Public A New Order Rises - Diarchy Grand Declaration Ceremony

[Tales of the Diarchy]

To the leaders and representatives of the Galactic Alliance, The Dark Empire, The Mandalorian Neo-Crusaders, The Sith Order, The Empire of the Lost, and all other galactic powers

The Diarchy extends a formal invitation to attend the Grand Declaration, a momentous gathering hosted within the iconic halls of the Crucible of Order on Bastion. This ceremony is a proclamation of unity, purpose, and the ascendancy of a new power within the galaxy.

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The Rise of a New Order
In a galaxy fractured by endless strife, discord, and uncertainty, the Diarchy has emerged as a beacon of discipline, vision, and purposeful strength. Led by the unified leadership of the Diarchs, the Diarchy embodies a commitment to structured power and enduring stability—a force capable of transforming chaos into order.

The Grand Declaration offers an unparalleled opportunity for the galaxy's leading powers to meet, observe, and engage with the Diarchy's leadership. This gathering serves as both a celebration of the Diarchy's emergence and an invitation to shape the future of the galaxy through dialogue and understanding.

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Event Highlights
1. The Diarchs' Proclamation
The Diarchs, rulers of the Diarchy, will deliver a keynote address outlining their vision for the galaxy and their commitment to stability, progress, and unity through strength. This speech will serve as the cornerstone of the ceremony, offering insight into the values and philosophy that guide the Diarchy's rise.

2. Diplomatic Summit
Attendees will have the opportunity to engage in meaningful dialogue with the Diarchy's leadership, including members of its High Council. Public and private discussions will explore avenues for cooperation, mutual benefit, and the potential alignment of goals between powers.

3. Food and Games
Attendees will have the opportunity to observe games of combat and skill, placing wagers upon their favored champions. There will be an open bar and food throughout the event.




Security and RSVP
While galactic tensions are high, this event is neutral ground. To ensure the dignity and safety of all participants, the event will be overseen by the Diarchy's most trusted leaders, including High Marshal Nathrax and High Admiral Shan Pellian.




The Grand Declaration is not simply a ceremony—it is an invitation to witness the rise of a power destined to reshape the galaxy's destiny. The Diarchy eagerly awaits your presence at this historic event, where the first steps toward a new era of order and unity will be taken.

The Diarchs await your arrival.

Signed
The Diarchs
United Rulers of the Diarchy

High Chancellor Tashsi Qsar
Voice of the High Council

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(OOC) A Subtle Reminder
The Grand Declaration is a celebration of the Diarchy's philosophy, but it is also a message:
The Diarchy has risen as a major power, its influence growing, its reach expanding. For those who embrace order and stability, the Diarchy offers the potential for partnership and shared progress. For those who question or challenge its ascendancy, the ceremony serves as a quiet reminder of the Diarchy's resolve and capability to bring order to the Galaxy


Objectives:

Objective 1 - The Grand Ceremony

Join the Diarchs in a grand ceremony open to any and all citizens of the Galaxy, grand speeches and an introduction to the Diarchy. Bump elbows with the men and women of the Diarchy, as well as some of the galaxy's elite as we usher in a new Era.

Objective 2 - Backroom Politics
As the "VIPs" gather for the ceremony, the real movers of the factions of the galaxy meet with the High Council of the Diarchy, high tensions and high stakes abound as these powerhouses of the Galaxy square off behind closed doors.

Objective 3 - Food & Games
Observe games of skill and prowess as warriors battle within the arena of the Crucible, bet on your favored champions or partake in the food and drink that will be available to all attendees.

 

[Darius Vex]

OOC: Oopsie post. This is as Darius Vex not Gavin.

Objective 2: Backroom Politics
Tags: Open

Darius Vex moved through the polished corridors of the Crucible of Order with silent intent. The mingling crowds beyond these walls had no idea of the webs now spinning around them: a legion of Network operatives—some disguised as waiters serving exotic hors d'oeuvres, others posing as catering staff refilling trays of delicate pastries, still more hidden among stagehands and ceremonial escorts. All of them answered to one man: the High Adjudicator himself.

At the far end of a discreet hallway, he paused before a modest service entrance. A pair of Network agents, dressed in pressed catering uniforms, shifted aside to grant him passage. They bowed their heads in deference but spoke not a word. Darius stepped into the dimly lit chamber beyond, where a temporary command hub had been erected for this very moment. Holo-displays projected real-time feeds from across the ceremony halls—both public areas and private meeting rooms.

A faint hum of data chatter rolled through the air. Operatives hunched over consoles, sifting through transmissions, body language analyses, and biometric readings. They meticulously documented every subtle twitch or stray phrase from the high-profile guests attending this so-called “Grand Declaration.”

Standing at the center of it all, Darius studied the main display. Various vantage points from hidden cameras offered a mosaic of the swirling political dance in “backroom” gatherings. Representatives from foreign factions mingled in hushed tones, forging alliances or plotting power plays. The tension was palpable—exactly the kind of environment where the Network thrived.

