Arabian Nights | CIS Dominion of Ra'Katha

[Alkor Centaris]

R A K A T H A

Gilded masks obscured their faces as they thrashed and throttled their way through the bazaar. Jewels, coin, goods both consumable and precious were strewn across cobbled streets and canvas shorn beneath broken bodies lay in disarray. "For Ra'Katha!" they cried. "For our home!"

A panic-gripped populace cried out as they made their Exodus. The merchants bled to protect their goods, and many lost their lives. It appeared the cost of a Confederate alliance was their very livelihood, and that was according to plan.

"You have agents at court, as we discussed?" one of the Gold-faced, hooded men asked another. "Our rebellion will be short lived if the Confederate politicians are able to establish a foothold there."

"Yes, of course," came the skittish reply. "We did all as you bid us to do. You are certain we will be victorious here?"

The bloodied bazaar told a tale of chaos.

"This is how freedom is won, efendim," the masked man replied. "Merchants barter in coin, freedom fighters pay in blood."

"And the Confederacy," came a voice from behind the two, "does not barter with terrorists."

Snap-hiss!

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

Location: Kemotat Palace, Ra'Katha
Wearing: xxx
Tags: [member="Bastille Rommer"] | [member="Valencia Hadley"] | Open

Gerwald was not sure if the woman was trying to make small talk with him, or if she was genuinely trying to flirt, was it both? The lupine had allowed himself to remain aloof long enough that he no longer could read people in regards to that matter anymore. There had been so much trouble caused by thinking along those lines Gerwald did not allow himself to do so anymore. Funny that he should put on a facade that simply made him seem like he was the same wolf he had always been. He could still jest and tease with the rest of them, but he was not the same wolf that first joined the Confederacy. Gerwald had not been that wolf for a long time. Inside he was dark, conflicted, and broken.

"Perhaps it is more about the person. I have seen my fair share of disappointments as well. Just goes to show you cannot always trust what they say I suppose."

She broke off to make greetings. Gerwald simply nodded. His return to silence was to be expected with the number of bodies and talking heads around him. This was the arena of politics, an arena he was not suited for. Gerwald was a fighter. This was arena where one sparred with words, a task clearly suited for Valencia. She got everyone talking, and then quited herself. She returned to Gerwald's side after a while, but made no motion for his arm. Gerwald was fine with this. It was more natural to walk this way than as an escort.

Everything else was a stalling tactic. They were waiting for a new face, someone they were supposed to convince to join the Confederacy. Gerwald stood by Valencia's side as everyone continued with their idle chatter. Until the man came, he would wait and watch, after paying one final compliment to his escort.

"You certainly know how to work a room..."

 

[Lunara Azure]

Shopping, it was one of theose activities that was supposed to allow you to relax, to unwind and just loose yourself amongst the stalls and trinkets, amongst the booming shadowss and delights of the bazaar. It was supposed to be a time of relaxation and enjoyment...and Lunara was pissed. Whoever these gold masked people...no they didn't deserve that moniker. Whoever these gold masked mosnters were they had chosen to take one of her means of relaxation and desecrate it, to ruin what could have been a perfectly nice relaxing day.

Sure, Confederacy Intelligence had warned that this could be a possibility, that they could be attacked by the terrorists, but she'd just thought it was them covering themselves for the worse case scenario. She didn't actully think that they were serious, that it was going to be a real possibility. Crystal blue eyes narrowed as she raised a hand, pausing there for a moment. Her favoured power, the ability to influence the water around her would be harder to use here, but if there was one thing the Church's teachings had given her it was a variety of tricks to use.

The gesture of her hand swept the stalls around them to the side as the sandaround her seemd to come alive, streaming around the woman's form like banners, streams of sand that flowed round and round her as she tilted her head to the side, staring down at the gold masked men as she slowly walked over to stand next to the man who had first spoken up. "That's not entirely true, we're happy to take their freedom and lives in exchange as payment for all teh trouble they cause us," she pointed out coldly.

[member="Alkor Centaris"] | [member="Xobos Yakieer"] | [member="Alluria Ivalice"] | [member="Cali Ziiva"]​

 

[Alkor Centaris]

"Impudence!" the high-pitched squawk of the lesser masked man sounded. "Off-worlders! Confederate Pigdogs! How dare you attempt to steal away our land, and subjugate us against our will!?"

He rounded quickly on the two beings who took his back, rigid from the sudden startling. He lifted a silvery blade, short but easily identifiable as songsteel- to a trained eye, at least. "You will rue the day you set foot on these sands!"

Alkor watched without amusement as the pitiful creature bleated. "They have nothing worth taking," Alkor stared down at the lesser man without a shred of acknowledgement. "They are beneath contempt."

He spoke to the woman beside him now, though his blade and his gaze remained solely on his next victim. Enmity flowed freely through Alkor, and he drank the fear of the Ra'Kathan in deeply. "But," he added, "take whatever you like. They have defied the Vicelord. Their lives, their possessions, their hopes, and their aspirations are forfeit."

The Demon moved without warning. Time seemed slow around him, and his body moved like a stain of black across the small distance. The putrid scent of molten flesh and charred fabric rose from the shorter figure, who's mask dribbled away as teardrops of gold. His face hideously distorted by immense heat warped and his skull fused together, the last thing that the Ra'Kathan man ever saw was an unsympathetic face.

Alkor shoved the corpse from his blade and turned to face the other figure.

"Don't forget to squeeze the information from them before they die," he added.

[member="Lunara Azure"]

 

[Lunara Azure]

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Well her companion certainly seemed grim enough to suit her mood today as he vanished form her side, one of their opponents falling, his mask almost melting onto his face, the smell of charred flesh filling the air as the young woman raised one hand to her face, using her sleeve to protect herself from the stench. "Well now, you see my companion over there wants to kill you, and I have to admit that having your masks melted to your face does seem like a pretty awful death...and a horrib waste of all that gold. I on the other hand..." One delicate hand rose, a single digit pointing at the remaining terrorist, "am not feeling so charitable."

