Faction Dawn of a New Era || Open to CIS and her Allies

[Jhira Mereel]

POLITICAL REGION: CIS SPACE
LOCATION: The Finest Resort in Thyferrans, the Ballroom
Objectives: Save the Nexu. Don’t die. Dance with Shuklaar Kyrdol, get secret of his shoes. Dodge High Marshall Ordo’s wrath.
TAGS: [ OPEN ] [ Kyyrk ]

Spoiler

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Fear.

Jhira bore too much fear, rather than too much hate. She could not speak for other Mandalorians.

The rules kept shifting and changing in this surreal conversation. Not only was there an attitude on the waiter’s part that bothered Jhira, but the more she learned of Kyyrk the less she seemed to know. The slip back into Basic felt abrupt to her. Jarring. But she accepted it; their language was a sacred thing, and only rarely shared with outsiders. If held himself aloof, it was entirely his right to do so.

Jhira shook her head, and then downed the rest of the whiskey in one long, slow pour. Again she paused to let it hit her, the physical ache, the pain of the burn, as welcome as the easing of tension in her shoulders. Balancing the tumbler upon the railing with careless precision, Jhira stared down below.

“We are no more all one kind, than they are - how anyone would think that they might force us to be, is beyond my understanding.” A thoughtful tone accompanied the words, as she sought an elusive understanding.

“I know Clans of who accept the Force Sensitive, and train them. I know of other Clans that will even accept those fully trained and sworn to the beliefs of their own tradition.” A resigned shrug followed.

“And I know Clans that forbid all such things.” A silence followed, filled with things unspoken, memories unexplored.

“Each Clan must find its own way.” A baffled, tense moment lingered, her grip on the railing tightening.

“That’s what Clan means - Way,” her voice a baffled protest of the past, for the word that meant Clan, that meant Way … it also meant family. What sane person would purge their own family?

A troubled gaze was turned to him once more, anger and fear and frustration firmly throttled beneath pain and strict discipline. “It seems like madness to me, the decision to hunt down our own. I cannot understand. But I was not here. I do not know what happened. Do you?”

 

[Fiolette Fortan]

​

Arrived with Kassandra Distorith ​

Open to Interactions​

​

An arm wrapped around the voluptuous Lady Kassandra, Fiolette took a moment to survey their surroundings. She then quietly spoke into Kassandra's ear, "I am only here because I adore you that much." The redhead turned her attention back to the banquet that laid out before them. Here in the Banquet Hall where nearly all the most famous and perhaps infamous faces within the CIS and for some, the galaxy. She took in a deep breath and sighed, then gestured forward. "Shall we?"​

​

The Galidraani moved her arm from Kassandra's waist and extended it. Ministers of all sorts, and influencers from every which corner were no doubt here to hear words from the CIS's newest Vicelord. For Fiolette's beau the event was perhaps more personal, for Fiolette it was just a matter of business. The business that Fiolette conducted within the Confederacy's territory and perhaps the idea of expanding upon it. Until then she just assumed that she was there to look pretty and smile. Well, at least until Kassandra it was time to do more than look pretty. ​

​

Daegon Corvinus | John Locke | Alessandra Creed | Kiff Brayde | Hester Shedo | Gerwald Lechner | Shuklaar Kyrdol | Seraphina Corvinus | Srina Talon ​

 

[Rann Thress]

B A N Q U E T

Tag: Oleander Webb

Another party, another day at the bar. Another coronation…of sorts. His Father, Isley Verd had stepped down amidst allegations of him being a Zambrano puppet, and a new Vicelord was needed to fill the position. Of course, part of Rann figured he was the perfect candidate for the job, being the previous Vicelords child, but the rest of Rann knew that, following Rannon, he wasn’t fit to govern much more than his own living quarters.



Instead the position would go to Daegon Corvinus . A ‘pleasant’ man so long as Seraphina Corvinus was always with him. He would make a fine Vicelord, given the work he’d done on Thyferra. Rann could say that, genuinely, he was excited to see what came next for their Confederacy. So, tonight warranted a drink.



And so here he found himself again, ordering alcoholic beverages from the bartender at another party. Tradition dictated he find himself a drinking partner, or at least a conversational one, so he looked around and spied someone he had come across in the Nether. Oleander Webb was an enigma to Rann, and seemed to be someone close to Gerwald Lechner . Having been humbled by the Lord Commander, Rann figured there was something he was missing, some piece of the puzzle he hadn’t acquired yet. Perhaps Oleander would help him get it. So he waved Oleander over and was prepared with a drink lready for his new buddy.



“Pleasure to see you outside of literally Hell. I’m Rann.”



​

 

[Hester Shedo]

TAG Jordar Varcskel

Jordar Varcskel was, without doubt, one of the most handsome men Hester had ever seen. She had often spied him across various committee rooms during her tenure as Viceroy of Scarif but had found little reason to come into much contact with him personally. The Viceroyalty was a 'small place' but still enormous in size and scope-it was just possible that colleagues could spend years together and never find much chance to talk outside of the chambers and deliberations.