He touched the comm panel at his wrist, opening a discreet channel to his embedded teams.
“Begin rotation Bravo. Engage pass-off protocols and double-check your assignments. If you see anything—anything—alert me immediately.”

With that, a subtle shift took place on the screens. One undercover server dipped out of sight to be replaced by another. A hostess at the VIP lounge discreetly handed off a tray and slipped into a locked corridor, tapping out a coded sequence on her datapad. It was all done seamlessly, no one the wiser.

Darius flicked a gloved finger, zooming in on a corner of the backroom summit. High-ranking dignitaries stood in low conversation with members of the Diarchy’s High Council. Bodyguards hovered on the perimeter, forming an almost impenetrable ring. Almost.

“Send Operative Besh-Four to shadow that group,” he murmured, nodding toward the display. “They might move behind closed doors soon. I want eyes on them before they vanish into a private suite.”

A light on the main console blinked in acknowledgment, and one of the operators typed in new orders. On screen, a figure wearing the robes of a personal attendant adjusted her headscarf and gently excused herself from the crowd, gliding away to assume her new position.

The High Adjudicator’s gaze shifted back to a separate feed—a small lounge area designated for galactic VIPs who preferred to remain unseen. Tight-lipped negotiations there had grown increasingly tense. None would suspect the attentive waiter pouring wine was actually a Network Field Operative, skillfully navigating the conversation’s gaps to catch glimpses of hidden agendas.

Darius allowed himself a small nod of satisfaction. Every vantage was covered. Every glass poured came with an extra set of ears. Each waiter or hostess was a seasoned spy, each new tray a reason to move closer to the unsuspecting. This was how the Network operated: quietly, relentlessly, turning chaos into actionable intel while the galaxy’s power brokers believed themselves safe.

He turned to one of his senior staff, a Human male in official uniform behind a bank of blinking monitors. “Maintain the rotation schedule,” Darius commanded. “I don’t want any single face in the same place for too long. And ensure the infiltration logs are updated every thirty minutes.”

A tight-lipped grin formed on the staffer’s face. “Yes, High Adjudicator.”

“We must remain vigilant,” Darius continued. “These negotiations, if they can be called that, will shape alliances and conflicts to come. Our job is to know every angle—before they do.”

Confident his teams would perform flawlessly, Darius quietly exited the makeshift command center. The elegant corridors greeted him once more. Voices of distant guests trickled down the marble hallway, joined by the soft echoes of ceremonial music from the main hall. Soon, the Diarchs’ words would rouse every attending faction, but in this moment of lull, the Network moved in silence, weaving into the very fabric of the gathering.

If the galaxy’s greatest powers thought they could sequester themselves in private corners to seal backroom deals, they would soon learn the truth: Darius Vex’s eyes and ears were everywhere. And when the time came, the Diarchy would be the first to act.

 

[Diarch Reign]

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Location: Bastion | Crucible of Order Courtyard
Tags: @open
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The Diarch watched from the elevated platform as the throngs of people began to arrive, this event had been ages in the making, and Reign would be lying if he said he wasn't nervous. The painstaking preparations, the security details and intelligence reports that had required constant attention over the last months, all had led to this moment.

Places of honor had been set, the stage meticulously prepared, and the invitations sent. Now it was a matter of seeing who of the established galactic powers would be coming to put eyes on the newest power rising in the Galactic North.

As the Diarch looked out among the people, he felt stirrings of pride, he and his brother had built this movement. Now they were to take it a step further, they had finally become a major galactic power. Gaining the resources and following to actually put the Grand Plan into motion.
He ran through his speech in his mind again, waiting for when the galactic VIPs arrived to begin, he had a mission statement to convey. A warning to the established orders that perpetuated the chaos of the Galaxy.

Reign adjusted the collar of his black and gold outfit as he waited, his mind wandering to the other members of the High Council. He could feel the High Adjudicator Darius Vex making his way through the back rooms of the crucible, and tried to locate the others. In truth, he was wary that inviting the other powers here would cause sparks to fly, but he had faith in Shan Pellian , Darth Nathrax and Jas Katis to keep order at the event.

As he waited, mainly for his brother to arrive, he was curious to see who would make their way to talk to him, and what these heavy hitters of the galaxy had to say.

 

[Lyssara Thrynn]

Since last time, a lot has changed. I came to attend the event, leaving my ship in the hangar to avoid drawing too much attention.

Everyone is dressed to the nines, and for the occasion, I've donned a black and gold outfit to match the faction's colors. I'm also part of the research and development team with my master. I'm sitting in a spot overlooking everything, which gives me a rather nice view. My feet are dangling over the edge, and I think the Diarch Reign might have already noticed my spot.

