Dominion Blinding Lights | CIS Dominion of Gholondreine-β

[Eternal Storm]

Gholondreine-β was a planet in the Expansion Region that had been renown throughout the galaxy for its native philosophers and scholars, whose collective works taught that all sentient beings do and should hold their highest loyalty to truth, regardless of its temporal consequences. Gholondreine works could be found through archives and libraries throughout the galaxies and were oft-cited in great texts published throughout the centuries.

But perhaps beings of higher thought were not meant to coexist in the galaxy. During the reign of the Galactic Empire, the Emperor punished the planet for not conforming to the ideas of the New Order by draining its seas and seeding the new desert world with biotoxins. Cholondreine-β was abandoned, and it became an example for those who did not conform to the Empire. But in the power vacuum left in the wake of the death of the Imperial regime, an enterprising Fondor businessman saw potential in the world.

And so she claimed the abandoned land, and with molecular furnaces and factory droids created a massive city in a matter of weeks. Populating this city and building its economy was a much longer affair, but before long Gholondreine-β was populated once more. The city was officially named Gholondreine Metro Central, but soon it became known by a much more famous nickname: Nocturna.

Nocturna is a city of celebration and crime. Anything that can go, goes. And it is now time to face Nocturna for yourself.

Spoiler: ”Objectives”

• The signature Glassway club is the beating heart of Nocturna’s night scene. Drinks flow freely, while Sabaac and nearly every other game of chance imaginable can be played. Spend the night throwing away your earnings, or if you’re lucky enough, win the pot.

• Speeder races through the city are exhilarating and dangerous. Rules only apply to those who get caught, and most never do. Watch the races or participate for a chance at the hefty cash prize for whoever wins first place.

• You’re only a criminal in Nocturna if you get caught. The underworld is rife with many different unsavory types -- will you root them out, or make new contacts and new allies?

• Nocturna is yours to explore. Enjoy!

Spoiler: Tag List

Alaria Telwith
Alban Roble
Luca Donskoi
Amelia von Sorenn
Anakwor Farlorn
Anashla Deshal
Ar'tal Ktruok
A Arisone
Archon Xris
Ashelia Solidor
Aston Jacobs
Aya Clarke
Bastille Rommer
Beric Layne
Bentil Mortop
Bullwark
@BX-1335
Caesar Kenway
Cazo Thraos
Corvus Dravere
Colton Renth
Corran Watts
Cypher Rage
Damsy Callat
Danielle Mueller
Jayce Pryde
Decious
Dispara
Draconis Sederius Wolf
Easy-G97
Eli-Mae Forrest
Elsasca Selcoc
Eryneth
Fawn Alzi
Faye Malvern
FN-1138
Gerwald Lechner
Holt
Hester Shedo
IG-65A
@Ingrid L'lerim
Jason Farkas
Joannis Campbell
John Locke
Julra Repraj
Karlie Lynn Destat
Kasca Fen
Kathryn Foster
Kayla Wylen
Kiff Brayde
Krystal
Kurenai Yumi
Kyber
Lady Moll
Lesya Kosarev
Luna Terrik
Lyla Quinn
Lyra Vent
Maani
Maple Harte
Maria Savilia
Mathieu Brion
Maur
Mila Uhlesifa
Millu Lee
Fury of Aerðs
Muad Dib
Myrrdin_Emries
Nimue
Nine Lives
L LGMForever
Pravus Cruento
R4-AUD
Rabbit
Rann Thress
Rayne Centaris
Razelle Breuner
Redd
Roy Americus
Ryk Gaelir
Rylan Kordel
Sabine Delacroix
Saram Kote
SC-A1
The Monster
Shuklaar Kyrdol
Srina Talon
Startorn
Subject 73 Red
Taiia Locke
Talon Rahl
Talak Jenste
Tess Valnora
Teyla Sal-Soren
ToKola Bakari
@Tyché
Tyran Numeck
Udrid
Uxagi Xatash
Valencia Hadley
Vanric Dannon
Vemric Keldra
Veronika Fleischer
Vess Sadragen
Vio Doni
Visanj T'shkali
Kyyrk
Vyse de Valorous
Vytal Noctura
Valeria Sempronia
Cord Starfall
Telula Vale
Alluria Ivalice
Oleander Webb

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[Kiff Brayde]

S A B A A C

Tag: Nichos Velt | Arthur Lee Prescott | OPEN

Kiff was a High Marshal first, gambler second. Others -- who often used this to discredit him -- saw it as the other way around, but truth be told, Kiff hardly ever had the time to gamble anymore. The last time he'd picked up a deck of Sabacc cards. . . well, it had been a while. But he'd probably just gotten the first day of 'shore leave' in a standard month or two. He'd expected to have some R&R after the chit show that was Dantooine, but Abraxas had other plans for him. But now? He was looking for an outlet.

And a night out at one of the most famous, or infamous, gambling clubs in the sector? Just the kind of fun Kiff was looking for.