She watched him approach, her eyes trying their very hardest to catch his own. He proffered a glass, her own hands empty, and she took it with grace. He spoke to her of her nerves. He was observant. She had felt nothing but dread since the ousting of the former Vicelord, like something might be coming for her. Payback.

"Viceroy, I am very grateful to you. These events are rarely entertaining and yet I find myself in the company a man of many qualities. Tell me, how are you finding this...new regime?"

She mindlessly circled a finger around the rim of her glass.

 

[Kyyrk]

Wearing​

Kyyrk stared down into the crowd silently for a long moment. How to answer her? Was it best to tell her the truth? To tell her how he really felt? "It started the same as the first one." A mixture, he felt. No need to divulge his true distaste for the Mandalorians. Of course, most of his recent experiences with them had been in the courts of Commenor. The very same Mandalorians who had started the war. "It was said that Mand'alor only appeared on two occasions. To shepard the Mandalorian people from their destruction, or to herald in a new crusade. So you can imagine my concern when I learned of the existence of Mand'alor Cadera. In a time when the clans had never been more prosperous."

Kyyrk fell silent for a moment. He was trying to decide what to say next. "The raiding was little more than an annoyance, to start. Mandalorian expansion. The work of extremists. But that all changed over Eshan." As the words left his lips, his mind was filled with a memory. "Mand'alor Cadera's right hand man, Alor of the Clan Australis, ordered a bombardment of Eshan. The death toll was unimaginable. Men, women, children...most of them civilians..." Kyyrk turned to look at her. "The Confederacy's fury was just, in that moment. But it was only the beginning."

Kyyrk took another sip of his drink. "The counter attack was two-fold. The Silver Jedi launched an assault upon one world, while the Confederacy assaulted another. I was there, on the garden world of Tanaab, while the Mandalorians hid behind their wounded and infirm. They were to be the first attacks in a great war. Until the Sith Empire broke their spirits." The razing of Mandalore. "Perhaps, in a different world, we might have found peaceful resolution. But instead, Mand'alor Cadera commanded your people to their doom. And not once did I hear of her presence upon the battlefield. Think of that what you will, but know that Mandalore the Coward never once stood alongside your people during the war of her creation."

Jhira Mereel

 

[Oleander Webb]

TAG: Rann Thress

Oleander wasn't entirely new to social events. He'd been to his fair share of galas and coronations, primarily for business purposes. At one point, such business almost entirely involved someone winding up dead, if not several someones. These days, however, his job seemed to focus more so on keeping people from dying. An odd turn of events, not particularly welcome at that. Still, a job was a job.

This time, however, he was present more as a participant than on the clock. Sure, that didn't stop him from doing a couple rounds, ensuring the assigned security detail was indeed doing their job. But for the most part, he was attending more as a representative of the KO than as a guard. Fortunately, he wasn't the only representative. No, that wouldn't have made much sense when his job particularly thrived in being able to remain off the radar.

It was coming back from checking the security detail's competence when he caught sight of Rann waving him over. Unexpected but not unwelcomed, he approached the bar, weaving fairly unseen between others lost in their own conversations. "Yes, I remember. Good to see you under far less severe circumstances. Are you here with anyone?"

 

[Draelos]

Draelos nodded quietly. "I see. I'm sorry, I'm still new at this whole meeting other species thing. Back home on Vylmira, it was just humans and the occasional Miraluka." Draelos shrugged, offering a quiet word of thanks to the bartender when his drink was brought by. He took a sip of the amber liquid, and turned to look out towards the water. As opposed to the Ubeese, Draelos was dressed rather smartly. A suit with soft purple accents. His hair was well combed, and his beard neatly trimmed. The man reeked of politician.

"So tell me, what great service do you provide the Confederacy?" Draelos turned his attention back to the Ubeese. He vaguely recalled they were renowned as hunters. So he could only imagine what form of mercenary work this specimen before him did. "Oh, but I suppose first..." The man extended an empty hand with a smile. "Call me Draelos. Viceroy of Vylmira. Biggest pile of rubble this side of Yavin."

Diocletian Kahmen’’a

 

[Jhira Mereel]

POLITICAL REGION: CIS SPACE
LOCATION: The Finest Resort in Thyferrans, the Ballroom
Objectives: Save the Nexu. Don’t die. Dance with Shuklaar Kyrdol, get secret of his shoes. Dodge High Marshall Ordo’s wrath.
TAGS: [ Kyyrk ]

Spoiler

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Kyyrk’s mere moment of silence felt ever so much longer, to Jhira. Much like that feeling when you realize you are falling off of a cliff. That she was in the grip of something deadly... Where he chose to start didn’t help. Stomach clenching, hand gripping the banister, Jhira was held motionless by the topic itself. Oh, yes; historically, a Mand’alor was a painful, deadly thing for her people. Either to fight off or to create destruction. Sometimes both. She leaned closer, straining to hear every word spoken. Why she felt she would receive only truth from him, she could not say. Yet Jhira was convinced of it. Perhaps it was the pain and wisdom of his voice. Or that he both knew her people, yet did not choose to stand as one.