As she spoke, the sand that had been streaming around her body shifted, rushing across the space between them like tan ribbons, so innocent for a moment. The ribbons of sand started to circle their victim, like snakes encircling their prey as the blonde crooked her finger, a single ribbon of sand breaking from the pattern, dashing across the man's skin leaving a bleeding wound behind. "He was going to kill you fast...I hear having the flesh flayed from your body is a horrible way to die, slow and agonising...shall we find out?" The blonde could feel her heart beating in her chest, the mask she'd spent her life creating flawless, not shwing a single emotion she didn't want it to, no matter what turmoil hid behind it. You always played your hand through and through...but...hopefully he'd break.

Another ribbon and another ribbon ran across the man's skin as Lunara rested her crystal blue gaze on the man, one eyebrow lifted in question. "So, you point us in the direction of your boss and maybe if you're really lucky and ask really nicely, I won't leave you a skeleton for the birds to pick over." A cold smile answered the stream of pannicked yelps dropping from the man's mouth as the ribbons of sand threaded closer and closer to his flesh, his eyes darting to Alkor, "Ok, ok I'll talk, just keep her away from me, she's crazy!"

[member="Alkor Centaris"]

 

[Alkor Centaris]

Alkor could feel the turmoil all around. He never empathized with a direction, and he never tried to comprehend what it meant. He had never understood. He would never understand.

What Alkor Centaris knew, what he understood, and what remained constant in his life for all time was Death. It would never betray him, because it never chose sides. One day, it would come for him, too.

He yearned for that day.

Today, however, belonged to someone else. "Then talk," Alkor gestured toward [member="Lunara Azure"] slightly, his lightsaber still perilously close to the man. "She's the one offering you kindness. I only promise to make it quick."

 

[Cali Ziiva]

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Objective: Veiled Threat - Great Bazaar
Outfit: Type A
Tags: [member="Xobos Yakieer"] | [member="Alkor Centaris"] | [member="Alluria Ivalice"] | [member="Lunara Azure"] | Open

"Ooh, pretty."

Nimble pink fingers plucked a sculpted mask from the wall. She cradled it without pawing her hands over the intricately carved features and subtle details. Just the edges. Not that her hands were dirty or unclean, but Cali didn't want to leave natural oil all over such a finely crafted piece of art. A soft giggle followed, however, as it flipped and spun until it faced the out so she could bring it up to eye-level and feign wearing it.

"This is absolutely gorgeous. It must have taken so much time and attention to detail to make something like this. Kind of reminds me of building something mechanical from the ground up -- nothing pre-assembled. You have to have all the right parts, the right tools, a place to work, time, and above all a desire to do it right and not fast. There's even a certain artistry in it despite certain confines of the craft itself. Like, a mask. It can't be too large or too small, or it defeats the whole point. No one's wearing a mask that falls off your face or strains your back to walk upright, you know?"

Slowly the mask was lowered and Cali's bright eyes peered over the rim at the shop's owner. "There aren't many that would spend so much time and effort to such a craft. Few ever truly appreciate such an artist in their time. Everyone's too busy running around, parading about like they're larger than life itself. Maybe some delusions of grandeur. And maybe an artist feels they might take part in something larger than their self vicariously, right?" She turned to slowly place the mask back upon the display shelf. "Who doesn't like being recognized? Even if it's for something as simple as a metallic, animal-like mask. The worst part is, in the end, that's all anyone will remember of such fine craftsmanship."

The high pitched squeal of a blaster filled the shop.

Slowly, the Zeltron turned with her left hand atop her right bracer and a sad smile upon her lips. "Sorry." A scorch mark from where the bolt burnt a hole in the ceiling smoldered overhead. "Energy shield." Her left hand extended forth and the Force tore the pistol from the owner's hand. "I can't guarantee what the Guard would do if I turned you in. I can't guarantee you'd live if you go outside. What I can guarantee, however, is if you don't tell me how to supply your friends with a new batch of masks," the pistol was lifted in her left hand and a bolt sent straight into the mask she'd fondled moments ago. "Okaibe?" A broad smile spread across her lips.

 

[Bastille Rommer]

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[member="Valencia Hadley"] | [member="Gerwald Lechner"]​

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To these outsiders, Bastille reflected, Ra'Katha likely seemed to be nothing more than sun and sand. He couldn't blame them, of course; for long, his beautiful gem had been closed off from the outside galaxy. But Bastille, unlike his closed-minded predecessors, saw that the galaxy was in a state where Ra'Katha could thrive once more, as it had in times past. Long ago, in the time of the Republic before the Great Galactic Darkness, the colonists who became the Dejoka'ar culture had slowly built themselves up from sand to create a truly powerful nation. At it's peak, the Rommer Empire had united the entire planet and could boast of riches that the rest of the Outer Rim could only dream of. Merchant Lords grew fat from intergalactic trade, and Ra'Katha became a name known from the Unknown Regions to the Core. But when the Gulag Plague had shrouded the galaxy in darkness and death, the last King of Ra'Katha, Imel jiya un'Romer, closed the ports of Ra’Katha off prevent the disease from reaching the desert planet.

While the virus did not wreck it’s destruction on the populace of Ra’Katha, it hurt the planet in other ways. A trade empire is nothing without trade, and that is exactly what happened to the Rommer Empire; it collapsed, and with it brought a centuries-long period of individual city-state warfare. The glory that the Rommer Empire had brought to Ra’Katha all but faded. Even it’s prized jewel, the beautiful and wealthy city of Saltuhn, became a former husk of itself. Ra’Katha had truly descended into a dark age of fealty and feudalism.