He had chosen an empty Sabaac booth and lounged in the booth as he waited for it to fill up. His reputation as a High Marshal often preceded him, and he doubted that no one among the crowd recognized him or wouldn't jump at a chance to beat a High Marshal at a game of chance and skill. But in the Bassadro Sector, he had become somewhat of a celebrity in the gambling arena. Hopefully, that status would let him get a quick game going soon.
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[Judah Lesan]

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WEARING: xxx
TAG: Magena Dray

Something something scum and villainy. The atmosphere was something akin to what Judah had been used to long before he was a Jedi. Yes, the Jedi Master, had found himself embracing a more rogue life with how things had been shacking in the galaxy. His disappointment and disillusionment with Jedi grew more and more with every passing minute. To say that he was no longer the toe the line Jedi he had once been was an understatement. Much of what the Jedi stood for had been abandoned long ago. Those who bore the moniker now, they dealt in absolutes, made idle threats of violence. In essence they were Sith in Jedi clothing, and Judah could not, and would not, support them.​

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Life was ironic. The further his path drifted from the Jedi, the more it brought him into the world of the one woman he could never say "no" to, Magena Dray. They had an odd relationship, if it could be called that. They were best friends, lovers when it suited them, and something much deeper than status could define. The mere thought of what they could be likely scared them both, leaving their time together to be typically short. These days their meetings seemed to be more frequent, however, and Judah was unsure as to why.​

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"Look if we are gonna find an easy mark, it's going to be here. Anything goes... literally... it says so on the sign."​

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Judah looked at the Zeltron with a smirk. He wished he had been joking about the fact there was a sign, but as his thumb jetted out toward it to indicate it was, in fact, real, Judah chuckled.​

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There was definitely a sign.​

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His eyes scanned the club as he looked for a familiar sight. Lips turned upward into a smile as he took Magena by the arm and started walking toward an empty Sabaac table.​

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"How long ago has it been since we did this on the regular. We made Dothan a lot of credits back in the day... now... we get make a lot of credits again, but this time put them to good use. Pretty sure there will be some deep pockets here, and if we're lucky... a decent crime element with deeper pockets."​

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Stealing, sure it was wrong, but Judah was the sort that justified it when the credits were going to those who needed them. No, Judah was not a selfish person when it came to credits. He had plenty, and a winery on Naboo which still made him more than he needed to live off of.​

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"Unless you've spotted a mark already?"​

 

[Haastal Haran]

BAR FIGHT​

Tags: Safira Varad ​

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Another empty shot glass came back down onto the bar top as Haastal finished his seventh for the night. He'd been enjoying himself, a bit of respite before the waves that were to come. As always Isley demanded that the clan be prepared for the possibilities of war. Especially with the Bryna'dul freaks tearing a bloody scar through the galaxy. Still, Haastal was more concerned about his own trials. One particular had caused him to take in the drink whole-heartedly.

Fatherhood. The thought of it made him look up to the bartender and slap his hand against the wooden bartop. "Another." He demanded. The Twi'lek behind the counter chuckled, pouring another clear shot glass and sliding it over to the man. "You Mando's sure like your liquor, huh?" Haastal ignored the man, instead he just turned to the woman beside him, taking the glass into his hand. "Twins." He muttered, picking up the conversation where they'd left off. "Redd's freakin' out about it. I still gotta tell Isley, you know how he is about kids. He's gonna wanna fuckin' party." Haastal had been fairly chill when it came to finding out that he'd be having children. It wasn't that fatherhood itself was a scary thing for Haastal to come to terms with, it was more that it was such uncharted waters.

Haastal was good at stealing, killing, extortion, brawling, and all manners of things not synonymous with fatherhood. Still, he'd wanted kids because it was required in the Mandalorian code. So what remained was a feeling that he was unsure of how to continue forward. Of course he could never let his mate know his uncertainties.

Just as the man was about to say something a man shifted into the bar seat behind him, one of his four arms slapping into Haastal's back and causing him to shift forward, his drink spilling all on the front of his chest. Haastal paused for a moment, glancing up at Safira before clearing his throat. "One second." He said, setting the glass on the table before turning back to the Besalisk that had made him spill his drink. "Hey, dude." Haastal said, but the man had his back to him and seemed not to hear him. So the Mandalorian slapped his hand over the besalisk's back. The Besalisk groaned, one of its hands blindly slapping back at Haastal. "Watch it, dumbass."

Haastal's face was contorted in a mixture of anger and confusion. "Dumbass?" He repeated.

Haastal turned back to Safira with a still-confused expression. "Did he-" Haastal cut himself off before looking to the bar. A half-empty bottle of Tatooine Tequila. He took the bottle into his hand, sloshing around the liquid inside before flipping it and grabbing hold of the neck in a firm grip. "I got your dumbass!" Haastal called out, bringing the glass bottle over the side of the Besalisk's head. The bottle exploded into shards of glass and liquor, causing the lizard-like creature to fall out of his bar stool with a loud cry. Haastal slung his arm, trying to fling off the excess liquor that covered him, yet when he looked up he could see a number of individuals wearing jackets matching the black and orange cutte that the Besalisk had worn.

A speeder-bike gang.

Haastal sighed, yet in the next moment he felt arms wrap around his waist, driving him to the ground.
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[Dain Vikaar]

Location: Glassway (Bar)
Tag(s): Haastal Haran | Safira Varad​

A world of scum and villainy. What was it about these places that kept calling him back? He’d left Tatooine long ago, not for the abhorrent weather, but because of the Hutt scene and the unbridaled crime that accompanied it. And now here he was again on yet another lawless world filled with much of the Galaxy’s filth. That all came with the territory of his occupation, though. A bounty hunter and mercenary frequently called such places home, so why would it surprise him that he’d wind up here among the backwash of scum yet again?

