Nessarose was working on her breathing. Inhale, exhale, rinse, repeat. The trip to Serenno was one she'd been planning on doing for quite the time, though certain activities had kept her from showing up earlier. And now... "We may be too late," she whispered, knowing already that she would have no answer from her entourage about it. They were still learning the ways of politics outside of their planet, where things were... Different. Where they would not be able to challenge a single champion, and where not even burial rights would be held should one of them fall.
Serenno. She had childhood memories of its Countess. Her mother, the political mastermind that she had been, had kept her ties with the planet, as well as others. Nessarose had only been a girl of four when those ended, and she had to admit she remembered very little, but she was learning the game. The Queen of Endelaan was learning the game of galactic politics that required more than a pretty smile, and she was taking her steps into it.
It had been several days prior to her arrival on the planet that she'd studied the maps, taken notes of territories, trying to gauge expansions and directions. She had the Force to aide her, though she was yet at the level of comprehension that her mother was with her. Her mother... Her mother could understand what she saw. Nessarose could only accept the visions and do her best. For the time being. She would grow even stronger with time, she knew, and she would focus.
It had taken a few more hours to study the etiquette of the planet. The dress codes. The smiles, the gestures. She read anything she could get her hands on, subjecting it all to memory. Jeans and a hoodie would not suffice, not here. She had a special gown made; one that hugged every curve of her young body, the front dipping down until below the belly button. Bleached wompa fur of the highest quality had been using for the plunging neck line, ending just above her shoulders that left her long arms bare. Even her hair had been done, the usual mess now an elegant waterfall of elaborate curls. The face though... That she had left untouched, save for a touch of color to her lips. The brightness of her eyes framed all that she needed. After a fashion, one could claim that she almost looked like her mother. Almost.
Six of her people had she brought with her; three Sorceresses, three Warriors, all gifted by the Force and trained to excel in their jobs. Their attire, she'd kept more modest. While the fabrics were all shiny and glimmery, they still represented the chance in rank with the simple cuts she'd chosen.
"Send word to to the Countess," she ordered her handmaiden. The time was growing short. It would be a few minutes before she arrived, and the very ebb and flow of the Force through the air alerted her that she would have to be careful. This was a dangerous game to play, and her enemies, though they might not identify themselves as such just yet, were already there.
@[member="Countess of Báthory"]