Clan Astraius … and Eshan.

Their eyes met, briefly; grief and shock that could not be feigned paled her cheeks and glazed her eyes. She fought nausea, the too-intimate knowledge of what the bombardment of a civilian target looked like from the ground telling her all he did not say. White knuckled, she managed to suppress all other reaction save for an anguished whisper, “Absent gods.” The rest of the truth spoken poured shame upon the pain and horror, and the Captain listened in utter stillness, not even breathing.

Tanaab.

The grief was exhausting; the sense of betrayal, enervating. It seemed everywhere she turned, more sorrow and grief followed. With a slow hand, Jhira reached out and poured more whiskey, offering to refill Kyyrk’s Tumbler as well. She should have been shaking with rage. It bothered her, somehow, that she wasn’t. She should have wept, for all the innocent’s slain - on both sides.

All three sides.

No. Four. Never forget the Sith are always their own side.

A single shuddering breath managed to force a trifle of air into her lungs at the thought, and Jhira was force to confront the next ugly fact. The Silver Jedi and the Confederacy … attacking her people. The people she was most inclined to turn to for help … had been the enemy. Or an enemy. Or were the enemy. Stars, but she wasn’t even sure what the sides were, anymore.

She ardently wished such knowledge to be once more unknown; to argue the impossibility of it all. To insist that the purpose of a Mandalorian Warrior was to go after those who were worthy. That there was neither honor, nor glory, nor even service to their people in making war upon children. Dampening her lips with the whiskey, she was unable to swallow past the horror.

The Razing of Mandalore.

All that had been visited upon others, returned ten-fold to that poor, burdened world. Some sort of bitter cosmic justice, if justice cared neither for mercy nor common sense. Only balance. Gently, she rolled the cool tumbler across her forehead, obtaining the merest hint of privacy as she fought to re-assert her self control.

There would be no help for her, here. Nor for the despised home world of her people.

Mand’alor the Coward. Could their be a more shameful epitaph?

Another shuddering breath, Jhira finally managed a sip of the whiskey. Her voice was husky, and a little distant, when she finally spoke. “You must hate me, so much, right now.”

“Too many people translate Mand’alor as ‘sole ruler.’ But Manda means spirit. The Soul, not … not the only one. Our soul is stained.” She’d thought he honor shorn and riven until there were but shreds of it left, and now…. She shook her head, banishing the thought.

Feeling nearly numb enough to endure the rest, she dared to ask, “And that ... That was only the first one?”

 

[Kyyrk]

Wearing​

Kyyrk shook his head, silently holding up two fingers from his cybernetic hand. The war he'd just spoken of, short as it was, was the second. "The first was millennia ago. The infamous Mandalorian Wars. The birthplace of the mighty Revan. The cause of such events as the destruction of Malachor V, and the catalyst of the Jedi Civil War that followed. Surely you've heard the legends before." He turned to look at the young woman, her emotional turbulence obvious to him even without his ability to sense such things as keenly as he once had.

"I have been a slave to hatred before. I will not say never again, for there are some things that warrant such anger. Neither you, nor your people, have earned that disrespect." Kyyrk's eyes narrowed for a moment as he studied her. "I have known your people to accomplish great things. To be a people of great honor. It is not your fault that a misguided coward chose to start a war she was not willing to finish. Had you seen the things I have seen, however, you would not feel so sorry for yourself."

Kyyrk turned back to the railing, draining his cup and setting it on the tray, finished drinking for the moment. "War is all the same once you've seen enough of it. Someone gets these...grand ideas of the way the world could or should be. Millions march to their deaths for a cause they neither understand nor care for. I learned a long time ago to not hold grudges against those following orders. The remorse you show tells me you were not one of the Mandalorians content to test yourself against children. Thus, my quarrel is not with you."

Jhira Mereel

 

[Jhira Mereel]

POLITICAL REGION: CIS SPACE
LOCATION: The Finest Resort in Thyferrans, the Ballroom
Objectives: Save the Nexu. Don’t die. Dance with Shuklaar Kyrdol, get secret of his shoes. Dodge High Marshall Ordo’s wrath.
TAGS: [ OPEN ] [ Kyyrk ]

Spoiler

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The silvery cybernetic fingers flashed the signal for two, not one; a brief shake of the head clarified her confusion. Something in how the Knight had referred to ‘the first time,’ had felt to Jhira as if the event had only just happened, and was something he recalled personally. A touch of that curiosity and wonder danced in her gaze, but she did not investigate it yet, in favor of listening closely. A flicker of a smile, there and gone again, acknowledged that however fractured her education had been, the tales and stories of Canderous Ordo, The Preserver, and the deadly conflicts with both Jedi and Sith were known to her.