What had really brought the man here, though, was a target he’d recently acquired and tracked here. An Aqualish late on payments to their debt collector. And so it seemed as though this man thought he could slink away into anonymity among the chaos which abounded among the lawless trash.

Intel had shown Dain that his bounty frequented the Glassway and so it was here that he’d chosen to wait and observe. Ever vigilant for this Rungo Abdot to make his fateful appearance. Hell, he could throw back a few drinks or even throw in a few hands in a game of sabaac if he wanted in the meantime. After all, it was only a matter of time before the query was bound to show himself.

Dain sat patiently, flagon in hand as he played his time in observation. But the individual his eyes were trained on presently was that of the man, and off and on friend and partner, Haastal Haran . It was a man he’d known a long time now and they’d worked a few jobs together through the years, though Dain, himself, was unable to accurately pinpoint exactly when was the last time the two had encountered one another. His eyes observed in obscurity as the Mandalorian moved toward confrontation with the four-armed Besalisk. And then watched as further entertainment unfolded. The all too famous, and all too common, bottle crash over the skull among the series of events that unfolded. And then there it was. The passion had blinded the man and he found himself with his face buried into the floor.

“Buckets..” Dain said in a hushed voice. “Always so quick to start something.” He down the rest of the contents of the flagon and rose to his feet. He pulled a ST-90 Stun Pistol from its holster at his side. The sites fell on one of the latest arrivals to the bar, an Aqualish that matched the description of his bounty perfectly in fact, and fired off a round neutralizing the asset immediately. Coincidentally enough, the target wore a similar attire to the ones that assaulted Haastal.

He sighed again.

“What the hell,” Dain finally huffed and fired another two shots toward another two of the men matching those that attacked Haastal currently, neutralizing them both in turn. He’d leave the one with its arms wrapped around the Mandalorian for the Mandalorian to handle himself. After all, Dain could use a little more entertainment.

That was short lived though, as it wasn’t but a few seconds later that Dain, himself, felt the arms of another wrap around his own waist and drive him into the ground too.

“Well kriff.”

 

[Isran Varad]

BLINDING LIGHTS
Tag: Safira Varad, Dain Vikaar, Haastal Haran

The Mandalorian was clearly enjoying himself.

In recent history, the demands of the "workplace" had kept the warrior from hearth and home. With the Galaxy spiraling into madness, bounties flowed like water into the ocean. Only a fool would turn a blind eye to such opportunity. Thus, for months now, Isran had floated from mark to mark - bringing unconsious men (or their corpses) in for coin. His spouse, Safira Varad, had a similar understanding of current events. At times, they would embark on missions together. Especially those tougher ones that turned into literal warzones.

On others, they would part ways - for it was far more efficient to turn in two bounties apart than an easy one together.

However, for at least the next couple days, the opportunity to kick back was upon them. Their accounts were absolutely bloated with credits - enough so that they could earnest begin planning something...concrete. A home. The question of where had yet to be decided, but finally they could have something more than a dusty apartment on Geonosis or relying upon their ships' quarters. This called for a celebration. And in true Mandalorian fashion, that involved liquor, and lots of it.

Nocturna ended up being the site of the "festivities." And at the moment, Isran was already two shots deep. His helm raised ever so slightly each time he took a shot, exposing only his lips to the room. And once consumed, the buy'ce would settle back into place. For the moment, he was relaxed. Content. That is, until his kinfolk began tussling with the locals. Swears here. A bottle smashed there. By the time Isran looked up from his glass to see what the fuss was about, a stool was being hurled in their direction. Instinctively, he rose and ate the throw - he'd be damned if even a splinter went in Safira's direction. And afterwards, he stormed after the one responsible.

It took everything in him not to lead with the wrist rockets, Munin style.​

 

[Jorco Czeku]

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Old Faces, New Places
_____________________________________

How fitting, the criminal turned politian turned criminal again is back in The Confederacy, and doing shady stuff at that. Jorco wasn't looking to ruin his second chances with the CIS though. No he wanted to make things work for once, he was a changed man, his time in the big house really did give him a new perspective on things.

Sadly this lowly merc wasn't even trying to rebuild his old criminal ties and organizations. "mo peoples mo problems" he'd begin to realize. He needed to keep things simple, which wasn't too difficult for him now that he's revalued what's important to him in the galaxy.

The sleazy Rodian made his way through the underbelly of the of the metropolis. Easily picking up on recognizable signs of trouble and places to avoid and places to be. He was a streetwise guy, growing up in Nar Shaddaa will do that. Currently he was looking to aid the CIS and make a tidy little profit as well, through interstellar arms trade, and what he needed for that was affordable people to buy from.

Currently Jorco was in a back ally workshop for a independent blastersmith. One that had a tidy little operation in the city with plenty of metal working supplies.

"Well that works for me, I normally don't like selling to people directly. Easy way to get busted I fear." Spoke the individual Jorco was speaking to. A greasy four armed Besalisk.

"Yeah so don't consider this window shopping or what not, I'm just looking for the right people these days. I'm thinking of keeping this small. When things get too big, you get big problems, yes?" Jorco replied.

"Ain't that the truth..."

 

[Safira Haran]

Haastal Haran | Isran Varad | Dain Vikaar​

Safira snorted.