Even though the galaxy had rebuilt and moved on, six hundred years later found Ra'Katha still in the same state as when it's Empire had fallen. The lost days of glory and riches had been turned to nothing more than bedtime tales, and for Bastille it had taken months of research and expeditions to unearth the artifacts and records that proved the Rommer Empire did, indeed, exist. Of course, dusty and cracked stone tablets could not change the present, but for Bastille they were proof that Ra'Katha, his beloved jewel, could rise above it's current petty state. He hungered for the glory that had existed during the times past, for the prestige and power that Ra'Katha had held in the intergalactic community, for the wealth and riches untold of.

Yet, Bastille was not a despot, at least in the sense that he listened to his people. And there were those who violently disagreed with the idea of again reopening the starports of Ra'Katha and integrating themselves once more into the galaxy. Preachers cried of demons who would destroy the culture and values of Ra'Kathans, of dark forces who would strip Ra'Katha and leave it barren. And while Bastille knew that they were no more than mere fearmongers, he could sense that his people were growing increasingly uneasy. It was not just the commoners; the nobles, the wealthy, and even Bastille's personal advisers were beginning to sway towards the side of isolation. And so, on the request of the Confederacy Vicelord, Bastille had graciously extended an audience to several of the top Confederacy diplomats, to hear their case so it might soothe his, his advisor's, and his people's fears.

The Kemotar entered from a wooden door, on the audience's left to his throne. In Ra'Kathan style, the dias on which the throne sat was only a single step above the floor, creating a sense of egalitarianism while still indicating Bastille's superiority. The throne itself was a small yet elaborately wrought bench of gold and jade, on which a red cushion lay for the Kemotar's personal comfort. No instrument heralded Bastille's entrance; Bastille's ceremonial guards, clad in red-and-gold turbans, beat the heels of their spears once in unison as the room quickly fell silent. The Fekemotan, Bastille's lieutenant and chief adviser, stepped forwards. "Qhé saada al Kemotar cen Saltuhn un Ama cen Ra'Katha, Bastille Rommer."

Although the language would be foreign to the Confederates, it was clear that Bastille was being introduced by way of ceremony. After those present dipped their heads in respect, Bastille smiled and sat down, gesturing to the foreigners; a short, fair-haired woman and a tall man with the looks of a warrior to him. For the convenience of the Confederates, Bastille spoke in the common tongue while one of his attendants translated into Wan'ante for those present. Flashing his blindingly white teeth, Bastille began. "Friends, we welcome you to our sun and sky." It was the traditional Wan'ante greeting, and although it was in the common tongue Bastille hoped that it would have the same effect on his audience, to let them know that these were not enemies at their doorstep. "I personally apologize for the presence of these extremists, and my personal soldiers are currently dealing with them as we speak. The people of Saltuhn and I are also grateful for the presence of your warriors, and pray that they will help quell these attacks."

 

[Valencia Hadley]

Objective: Honeyed Tongue
Location: Throne Room, Kemotat Palace, Ra'Katha
Wearing: XXX
Tags: Bastille Rommer | Gerwald Lechner | Open

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It would seem that their trajectory had the small welcome party as well as those members of the Confederacy that had been selected to meet with the Kemotar in the throne room. It was difficult to know for certain as the party who escorted their group spoke mostly in a language that Valencia wasn't familiar with - though regardless she kept that pleasant smile plastered upon her expertly coloured lips, flashing teeth when anyone made eye contact and nodding politely. This wasn't the first time she'd been invited to meet with those who didn't speak the common tongue of the CIS. She could keep herself from looking confused if it was needed.

As their group was ushered into the throne room proper, the petite woman ensured that she stepped through the doors before her guard, taking he opportunity to glance over her shoulder at Gerwald and give him one last dazzling smile and lifting one hand to gently tuck a loose strand of blonde hair back behind her ear. Turning back to the dais where the throne sat empty, she strode forward and stood where their escort had motioned, leaving them to face the throne while they awaited the Kemotar's entrance.

Blessedly, they didn't need to wait long. As [member="Bastille Rommer"] entered through the simple wooden door beside the throne, the Manda native ducked her head, her form dipping gracefully and the knees as she curtsied. It wouldn't do to give the impression that they were not humbled by the invitation, and based on the number of people gathered, the woman got the impression that though they'd been sent to smooth Ra'Katha's entrance to the Confederacy, there would need to be some semblance of desire on the part of herself and her KO counterpart to be welcoming.

Those clear blue eyes rose from where they'd lowered as she straightened, waiting just a moment longer than those others gathered to ensure she didn't appear too eager to right herself. That brilliant smile was given to their host as he gave them what sounded to be a traditional greeting, nodding her head gently.

"Please, your grace," she began, her free hand raising to motion to those gathered, "there is no need to apologize. Change can be difficult, and the Vicelord was pleased to learn that you have taken steps to protect your people. He has volunteered to assist with the insurgency himself, I'm sure you're aware."

Turning the conversation away from things that they had no hope of solving that afternoon in the confines of the throne room, the blonde instead turned to introductions. "Please, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Valencia Hadley, special council to Vicelord [member="Darth Metus"]. This hulking gentleman beside me is [member="Gerwald Lechner"], Warden of the Knights Obsidian." She turned that smile on Gerwald for a moment before turning her attention back to the Kemotar.

"Your city is beautiful, and your people extremely welcoming. Please, tell us what we might do to make you feel just as welcome joining our Confederacy of Independent Systems."