Ah, then.

But then … if that was the first time, then worst was yet to come. He had not yet told her how or why the Mando’ade had turned upon each other. Or perhaps he had, and she simply hadn’t untangled it, yet.

While he’d declined to share another drink with her, Jhira sipped again upon her own, slowly relaxing against the railing less in response to the alcohol, than to his vast-seeming calm. This time she managed a faint half-smile when he looked at her, despite feeling a challenge in his narrowed gaze.

Or because of it, perhaps. A Mandalorian almost always did better facing a challenge.

“Hate is a seductive poison. I’ve found it numbs the pain, without ever healing it,” she admitted.

An eyebrow rose, as she considered his diagnosis of self-pity and misplaced guilt. He spoke sternly to her, as an elder of her Clan might - without cruelty, without any desire to harm that she could detect. “I’m simply tired, Kyrrk.” She assured him gently, oddly gently. Nor did it strike her as odd, to suddenly be wiling to use his name.

Her hand wafted through the air, graceful despite the tension, the pain, the drinks and the nature of the conversation. “Of everyone’s grief. Do you not find grief and betrayal exhausting?”

His words excluding her from those with whom he had a quarrel soothed, and she leaned her head back to stare at the glittering lights of the ceiling. His words upon warfare itself she saved up, to consider deeply, later. It was oddly similar to her father’s ideals. Her part of a Clan had lived in a place meant to keep such things from their door. And they had been spared the worst of the inter-Mandalorian conflict, right up until the Red Coronation. Peace crept through her, simply recalling her Father’s guidance in the meaning and oaths of the Resol’nare, Canons of Honor, and the Supercommando Codex. Finally she glanced to him again, certain he would know precisely what that entailed.

A moment of thought followed, as she considered the deep, lingering sorrow that rode him like a cloak. He’d encouraged her to ask, if she had questions. And she wondered, deeply, just what he’d meant by his comment, Had you seen the things I have seen, however, you would not feel so sorry for yourself.

“What have you seen, that brings you either sorrow, or hope?”

 

[Khora]

//: O P E N //:

​

Lights, voices, and revelry. Parties were a strange new concept to the woman. Why would people be so loud when they were happy? Khora wandered in. She wore a dress given to her by someone in the Knights - only after they treated her like an oddity to study. Although the introduction to the group was unfavorable, Khora found her mind wandering - wanting to learn about them as well. A part of her understood their reasoning; she was a stranger, an unknown.

One step in front of the other, she reminded herself. People seemed uneasy when she kept her feet off the ground. At times she tried to explain the reasoning, but it seemed people didn’t comprehend it. Frowning, Khora found the weight of this realm to be heavy, and she missed the weightlessness of the Netherworld. Still, there were more people here, louder people, and less screaming into a void.

Shrugging, she continued to wander. In brief instances, she felt a sense of belonging and joy being around so many people. The concept of the party had a familiarity to it like she had been to one before. Though, when she tried to find the memory, it was hazy, and she couldn’t quite make out distinctive features. It frustrated her, which caused her brown to crease farther into a frown.

Parties were quite an annoyance. They were loud, people were loud, and she wanted to sit down. Her eyes searched through the Force, from beneath the cloth wrapping on her face. As she searched, the hint of luminescent green hues brightened as she found what she was looking for. Slowly, again one foot in front of the other, she grasped the stool she had spotted. Placing it down in a place that was not out of the way and sat down. Feeling the weight off her feet, she felt the corners of her lips curl into a cheshire grin.

Maybe parties weren’t all that bad.​

 

[Kyyrk]

Wearing​

Kyyrk opened his mouth, but then closed it. When he looked away to the crowd, there was a distinct refusal to look Jhira in the eye. What she'd asked him had a profound impact upon him. It did not...anger him, persay. But he was not happy to have been asked it. And yet, his negativity was not directed at Jhira. More akin to being asked to relive a memory he desperately wished not to. "What have I seen that brings me hope?" Kyyrk mulled the question over for a moment, before spreading his arms to gesture to the crowd below. "This. Freedom. Knowing that all my sacrifices have not been in vain."

Kyyrk folded his arms upon the rail, leaning against his elbows. "There was a day where if you had told me that I would stand here, seeing a place like this...Where people gathered for a night of merriment and celebration? I would have thought you a liar." Kyyrk closed his eyes, lost in memory. "Where I come from...They said the night was darkest just before the dawn. But most of us had begun to believe that the sun had simply gone out." His face grew longer, and suddenly the weight of a thousand years, and tens of thousands of battles seemed to weigh upon him. Whatever memory he was reliving was not a pleasant one.

"It gives me hope to see the galaxy in such a state of peace."