Since their arrival at the seedy club, Haastal had drunk more than he or Safira put together since they were old enough to drink. Granted, the reasoning behind that was valid enough.

“Twins.” Safira repeated after him, with the same amount of awe in her tone. It was not that she thought Haastal could not manage. In fact, she thought he would make a brilliant father once the reality hit him properly, but twins. Two babies. At the same time. Safira could not imagine how anyone could manage that, let alone Haastal. “I’m not surprised, vod. She’s not just freaking out about when they’re finally here, she’s freaking out about how they’re going to get here.”

Safira finished off her own drink and rapped the empty glass on the top of the bar to signal for a refill. “Going through it once would be bad enough, can’t imagine going through it twice. One after the other.” Safira physically shuddered and took solace in the amber liquid that the bartender had topped her glass off with.

There are very few moments in life where the future can be predicted, and for Safira, this was one of them. She watched it happen in slow motion. The man as he shifted. His arm slipping. The way it cut through the air, so direct and precise, to smack Haastal square in the back. That was that. Safira knew what was coming. As sure as she knew the sky was blue and the grass green.

As bad an idea as she knew it was, Safira made no motion to stop Haastal as he swung back. It seemed like he needed a good fight, and the Besalisk was providing the perfect opportunity. He was practically asking for it.

“I think he did, Haastal.” She responded to his dumbfounded expression.

Then, just as she had predicted, all hell broke loose.

Safira did nothing at first. There was still a healthy amount of alcohol left in her glass, and she would be dammed if she wasted the credits. Isran was quick to join the fight, which Safira could only smirk at. There had been numerous occasions in which the couple had seized the opportunity for some well deserved R&R. Almost all of them had ended like this. It seemed to her that the clan naturally attracted trouble, and that was just how she liked it.

With a final throw of her head, she drained the last of the amber liquid, turned on her seat and hurled the crystalline shot glass as hard as she could at the nearest gang member.

 

[Ashryn Shiari]

Objective: Glassway & BYOO
Wearing: [xXx]
Tag: | Mic Gallagher |

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Now this, this was something Ashryn could most certainly get used to. Under normal circumstances, a crowd of people was only good for one thing; blending in and losing heat. But these were not normal circumstances, oh no. This was a chance for Ash to step away from the playing field of all things nefarious and underworldly without actually doing either of those things. She was able to dress up and be herself in such a place, and she was able to drag her favorite partner in (and out) of crime along for the ride.

In all of the times Mic had called on Ash for assistance for some job or another, he would have been out of his mind to refuse the invitation to accompany the blonde. And Nocturna did not disappoint. For anyone who knew Ashryn, she was not easily impressed by the sights of any one place. Shiny trinkets, credits, things of value, those were the ways to impress the woman if you were in a hurry to do so. But this...Stepping foot to the city felt like stepping into a whole different world, one where Ash most certainly felt she belonged.

The same was not to be said about some of the faces she took in upon coming to the Glassway. She had of course kept Mic close all this time with her arm unashamedly hooked with his. They spent enough time keeping each other alive and out of prison cells that she was comfortable enough to do this and not think awkwardly about it. Though admittedly part of that was because her mind had automatically jumped into work mode the second the pair of them were through the doors. "Do you know how easy it would be to get into pockets around here?" she quipped aloud, but not loudly enough for anyone but Mic to hear. She had the urge to play pocket bingo and see what sort of prizes she could win without ever going near a card table.

But she forced herself to shift her focus to Mic, and a real, genuine smile brightened her features. "Thank you for coming with me. I figured this could be fun." No matter what they got into; job related or not.

 

[Luna Terrik]

B R E A T H

Location: Gholondreine-β, The Lionhearted
Time: 1900 Hours
Equipment: Tactical Recon Handgun (2), Appropriate attire
Objective: Let off some steam.
Tags: | Tiria Reinhart | Tien Ulinesque | Subject 73 Red | Tyran Numeck | CT-308 Maverick | Jasmille Kavos | Jie Tarell | Tegan Farron | Subject 82 Snow | Udrid | Eva Winburn | Titus Dorn | Frank Sterling | Eldin Rake | Asta Nikola | Blair Vauss | Dreyn | Obediah Sharp | Rook Heimdal | Mitra Fay | Tyrias Aran |

They all needed time off.

That wasn’t just speaking for Luna, who desperately needed some time to herself as well. But it spoke for every single one of the squads that had taken the fight to the monsters in the south and the invaders from the core and north. Everyone was tired, exhausted, and mentally completely run down. They were soldiers, this was their existence, yet everyone needed the time to blow off some steam. Herself, herself included. Thankfully, the bright lights of Gholondreine provided just what they were looking for.

Luna directed all squads currently onboard the Lionhearted to be ready for a two day shore leave on the planet. They’d be allowed to head out wherever they pleased in the city, as long as they reported into their squad leaders every four hours. They were told that if they needed to sleep, they would need to come back to the ship. At the core, the rules were truly simple. Stay in pairs or with your squad, don’t do anything stupid, and be ready to leave two days from now.

Even with the rules in place, she could tell the excitement in the squads room was high when the ship finally touched down in the hanger rented to the Dauntless for the weekend. The moment the doors opened and the ramps lead down, Luna could see from the cockpit as multiple groups sped walked down, heading into the night lit city. She herself had donned an outfit that felt quite…appropriate for the situation of the night.

