Faction You Are Cordially Invited (Diarchy, House Sancetti)

[Lyssara Thrynn]

I listen to her talk and she tells me she's a sort of helper for the house of the faction that's getting married, she's a sort of technical advisor, she works with lawyers, politicians, I can't help thinking she's doing the dirty work on the administration side, I wish her luck sincerely, I've never really been keen on paperwork, I leave that to Nyva and she takes care of all my accounts.

-Yeah, I can see what you are, good luck for that's. I'm a scientist, I work at the diarchy laboratory, I create gadgets, weapons, potions and other things... If you need to place an order, my comlink is open.

Even here, I'm open for business, after all, business is business. Master Rellik arrives in my presence, which makes me rise from my seat to greet him promptly. He tells me he's glad to see me, and to tell the truth, so am I.

-Hello, Master Rellik. Nice to see you too! I was just chatting with this lovely lady, would you like to join us?

After greeting her in a friendly manner, I sat back in my seat and waited for the ceremony to begin. I'm looking forward to the festivities, it's been a while since I drank alcohol.

Velda Praz Diarch Rellik

 

[Rokul]

Location: San City
Tags: Zara Saga
Outfit

"It burnt. I don't deal well with burns."

With how stoic his voice was, it'd be hard to figure out whether or not he was joking about the burns, or if he was referring back to the moment in the shuttle when he had been covered in burns from trying to make caf for Zara. It hadn't been a fun experience if he was honest...though it was a somewhat fond memory because of the Force healing he had experienced...

Yet he was snapped out of that memory when he felt Zara's hand on his own. Bringing him back into the moment as he turned his gaze towards Zara's hand and listened to her talk. It wasn't that he felt like he had failed some kind of moral test...It was just...

"...I was afraid of you dying Zara. It sounds nonsensical. But...it's how I felt in that moment. I wasn't afraid for my own safety. Or anyone else's."

Rokul sighed at that, just keeping his gaze on their hands, feeling the small comforting motion of her thumb against his hand. A reminder that she was alive. That she was fine. He didn't need to be paranoid about that. Then came Zara's little bratty whisper, and he couldn't help but roll his eyes. A small smile coming to his face as he finally lifted his head up to look at her properly, tilting his head to the side for a moment almost as if in confusion.

"...The bandages might be ugly with that dress, but you aren't. You're...stunning in it."

There we go. He was getting better at compliments. At least he thought he was getting better with them. Yet his attention was taken away by the droid that arrived...so it had been a Prince...who had caused Rokul to snap on the shuttle. Yeah. He definitely wouldn't fit nobility. He just took the goods and flowers from the droid carefully, giving it a short nod...before taking one of the flowers and reaching over to rest it atop of Zara's ear.

"There. People can focus on that, instead of the bandages."​

 

[Kyra Nex]

ARC #1 - Flames of the Rubicon
YOU ARE CORDIALLY INVITED
Tags: OPEN​

---

Purple and gold.

She hated the color scheme.

Not because it was garish. It was perfect. Regal. Grand. The kind of self-aggrandizing nonsense that nobility always indulged in. What sickened Kyra Nex wasn't the colors themselves, but what they meant here, tonight—hope. Renewal. The idea that love and unity could rise like a phoenix from the ash of empire.

Fools.

Kyra Nex stood sentinel beneath the towering arches of the grand Prosperity Gateway, arms folded across her chest, visor flickering in the light of the setting sun. The crowd gathering outside shimmered with wealth, silks, metallic jewelry, ornate canes, and that unbearable scent of optimism that clung to nobles like perfume. High dignitaries from every Diarchal sector mingled on the polished obsidian walk, their laughter echoing like the last gasps of a dying age.

And they called her a monster.

Her helmet hung clipped to her belt, the transparent visor catching the glow of distant floodlights. Her lips were painted plum-black, her lashes curled and defined. Even out of combat armor, she exuded lethal glamour—flawless skin, high cheekbones, predatory eyes. Her ceremonial security armor shimmered with purple-edged plating. A holdout blaster on her thigh. A baton magnetically locked to her vambrace. Weapons that might as well have been toys. A kindness, she'd been told.

Kyra hated kindness.

"Zone five clear," came a murmur over the secure comm-link embedded in her collar.

"Copy. Zone three—calm, for now," she replied, voice clipped and professional. Her tone never revealed the coiled violence that hid beneath it. Not unless she wanted it to.

There were twenty-two flametroopers present tonight. They weren't in full gear—not appropriate for the pageantry of peace. But they wore the Diarchy's crest and stood as shadows on every balcony and corner, ornamental guardians in elegant armor. The dragon's smile before it breathes.

Kyra ran her fingers through her hair, adjusting the tie of her ponytail, perfectly manicured nails brushing against her neck. Her gaze drifted toward the upper balconies of Sancetti Tower, where sharpshooters she personally trained kept their scopes scanning the crowd.

She caught one of them watching her. She smiled—wicked, knowing.

Let them stare. Let them wonder what she was thinking.

Let them fear.

Because she didn't believe in peace. Peace was a costume the powerful wore to celebrate their own delusions. That was why the nobles loved weddings. Because it was theater. Because it made them forget the cities that had burned. Because it let them pretend love could cure the hunger for domination.

But she remembered the screams of Bastion. The smoldering flesh of imperials who didn't kneel fast enough. She fed on that memory. She held it like a prayer.

And she had no intention of being forgotten in a warless age.