An odd sentiment, given that they had just been discussing the destruction of their home planets. But Kyyrk elaborated. "Imagine, if you will, that Mandalore was not an isolated event. That it was not the first, nor would it be the last. Knowing that mere days from now, another battleground would be lost. And with it, the precious resources it offered. Not just for the war. But for the people of the galaxy. To see world after world crumble in the face of an undestroyable might. To know that it is your duty to stop it, and yet to be rebuffed like a fly at your mightiest effort."

Kyyrk's eyes opened, and the once soft glow behind his violet irises had deepened. Intensified. This was a man who did not seem burdened by a lifetime of war.

He was.

"My sorrows are plentiful. Every day is another memory of what we have lost. Or worse, what we have sacrificed to get where we are. Embrace the feeling of being tired, little one."

"It means you still care."

Jhira Mereel

 

[Jhira Mereel]

POLITICAL REGION: CIS SPACE
LOCATION: The Finest Resort in Thyferrans, the Ballroom
Objectives: Save the Nexu. Don’t die. Dance with Shuklaar Kyrdol, get secret of his shoes. Dodge High Marshall Ordo’s wrath.
TAGS: [ Kyyrk ]

Spoiler

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The world dropped away, in that endless moment when the burdened Knight almost spoke. Those first words, the ones he had trapped away and hidden, would have deeply wounded, Jhira felt certain. They punished and tore at him even now. The Captain did not move or speak, every sense attuned for fear he’d gone to a very bleak place - and would lash out at enemies who no longer existed. Pain emanated from him in waves, though he did not reveal it in any overt sense. As if the pain were a primal thing, breathed in with the air.

Breathed out as shared agony.

He turned away, and she feared he’d slip into that deadly memory fully. Avoided looking at her, when he most needed to know he was not alone. Almost, Jhira would have preferred that deadly glimpse of what really happened. A chance to help, perhaps. But only almost; unlike with her child, she had no way to guide or ease him if he slipped over that precipice and brought her fully into his nightmares. So it frightened her, the idea of touching him. Yet it felt like a betrayal, to leave him in such pain alone. Jhira was unable to fight past her fears and reach out to him, in that grave isolation. Who was she, but the child of an enemy? Not enemies, themselves; they’d declared their own peace. But she was neither Clan, nor cherished friend, nor beloved family. That he had none now living she was suddenly sure of.

Only when he spoke, could Jhira breathe again, come back from the precipice of anticipated danger. Yet how could someone speak of hope in a way that provoked an overwhelming sense of loss? An endless burden flowed from his gentle reply, Freedom. Desperate to shake off the pain, she poured another warm mouthful of whiskey down her throat, allowing the burn of it to center her in the here and now. Bring her mind and heart back from whatever world he ached for with such abandon that he made her yearn for it, too.

For all of the worlds he mourned.

With cruelly careless ease, he took her back to that timeless place of loss. Anger sparked, a protest wanted to form - this, this dreadful place with riven worlds and shattered planets was the galaxy at peace? She turned to face him fully, one hip balancing her against the railing, as if she were thinking of leaping over it.

Imagine, if you will …

His words froze her protest. Then the vivid imagery hit home, perhaps harder than he’d expected. Mandalore was not the first world she’d mourned. What if those staggering losses had come one after another, not separated by years?

Imagine …

Kyyrk had not moved, save to open his eyes; yet the violet of his gaze pierced her as if he’d turned to face her, heavy and wounding, power bleeding out of him, making him seem more spirit than man. Time sat upon him far heavier than any Falleen or Wookie’s weight of years.

Jhira was suddenly afraid to know just what he’d sacrificed, to attain this fragile, battered state he called peace. The assurance that being so very tired meant she still cared was bitter-sweet. The words were oddly healing, his use of little one once more managing to feel like an endearment, rather rather than a diminutive. She raised a hand, fingers spread as if she might somehow capture a wisp of his vast power; failing that, to at least cast a shadow.

“The Resol’nare keeps me connected to my family. And loving them, means caring. About the now, and the future both.” She shook her head, and reached past him claim a few salty nuts. The bright cheerfulness of the chocolates offended, so she picked out the pink ones and ate them, too. Another sip of whiskey, to ease her throat and fight past the senseless urge to tears, and she managed a semi-coherent, “But you - you’re not very connected to this world, I think? For all I think I have rarely met anyone who cares as deeply as you, all of your heart seems to lie with those worlds lost to time.” Her gaze lifted from the chocolates, to settle upon him thoughtfully.

“Are you half Miraluka, half Gen’Dai?” Jhira’s pronunciation of Gen’Dai was more guess, than certainly. “I would swear you lived through Revan’s reign, so greatly does time burden you.”

 

[Diocletian Kahmen’’a]

​

Tag: Draelos

Diocletian didn’t mind the question to be fair. Neither did he mind the company. In fact, this was his first shindig and he wasn’t dressed quite right, he lost his suit or at least forgot where he put it. There was a silence between them, neither awkward nor tense.

See, this is what effort looks like, a nagging voice in his head chided dryly. Diocletian had to admit to himself that catching people with honey rather than his usual vinegar works wonders. He’ll keep that in mind.