Taking a moment to admire the attire, Luna eventually brought up her sleeve, calling into the built in comm to the rest of the squads that would be departing that night. “Well, enjoy yourself tonight my friends. If you need me….don’t. If you find me in one of the closest bars halfway into a corellian whiskey mixed with ice…join me for a few drinks. Have fun, stay safe my friends.” Lowering her sleeve, Luna found herself smiling for what seemed like the first time in months. The night was young, and the memories that were to be made were fresh. Her eyes eventually turned to see where the captain of the ship, Tyrias Aran , was directing some of the final procedures. Tilting her head, the redhead made her way over to the chiss, giving her that same soft smile. “You coming, red eyes?” everyone needed time off…including the ships captain. And Luna would be damned if Tyrias got left behind.

 

[Magdalena Lethe]

Kiff Brayde | Empty Sabaac Table

"You know, he kind of resembles my brother."

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["Try not to get distracted."]

"Well he does, look at him with his square jaw and perfect hair and dopey, scummy smile."

["Sounds handsome."]

"I hate him already."

Magda was not unaccustomed to voices in her head, but more and more Atheema was beginning to sound like her conscience. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing - being lead through life by the smarts and wiles of an Oiran Guild House Companion. Honestly it should have gotten her into more trouble. It was probably going to get her into trouble tonight, but Atheema insisted.

"Do you know how long it has been since I've played Sabaac?" she slowly drifted along the fringe of a large mass of people. To her left she could hear a bar fight break out and, for all intents and purposes, she meant to steer clear of it.

["Well at least you have a good Sabaac face, hm?"]

"That's not funny."

A few moments later Kiff found himself with his first opponent: a woman-shaped exo-suit with a gleaming visor and a handful of credit chits,"Is this a private game or may I join?"

 

[Valeria de la Vallée]

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Location: Glassway: Gholondreine-β
Equipment: Frozen Heart, Mostly Formal, Loose Hair
Tags: Safira Varad | Haastal Haran | Isran Varad | Dain Vikaar

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Valeria had come to Gholondreine-β primarily to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the Viceroyalty chambers, she was thinking that becoming a Viceroy may not have been the best decision however she would rectify that later. For now, she would head to the nearest bar to unwind and drink some refreshing beverages.​

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By the time Valeria entered the bar it was already bustling with patrons, she walked up to the Twi’lek at the bar and ordered a Breath of Heaven, the Twi’lek nodded and began to get the drink, while Valeria waited she took stock of the patrons, most locals though there were a couple of Mandos around. She paid the Twi’lek and provided a generous tip for the quick service and found a more isolated seat where she could kick back and relax. She sipped her drink reveling in the balanced flavors of the strong beverage, no sooner had she then there was commotion….from one of the Mandos because of course. Apparently he had taken issue with a Besalisk for some reason, though no sooner had the Mando stood to confront it then a bottle was smashed into the Besalisk’s head.​

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Valeria would’ve been content to stay out of it but that wasn’t an option for long as a gang member ended up throwing a plate that just happened to end up smashing into her glass breaking it, the remaining expensive liquor ending up on the floor.​

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Valeria sighed, stood, and said “Can’t a Lady drink in peace….well, with such a lack of class around I suppose not”. ​

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Apparently a nearby gang member, quite large actually, had taken issue with her words and ran at her, this was unconcerning for Valeria as she may have lacked size but she had speed, and her unarmed training was of course Echani. Valeria delivered a quick jab to the jaw followed by a throat punch, as the gang member staggered back Valeria quipped “Hi, my name is Valeria de la Vallée, what’s yours? Ah. Right, sorry about the throat thing, let me help you out.”​

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Valeria then delivered a swift kick to his privates. The formerly intimidating gang member crumpled immediately, regretting his life choices. Valeria also noticed that she had ended up relatively near the individuals who had started this fight as well after her minor scuffle, it was unknown whether they’d mistake her for a local but, well, hopefully not, that’d be a mistake. She readied herself for what was to come.​

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[Var Talon]

TAG: Valeria de la Vallée , Dain Vikaar, Haastal Haran , Safira Varad

Chaos ensued.

That seemed to be the norm as of late. No matter where in the Galaxy the Echani settled his boots, there was some battle to wage. Back home, there was civil unrest - the new monarch did an excellent job of driving her subjects to anger. In the old circles, a schism had erupted between former allies. The congregation that had broken free of the old SuperMax together...that crew that Var aided in the desperate bid for freedom...had all but turned against one another. If his datapad was any reflection of the circumstances, both sides wished for his blade to choose. A side must always be taken, even if it is the wrong side. He could almost hear the old lectures of his sire ringing in his ears at the thought.

At the present moment, the freshly initiated Obsidian Knight had been partaking in the "splendor" of Noctura.

Admittedly, the world was a chithole and so was the city. It was no different from the hovels he once frequented in Hutt Space. The sole difference? There would be paperwork if he decided to remove someone's spine with a bottle. Thus, as the scuffle ensued, the Echani looked up from his booth. The half-written message he had composed to the frantic missives was paused, just in time for him to witness a stool being thrown across the room. There were some friendlies in the mix. Some locals. And to that...Var simply leaned back and settled his head against the booth. A content sigh escaped his lips. Tension left his shoulders.

For the moment, the brawl was a whole heap of "not my karking problem."