 

[Xobos Yakieer]

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Objective: Veiled threat
Equipment: Lightsaber, Faceless Armor (Without helmet)
Mental State: Curious
Tags: [member="Alkor Centaris"] | [member="Lunara Azure"] | [member="Alluria Ivalice"] | [member="Cali Ziiva"]
Post: #2

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Xobos actually heard the commotion much before she noticed where it was coming from. The sounds of multiple blades being ignited was hard to ignore or miss, thought their exact location was much tougher to find. Once it was heard though, she was prompted to move much quicker to find out exactly why lightsabers were being ignited in a space like this. Her answer was quickly found, much to her relief, in the form of two figures holding a poor ra’katha at blade point. The sand also looked like it was being..controlled, somehow, which was definitely not something the Miraluka had ever seen before.

She slowly stepped forward into the group, watching the pair of force users do their work while listening to the interrogating conversation. A single lightsaber hilt was pulled from her hilt, though she didn’t ignite it, knowing that situation was well in hand. The sand’s movements once again caught her eye, watching as they left bloody marks in their wake. This was quite the interesting power, one that she’d have to ask about once the work was done. A little chuckle then escaped her mouth as the man spoke of who was offering kindness out of the pair of interrogators. “I wouldn’t say that that little sand trick is being very kind..”

The sound of a blaster going off and being deflected by some sort of shield in the market behind them caught the Miraluka’s attention for a quick moment, though once she couldn’t see exactly where it had come from, her attention turned back to the interrogation. She had no more quips or words to add that would be helpful to the situation, so she remained silent, awaiting to see what the groveling, pathetic sight of a man would say, or how the information would be tortured out of him.

 

[Eternal Storm]

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[member="Cali Ziiva"]​

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For most parts, the blaster was still a somewhat-foreign technology to Ra'Katha. While it had been used to a great extent before the Great Darkness, six-hundred-years of isolation meant that those who did own blaster pistols often carried antique, poorly-maintained pistols that would seem archaic to offworlders. Perhaps why that was why the old women who ran the stall, a stooped, wizened old thing, had aimed so poorly. Either way, she'd missed, but now she pleaded like a child. The woman may not have understood any of [member="Cali Ziiva"]'s words -- most Ra'Kathans did not speak Galactic Basic, after all -- but she understood the threat all the same. "Ete ruzet emat'ini! Ete ruzet emat'ini!" <"I do not know! I do not know!"> While it seemed that the young Confederate had caught a lead, perhaps she had found nothing more than a supporter. A fan of the team, not an actual player.

[member="Alkor Centaris"] | [member="Lunara Azure"] | [member="Xobos Yakieer"]​

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A shot rang out, but not towards the offworlders. A burning, gaping crater had seared itself into the skull of the Ra'Kathan on his knees, and the now lifeless body slumped to the charred ground. One of the Golden Masks, far enough to be at a safe distance from the sorcerers and their magic, tucked away his pistol. Dressed in the tunic of a Dejoka'ar commoner, the only thing that set him apart from the crowd watching was the golden mask of a Rajek, the apex predator of the Ra'Kathan desert, fully covering his face. Turning to address the crowd, he shouted in a deep, husky voice, "Ruzbhin! Ruzran! Saf'jdeh hirid ouh!" Saf'jdeh harin ouh!" <"Outsiders! Offworlders! They will kill you! They will massacre you!"> Mutterings of Ruzran began to fill the square as the the Golden Masks disappeared into the crowd and the rest of the Great Bazaar. The massive market was a sprawl of packed stalls, enclosed rooftops and narrow alleyways that created almost a maze. It would be extremely easy for those who know the layout of the Bazaar intimately to quickly disappear. What more, the force sensitives would be able to feel the distrust coming from the crowd. While most of the Ra'Kathans could not speak Galactic Basic, and thus could not have heard the threats that the two Confederates made, they saw what they had done to the Golden Masks.

But there was something else. The Golden Mask with the Rajek mask seemed to have an. . . authoritative air to him. If the Confederates looked closely, they could find that there was some pattern linked to the type of animal carved into the mask. Killing and intimidation would not get them very far, but perhaps inquiry would.

[member="Alluria Ivalice"] | [member="Cali Ziiva"]​

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The mutterings of Ruzran continued through the Great Bazaar. Although the brawl had only happened in a sector of the market that was proportionally small compared to the entirety of the Bazaar, world traveled fast. And although the Confederates wouldn't be able to understand the native Ra'Kathan's Wan'ante, the tone in which they whispered made it unquestionable that something had just happened.

Perhaps it be luck, but the fact that the two women weren't at the action was perhaps a good thing. Shouts of alarm came from one shopper as her Kava fruit tumbled from the woven basket she carried, pushed aside by three large Ra'Kathans wearing Golden Masks as they ran through the narrow roads of the market, treading lightly but surprisingly fast on slippered feet. One of them, the one in the lead, wore the mask of the poisonous Khauj, while the two on either side of them wore nearly identical masks of the swift Seknufu. Nearly bowling over a bare-chested child, they barked in Wan'ante as they continued to run through the Bazaar.

 

[Lunara Azure]

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Lunara let her grip on the sand go, freed of her control the particles scattered in the wind as the man she'd been interrogating mere moments ago slumped to the ground. "Well...that's not optimal." Crystal blue eyes eyes stared down at the body for a moment before glancing up at the crowd, "The sand might not have been nice," she allowed, "but at least he stood a chance of walking away. If we had to tear it out of his mind then...I've seen people left after as mere shells." A small sad smile touched Lunara's lips as she shook her head, "I'd hoped...I din't know, maybe he'd explain something, was just misguided."

The blonde bit her lip, pulling her gaze away from the body, another addition to her long list of failures as she stared at the maddening crowd, riled up into a frenzy by the words of the gold masked men, or what she assumed were the gold masked men. Now this, this was a familiar sight, the angry crowd surging towards them. Taking a step or two forward Lunara held up both hands, reaching out for the light surrounding them, funneling it through her being. This was the most basic of powers, the first one she'd ever learned back in the day. it started with warmth, with a spark, a flame that grew and grew as she threw her hands apart, a wall of fire surging out, cutting the market in two, cutting of the crowd, at least for now. "So...who has a plan?"