<”The Name’s Diocletian and I see plenty of Humans on my travels and the occasional Falleen here and there.”> He replies, pausing to consider Draelos’s next question and how to answer it with consideration.

That one is tricky. He most likely fulfils a role taking on Bounty work for the Confederacy and any other jobs that come his way. Jobs that need doing he’ll do them.

<”Bounties mostly but open to whatever they need doing.”> He shrugged. <”Being here is a step in the right direction I suppose.”>

 

[Kyyrk]

Wearing​

Kyyrk chuckled. The girl thought him long-lived, then suggested that he was part Miraluka. "Miraluka are lucky to live past their eightieth cycle, little one." His face turned towards the girl again, the pain of his memories having been replaced by one of amusement. He chuckled again, looking back to the crowd below. "Most on Vylmira were lucky enough to see ninety, however. Favorable conditions, I think. But no. I'm not a Miraluka. Not...anymore." Kyyrk fell silent for another moment. "You would be incorrect, however. The closest ties my lineage has to Revan and that time was the founding of Vylmira. Only a few decades after the destruction of Katarr."

Kyyrk smirked to himself. No, he most certainly had not been alive during the time of Revan. Just well read on the matter. And for a moment, it seemed that the young Mandalorian was wrong. That Kyyrk was just an old soul in a body as young as he looked. But that illusion was shattered as Kyyrk spoke once more.

"I was there, however, when Revan died."

Yavin 4. When Revan had, in his final act, summoned the soul of Vitiate in an attempt to end the Sith Emperor once and for all. "I was among the few that knew better than to believe that was the end of it. I was there when Vitiate consumed Ziost. I was there when the Eternal Empire declared war upon the galaxy. I was there to witness the destruction of Bothawui. To witness the rise of the Machine Gods of Iokath." The being before Jhira was no normal man, that much was abundantly clear now. From how he spoke? He could be no less than four and a half thousand years old.

"I was not alive when Revan, hero of the Republic, defeated Malak. But I have crossed blades with him before."

Jhira Mereel

 

[Jhira Mereel]

POLITICAL REGION: CIS SPACE
LOCATION: The Finest Resort in Thyferrans, the Ballroom
Objectives: Save the Nexu. Don’t die. Dance with Shuklaar Kyrdol, get secret of his shoes. Dodge High Marshall Ordo’s wrath.
TAGS: [ Kyyrk ]

Spoiler

/ida.phinneas.net/Chaos/JhiraCISball.PNG

The breath eased out of Jhira when Kyyrk gave a chuckle at her question, rather than mockery or rage. A fleeting smile appeared, when he glanced over at her for a moment - though she realized her error when he looked away again so quickly. She ought not to be caught looking at him; it seemed to make him uncomfortable. He could not be shy, could he? A brief shake of her head, and she turned to gaze below at one half of the people who had so recently been provoked into the war which had lead to the devastation not just of Mandalore, but of all the Clans.

A baffled shake of her head followed; what an odd path, that had lead her to be here, in this place, at this time.

The Knight spoke of Miralukas with authority, both of how they had lived upon his home, and in general. But it was his last comment upon the matter that drew her attention away from painful self-evaluation.

How was he not a Miraluka … anymore?

Was it a sith experiment gone wrong? Strange sorcerous alchemy? Something the Kamino genetic artists had done? Determined not to dismay him by staring at him again, Jhira firmly kept both hands upon the railing. Nevertheless, she heard the smirk in his voice as he gently teased her about history and her assumption as to his great age. It drew a soft chuckle from her in turn, stifled though it swiftly was as he mentioned the destruction of Katarr by the Sith Lord Darth Nihilus. He simply was unpracticed at sustaining happy, it seemed. Thus the joy and triumph due the founding of his home world was overshadowed by the tragedy which preceded it. Just as she was about to comment upon this, he spoke again.

I was there, however, when Revan died.

Jhira’s breath froze in her lungs, and she had to turn to stare at him. Had to. A white knuckled grip upon the railing kept her standing. For the history of Revan was better known to her than most Galactic history, simply because the tragic figure had been so deeply intertwined with Canderous Ordo and the Mask.

But … that could not be, surely? It would place him at more than four-thousand years old, give or take a few centuries. Only the vast, dragon-like races lived so very long. So she studied him for a moment or two, wondering if she’d find scales or horns or some other sign of this heritage upon him. Desperately she looked, trying to block out the softly spoken litany of disaster after disaster that had followed in the wake of Revan’s doomed attempts to hold back the greed and hate of just one man. The endless failures, the ongoing defeat created a weight of devastation all its own. She shook her head, trying desperately to throw off the malaise and grief. This time it was she who looked away, staring into the unknowable depths of the joyous celebration before her. Joy, like hope, felt very far away, just then.