I'm watching everything from above, with an unobstructed view of the event. I'm sipping my cup of coffee, thankful for my thermos it's quite handy. I too have a place of honor for this event.

People are already starting to gather. I'm not particularly trying to hide, as acting suspicious might trigger a defensive reaction.

I'm patiently waiting from my high vantage point, from where I can see the entire event.

I'm curious to see what speech they have planned for this event. Of course, I could have read or anticipated all this, but I prefer to keep it a surprise it's more fun that way.

 

[Shan Pellian]

Location: Bastion | DSD Dominion
Objective: Two
Tags: Open

​

Bridge of the DSD Dominion
Above Bastion, Capital of the Diarchy

Shan Pellian stood at the central holotable, the glowing projections of fleet formations orbiting Bastion reflected in his amber eyes. The Dominion, a formidable vessel in its own right, served as his flagship for the moment, while the final touches were being applied to the Wyvern, a ship that would someday overshadow even this marvel of engineering.

"Report," he said, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the bridge.

A young officer approached, datapad in hand. "High Admiral, all fleet elements are in position. The last wave of starfighters has been deployed to escort the arriving delegates. Traffic patterns are holding steady. No anomalies detected."

Shan nodded, his gaze shifting to the sleek forms of interceptors and bombers as they patrolled the void. "And the Crucible's orbital defenses?"

"Fully operational. Point defense platforms are tracking at optimal efficiency. Should any... uninvited guests attempt to disrupt the Grand Declaration, they'll find themselves outmatched."

"Good." Shan allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction. The Diarchy had invested heavily in ensuring this event went flawlessly. Bastion's orbit was a display of disciplined coordination—a fitting prelude to the vision of order the Diarchy sought to project.

The officer hesitated, then added, "Sir, do you believe the delegates will respond favorably? Some of them represent powers that... do not easily embrace the concept of unity."

A faint smirk crossed Shan's face. "They will respond, one way or another. It's not about immediate acceptance. It's about planting the seed of inevitability. The galaxy has been fractured for too long. They'll come to see the Diarchy as the unifying force it was always meant to be—or they'll regret underestimating us."

With the fleet secure and all preparations complete, Shan turned from the holotable. "You have the bridge, Commander. Maintain readiness. I'll be heading to the hangar."

"Yes, High Admiral," the officer replied with a crisp salute.

Shan strode into the cavernous hangar, his uniform immaculate and his steps purposeful. The shuttle that would ferry him to the Crucible awaited, its sleek, gunmetal frame reflecting the harsh lights of the bay. Around him, technicians and pilots moved with efficiency, a testament to the discipline he demanded of his crews.

As he approached the shuttle, he paused to take in the sight of Bastion below—its surface glittering with the lights of a world preparing for the galaxy's eyes to fall upon it. The Crucible of Order stood like a monolith, a symbol of the Diarchy's ideals.

This was more than a ceremony. It was a message.

He climbed aboard the shuttle, settling into his seat as the engines hummed to life. Soon, he would stand among the galaxy's leaders, guiding them—whether through diplomacy or strength—toward a future forged by the Diarchy.

 

[Zara Saga]

OBJ 1​

Zara's black boots clicked softly against the polished durasteel floor of the Crucible of Order as she followed in the wake of her Master, Lady Nocturne. The air hummed with a nervous energy, a palpable tension that Zara found both irritating and vaguely amusing. She had spent what felt like an eternity helping meticulously organizing this spectacle, a "Grand Declaration" that smelled more of ego than any genuine attempt at unity. The Diarchy, the latest power to emerge from the galaxy's turbulent underbelly, had certainly made an entrance.

Zara's gaze swept over the assembled leaders and representatives of various factions. Galactic Alliance diplomats, their faces carefully neutral; the Dark Empire's officers, radiating barely concealed arrogance; Mandalorian Neo-Crusaders, their armor gleaming under the harsh artificial lights - it all felt like a bad holo-drama. She offered a brief, polite nod to each official as she was introduced, her mind already calculating the quickest escape route from these theatrics.

Nocturne, ever the picture of regal grace, glided through the introductions, her handshakes firm and her smiles measured. Zara, however, simply offered a nod, her dark eyes darting from one face to the next, her expression unchanging. It was a performance she had perfected, a mask of polite disinterest designed to keep others at arm's length.

Finally, Nocturne reached her designated position beside her husband, leaving Zara with the unenviable task of making a gesture to the host. She stepped forward towards the elevated platform, her steps deliberate and controlled. She focused on the Diarch, Reign, his black and gold attire a stark contrast to the more understated tones worn by most of the attendees. He looked distinctly nervous, which Zara felt a sliver of amusement at.

Zara gave a slight bow, her blonde hair falling slightly over her face. "Good luck..." she said, her voice low and tinged with sarcasm. It was a quiet dig, a subtle rebellion against the gravity of the occasion. With that, she turned, refusing to linger. She retreated from the stage, her footsteps echoing slightly in the vast hall.