[member="Xobos Yakieer"] | [member="Cali Ziiva"] | [member="Alkor Centaris"] | [member="Alluria Ivalice"]​

 

[Alkor Centaris]

Alkor trained for a lifetime in service to various causes. Crime lords who used fear and cunning to take control from the shadows, and megalomaniacal Warlords who assumed control by force. He had seen myriad methods of dealing with an incited mob, and the most effective were almost always the most brutal.

Unfortunately for the people of Ra'Katha, they had chosen their friends poorly.

Alkor was not a master of magicks, nor was he a charismatic leader. He was a resourceful man, however, and despite his lack of proper training in the language of the Ra'Kathan people, he had Force enhanced senses- his hearing in this instance. The Force coiled like a serpent around the erratic masses, and the words of the Dissident faction representative reached him- as well as if they had been spoken in Basic.

The Corellian Exile narrowed his eyes.

Alkor stepped forward, toward the firewall that [member="Lunara Azure"] conjured to keep them separate from the hostile populace. He reached out with a hand and gripped at it, searing flesh and igniting his eyes a deep shade of crimson. The Darkness flowed through him now, instilling him with purpose, guiding his words.

"People of Ra'Katha," his voice broke above the wails and outcries in their native tongue. "You have called out for the Confederacy, and we have come to you. You sought our aid, and we brought it to you. You asked us to listen, and we opened our ears. We came before you, and when we arrived, you began to fall upon your own brothers and sisters."

He clenched his fist as he stepped through the flames, a thin layer of cool energy preventing any further burns. He held a ball of flame in his palm, and it coalesced around his fingers. "How were we to respond to this? Did you expect dumbstruck fools to simply stand by as you descended into chaos and tore asunder the world you asked us to save? No-"

Alkor was fueled by not his own, but the righteous indignation of his Brother. He channeled now the very words given into him by the Vicelord, the promise to preserve freedom.

It was not Alkor's own ideal. He would enforce it in the only way he knew how. He clenched his fist, and the flames hissed and flickered out. Smoke roiled from his blackened hand.

"You asked us to protect your freedoms, and your sovereignty, but you have shown us that you value neither. And so, I give you a choice."

He stepped forward, lightsaber at his side, and pointed to them accusingly.

"Put down your masks. Drop your weapons. Give yourselves up. Do this, and you will be given fair trial under the law." His grip tightened on the hilt of his weapon. "Refuse, and I will show you what becomes of those who cross the Southern Systems."

"Make your choice."

[member="Cali Ziiva"] [member="Xobos Yakieer"] [member="Alluria Ivalice"] [member="Eternal Storm"]

 

[Alluria Ivalice]

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LOCATION: Great Bazaar​

EQUIPMENT: Twin Lightsabers​

WEARING: x​

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The shift in the environment caught her attention, eyes surveying the crowds for hints, or suspicious beings. Removing herself from the stall in which she had been drawn, her mind focuses on taking in her surroundings. The speech of the Ra'Kathan people was surely beyond her understanding. However, body language was universal. In the air of the young, she felt fear. More than that, the Force itself felt as it was warning of things to come, yet what that was Alluria could not say.​

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Just as her search began to ascertain exactly what was going on, Electric Blue eyes caught the sight of golden masks moving through the crowd rapidly. Even with the sheer amount of golden trinkets laid about, the sight of those wearing the masks caught her attention quickly. Wherever they were off to, they were in a hurry.​

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Follow them.​

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The ones bearing the Golden Masks had been causing trouble as she had heard from the briefing. Split decisions must be made in the field and uncertain of the entire situation, she had to act in some way. Ensuring the hilts on her sides were secured, Alluria follow their path once she was certain the child was okay. However, her own path did not fully mimic their own. Instead, she took a side route, moving as quickly as her surroundings would allow in order to keep pace. Though streets now felt like once could get lost in them, especially as any Ra'Kathan would hold an advantage, she allowed the Force to guide her steps, trusting her own judgement and senses as well. Asking the natives for support in navigation was out of the question, and she would refuse to put those who fear the masks in harms way.​

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TAGS: [member="Eternal Storm"], [member="Xobos Yakieer"], [member="Cali Ziiva"], [member="Alkor Centaris"], [member="Lunara Azure"]​

 

[Bastille Rommer]

[member="Gerwald Lechner"] | [member="Valencia Hadley"]​

​

Bastille smiled. The woman standing before him certainly had a tongue sweeter than those crying doom in the streets, and even a number of his wary advisers seemed to relax slightly at the Confederacy ambassador's soft tones and kind words. Standing up, Bastille held his arms out wide, smiling. "Your sweet words truly warm my heart. Indeed, it is my wish that Ra'Katha joins the Confederacy. All of this," the Kemotar said, gesturing to the precious gems, metals, and woods that the throne room was carved out of, "came from a day long past when our beautiful planet flourished off of trade with outsiders such as you. And although it is my sincere desire that we reopen those relationships, my people have grown wary in our isolation."

The Kemotar sat back down on his bench, leaning slightly forward as he peered intently towards [member="Valencia Hadley"]. His smile remained, but the tone behind it changed. It was now more tactical, more political, more inquisitive. "Yes, it is true that my people fear those in the outside galaxy, and they are right to do so. I've heard many stories of big governments coming and taking what they want, and not even leaving scraps for the planets they ravage. So tell me, Rhuzbin, what can you do to guarantee Ra'Katha will not the same fate?" As he posed the question, many nobles in the chamber nodded alongside him. The stories of exploited worlds had even reached Ra'Katha, and they were fearful that being in such a vulnerable position, they would fall in line with the many abused worlds in the outer reaches of the galaxy.