Jhira needed to rediscover her Shereshoy.*

“Peace. Please. For one moment,” She begged gently. In her head, Jhira calculated dates with same meticulous caution a NavComp system did for hyper jumps, her hands tightening upon the railing. “You must be at least 4,500 years old.” A touch of awe drifted into her voice. While she suspected he did not his survival as a success, she declared it one. Then held to that spark of hope, against all the vast despair surrounding her.

It only took a spark, sometimes.

“What are you, if not a Miraluka? Was it hard to adjust, to having eyes?” Well. Hmm. All she’d seen was the flow of lavender power, like a lightsaber escaped from its plasma prison. “Sight, anyway.” Perhaps the extreme intimacy of sight was why he did long sustain such contact? It seemed a closer guess than any sort of personal discomfort.

“You knew Revan well enough to watch him fail, yearn for him to succeed, and to cross blades with him.” Silence reigned for a while, as she wrestled with this, too. Incurably a Mandalorian, she had to ask, “Did you win? Did you learn what he could not, Kyyrk?” It was with a sort of defiance, that she called him by the name he’d given her, shorn of all titles. She stood her ground, and looked up at him with a brief, fierce smile, before politely turning her gaze away once more.

* from Mando’a.org:
lust for life and much more - uniquely Mandalorian word, meaning the enjoyment of each day and the determination to seek and grab every possible experience, as well as surviving to see the next day - hanging onto life and relishing it. An understandable state of mind/ emotion for a warrior people. Closely related to the words for live, hunt and stay safe - and, of course oya. All from the same root.

 

[Kyyrk]

Wearing​

"I learned many things that Revan could not. None of them from his blade. Revan was struck down. But I would not say that we won. The evil he unleashed on the galaxy...Well, you already know how that one ends." Kyyrk did note that for being told she stood next to quite possible the most eldritch being in the Confederacy, Jhira took the news quite well. "What I am is a mystery to myself as well. Many things changed with the advent of the gates. Talon calls me a Mirith. I am still unsure of what I call myself." Kyyrk mused quietly for a moment.

"If there was anything that made my newfound sight difficult...it's the pain. The aches, bright lights...That sort of matter." Kyyrk smiled ruefully at the mention, his gaze still sweeping the crowd below. "It is not all bad, however. I've dealt with worse." The smile slowly faded from his face. His fingers tightened around the railing in front of him. And his eyes locked onto a single being in the crowd below.

Kyyrk could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He felt light headed. He needed to speak. Say something. "Color. Color is new." Breathe. He felt as though on the edge of a panic attack. Yet he maintained his stoic exterior. He could feel the blood pounding in his ears. There was a woman sitting in the crowd below. She was nothing special to look at, at least not from this distance. But there was something about her. Something that filled Kyyrk with equal parts elation and dread. Through his honed skill in the Force, he could see the woman for who she truly was. A second Mirith walked among them.

There were more like him.

Jhira Mereel || Khora

 

[Jhira Mereel]

POLITICAL REGION: CIS SPACE
LOCATION: The Finest Resort in Thyferrans, the Ballroom
Objectives: Save the Nexu. Don’t die. Dance with Shuklaar Kyrdol, get secret of his shoes. Dodge High Marshall Ordo’s wrath.
TAGS: [ Kyyrk ] [ Khora ]

Spoiler

/ida.phinneas.net/Chaos/JhiraCISball.PNG

The world titled, as it so often had in this conversation; Jhira’s breath stuttered. Swiftly she worked to review what she’d learned, and place it in a new context. A horrifying one, in some ways. The Knight had not been on Revan’s side; Jhira had thought he must be. That the wise elder warrior had been some sort of trusted counselor or good friend, trying to dissuade the half-mad Revan at that final moment. Transformed into what he was now, during those titanic, world altering battles.

But … no!

Surely just a Warrior, with a modicum of power …

But … no?

The advent of the Gates had changed him? Then how had he lived so very long? Even if it had been those first portals, before the Twelfth of Taung’s day, it was still within her lifetime. Not four and half thousand years ago!

But … no. Not even that.

His eyes still hurt, from brilliant lights so …

A fierce shake of her head banished such thoughts, and the dark, haunting conclusions that must be drawn from them. Jhira’s hand didn’t even tremble as she keyed the odd word, Mirith, into her wrist-COMM to find out more. And Talon. Who was Talon??

The break in the rhythm of his breathing, the aching tension as his grip threatened the integrity of the railing sent an adrenaline rush of anticipated battle through her. Long years of sharp instincts and survival training had her reaching for the weapons she did not have, though he had done no more than fully focus his attention upon one of those down below. Eyes scanning for the threat, Jhira’s gaze traced his to a pale woman with dark hair … and a green glow as some sort of aura about her.

Oh.

Stillness followed; the way his constant search had ended told her that this was who he’d been waiting for. Though something in his demeanor made her wonder if he feared or longed for it.

Color. Color is new.

The phrase was so very human, a cry for normalcy in a world turned upside down, that Jhira gifted him with a terribly normal, gentle tease in return, “Is that why you are dressed in such bland colors? You’d be breathtaking in black and silver.”