She made her way towards the rear of the immense space, her gaze sweeping past the various groups of power players, all displaying their finest and most intimidating airs. She found a relatively inconspicuous spot near the back wall, sinking into a chair with barely concealed relief. Zara crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes narrowed as she silently watched, assessing every nuance of the performance unfolding. She felt a wave of boredom, wishing she were anywhere else, rather than this tedious exhibition of galactic posturing.

 

[Roman Vossari]

OBJ 1

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Roman felt the subtle hum of anticipation that thrummed through the Crucible of Order. He was a shadow in the grand courtyard, his presence a muted note against the vibrant tapestry of arriving dignitaries and their retinues. He had come, not as a representative, nor as a herald, but as one drawn by a bond of respect. The invitation had been unexpected, a formal decree extended to so many, yet to him, it felt personal. Reign, the Diarch, had become an unofficial mentor, a guiding force in a life still finding its bearings within the Force. To miss this day, this declaration of a new power, would be a disservice to that connection.

He had exchanged warm greetings with Shadow and Nightmare, Reign's daughters, their youthful faces mirroring the gravity of the occasion, before settling himself into the periphery, masking his presence in the force. He was content to watch, to absorb, to learn. The Diarchy was a concept he had come to understand through talks with Reign, a vision of strength tempered by balance, a beacon in a galaxy fractured by conflict. He wanted to witness the solidification of the vision firsthand, to see the other Diarch, the man who had co-authored this path, in action.

His eyes, keen and perceptive, followed the meticulous preparations. He noted the precision with which the stage had been set, the calculated positioning of the security details, the controlled chaos as various factions arrived. The weight of the event pressed around him, a palpable tension that spoke of the potential for both great unity and devastating conflict.

Then, his gaze found Reign upon the elevated platform. The Diarch stood with a regal bearing, his black and gold attire a stark contrast against the pale stone of the Crucible. He looked every part the leader. The Padawan offered a respectful nod, a silent acknowledgment of the man who had offered him guidance. As Reign prepared to address the assembled powers, Roman settled deeper into the background, a quiet observer ready to witness history unfold.

 

[Gavin Vel]

Objective 1: Grand Ceremony
Tags: Diarch Reign , open

Gavin Vel despised the blasted tunic. It was scratchy and stiff, clinging in all the wrong ways as he navigated between small clusters of dignitaries exchanging pleasantries in the glittering hall. All around him, polite words and carefully rehearsed smiles flowed, yet he had to consciously remind himself not to scowl. He was expected to maintain a calm, composed demeanor—or so he had been instructed—and that did little to ease his sense of feeling like a kath hound trapped amid elegant decor.

Soft music drifted from somewhere deeper in the hall, mingling with the subdued glow of chandeliers overhead. A swirl of expensive perfumes, spiced liquor, and the faintest hint of incense filled the air. He could feel eyes flick toward him—curious or wary—and if he glanced back too intently, they darted away. The whole exchange was almost amusing, in a twisted sense.

His main objective here, as he understood, was to avoid looking like a walking disaster. That task would be simpler if the collar didn’t feel like it was strangling him each time he tried to inhale. Even so, he shoved down his frustration, straightened his posture, and did his utmost to appear “diplomatically respectful.”

It wasn’t easy. He would have preferred a worn robe and sturdy boots, clothing he wouldn’t rip if he found himself swinging a punch. But this evening demanded something else: the grand ceremony had no space for scrappy brawls or casual attire. Balls and galas had never been his forte, yet he refused to ruin the event. Every step he took was deliberately slowed, even though every instinct urged him to do literally anything else.

Now and then, a few guests drifted over to him, perhaps assuming he was staff or simply finding him approachable. One older gentleman in velvet robes sized him up with a polite cough before inquiring about the refreshment station. Gavin inclined his head and managed a terse reply: “Over there, by the pillar.” The man thanked him, wandering off. Gavin wondered if his tone had come across too impatient—it was hard to tell. He was trying to keep his voice level, but it always held a certain edge whenever he felt this out of place.

He surveyed the hall, noting various dignitaries in lavish outfits engaged in discussions he barely understood. They talked of treaties, proposals, and diplomatic niceties, and he couldn’t help thinking how a direct brawl—no pretense—would be easier to grasp. This, by contrast, felt like an unspoken contest of who could appear the most agreeable.

Remembering to control his stance, he tried not to seem menacing. Still, he found himself drifting near corners, tempted to slip outside. The heat emanating from so many bodies, the clink of expensive glassware, the heady aroma of countless colognes—it all felt smothering. Occasionally, a cool draft wafted in through open balcony doors, tempting him to escape, but he resisted the urge. He wasn’t at liberty to vanish.