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[Luca Donskoi]

S K Y L I N E​

Tags: Open ​

Alden never had been much of one for the city, and Nocturna was no different. This wasn’t where he found comfort. Neither was it the place where he found solace. But this was the place where his time within the Confederacy now brought him. He sighed, his gaze set to the horizon and his thoughts upon the future. Where was his life headed? What did his future have in store for him? What of the Confederacy? Of his home on Eiattu? His wife and his reason for living, Faye Malvern? It was a tumultuous time for the man, and with the interviews for the selection of the Confederacy’s next Minister of War concluded, Alden couldn’t help but to find himself in a mental state of limbo. He’d fulfil all the requirements of his current station as the Deputy Minister of War, to include shouldering the task load once held up via the previous Minister’s, Caesar Kenway, back; that was an absolute certainty. He’d continue to lead and guide those of his home back on Eiattu, but where was it he’d go from there?

In truth, Alden held to himself a bit of dissatisfaction. Ever since he’d stepped back from his post as a High Marshal in the Confederate Naval Command, he couldn’t help but to feel as though a part of himself and his identity was missing. He didn’t regret his decision, nor did he desire to travel back in time and undo it, but he missed it. He missed the camaraderie found among brothers and sisters in arms. The connections and relationships he’d forged through years and years of service. The wear of the uniform. The feel of the cockpit at the forefront of a squadron of fighters. The bridge of the flagship within the Armada he once found himself in command of. All things he’d passed down to his successor who, by all accounts, had picked up right where Alden had left off.

It had become increasingly more often that Alden had found himself pulling himself away from the crowd and isolating himself in his thoughts as he did currently. Meditation and self-reflection had been fruitful in calming nerves and allowing him to keep his head on straight. To keep his wits about him and remained settled and balanced in his nature. It had been a suggestion brought to him by one within the Priamsta back home on Eiattu. Though hesitant at first, he’d since taken to it and found its practice rewarding in its own sense.

“Sir?” The voice came from a Priamsta member. A middle-aged man with graying head and a well-groomed salt and pepper beard. His attire consisted of a predominantly silver robed garment with flashes of amethyst and gold highlighting throughout it. A white, fur sash hugged to a shoulder, and fell to the upper back before climbing its way back to the other shoulder.

“Yes, Sammael,” came the response of the Eiattuan king.

Alden didn’t have himself adorned in any sort of attire here that screamed of the regalness of a station he held. Instead, he was dressed in a very casual man. Simple jeans and a deep, dark blue button up shirt which remained untucked. There was no tie, leaving so that the top couple of buttons remained undone. The cuffs of the sleeves had been rolled to a point where the length halted at about the mid forearm.

“Sir, might you wish to visit the city?” Sammael offered his response to Alden, he hands clasped in the small of his back.

Alden’s gaze shifted down to the level of the city below them. Various speeders dashed between buildings, their onboard computers locking them into various sky routes which dictated the travel throughout Nocturna. Lights of every color shown and glistened in the night. This scene wasn’t his. The city life was not his calling even if his occupation often placed him in the city. But Sammael was right. He needed to step back from his thoughts.

“I suppose you’re right, Sammael.”​

​

 

[Haastal Haran]

BRAWL​

Tags: Var Talon | Safira Varad | Valeria de la Vallée | Isran Varad | Dain Vikaar ​

Slam!

Haastal's body was slammed into a table, causing it to shatter almost immediately. The Mandalorian made a mental note to thank the bartender for the last few shots, he'd barely even felt that hit. Still, when a man came down over him in a straddle, Haas cursed, bringing his first to the top of his brow to block the blows from the Weequay speeder gang member. He took one and then another before lunging forward, his fingers caught hold of a precious sweet spot - the eyes. Haastal pressed hard until the man screamed, shifting back off of Haastal.

When he stepped back, the Mandalorian scissored his legs open, causing the Weequay to fall back onto the ground. Scrambling to his knees, Haastal searched the ground. His hands ran over the hard wood of the floor before finally finding the perfect thing. A wooden leg from the table.

Ha! He half-jumped, half-fell from his kneeling position. Still, he found his target. The wooden leg slammed against the Weequay's brow, knocking him out cold. "queen." Haastal muttered, inhaling sharply before spitting over the unconscious man. With the current problem solved, Haastal shakily rose to his feet, throwing the table leg back on the ground. "Anyone else want a piece?!" He called out, before turning back towards the bar's entrance.

A number of men were walking in, each one of them wearing cuttes to match those that the Mandalorian's had been fighting. Haastal sighed, leaning down and grabbing the table leg back into his hands. Yet, he didn't get a chance to swing, because the rest of the gang members had charged into the brawl, hoping to turn the tables. Haastal was caught by two of the men, rammed back into the private area, directly into a booth where Var Talon was trying to enjoy some privacy. Poor guy. Haastal was slammed onto the table but quickly threw both legs forward, catching the two men in the family coin pouch. They both recoiled while Haastal shifted off the table.