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

Location: Kemotat Palace, Ra'Katha
Wearing: xxx
Tags: [member="Bastille Rommer"] | [member="Valencia Hadley"] | Open

Silence overtook Gerwald as motion stirred at the pair of large wooden doors inside the throne room. Perhaps their host was finally joining them? The lupine was never one to solve matters with his words, and he knew that once their host revealed himself there would be little for Gerwad to say. His duty was to protect, and with insurgents threatening a peaceful transition into the Confederacy, the time for talking was growing shorter with every passing second. In truth, Gerwald's hand was itching to use his weapon. He had not been the same since [member="Srina Talon"] had recovered him from the torturous hands of the Mountain Sith which had broken him. Death and destruction reigned in Gerwald's heart and mind, as did a sense of duty. He wanted revenge, and he wanted to protect. Both were things which he knew he would not be able to do at the same time.

He sighed.

Valencia had a way with words which Gerwald did not have. She also knew every protocol and how to behave among regality. Gerwald simply had to follow suit. Stewjonian customs were different, and Gerwald was never one to bow unless he had to. This seemed an instance where at least a head nod was required, which he gave upon introduction. It was something he loathed doing as since leaving Stewjon Gerwald considered himself his own man and master. Valencia had told him to be less intimidating, so Gerwald tried. Rather than cross his arms he allowed them to remain at his sides, and Valencia spoke, he listened. The warrior wanted to roll his eyes at the ability for this ruler to put down the rebellion which was occuring his streets. Gerwald should have been among those squashing them.

"You want a guarantee your world will not be ravaged? There is open rebellion now, one you clearly need out warriors to quell. I might suggest that you do not have much of a choice than to trust us because these rebels are already ravaging what has been built here."

Perhaps Gerwald should not have spoken, and perhaps he would be scolded later, but Gerwald was feeling a bit incredulous by the demand of this ruler for a guarantee when his streets were crying out against him.

 

[Nine Lives]

Objective: BYOO (Explore Ra'Katha as one of her biots, Westenra and investigate mysterious goings on at a desert palace)

In thread as: Lorna (Psychologist Form) (https://starwarsrp.net/topic/146198-shiido-vampiric-biot-westenra-mina/)


Equipped with: Armorweave dress (Custom: Sound dampening underlay), Stun Baton, Lightning Gloves, Tranquilizer hypo.


The Creature had booked passage to Ra'Katha aboard an old freighter, The Demeter. A small passenger frieghter. She had paid for her passage, for she was not a thief, though she had not hesitated to use her charm to get a discount.

That part had been easy. She was in her design's psychologist configuration, a middle aged woman named Lorna, of immense beauty, her masquer flesh giving her a very curvy shape with a skin tone of dark sand, and dark brown hair wrapped tightly in a bun with carnation pink eyes, concealed in a skintight, semi-translucent gown with silver highlights that went down to her ankles. Her facial structure deliberately crafted to be carved yet warm.

She had befriended the crew with a speed to an outside observer, safe from the effect of her hyper-powerful pheremones and access to her psychology programming, would have found unsettling. Frightening even. In time, many of them were revealing their darkest secrets to her, individually. In private. With sincere humaneness (For her empathy programming guaranteed sincere humanity and compassion), she vowed their secrets would die with her. They were her friends after all.

In fact she was busy getting to know the the only one she had not had time to truly unearth psychologically, the sensor specialist, a young man in his twenties in a dark green engineering jumpsuit named Cern. He had a boyish, tanned face with green eyes, constantly fixing the computers on the ancient vessel, which was quite cozy. Her sister Vera would have despised it, and likely have killed them all. But not "Lorna".

He did not trust easily. Even with all her advantages, he had slowly warmed to her. But she notice that aside from growing more easy at the prospect of talking to her, he seemed to grow more anxious at the thought of going to Ra'Katha.

This greatly distressed the artificial vampire for she did not like to see living creatures in pain or distress, and in fact causing suffering left her with immense guilt. She genuinely wanted to help him. After spending an hour helping the Rodian with his breathing excercises to help him get rid of his fear of clowns, (Though privately, even 'Lorna' thought he should not shed his fear of them entirely. Even she was slightly afraid of them.) 'Lorna' ventured to his quarters once she knew he was off duty.

Cern, having been busy checking over the faulty sensor reports to distract himself was dulled from it by a ring of his bell.

He was surprised when he saw Lorna waiting patiently, arms folded, smiling warmly.

"Hello, Cern. I was wondering if you had a moment." Lorna said in a contralto with an exotic accent.

"Uh, sure. I've been actually wanting to stop looking at all these reports."

Lorna entered and a tiny, near impossible to hear whisper in the back of his head noted with a strange tremble at how precise her movement was, how there seemed to be a faint purple glint at the center of her eyes if one stared hard enough.

"You seem to be burying yourself in far too much work, I've noticed."

"Well...a man's gotta find some way to clear his head, right?" He asked, subconsciously backing away about two steps as that tiny-whisper warning noted she was too still.

"It's more than that. You can't fool me, Cern. I'm a psychologist. It is my job to notice these things...to notice when people are in pain..." the biot whispered gently, face creasing with genuine concern for a man she had only known about two to three days.

She reached out to touch his shoulder. "I want to help. You have been growing more and more distressed as we get closer to Ra'Katha. Whatever it is, you can tell me." She assured him, blinking pink eyes.

Cern sighed, his unconscious mistrust momentarily overwhelmed by her expert programming. He sat back down. She was fascinated by his racing trophies and knick knacks.

"Every year we pass by or make a run here, and every year it gets a little harder..."

Lorna glided with an unnatural smoothness to a spare seat, sitting across him, and taking his hand into her own. She was there for him.