Eventually, he positioned himself by a table of tiny pastries and artfully carved fruit. An official attempted to spark conversation: “Enjoying the festivities?” Gavin forced a polite nod, muttered a vaguely affirmative remark, then let the official depart. He noticed his fists tensing on their own, so he slowly exhaled to release the pressure. If he wasn’t cautious, he would storm off or snap at someone. He reminded himself that patience, at least tonight, was part of his duty.

When the music swelled and more guests arrived, he adjusted his tunic once more. He hardly blended in, but he tried. Nobody had asked him for a duel yet, which he counted as progress. Although he cared little for these surroundings, he had to concede that the venue possessed a certain splendor: reflective floors, hushed corridors, and banners cascading gracefully from the ceiling. It just wasn’t his style, but he would endure.

He suspected other members of the Diarchy lingered somewhere among the gathering, holding discussions with notable figures. He stayed within a manageable distance in case he was needed, yet avoided interfering with the polished, high-level talks. This, apparently, demonstrated “discipline” or something akin to it. The notion pricked his pride, but after all, if he could handle a battlefield, he should be able to handle a formal ceremony—at least in theory.

He repeated that to himself, time and again, as he took cautious sips of a drink that was far too sweet and tried not to wince at the taste. All he had to do was make it through the night. Once it was done, he could tear off this confining collar and think, “I survived.” Amusing how the simplest acts could feel like victory in their own quiet way.

 

[Kai'lyn]

TAGS: Diarch Reign

​

Kai'lyn prowled nearby, his movements smooth and deliberate, like a hunter stalking prey. He stayed quiet, blending into the surroundings as he trailed after Diarch Reign . His focus remained sharp, his vibrant skin tones muted by the dark colors of his outfit. He stayed out of the way but close enough to observe and listen, his montrals twitching faintly as he tried to pick up the subtle threads of his master's emotions—whether they were tumultuous, anxious, or some other sentiment hidden beneath the surface.


The young Togruta's outfit was striking despite its subdued palette, practical simple and functional. He wore a sleeveless tunic with a high, popped collar that framed his neck and added a touch of grandeur. A vibrant red sash cinched his narrow waist, the bold color a stark contrast against the dark fabric. His arms were clad in long gloves, ending beneath sleek, armored gauntlets that protected his forearms while allowing freedom of movement.

Kai'lyn's lower half was outfitted in traditional hakama-style pants, their loose folds tucked into knee-high leather boots reinforced with gleaming shin guards. The polished armor pieces added a faint shimmer to his otherwise muted appearance, hinting at the predator beneath the surface. The overall ensemble showed poise and menace befitting his shadowy, watchful presence.

Despite his small frame, the malnutrition of his past still evident, Kai'lyn carried himself with the wiry strength of a survivor. The small predator with sharp instincts and an unyielding hunger to learn.

"Are you feeling well?"

 

[Matthew of Valendale]

TAGS: Roman Vossari ​

A dark and ominous shadow passed over Roman, fleeting but heavy.

Descending from the upper terraces like a wraith, Malak—a towering figure cloaked in black—cut an imposing silhouette. Blackened wings, faintly dusted with soot-like remnants, framed his figure. His obsidian hair, sleek and unbroken by age, cascaded to his shoulders, amplifying the void-like presence he carried. Malak's visage, was cold and calculating, was the stuff of Sith legends, a rare but unforgettable sight. Rumors spoke of his presence haunting the shadowed libraries of the Sith, yet here he stood, alive and tangible, a myth made flesh.

Roman's awareness may have shifted, the Padawan's latent sensitivity to the Force likely picking up on the predatory intent that marked Malak's approach.

The sound of measured steps of heeled boots clicked on the courtyard stone was the first acknowledgment of the towering figure's arrival. Malak's voice, rich and unhurried, carried a casualness that clashed with his foreboding presence. Blackened wings folded up behind him as he drew closer allowing cold blue eyes to settle on the red head.

"It seems the galaxy's chaos has a way of drawing us to such... pivotal moments." Malak said, his tone more a purr than a growl.

 

[Diarch Rellik]

Location: Bastion | Crucible of Order Courtyard
Tags: @open
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"My legacy, through you, will span an eternity. Becoming everything: Farmers, artists, simple men, warriors and legends. - Life is as empty without terror as without love. Know there is no death, there is only the force. We are the vessel through which the force moves. Our will is the conduits of destiny.
The Diarchy is poised to become the greatest civilization in the history of the galaxy."
- Lord Kakus. Father of the Diarchs'

Rellik stayed, feeling the presence and power of his father emanating from a holocron for a while. He was beginning to form a habit of being late to the beginning of events. Something he would hope to correct in the future but for now, he needed to be reminded of the purpose of his journey. To revel in the words of his father once more.

He was wearing a higher end version of his brown tunic, this one had a red sash streaming across the chest embroidered with a gold trim. Instead of his typical maroon robes he had a blood red cape on. The outfit was meant to seem less traditionally dark sider and more welcoming to any guests who would arrive not leaning towards that side of the force.

