their own should things go awry? Easy. The hard part would be convincing herself to leave at the end of it all.

As they approached the ornately decorated entrance that lead out to the balcony, Hisashi offered his arm out to her just as she had instructed. Áine rewarded him with an encouraging grin as the light from a thousand candles broke through the crack in the doors and cast them in a soft yellow glow. The scene them behind was even more magnificent. Lavish seating spread all around to watch the battle down below, banquet tables filled to the brim with delicacies from all over the Galaxy, expensive wines battling for their place in the gentries hands. Despite her eagerness to dive right in, she could sense the hesitation in her companions step. She could feel the way he stiffened up as his feet took a shot at confident strides. In no short amount of time, his words confirmed what his body had told of long ago.

She produced a smile that lit up her alabaster face and followed it with a laugh that sounded just as sweet. 'No, we have a job to do, and not just for the Confederacy. A job for us as well.' Lithe frame tugged at his gently, urging him at least a little ways past the doorway. 'Friends in high places are always beneficial. Think of it as an extremely rare opportunity.' Áine gladly accepted his offer of the crystalline glass, filled to the brim with a gently fizzing liquid. She used the brief pause as a chance to take a moment to face her companion, wearing an endeared expression meant to ease his mind. Maybe she couldn't make Hisashi change his mind about the opulence they were about to throw themselves into, but she could at least relieve a little pressure. 'Just stay close.' Áine reached out to stroke the fair skin stretching over his cheek bones. 'I can talk for us both, and you can join in if you feel like it. Strong and silent is more your style anyway.' She spoke in jest, and coupled it with a soft smile that creased the corners of her eyes.

After taking the time to make sure his robes were sitting properly on his chest, her scarlet lips lifted up into a grin filled with excitement. 'This will be fun, I promise you.' With one fluid motion she clinked the edges of the two champagne glasses together and raised her own just a touch. For the first time since they had met, a sparkle of life had returned to her emerald eyes. Her bird like tones sounded lively as she found his gaze with a confident expression. 'Try not to think on it too hard. Take a sip, relax. Enjoy yourself.'

 

[Darth Metus]

Objective: II - Balcony​

Tag: [member="Áine"]​

For Áine, it was obvious.

When it came to the vices for which they were named, Hisashi did not look the part of of hubris at a glance. More often than not, he was perfectly comfortable within modest robes, with little more than his weapons as "accessories." He did not bathe in luxurious colognes - except as bidden by his companion. Nor did he exercise any sort of meticulous regimen for personal upkeep. Soap, water, and a towel was all he required to be satisfied with his outward appearance. However. When it came to confidence, his nature rose to the surface in times of great strife. It was seldom that the Viper looked upon a battle and felt overwhelmed, for the struggles of years past always trumped the modern operations by a large margin. It mattered not if it was being outnumbered ten thousand to one. It mattered not if every disadvantage imaginable was thrown his way. Hisashi would always roll his shoulders and utter: I've seen worse.

Áine was a stark contrast.

Where Pride was a far more subtle being in his excessive confidence, her very presence screamed "what is subtle?" From the most hellish battlefields to the most quiet of nights, one would never find the woman of fiery hair with a single thread out of place. She spared no effort in making herself presentable for every occasion - especially the gala of the present. And, living up to the moniker Lust, heads turned whenever she went. Áine made it seem effortless. The way she seemed to glide upon the polished floors, despite the heels underneath her feet. The way not a single piece of jewelry hung out of place despite the thicket of bodies that shared the lift with them. It was as if she managed to snapshot a perfect version of herself and could keep it in place indefinitely. Hisashi certainly wasn't complaining about having such a stunning woman on his arm - though he did raise his eyebrow coldly when he caught a noble eyeing what didn't belong to him.

This minor glance aside, everything had proceeded smoothly up until this point. Despite being far removed from his comfort zone - which, honestly, would have been the warzone the nobility was spectating - he did his absolute best to keep his discomfort silent. His coy concession to his companion was the closest he would ever come to admitting this short-coming, but her smile inspired him to simply...breathe. Moreover, what she said was true. Making allies, especially those with pockets lined with gold, would certainly be a boon no matter what. Hisashi had lived out this reality a few times before, when his former liege called upon aide on the battlefield. A well-timed flank had been the difference between their own massacre and a flawless victory. "That's fair." he conceded, allowing himself to succumb to that infectious smile.