"Tell me everything."

"I used to be a starship racer with my father. Raced the circuits, got first place on some." He said, staring at some of the trophies, relaxing a bit.

"Then I come here because I got something to prove. I end up in a race run by a Gangster. He lives on Ra'Katha, and in a moment of bravado...I..."

"Go on. Its alright." She promised.

"I bet my Father's prize ship in a race against him. I lost of course. My father never forgave me except on his death bed, which was the first time he had spoken to me in the seven years since I lost. That's why coming here hurts."

The biot thought a moment. "I know I can help you..."

Cern looked at her in curiosity. "How?"

"I'm a fairly decent frieghter pilot. I will win it back."

"But you need something to wager in turn."

"I have been acquiring a number of yachts with my accounts. I will wager one of those."

Cern was astonished. "But...why?"

Lorna blinked. "We're friends." She answered simply. "You need your father's ship for emotional closure. I want to give you that closure."

Cern could only nod, that warning in his head starting back up.


Two Hours later...

Cern had insisted on being her guide throughout the main markets, his own ship not due to leave for three days.

Lorna was fascinated and awed by the beautiful architecture and the people, who wore beautiful clothes of many fabrics and colors. She purchased a bottle of vanilla perfume after falling in love with its scent and had applied it to her neck as a small spray, placing it in her black travel knapsack that hung from one hand as she glided with frightening swiftness through the crowds, many of whom turned to behold her gorgeous looks and tight fitting dress. Cern was worried already. The place was beautiful but thieves were everywhere.

"Ra'Katha is so lovely..." she whispered, strolling along, noting the ancient architecture in many areas. They went through an old, deserted street on the way to the location of the Gangster's mansion. It was here that the local flavor got a taste of her.

A grimacing man in black armor, armed with a Mandalorian Blaster stepped out of the shadows.

"Ah, tourists...you can always spot them." The man said. "Your credits. All of them."

"You poor man..." Lorna said with all sincerity. "Is life truly so difficult you have no choice? I have many credits...you can have them all...but please don't hurt my friend..."

The man in black snorted. "Sympathy don't win you much on Ra'Katha..."

The man stopped talking as Lorna undid a small clasp on her dress. It slid down, revealing she wore a flesh colored armorweave leotard. She presented the dress to him after folding it.

"It's worth two thousand. That should be enough to supply you for a little while..." Lorna explained.

The man, too weirded out by such a cooperative robbery victim instead immediately started walking the other way. Cern's mouth was open as Lorna frowned in confusion.

"Guess he didn't want the dress..." she thought, slipping it back on effortlessly.

"What the feth?" He muttered. "How did you do that?"

"That was probably the first time anyone showed him sympathy..." Lorna said. "What else could he do but flee after having someone express compassion?" She explained, watching him run to the distant street ahead.

"Poor man. All this wealth around him, and still he must prey on others..." she noted, sighing. "I wish I could help him..."

"Being that caring here could get you shot." Cern warned.

"I regret to inform you I don't have a mean bone in my body..." Lorna assured him smiling with a warmth the young man found quietly unsettling as he followed the curvy woman to the den of an old mistake...

 

[Valencia Hadley]

Objective: Honeyed Tongue
Location: Throne Room, Kemotat Palace, Ra'Katha
Wearing: XXX
Tags: Bastille Rommer | Gerwald Lechner | Open

- - -​

​

Listening to the Kemotar speak about trade, Valencia felt a modicum of tension ease from her shoulders. This was an area she was much more comfortable - especially since she'd been negotiation the trade deals for Manda for quite some time, and had gotten quite well versed with the way that the Confederacy handled their trade. If her reports she'd reviewed en route were to be believed, Ra'Katha was a resource rich planet, and they had been famous for their trade prior to the plagues... They would be a boon to the Confederacy, but it would not do to have that tarnished out the gate.

Lifting one hand, her billowing blue sleeve sliding down to her elbow, the woman made to speak - but her companion got there first... And goodness did he have a hot take. The Councillor managed to keep her polite smile firmly in place, but the glance she gave the Warden was... Sharp. Her dealings with the Knight had been minimal, and she hadn't been given the opportunity to speak with him much on the trip in about his bedside manner, but then again... She wasn't aware that the KO had selected someone with literally no tact to be her protection. Well that was unfortunate.

Moving to step forward, Valencia turned a much kinder set of eyes, perhaps even a touch apologetic towards the Kemotar and his advisers.

"I'll beg your pardon to excuse my companion, your grace - in Confederate space there are few monarchies, and I do believe that Warden Lechner doesn't have many opportunities to come face to face with legitimate royalty." Her tone was smooth as silk and betrayed none of the anxiety that Gerwald's little outburst caused her. "If I am understanding him correctly, I believe he meant to impart upon you the imperative nature of this meeting - which of course you are well aware."

Clasping her hands across the datapad she still carried, the blonde glanced around the room and took in the many faces gathered there. The wealth of this nation was apparent, plastered upon the walls in all it's glittering majesty... They held a good number of chips in this particular deal - and it would be completely unacceptable to have them believe that the Confederacy wasn't aware of that.

"The Confederacy is vast, your grace," she began, turning those vivid sapphire eyes back to the Kemotar himself, "and doubtless you've seen our reach slowly grow from the safety of your beautiful world." Taking a short breath, another of those dimpled smiles painted her lips, and she continued; "I was previously the Viceroy of one of the greatest trade planets in our space, and I was required, as part of those duties, to negotiate trade with the Confederacy in a way that was both fair and profitable for my people... It is my intention to work with yourself as well as our Minister of Commerce to ensure that any trade deals that you are willing to broach are both fair and profitable for your people."

The former Viceroy would do her best to ensure that despite her personal guard's best attempts, this meeting went well... But gods only knew what else the lupine might blurt out.