He grabbed one of the men by the back of the head before looking to the empty glass on Talon's table. "Lemme borrow that." He reared forward, slamming the man's head into the glass. The explosion of glass caused the man to scream. Had Haastal been given a moment to enjoy it, he surely would have, but in the next second he felt a hard fist connect to his jaw.
​

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[Dain Vikaar]

Location: Bar
Tag: Haastal Haran | Var Talon | Safira Varad | Valeria de la Vallée | Isran Varad​

Special forces training among his time as a member of the Dauntless had given Dain a certain ability to remain calm in seemingly intense or dire situations. One might just consider having a man that was twice your size wrap you up and take you to the ground from behind with intentions to pummel you to be one such scenario. But, it wasn’t a scenario the soldier turned bounty hunter hadn’t found himself in a number of times before. And with the hurling of chairs and glasses, among other objects around him, Dain found himself feeling right at home.

He was about to make his first move to slip out of the precarious situation when he felt the man on top him seemingly turn to dead weight after they erupted with a harsh cry. It seemed the chair that had shattered and splintered by @Isran Varad’s hand had managed to lodge a jagged wood fragment deep into the goon’s neck. Certainly a blessing he’d have to remember for later. For now, however, he needed to focus on his next move which he ran through in his mind as he shifted his way out from under the corpse.

“Right,” he said, patting down his pants and returning his stun pistol to his holster. “This is where the fun begins, I suppose.” He eyes took in the scene around him where he count at least another twelves goons inside taking swings others with more filtering in by the second. “I’m not getting paid enough for this.”

He caught a flicker of motion in his peripheral just in time and swiftly ducked, allowing for the clinched fist of a Nikto goon to pass harmlessly overhead, before planting his own fist in the goon’s gut. The move seemed to take the air out of the Nikto’s lungs as it heaved in response. “You . . .” Dain said as he grabbed the back of the head of the hunched over Nikto and planted another striked to the goon’s liver. “Can kark off,” he finished, while burying a knee to the jaw, sending the latest of his attackers into and unconscious heap on the floor.

He turned to a table near that of his own where Var Talon , just so happened to be seated. “Do you mind,” he asked rhetorically not awaiting nor needing an answer as he grabbed the stool at the end. “Thanks.” In fluid motion, Dain pivoted with the stool in hand and swung upwards, connecting with the head of the latest unfortunate assailant, a Twi’lek. The hit caused the leg of the metallic stool to warp and bend, but it sent the Twi’lek to the ground grabbing at his face. He turned the now decrepit and misshapen decor around and swung it to his other side, knocking another Nikto to the floor.

His gaze turned briefly back to the Echani, stool still in hand. “Enjoy your drink.”

 

[Ashelia Solidor]

O B J E C T I V E | C L A S S W A Y
L O C A T I O N | Clubbing.
F O C U S | Open to anyone.
G E A R | Dress, lightsaber, pistol.
T H E M E | Here.
V O I C E | Here.​

“I wonder if this is some sort of a joke.”, Ashelia muttered to no one but herself as her eyes scrutinized every aspect of what she was as she stood in front of the mirror. Her attire was something that Ashelia would never fully understand, what a strange dress this was, crimson as flesh blood, yet made of vine-silk, valuable as it could and as lascivious as sin itself. The female felt ashamed of wearing such a thing, especially while carrying such a small purse with nothing but a comlink, lightsabers, and pistol inside the leathery thing humans used it as a bag.

Still, she could not complain, everything was freely given to her fingers and not a dime was charged out of her sweaty paycheck. The female wanted to enjoy a mundane night without the unnecessary burdens of existence, along with the celebration of her newly-found duties as newly-appointed Lord Marshall of the Frontier, in which now she had to find herself a proper place for her seat, she had to procure for servants, allies, and friends. This was a lot more than she had signed up for, but Ashelia could feel the peaceful breath of fate guiding her hand into performing her chores, and although she had little doubt that her sister would humiliate her on this task, for Lunafreya was much more royal than she could ever be, Ashelia would do her best.

Felucia was still lingering inside her mind. The darkness that took over that place was too much, too powerful, and too wild for her to simply accept without any saying on this matter, and the fact that she was the only other of the Solanaceae on the Obsidian Council wasn’t exactly something that simply vanished the corners of her mind. They delivered a buck load of books, scrolls, and tomes for her to ‘update’ her knowledge, and Ashelia would have to... “No.”, she would not give herself to thinking on this matter right now, tonight was all about the party.

 

[Tyrias Aran]

Location: Gholondreine-β, The Lionhearted
Attire: Night on the Town
Tag: Luna Terrik

Tyrias often seemed to have a subtle smile about her, but that did nothing to relax her posture on the bridge of a ship. Head up, shoulders back, and fluid panning from side to side allowed her red gaze to fall over various consoles, instruments, and personnel securing the ship. There was a very particular order in which things should be done to be the most effective use of time. She expected the crew to carry out their duties diligently, and subtly or openly made known areas of improvement or outright failures. It didn't matter if it was a battlecruiser of Luna's yacht, Tyrias demanded perfection.

They could slack off once they were relieved of duty for two days of relaxation.

Slowly the Chiss turned to look over at said leader of the Dauntless and owner of the vessel they'd arrived in. "I thought I would stay behind. Calibrate the primary weapon array." A beat. The smile grew a degree as Tyrias stood there. "But then someone said something about Corellian Whiskey, and I knew they needed my help."

Or perhaps the Captain enjoyed dressing casually on the bridge as a matter of course? Well, sometimes. Only because an emergency demanded her immediate attention with no time to change between her personal ventures and duty. Or when she wanted to deliberately throw people off. When things became too familiar, people could lose the ability to adapt to unforeseen circumstances. Not ideal.