He descended from the higher levels of the crucible where his personal quarters were stationed. Only other high-council members would be on the stairwell as he came down so it was no surprise he was unimpeded on his way. Everyone else was already staged up in their appropriate areas. They made him proud in their dedication.

The co-head of the faction would open the double doors leading into the main area to a flurry of commotion. Students were always coming and going but there had undoubtedly never been this many people within its halls. The Crucible had never seen such decoration before. Banners hung above, the lighting was perfect and Rellik noticed his apprentice Lyssara Thrynn in the rafters as he looked upwards.

He smirked and moved through the crowd. Reign was smart for being early. It meant he could be aloof and mysterious upon the throne; while Rellik, alas was stuck moving through the crowd.

As he started moving through and attention was gathered there was a slight uproar of cheering and clapping. He moved quickly but ensured to bow, shake hands and acknowledge anyone who stopped him, reveling in the moment with his people.

He finally arrived at the base of the steps leading up to his family. He ascended the steps, fixed his cape under him and stood next to his brother Diarch Reign . Diarne Nocturne at his side he looked over at them both. "The celebrations have already begun, on my way to these steps alone I was stopped by citizens, bankers, and smugglers alike." He paused for a moment. "You look lovely as always Nocturne." He smiled as he spoke.

Finally able to look out at the festivities he was excited to see the galaxy come to their world. Truly the first step of a much larger journey for them all.

 

[Lyssara Thrynn]

My master's choice is quite surprising; he decides to walk through the crowd. That said, it's a good way to greet them and be close to those we are supposed to meet later.

I see him raise his eyes in my direction, and it's clear he's also noticed my position. When he looks at me, I give him a very distinct sign, easily recognizable as a signal indicating "ok" a sign that everything is fine on my end, and I'm ready for the event, showing my support from a distance.

Personally, I don't like mixing with the crowd; I might get jostled, and the loud chatter drives me crazy.

The speech is about to begin, and everyone is getting in place. Now that the two Diarchs are in the throne room, the serious matters can finally begin.

As for me, I take advantage of the ceremony. After all, he knows where I am, so if he needs my services, whether it's for an evacuation using my teleportation abilities or anything else, he just has to give me an order, and I'll be there immediately.

Being a member of the High Council in terms of research and development offers some perks. I can wander freely throughout the facility as long as I present my credentials. This allows me to bypass security checks and go wherever I want, whereas the guests are restricted in where they can go.

So, I'm sitting on the roof of the bastion. Where I am, I should be relatively safe, and it gives me a good overall view. Now, I just need to enjoy the show.

I take out my datapad and use it to film the sequence, preserving the moment for my personal archives.

I also take the opportunity to show the heavily protected airspace, filled with state-of-the-art installations and ships. I think the faction is sending a message today: we're ready to face whatever comes. I'm eager to be part of all this.

I can't help but smile. Today is our day. They've waited so long for this moment, I can feel their excitement from here. Our dear admiral has also spared no expense on security and left nothing to chance. Everything is meticulously planned, like sheet music. I can't take that away from him.

In my bag, I also have a sparkling rocket, which I'll fire off at the end of the speech to add a festive touch to the atmosphere. I really like gold firework. A single symbolic one shoot, for this moment.

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

Outfit:
Belt of Strength, Field Com-Scan Link,
Weal & Woe, Finely Tailored Robes,
Traditional Gold Jewelry

Tags: Diarch Reign Diarch Rellik

[VIBES]

Objective One​

Sly and boyish, but growing deeper by the hour given how much he seemed to still be growing, a voice drifted to the ear of Gavin Vel as he stood amidst a very different kind of hustle and bustle than he was used to.

"Wow, I though Kor'ethyr paid you sponsorship money to keep those uncovered," Naami teased as he playfully slugged his friend in an aforementioned arm (the one not holding a drink).

When Gavin turned his battle brother and friend came into view, dressed very differently but just as fancy as himself. Synth-silk layered robes with well tailored form fitting pants beneath, subtly colored after the general Rakghoul House palette and given the final touch of gold embroidery along the neck line. The boy even wore dress boots, still fit for winter but a far cry from the dirt and sand kickers he normally had on. Naami also chose to partake in a cultural tradition of adorning his horns for the occasion. He'd been fitted with several gold rings in an asymmetrical pattern, and on the opposite side wore a gold cuff on the shell of one tapered ear. A rare grin graced his face, a fierce smile with natural dimples to accompany it.

 

[Ova Ziss]

Objective 1: Grand Ceremony
Tag: Open​

Diarch Reign had done a lot of good for Ova Ziss and the People of Dantooine, and so Ova felt obligated to attend the Grand Declaration Ceremony at the Crucible of Order. He considered the Diarch Reign a friend, and Ova was determined to celebrate his accomplishments. After all,Ova and Reign had made some of those accomplishments together.