In but a moment, his lips curved ever so slightly, forming a small smirk before the rim of his glass parted them. The bubbling beverage which then slid over his tongue was...very, very sweet. It wasn't bad, just...sweet. His swallow was inquisitive, leading to another small sip before he regarded it with a satisfied, "not bad" look. It was then that she advised him to stay close and insisted that he would certainly have fun during the day's event. To this, he simply drew his arm closer - and by extension introduced himself to a wave of her perfume as they stepped. Now this was a fragrance that he could get used to. Far better than whatever swill the gilded gentlemen were wearing. "You couldn't pay me to step away." he began.

"Now...How does one exactly start? Do we just walk up and say hello? Do we bow? Do we do the hokey-" He cut off his jest with another sip of his beverage. Surely they wouldn't be putting their feet in or turning themselves about anytime soon.

Right?

 

[Kerstan Blackmoore]

wearing: xxx - w. [member="Áine"] | [member="Hisashi"] | [member="Alden Akaran"] | [member="Adron Malvern"] | [member="Srina Talon"] | [member="Krystal Estain"]​

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---

​

Life had an ironic way of playing out, and when one was as old Kerstan, it was a truth that never ceased to amaze. The old noble had managed to find his fingers in a few different places of influence which afforded him unique opportunities. The Eternal Empire had invited the man to sit as their Minister of War which only emboldened Kerstan's resolve to complete the experiments he had been working on. This Empire would give him the fodder he needed to do his work without any delay due to a lack of test subjects. As he grew closer to that phase of his work in engineering the best possible soldier he could, Kerstan was going to need a strong supply in that regard. What Kerstan also needed was funding, heavy and massive funding. To that end he found himself on Wroona of all places. Their world was opulent, their nobility frivolous in the pursuit of human passion, which gave Kerstan the easiest target of them all, dissatisfied noble wives seeking ways to deal with the fact their husbands preferred the company of women half their age, and twice their energy.

There was nothing about the world which surprised Kerstan. The lavish and expensive lifestyle of the Lords and Ladies was the world he had been raised in. It was the one place Kerstan could blend in by standing out, because everyone stood out. His suit was not his typical black, nor was it as modest as he like to wear. Kerstan simply knew when to put on a show and how to attract attention. The top hat which came with the outfit rest on the table next to him, as did the cane which hid a sword. One could never be too careful in these circles especially when they found themselves whispering sweet and senseless nothings into the ear of another Lord's wife.

She had been an easy mark, so desperate for the attention of another man that her outfit left little to the imagination. All eyes would be on her, though Kerstan would be the one who had her ear. Her ear would lead to her wealth, and that was what he sought. Yes, it made him a despicable creature, but there was not a living being Kerstan was not willing to use for his own gain, save perhaps one.

His eyes darted about the room knowing that she had walked in. How could he not feel the presence of his greatest creation from the moment her feet crossed into the room. Her fiery hair was easy spot in a sea of otherwise dull color, and the stiff man who looked out of place in this environment was another dead giveaway. His lips drew in a smirk as they made their way to retrieve drinks. She moved easily, exactly how he had spent the better part of 29 years teaching her to do. Kerstan had never seen her at work before, so he opted to sit back and observe for a moment. Naturally he weighed her choice of partners for this assignment, and as the glass of wine came to his lips his thoughts dropped into her mind.

"You certainly seem to have your work cut out for you with that one... I'll be watching. Oh and nice dress... the color suits you."

He was curious if she would look, but Kerstan shifted his attention back to the wanting woman. She was not pleasing to the eye at all, and it took all of Kerstan's willpower to not not leave the source of his next round of funding and escape to the side of what was his. This was part of something much larger than his base desires, however. In order for his dreams to be realized, Kerstan was going to have to be willing to make certain sacrifices. Both of them had their roles to play. As his lips turned back to the woman, his eyes stole one more look at his creation, she was as she had always been, perfection.

"It seems we are out of wine my dear, I shall only be gone long enough to retrieve us another bottle."

Kerstan stood to his full height from the table where he had been sitting, giving himself the excuse he needed for a few moments of respite from the woman's foul breath.