The crowd rustled—a hush fell over the courtyard as the first of the wedding procession emerged from the main lift. Nobles parted. Gasps and applause.

Kyra shifted slightly, angling her body between the crowd and the glass doors.

She hated ceremonies. Too many places to hide a knife. Too many blind spots covered in satin. Her eyes moved with military precision, marking every hand, every twitch, every too-loose coat or lingering gesture. The nobles smiled and waved.

She imagined setting them on fire.

The thought made her exhale softly through her nose—close to a chuckle, but not quite. Her hand casually brushed her baton, eyes flicking over to a nearby mirror-finished pillar where she caught her reflection.

Gorgeous.

Deadly.

That was the art of it.

Her eyes turned to the chapel, where Reign likely stood beside Maldor Mecetti, sword at his side. A true Second. An Emperor who had not come to conquer. Strange days, indeed.

And as the stained-glass light began to shimmer across the floor, bathing the scene in divine gold, Kyra Nex stood like a silent flame at the temple gate.

No longer smiling.

Only watching.

Ready to keep the peace.

 

[Yorran Vosk]

​

Yorran smirked.

"Perhaps eccentric. Not quite an Uncle."

He chuckled, "Though ironically, that was an early proposal for the agency's name. 'Unified National Covert Learning & Enforcement'. I liked it, actually. It sounded better to the public ear. 'Oh,' a citizen might say, 'it's that man from UNCLE.' Friendly. Trustworthy. But I wasn't given a vote."

He paused to nod at Diarch Rellik as he came in.

Then, "I've been reliably informed this new House Sancetti is establishing its own intelligence network. No subtlety in their organization. 'Secret Service.' Nothing is secret about an agency with 'secret' in the name."

He regarded Makai carefully.

"People think of intelligence services as hordes of well-dressed agents sipping wine in casinos. It's usually far less cinematic. Most intelligence networks rely on political and business contacts to glean information about faraway activities. Ordinary professionals like yourself, who happen to get around the galaxy."

It seemed there were mere moments remaining before the bride emerged.

Yorran's fingers dipped into his dress uniform, producing a datacard which he held out. The thin electronic business card was matte black, without distinguishing features. But it could download contact information to any datapad.

"Why don't you give me a call when this event concludes. A widely traveled man such as yourself surely has a lot to talk about."




Makai Dashiell

 

[Velda Praz]

​

Velda conspicuously said nothing for a moment, hoping the Diarch would move out of direct earshot. But then he was invited to join them, and her mouth twitched in mild irritation. Her face recovered its impassivity quickly, and she nodded at the Diarch.

When she resumed speaking, her voice was very quiet. Only just discernible over the din of the assembly. Someone seated to the other side of Lyssara would likely be unable to make out the shape of the words.

"Yes, I'd heard you were an exceedingly learned individual."

Another pause.

"People say other things about you. They say you've had Sith training. They say you may even be able to open Sith Holocrons."

Velda studied Lyssara intently from behind her tinted lenses.

"My employer has some in his collection. But he is merely a collector, not a Sith.

He might be willing to pay large sums of money to anyone who could open a holocron for him, so that he could study the information within.

For purely educational purposes, of course."



Lyssara Thrynn Diarch Rellik

 

[Zara Saga]

Zara's expression, which had softened notably at Rokul's words, finally, words, snapped back into an agitated scowl the moment the droid trundled over like some overdecorated malfunction in search of relevance.

The moment had been good. Real. Warm, even. And now this tin-bucket with vocal inflection issues was barging into it with Echani floral arrangements and name-dropping a royal pain in the ass.

She blinked at the droid, slow and venomous. "You're interrupting," she said flatly. No sarcasm. No smile. Just the chill of someone who'd almost had a moment of emotional sincerity and was now being handed chocolates.

She snatched the basket with one hand, because yes, fine, she wasn't above luxury intoxicants, she wasn't a monster. But narrowed her eyes at the mention of Prince Merion.

Her tone went razor-blade smooth. "Tell Prince Shuttle Seat-Kicker we said thank you, and that next time he feels inspired to show appreciation, he can do it without cooking my date like a caf-steamed vegetable."

She waved the droid off with a flick of her fingers like it was a bug in her periphery, then turned back to Rokul with a scowl that melted almost instantly when she saw he was actually looking at her now. Not at the ceiling. Not at the floor. Her.

And then he said it.

"You're... stunning in it."

Zara blinked.

Her mouth parted slightly like she was about to make a joke, some deflection, something clever, but no sound came out. Instead, she just stared for a second too long. Long enough to prove the compliment hit somewhere she couldn't dodge.

She coughed once, clearly flustered, before recovering with the kind of panicked grace only she could manage. "Okay. Wow. Did you steal that line from one of those tacky wedding holodramas?"

And then, because the universe clearly hated her, he tucked a flower behind her ear.

Zara froze. Not like she'd been caught, more like a system crash. She didn't do sweet. Or gentle. Or... flower placement.

But she didn't move it.

She reached up absently, fingers brushing the petals like she was verifying it was real. Her voice, when it came, was quieter than before.

"You're such a weirdo," she muttered, eyes flicking to his again, but there was the faintest hint of a smile curling at the corner of her mouth. "You burn yourself , have an existential crisis because I got skewered, and then give me flowers like it's the most normal thing in the world."

Her fingers laced with his, as casual as she could.

"Whatever. Don't go getting all poetic on me or I'll make you dance at the reception." A pause. "And you better believe I'll pick the fast songs."

Rokul | @OPEN​