There was another man that Ova had heard of, Diarch Rellik , whom he was eager to meet. Ova had heard that the man was gifted, but also had a kind heart. Secretly, Ova wanted to ask Rellik how a force acolyte could be both angry and calm at the same time. It was religious talk, but the kingpin felt the need to understand this "force" power which held so much control over the kyber crystals that Ova mined daily.

Ova definitely dressed for the occasion. He wore his finest white tuxedo suit, and he made sure to wear that one gold wristwatch he had with the really fancy minerals set into it. Ova was a mineral baron, and he "dressed to impress".

Ova drank his cocktail - but, not too much. Ova was a calculating and strategic sort who wanted his wits about him for when the speech started. He didn't whip out his datapad to take a video, oh no: Ova was very much "old school". He wanted to watch, and listen, and wait. Something was about to happen, something spectacular, and Ova wanted to be here when it did. The Grand Declaration was welcome: a sign to all of the galaxy that the Diarchy would not bend to pirates, nor Sith, nor Jedi, or indeed any threat. The Diarch's words would be consequential to the United Trade Authority's directions, and to his role as Dantooine's Governor for many years.

Besides, Ova could get a picture when the speeches started.

Ova decided that it was time to try and make friendly. Excusing himself from the usual familiar company, he traveled around the party, mingling with the guests. Time was passing rather quickly as Ova handed out his business cards. Ova became particular excited when he met another mineral baron from a planet in the Outer Rim. You know what they say about time and having fun. Ova was smart enough to know that Diarch Reign had likely invited him here for a second reason - to help run security. Ova spotted several party guests who looked like they could most assuredly hold their own in a fight. And those heavy defense guns around Bastion were a marvelous piece of engineering. You'd have to be mad, to attack a planet this tough.

Ova spotted a man in a formal Sith tunic, Gavin Vel . Force users were always fun at parties, so he decided to give it a go. "Enjoying the festivities?", he asked politely. Gavin nodded, then took off quickly while mumbling something that sounded like a combination between "yes" and "uh-huh", which kind of came out sounding like, "yuhnn". The guest looked like his neck and the top of his tunic were having an epic battle. Ova nodded, smiled politely, and walked away, the only thing he could do in a situation like that. He found himself subconsciously following Gavin around the party. What an odd fellow. He was soon joined by a friend of his.

Ova sat down somewhere, somewhat at random, letting his extraverted nature guide him. Speaking to the person seated next to him (but also secretly watching Gavin mess around with his neck line), Ova said, "Quite the party, isn't it? - What brings you here?"

 

[Gavin Vel]

Objective 1
Tags: Naamino Zuukamano Ova Ziss

As Gavin walked through the bustling space, his movements were unusually stiff, betraying his discomfort. He was acutely aware of the eyes on him, especially from one particular figure—a sharply dressed, bearded man who seemed to linger just out of reach. Gavin’s mind raced with possibilities: Was this a spy? A Network agent sent to ensure his discretion? Or worse, a subtle hint that Reign didn’t fully trust him? Paranoia crept in, and he couldn’t shake the feeling of being scrutinized.

Lost in thought, Gavin nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a solid punch to his arm. He whirled around, fist already clenched and ready to strike, but stopped mid-motion when he recognized the culprit.

"Naami!" he exclaimed, relief washing over him as he awkwardly transitioned into a hug, throwing an arm around Naami's shoulder. The shift was hasty, covering his initial instinct to fight. “Guy in the suit with the beard is following me,” he whispered quickly, leaning in as if the embrace was entirely friendly. Releasing Naami, he added loudly, “You look good!” His tone was deliberately upbeat, an obvious attempt to keep up appearances as his eyes flicked back toward the mysterious man.

Still uneasy, Gavin muttered under his breath, “I hate this shit,” glancing sideways at Naami, who appeared effortlessly at ease. Unlike Gavin, who looked as if he’d been forced into formal robes under protest, Naami seemed to thrive in the environment, his natural poise starkly contrasting Gavin’s unrefined awkwardness. It annoyed him slightly, though he’d never admit it.

“You gonna come on stage with me for the speech?” Gavin asked, his voice slightly louder as he sought to redirect the conversation. “Master Reign said I could stand behind him during it all. Probably because I look so damn intimidating.” He puffed up slightly as he said it, clearly trying to compensate for his earlier discomfort. Though his bravado was in full display, Gavin fought back the urge to flex, realizing it might undercut his attempt to appear composed.

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

A combination of stoicism and the confidence granted by youth kept Naami steady despite his friend's concern. Glacial eyes didn't give a sign of concern and in fact the zabrak maintained body language which indicated carelessness, leaning as if to share in the same jovial banter that Gavin Vel affected. His voice though began as a whisper and rose only when the words were suitable for mixed company.