 

[Vyra Silara]

:Location: ​

Balcony and adjacent interior chambers​

​

:Attire: ​

Serving Girl Disguise​

​

:Objective: ​

Using subterfuge and stealth, locate Abomination’s prize slaves and, with everyone occupied by the arena, lead them to freedom, without bloodshed if possible.​

​

ersonal NPC Backup: ​

The Queen’s Handmaidens | Four, Two Stealthed, One Maintaining Balcony & Gathering Intel, One Unknown (Eirene)​

​

:Special Gear: ​

Modified Stealth Field Generator| Concealed ELG-3A Blaster Pistol | Technical Lock Breaker​

​

:Tags & Mentions:​

Open | [member="Srina Talon"] | [member="Krystal Estain"] | [member="Adron Malvern"] | [member="Alden Akaran"] | [member="Áine"] | [member="Hisashi"] | [member="Kerstan Blackmoore"] ​

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The clay pitcher in her hands felt too light already and she’d only made the rounds once. Smile meek and apologetic as she skirted the demanding snaps, stares and outstretched goblets of the brightly robed aristocrats on the balcony, Vyra Silara kept her eyes down as she made haste towards the serving rooms. Platters piled high with exotic fruits and raw oceanic delicacies on sweet rice burst through the curtains separating the preparation chambers from the gathering and whizzed past her on the arms of servant girls with docile expressions and downcast eyes, a humble parade of golds, blacks and embroidered russets. The stark contrast from the slinky, shimmering, vibrantly hued attire of the dancers was intentional. Servants were there to serve as invisibly as possible, thus their midriff-baring uniforms were, simple, identical and without embellishment. All the women wore their hair in similar braided fashion, all bore the same thick gold armband around their right bicep, all practiced the same unobtrusive, submissive manner. Aside from their biological differences in hair and skin tone, the serving girls for today’s event were meant to be mostly indistinguishable from one another.
Unnoticeable.
Ordinary.

It’s partially why she’d chosen the role for her mission.
No one notices a serving girl amid such radiant entertainment and rich company. It was the perfect disguise. For what the Queen of Relovian intended to do this day… she’d need to be invisible for as long as she could manage.

The tiny comms device in her ear crackled suddenly as she bent with pitcher extended to catch the stream of violet spiced wine flowing from a spigot in the wall. Behind her rushed staff and servers, refilling platters and handing off empty ones to the kitchen droids. The curtains gave no refuge from the roar of the arena and the laughter of drunk aristocrats. “Status?” Vyra said quietly, expecting Savani’s deep lilt in reply, but her only response was more static. As if brushing hair behind her ear, she smoothly readjusted her earpiece. “Update?” Nothing. She frowned in concern, the pitcher growing heavy. “Breaker, please report?...Scully, do you copy?...Surge?” The silence was worrying. She’d hoped they wouldn’t have to resort to their backup plan, but without communications…

Grasping the full pitcher with two hands, Vyra quickly poured the contents into the small pool at her feet, where the liquid was drawn into a tube, ‘cleaned’ and recycled, and pumped back out of the spigot. She stuck the container under the flow once more, casting a quick glance around, but no one was paying attention. Good. They’d chosen the wine fountain as their meeting place in case anything went wrong, and something certainly had, but she could only stand here and ‘refill’ her pitcher for so long.

Luckily, Vyra didn’t have to wait very long.

Movement at her shoulder. Another pitcher joined hers under the plum-hued waterfall.

“They’re ready to send out the doroon.” Savani, code name ‘Breaker’, spoked in hushed tones and ran her free fingers over her left eyebrow as Vyra turned to face her, a clear sign for the Queen that their communications were down but the problem was being resolved.

Vyra nodded in understanding at both gesture and phrase. Doroon, a sumptuous Naboo pastry, was their word for their targets, those who had surrendered to the Champion Abomination during battle, now bound by chain and owned by the Gladiator. Slaves. Not for long, if she could help it. “So soon? I was hoping we’d have more time before dessert.”

“I saw them myself.” Savani set her eyes back on her pitcher. “The staff is lining them up downstairs as we speak, they’ll be transferred to platters in the next hour.”