A moment later, she addressed his odd stillness. “Why don’t you ask her to dance?” After four-thousand odd years, he surely knew how to dance.

And it was a ball, after all.

 

[Kyyrk]

Wearing​

Kyyrk stared unblinking at the woman for a moment, then cleared his throat, seeming to emerge from whatever recesses of his own mind he'd been in. "Can't possibly have something to do with how I'm typically dressed, can it?" She had no way of knowing, certainly, but Kyyrk had typically worn blacks in the past. Particularly as a Miraluka. Silver was a new one, though. Typically his preferred accent was gold. Kyyrk turned to look at Jhira, a smirk on his face.

The search the woman keyed in to her computer returned a single entry: Kyyrk's public credentials. Therein, the only mention of Mirith was his listed Species. Rather unhelpful, as they already knew that. But further investigation would reveal that his security clearance was that of an Exarch's aide. Perhaps the Talon he referred to was none other than Srina Talon, the Exarch?

Kyyrk's smirk faded as the woman's suggestion set in. Dance? No. Kyyrk didn't dance. Not that he couldn't, mind you. Just that he didn't. "No, I...I don't think that's wise." Kyyrk turned and looked back at the woman below him. There was no fear, nor anxiety in his hesitation. There was something more behind his unwillingness to dance with her. "There's... much to explain. But I feel that such would be a bad idea..."

Jhira Mereel || Khora

 

[Jhira Mereel]

POLITICAL REGION: CIS SPACE
LOCATION: The Finest Resort in Thyferrans, the Ballroom
Objectives: Save the Nexu. Don’t die. Dance with Shuklaar Kyrdol, get secret of his shoes. Dodge High Marshall Ordo’s wrath.
TAGS: [ Kyyrk ] [ Khora ]

Spoiler

/ida.phinneas.net/Chaos/JhiraCISball.PNG

Jhira’s breathing steadied once more, as she watched the ancient, ancient Knight stare down below. To her, it looked much like love and first sight. Was it blessing or curse? Did she pity him or envy him for all of the joys and pains to come? The soft throat clearing betokened his return from whatever heaven, hell or purgatory the vision below had taken him to. The smirk he leveled upon her eased her mind; surely an inconceivably powerful Sorcerer would have long since lost the knack of it? Her own smile flared, fierce and challenging.

“No, not at all. In fact, it’s worse if this is how you dress all of the time.” A laugh rippled out of her, bright and light and full of furious joy. “Mia would dress you to a T. That girl; such a clothes horse. I spend more on her than all of the rest.” Yet at the same time, Jhira was comfortingly aware that she would never, ever let her impressionable and idealistic niece within a solid planetary radius of this man’s hypnotic voice.

To say nothing of his millennia-spanning power.

Jhira took another sip of her whiskey, as she read the data from her wrist COMM. “So what does an Exarch do, or an Exarch’s Aid?” Jhira had no more notion how the CIS functioned, then of who he was.

If anyone knew.

“And you are right, the Holonet knows no more about a Mirith than I do. Maybe less.” Her grin quirked again, watching his smirk fade and a strange, deep consideration take its place at the simple, time honored notion of dance. Many people fled, the idea of doing so revealing and sensual a thing in such a public venue terrifying. Some simply hated other people in their space, or were filled with self-doubt. Yet Jhira had never before seen what appeared to be an ethical quandary provoked by the ages old question of to dance, or not to dance.

And … the hesitancy, the slight stammer?

Swiftly, his attention returned to the apparition that had grabbed hold of him, and Jhira’s smile turned sweet and wistfully gentle as she watched him. Oh, she had to see these two meet. All powerful space-wizard captured by a pretty smile! An end to his enervating loneliness, perhaps? Or at least the promise that connection was possible, still.

No matter who he was.

“I’m partial to the Tango and Paso Doble myself,” she offered finaly. Both were fairly combative in nature, to be sure, allowing you to challenge your partner, but any dance helped made make one a better fighter. “Still, a good waltz always delights.”

Jhira leaned down and meddled with the hovering table, linking it into her Cybernetics. Though she’d be in deep trouble, if she forgot the dam thing was following her around, and stole it from the NIS party by mistake. Jhira could see the headlines now:

Crazed Mandalorian smuggles State Secrets from the CIS in a Toydarian Floating Table!
High Marshall Verin Oldo blockades the Enclave, Story at 11!​

When he spoke again, something in the Knight’s voice warned Jhira that they were back to Eldritch matters, rather than merely personal. Or so he thought, at least. And if she took a moment longer than necessary, placing her tumbler next to his upon the table, making sure the bottle of whiskey was locked in place while shoring up her courage, well. That was no one’s business save her own.

Straightening once more, she drifted back to his side in order to gaze up on the lady in question. “Please do explain, Kyyrk. Dance is too precious a joy, to forgo it easily.”

And finding someone who drew you as she did him? That was rarer still.