 

[Cali Ziiva]

​

Objective: Veiled Threat - Great Bazaar
Outfit: Type A
Tags: [member="Xobos Yakieer"] | [member="Alkor Centaris"] | [member="Alluria Ivalice"] | [member="Lunara Azure"] | [member="Eternal Storm"] | Open

Cali stared at the woman for a long moment, smiling all the while. That was until a commotion caught her ear.

Without a word, the Zeltron bolted for the door. She had a knack for trouble. 'Danger' was in her middle name. Cali. Danger-ously Cute. Ziiva. It called to her. Okay, and maybe the Force hand-wavey-motion. However it came to be, she knew this shop wasn't going to get her the goods, and the kerfuffle outside would. Or at least would be more interesting than standing around awkwardly chatting about masks and how clueless one could be about who they supported. Anyway, to excitement!

Of course, a pretty pink woman in her purple outfit barrelling through the streets wouldn't earn her any brownie points with the locals. They were going to be all staring and gawking and cursing in the wake of whoever was getting pushy and oh my god nearly running over children, like what the ever fluffing pokejon! No one runs over kids in her city. No. Cali darted outside as she shoved the poor excuse for a pistol into her waist band. Time to show these people who they were dealing with!

By disappearing.

Up above.

Yes, out of sight. But Cali totally took that bound atop the relatively short market rooftops like a Jedi. Now her legs were pumping furiously as she sprinted overhead with bright eyes seeking to track where to run, where to turn, and most importantly when to jump. Of course not every roof in the direction she wants to go hand handy boards lain down, or sat side-by-side. A roll over a raised ceiling here, a hop over a short wall there...

But the worst part? Was the sun. Hopefully this chase wouldn't take too long because the split ends!

Catch them? Oh, no, Cali wouldn't think about doing some macho 'jump from the roof to the street below to tackle one of them' and get a surprised Rodian face when the others got away, or when they strode up and stabbed her from, you know, recklessly plowing into someone from overhead and probably slamming into something solid getting who knew what battered flesh and bones in the process. No, no, no. She'd follow them. Until they led her somewhere useful, or until they stopped and she could confront them properly. Or maybe taunt them from the rooftops. She'd have to see what mood struck her.

 

[Eternal Storm]

​

​

[member="Cali Ziiva"] | [member="Alluria Ivalice"]​

​

The Confederate's instinct to follow and not engage was a good one. They had been ordered to find out who was behind these attacks, not merely cut down any Golden Mask that they saw. Luckily, too, was the fact that the fleeing terrorists did not seem to notice their pursuers. The noises, sights, and smells of the Bazaar around them were distracting enough to conceal the two women as they ran afte the Golden Masks, one through the stalls behind them and one out on the roofs and under the bright sun of Ra'Katha.

A few minutes into the chase, and the two women would realize that they were no longer in the Great Bazaar anymore. The streets were wider now; cobbled with sandstone and silica instead of pressed-down mud, and they were much more open too. Twilight was drawing nearer, and the rays of the setting sun cast an array of brilliant colors onto the city below it. Lanterns were in the process of being lighted, and daytime peddlers began boarding up their stalls as the citizenry of Ra'Katha left their homes to enjoy the pleasant wind on their faces as mothers and maids opened up windows and doors to let the cool night air into their heated homes. Yet the Golden Masks rushed headlong, dis regardless of the relaxation that the night was bringing to the city.

Eventually, the two Confederate women would find themselves in an urban area of Saltuhn; close-packed mud houses, children running in the cool breeze as mothers watched them carefully from their door. This area was closer to the Shimmering Sea, and the smell of salt and crash of waves could ever so faintly be heard. The three Golden Masks had slowed their pace; they now walked in the shadows, dodging main roads and avoiding the routes normally patrolled by the Kemotar guard. Only once they had reached their destination did they stop; a hardened-mud house indiscreet from the rest, except for perhaps a rather tipsy but muscular man leaning on a crate nearby or the noise of laughter and music faintly coming from the inside. Looking behind them for any possible followers, the three gave a nod to the man by the crate before pushing back the heavy rug covering the entrance way and walking inside.

[member="Alkor Centaris"] | [member="Lunara Azure"] | [member="Xobos Yakieer"]​

​

The Ra'Kathan people did not fear fire, nor did they cower away from heat; it would be the same as if a fish were to flee from water. Yet when the Outsider stepped through the flames, grasped them, and then addressed them in their own tongue, they felt fear. The Dejoka'ar were not a culture that had much, if any, interaction with the living force. The closest thing they had seen to a manifestation of the power that binded all living beings in the Universe was merely the healing capabilities of the Wan'anteen shamans. To have an outsider summon flames from nothing was a feat alone enough to cower the Ra'Kathans.

Not to mention, the market square was now on fire.

Wood was a semi-precious commodity on Ra'Katha. With a planet so inhospitable to most vegetation, trees grew in patches around springs and oases that were spread far and few in between. While there had been certain attempts to create tree farms, which each had yielded varying degrees of success, wood remained a sought-after object in Ra'Kathan society. Vendors saved up for most of their lives to purchase and sell their wares from a wooden stall, and most who had earned that privilege -- a large portion of the Ra'Kathans in the market square -- were now seeing their life's work being consumed by the flames. Even those who did not sell from a wooden stall sold from carpet rugs or sheets, which were equally, if not more, flammable than the wood. And so naturally, the market square dissolved into a complete pandemonium.

Disregardless of the outsiders or their magical powers, merchants now ran with a cry to try and bat the flames away from their stalls. Domesticated Seknufu wailed as the heat became uncomfortable, even for their tough hides, and the wordless cries of the merchants was coupled with the cries of children and their mothers, families separated in the fires and flames. If one were to say that things had gotten out of hand, they would be making an understatement.