An hour? And with communications down… Stress caught in her throat, but Vyra swallowed it back down. They’d handled worse situations. “I see. We’ll make sure they get where they need to be, then. I’ll make one more round up here first. The others? Scully and Surge, are they aware?” she questioned, referring to her two other Handmaidens, Reyna and Vishaka.

“They are. If you’re to fetch the doroon, they’ll accompany you quietly.” Quietly. So at least their stealth field generators were still working. Savani gave a tight smile, turning as if to head back into the fray. “You can’t carry all of it on your own. Surge is working on the ‘music’. I’ll handle things up here,” the undercover Handmaiden said as she glided back into line with her full pitcher and a careful nod.

So Vishaka was getting their comms back. Vyra pressed at her earpiece once more and hoisted her own jug of spiced wine as another server hurried by with a platter of empty champagne flutes. Apparently, wine wasn’t the only popular drink tonight. Good. The more everyone drank, the easier it would be to slip away when the time was right. She ran through the memorized map of the area in her mind once more, glancing at her exit route as she made for the balcony with the other servers.

She knew her Handmaidens could handle themselves with ease if things didn’t go as planned. It was the others who had signed on for this rescue mission she wasn’t certain about. All were smart, capable, trusted members of the Confederacy, but without communications the only thing they could rely on was themselves and the careful timing they’d set in place..which was now useless. Intel had suggested the slaves would remain in the catacombs below the arena until just before the match was over, but they had moved their schedule up. Now, they’d be transported to the Palace, where presumably the Usurper would decide their fate in person, and Vyra was not equipped to deal with the Praetoriun Guard.

They had to get to them before they made it to the Palace, and if her team wasn’t careful, they’d be starting another war before they’d stopped the first one.

But first, one more round for appearances sake, and to give ‘Surge’ time to get their comms back.

From the corner of her eye as she wove through the crowds pouring her wine, she could see flashes of red silk and platinum hair on the main balcony as Exarch Talon coolly tolerated the attentions of one smarmy, bulbous Wroonian nobleman. She had half a mind to intervene, but the Exarch Malvern handled things with his usual swift flair. Vyra took notice of a handful of others, some familiar by faction association like the young woman in the beautiful black gown (Krystal) and the neatly uniformed High Marshal Akaran. The woman in crimson silk and silver jewelry (Aine) nearly out-shined the rest, as did her dark-haired companion (Hisashi).

The crackling in her earpiece turned to a strange squeal, and Vyra forced herself not to wince as she filled another goblet. But it was gone as suddenly as it had stared, and she was left with the quiet white noise of an open comms channel.

It was time.

“This is Guardian,” she muttered softly into the comms, hoping the rest of the team had decided to arrive early, “does anyone copy? Dessert is early, I repeat, dessert is early. Doroon will be on the move within the hour, I’m heading for pickup now.” Lack of backup she could handle. But without the extraction team, it could all fall apart.

Pitcher still half full, Vyra turned on her heel and, dodging a group of heavily perfumed Wroonians, she headed back through the crowd, aiming for the serving chambers once more.

 

[The Girl In Green]

Objective: Overthrow the Emperor
Attire: Something Roomy over her normal gear. Shoulder brace already locked into place.
Wielding: Spot, 1 Utility combat knife
Tags: [member="Isadora Lycinius"], [member="Voph"], [member="Scherezade deWinter"], others

Gods, it was like working with amateurs.

Irma adjusted her earpiece as she made her way towards the closest set of stairs, careful not to let the wiring show under her hood. Even in such light fabrics, the extra layer of the cape over her jacket held enough heat to make even her ears sweat...but voluminous getups like this were common in coastal cities. Travellers, merchants, even the palace servants (except the ones meant to be shown off), they all dressed like this. The thin cloaks kept the skin safe from the burning sun, they cut the wind coming off the sea...and they allowed travellers to hide just about anything they wanted from prying eyes.

Say, for example, a big karking gun.

The shoulder strap of her rifle slipped slightly under the smooth fabric; Irma wriggled it back up as she crested the staircase, grumbling all the while. It was the ​first rule of a kill job--blend in or get taken out--and even just walking through the entrance she'd spotted at least one person that was likely another member of her team. Sure, the guards of this Emperor guy were probably pretty tough. Sure, you'd probably want to wear a little body armor to protect yourself when assassinating a head of state. But for gods' sake, they had to hide it better. What kind of self-respecting dictator wouldn't notice someone literally bristling with weapons approaching him?