"Darkness help us, wish we had telepathy at a time like this eh?"

Naami clapped him firmly on the back, returning the half-hug before resuming his rather "buttoned up" and proper body language suitable of the diplomat soldier that he was.

"Oh 'course, wouldn't miss it. The flight here was druking boring with nothing to do but study and practice saber forms I already know in a cramped space. Wanna grab a snack though before that?"

Already veering toward the refreshment table, Naami gave the man a meaningful look as if asking to get details of what the deal was.

 

[Liin Terallo]

Objectives: 1 & 2

Today is a prosperous day. It did not seem like very much time had passed since Diarch Reign came to New Cov to secure some financial backing of his little Empire. And my how that Empire has grown. One look around at the sheer number of guests and it was easy to see that his support had grown immensely.

And that was something that they had by rights to be proud of.

I had arrived on my own, no longer the leader of New Cov, yet still it's representative when required. I was dressed in what I am told is a light yellow dress which compliments my hair. It is not my most beautiful, however I am not looking to steal the attention away from the celebration. I do not mind being in the background. Talks will surely ensue later on. Instead I take a glass of wine from one of the serving trays and have a small sip. At least it is a good wine.

I have no expectations for this evening other than it being pleasant. I do not expect any trouble for it seems as though all of the percautions were met, which is what would be expected.

Never would I imagine New Cov creating an Empire of it's own, let alone joining one. We do well enough on our own. I only hope that it stays that way.

Tags: Open

 

[Judah Dashiell]

BASTION

Objectives : One & Two | Tags : Liin Terallo , OPEN

​

Drifting around the room in a simple black tuxedo, Judah hadn't caught sight of anyone he knew. Whisky in one hand he was waiting with the others for the grand ceremony to begin. In a way, it was an introduction to the Diarchy for him. Judah knew little, although his son had a meeting with Diarch Reign not too long ago. Whatever information he had was third-hand knowledge and even then it was scarce in comparison.

Yet tonight was important to attend. Dashiell Incorporated needed to make an appearance and try to create some relationships with those in the government. Not just he officials, but getting to know the rich and powerful on Bastion and beyond was just as important. When expanding business one could never leave a stone unturned. Putting his face out there meant his work could continue with little interruptions. A government could make his life difficult or relatively painless.

Finally he spotted a familiar face and slowly made his way over to the young woman. A wine glass in hand, it looked they had similar ideas in mind.

"Director Terallo." A warm greeting and a smile as he outstretched his hand. "We meet again. A pleasure to see you here. I was beginning to think I didn't have a friend in attendance. I trust you have been well? How goes business?"

 

[Damos Vakaro]

Objective: Backroom Politics
Tags: Shan Pellian | Open​

The Diarchs had achieved something pretty substantial. Influential people from all over the galaxy were coming to see what this pocket of the galaxy was all about. A nation built on the ruins of Imperial warlords wasn't new to anyone. But the Diarchs had a vision built on trust, loyalty, and progress. To create a new galactic order. A vision that Damos was banking on since he came close to losing his life back on Jutrand. So he needed the Diarchy to succeed for his own sake, and this meeting was proof that there was little Damos had to worry about. Although on a galactic scale, he wasn't familiar with any of the most influential figures except through reputation so to put names to faces would help with networking. Odds are this meant Damos would have to make an effort to attend parties outside of Diarchy space to keep his finger on the pulse of galactic affairs and high society.

Damos was waiting in the conference center, seems as though he was the first to arrive. Good thing too, it was improper to keep guests waiting without a host. Right now he was staring out the window eyeing the skyline of the city, speeders flying in the lanes, and not an explosion in sight. A sign of a healthy society.

He could feel his earpiece going off as security was attempting to reach him. "This is Councilor Damos." He said as he picked up. "Admiral Shan is on approach, sir."

"Excellent. I'll meet him on the landing bay."

As he hung up, Damos exited the conference room to greet his associate on the Diarchy Council. He hadn't seen the admiral in a while, and he was ecstatic to catch up with him.

 

[Liin Terallo]

Objective: 1&2

Hearing my name, I turn to see Mister Dashiell as he approached. And by himself, no less. His outstretched hand is a lot more formal and business like than I was used to getting from him. Yet perhaps it is because we were not on New Cov.

I offer him a polite smile as I place my hand into his own for a gentle handshake. "It's lovely to see you as well, Mister Dashiell. And quite an unexpected surprise." And here without your Lady? Was she unable to come with you? Those two questions I keep to myself, for asking them might be considered rude and impolite. "I have been well, thank you. Business is also running very smoothly." I release his hand and have a sip of my wine before returning his questions towards himself. I keep my tone soft and friendly, keeping mind to not draw attention from others. This is a grand ceremony, afterall. "And how are you faring? Is business going well?"

Tags: Judah Dashiell OPEN