Tyrias turned and gestured with a hand toward the exist of the bridge. She was not unaccustomed to street life given her proclivity toward vigilante behavior. It was always nice when the Grand Marshal could tear herself away from work. Perhaps, sometimes, when Tyrias was the one doing the tearing. Luna had an iron grip on her desk at times.

 

[Tiria Reinhart]

Location: Gholondreine-β, The Lionhearted
Tag: Luna Terrik | Tien Ulinesque | Subject 73 Red | Tyran Numeck | CT-308 Maverick | Jasmille Kavos | Jie Tarell | Tegan Farron | Subject 82 Snow | Udrid | Eva Winburn | Titus Dorn | Frank Sterling | Eldin Rake | Asta Nikola | Blair Vauss | Dreyn | Obediah Sharp | Rook Heimdal | Mitra Fay | Open

Tiria Reinhart stood in the 'barracks' of Alpha Squad on this luxury liner after it had emptied. Her boots slowly carried down the path between sleeping arrangements. Even with their haste to enjoy 'freedom' she expected them to have left the ship clean enough they could eat off the floor. It was a matter of discipline that the First of the Hive shared with the Chiss Captain.

The Dauntless were not just any band of soldiers. They were not just any special forces group. First in, last out meant they shouldered the burden of the galaxy; and that even when the helmets came off their composure was never seen cracked or broken. They did this because they'd chosen it. They did it so others did not have to. And if they couldn't demonstrate that in the smallest of things, then how could they be counted upon when everything was on the line?

After the inspection was over and she was satisfied by what was found -- or rather not found -- she pivoted in place to head for the ramp herself. Memories of what it felt like to be 'freed' on R&R roses from the Hive. Yet, she did not feel the same elation. Not even the 'relief' of being able to put the uniform -- the responsibilities -- down. Such was the curse of not being an individual, but a collective of many. The world had not changed in any meaningful fashion, and any stress this single extension felt was easily spread among the rest.

In a sense, at times, she had more in common with an electronic intelligence that had learned how to integrate with galactic society than her original genetic heritage. Though she still felt emotions unlike a droid. Or, rather, what she presumed such an E.I. would classify as emotion. Even being something other than Human, Tiria could hardly say she understood the electronic forms of life better; merely had translatable experiences or challenges to contend with.

Hopefully, Tiria would manage to grab a drink, smile, and share stories with the men and women of Dauntless. Or if they were all otherwise occupied, then perhaps she'd take a walk around and simply explore. It was a big galaxy even for a Hive consciousness. Much was the same, but there were enough differences to make getting out of the bunk worthwhile.

To say nothing of the vengeance she would deliver one day, once the culprit was found.

 

[Safira Haran]

​

Haastal Haran | Isran Varad | Dain Vikaar | Var Talon | Valeria de la Vallée ​

Safira was lost in the moment. In the sound of shattering glass and wood. In the grunts and thuds of men and women as they clashed together. In the adrenaline that filled the room to bursting point.

Her glass had landed squarely on the top of one of the gang members. An ugly looking Arcona with eyes like fire, that turned on Safira the moment the shards of glass littered his shoulders. At the exact same moment, they ran at each other. Head on. Safira was a might smaller than him. He could have crushed her head in the palm of his hands, but she had faced his type before. Isran was his type. So was Haastal, and all of her brothers. Bigger, muscley, brutish. Over the years Safira had learned quickly. Exterior mass came hand in hand with a lack of mass where it mattered most.

In short, the bigger they were, the dumber they were.

At the last moment, when it seemed as though the Arcona would slam into Safira, she gave him the slip. Her body ducked in between the gap in his legs, sliding across a mess of alcohol, blood and worse. Thick boots scrambled to find purchase the minute she was clear of her legs, whilst her arms reached out for the nearest thing she could grab. It just so happened to be the splintered remains of a chair leg. In the blink of one of his nasty looking eyes, Safira was on the Arcona. The chair leg swinging clean through the air at one of the protruding sockets.

Thunk.

The chair leg hit, making a sound that Safira was surprised to hear over the din of the bar, given that she could barely hear to begin with. The Arcona did not even stumble. He just turned. Slowly. A big lumbering carousel with flaming lights that locked directly on to Safira. She smiled at him awkwardly, flashing the whites of her teeth. It seemed to disarm him for a moment. When did anyone smile during a genuine bar brawl? But it was just another trick. In the split second that he hesitated, Safira attacked again.

THUNK.

She had put more weight into it this time. A whole bodies worth. Once again, the Arcona did nothing. For a moment. Then those ghostly red eyes blinked. Once, twice… Then, he fell. Making a heavy thud as he hit the floor, spraying up a layer of dust and foul-smelling alcohol. Safira,, satisfied, turned to find her next mark. It was fortunate that she had turned when she did because her eyes were met with the sight of Haastal being smacked squarely in the jaw.

Safira did not even think about it. She ran, dodging tangled men in heaps on the floor and various bits of debris from the bar. In a single swift movement, the tip of her boot found purchase on the top of an unspoiled barstool, which she used to hurl herself on top of Haastal’s assailant. They would have ordinarily tumbled to the ground, but the attacker was sturdier than he had seemed from the back. Never mind, this would do. Safira wrapped her legs around his waist, and one arm around his neck, clinging for dear life as her gloved fist beat punch after punch into his temple.