This was why she'd taken the job under her codename. Idealists like this always turned out to be a little too ready to die for the cause. Hells, their plan literally involved putting one of their own on the chopping block to give her a line of sight. Meanwhile, if Irma Olanthe died...who was going to spend her paycheck?

Nobody, that's who. And Irma wanted her paycheck.

She checked her watch, then the map her contacts had given her. Her position was marked as being a side room on the upper levels of the palace, with a balconette overlooking the Throne Room from three--or was it four?--floors up. Her contact had also promised it would be empty, just as long as she arrived within the required time window.

Ten minutes to climb another four floors. No problem. She could even afford to take it slow, use the side corridors to avoid attracting attention. Irma took a second to catch her breath, then switched on her earpiece momentarily as she ducked to the left. "I'm en route," she said into the open channel. "And just a note for the lady at the door? If you're really one of ours, Star's End, woman, hide your weapons better. You look like you're here to kill an Emperor."

 

[Keira Cerdulan]

Objective: Relaxation, without dying
Location: Wroona Nightclub

[SIZE=11pt]Been awhile since Keira had off time, and the clubs of this dumb rock had proved enough of a substitute for the sleazy cesspools outside of Imp space that she had frequented with her squadmates whenever they decided the current commanding officer at the time could go shove it.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]It wasn’t quite the same as those old days, but this was a new gig and the old bridges were torched into little more than ash. Was just the way things went when you changed employers, at least, the way Keira did the whole “change who you call boss” thing. Usually involved the whole “betrayal” thing. The Confederacy wasn’t home. Not by a long shot. They just didn’t have a gun (metaphorical or literal) pointed at the back of her head, it was a nice change. But she assumed this would just be another temporary gig: the Confeds weren’t home, the Imps weren’t either. She didn’t have a home anymore, she never did.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]But leaning back in her seat, brushing off her nose a little, she let herself mellow out and forget those things. The purps were trying some sort of shiny fancy change in leadership of the planetary government, and here she was, enjoying herself among loud music and moderately attractive people (the drinks helped with the latter) while they all were off doing stupid things. Now, she enjoyed stupid things, but government changes? Nah. Not her style. Had enough of those for a lifetime.[/SIZE]

 

[Alwine Daye]

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Wearing: Obsidian type Strike Armor | "Executor" Boots Exclusive
Wielding: Obsidian Knight Sword | WindWhisper
Direct Tags: [member="Roy Americus"] @ [member="Morgan E. Longstreet"] [member="Romulus Revnar"]

Alwine was a small female. It was known. Even at five feet tall, she had to stand very upright and keep her core muscles engaged in order to reach the full potential of said five feet, or risk standing even shorter. However, that had never kept her from feeling big. Small females were to be scared of, to be revered. Never make a small female angry. It was a lesson that her brothers had to learn several times, and others as well.

Yet for all the giant that she was, standing right here, in this arena, made her feel so small. She was unsure of whether or not this arena was bigger than the Pit on Geonosis, but this one's design sure made her feel like it was bigger. Much bigger. And so empty. Alwine liked to prowl among the trees and other things sewn across a field. To be in such open air in every direction for such a big radius… It was unnerving, to both womn and wolf.

Drabbed in her Knights Obsidian armor, the petite blonde looked to her partner for the mission, an AI that she had never met before. Nor had she worked with a sentient droid in the past. That within its own seemed promising enough; Alwine was not one to shy away from new encounters.

The droid – Morgan – tipped his hat to her and asked if she were ready. Alwine nodded. She was. Tiny as the youngest Lechner was, she was a force to be reckoned with; her brothers had trained her in secret during their years of captivity on Stewjon, and she then later continued to train with whoever she could grab that would teach her once they had moved to Geonosis. She'd always been focused, eager, and willing to learn.

And now was the time to see just how good she was, with more and more of the Confederate safety stripped from her.

Two more men were with them in the arena; [member="Roy Americus"], and [member="Romulus Revnar"], the latter of which was already dealing with the big beasts.

Essentially, the other three were wasting time.

"I propose we begin by helping him to not die," she suggested as she looked at Romulus, a wolfish grin on her face, "these creatures will enjoy having him for supper."