Night to Remember | CIS Dominion of Stewjon (S,50)

[Connor Harrison]

With a silly smile and nod of the head, Connor knew it was VERY obvious, at least to the ones stood to the side looking in at the jovial gathering before them. It was sometimes safer to spectate. He eyed the beer wench and shook his head quickly. If it was blue milk, then maybe, but even then…where had the glasses been before? The girl was handling it all very well. But there was something about her…

"My colours?" The question had never been asked before. He looked down at the attire that probably made him look like a wizard. "Oh, no, not really. Well, the navy blue I guess symbols the Light, the crimson is the Dark. I’m making this up as I go,
y’know."

He chuckled and found himself asking the question. What DID they mean. How did he look to outsiders?

"I think it goes to the fact I am not directly serving some great leader or Order – it’s unique, you could say. I tried the “all black” look once. Very drab. Didn’t work. So went back to this." He had to ask. "Forgive me boring you with fabric talk, but, have we met before…I feel I know you from somewhere and it’s bugging me."

He held out his hand.

"Connor Harrison, at your service."

[member="Tha'ga Temi"]

 

[Asher Mossa]

Asher smirked at Katrine's answer. The woman couldn't lie, this was interesting information. He poured another glass of mead for them both at her insistence. It seemed the sweet taste agreed with the woman, and at this rate, both would be drunk before the night was out if she liked it this well.

"It is you job to be the face of the Mandagora when in public, and to lead from the shadows? My branch should be here, mixed among the Knights, the people, lest we have another incident like the last celebration the CIS was invited to."

The observation was an obvious one, but yet here he was, the only one of the Mandagora actually watching, aside from Katrine herself. Though, in the moment neither were doing a good job of it as it seemed Lylek had business here. Asher smiled as he took a drink from his goblet, then wiped his mouth off with the sleeve of his shirt. The smug grin was still there.

"I knew it... I could feel his prying eyes before you came into view."

They had argued once already during another mission. Lylek was constantly trying to make Asher see things from another perspective. It was a cheap shot to use the nightmother, especially when there was alcohol involved. He sighed as he finished off the goblet letting the question hang in the air to marinate.

"The simple answer is everyone, every group, I get close to dies, violently and tragically. I am always the lone survivor. Yet here I am... summoned by the spirits themselves, chosen by Lylek for whatever purpose. It will be the death of you all, but here I am. I cannot escape something that has been happening since birth."

Asher refilled his mug. By the time this was over he was going to be so well drunk that he would not remember the night. At this point, that was the best option for him.

[member="Katrine Van-Derveld"]

 

[Jasmine Zittoun]

Jasmine was caught off guard by the man who approached her, but she didn't act upon it. Although his grasp of basic was not strong, she didn't outright ignore him due to his being well dressed, unlike several of the native Stewjons in the great hall. She responded distantly, not bothering to put emotion into the statement,

"I am Viceroy Jasmine Zittoun, and if you are looking for a tour guide, I'd recommend someone else. I don't mix with these types, the force wizards."

A spike of malice broke in her voice,

"Exactly who do you work for in the Confederacy, Aaron?"

[member="Aaron Stratus"]

 

[Ravenfire]

The woman he had approached suggest that he should approach someone else. "Sincerest apologies viceroy @Jasmine Zittoun, then I shall find someone else." He would reply with his eyes flickering with distaste she had just called the vice-lord and his obsidian knight space wizards. Then she add malaice to her voice. Well I was right about her begin a social nightmare. "Viceroy, I work for one person, the minister for war. Now if you will, kindly excuse me, I need to find someone else to assist me in meet people tonight. Good evening Viceroy." He said in his most politically correct tone, hiding his distaste for her.

This time he went to the bar and got another drink. Once again he hadn't finished his last one. He approached the rodian in the gangsta boss outfit. He looked like someone he might actually enjoy a conversation with. "Hi, I am sorry I am having the worst luck today. I just ran into someone who was unwilling to help me. Would you be able to? All I want to do is get to know some of the people I am going to be working with." He would ask [member="Jorco Czeku"].

 

[Malok]

She caught him by surprise.

At first, the Vicelord’s lips parted - as if to protest being voluntold by his Apprentice to kick off the game. His intention was to keep the limelight off of him as much as possible this evening. His goal was to raise a tankard to the Knights Obsidian who had made all of this a possibility. And yet, his train of thought went flying off the rails when she said his name. Isley. It had been quite some time since anyone had addressed him as such. His sisters would always call him by the name of his birth...but to everyone else, he was Darth Metus.

They only saw the Darkness. They only knew the Darkness. They didn’t know the man who came before.

Well. Tonight was their opportunity for a rare glimpse.

”Very well!” came the jovial boom of his voice. ”Let me tell you about the time I was a Pirate!” He could feel the eyebrows shooting up now. His tale was punctuated solely by the slosh of liquor down his mouth. He took a few hearty swigs, allowing the foam to bubble at the edges of his lips, before slamming the tankard down and wiping away the excess. ”It was a long, long time ago. So long ago that Mandalore was still a gaggle of United Clans. Back then, the Mandalorians weren’t as they are now - they were feared. Ferocious. Battle hungry. Ballsy.”

“Well, one day we set about conquering. And our prey was a world held in the clutches of a Pirate Armada - and no it wasn’t Aedan’s. He was off stealing a fleet from the Republic, again.”

“Anyway, my brother and I - Ember - we went a little rogue during the operation. Most of the forces were meeting the enemy headon. We said kark that, found the biggest fish in the pond, and crashed our way aboard. I’m talking Basilisk War Droid tearing through the Hull, blasting Pirates as they’re sucked into the black kind of crashing!!”

Another swig. Another slam.

”Well, after a good long bit of slashing and thrashing, we came upon their cache! Heaps and heaps and heaps of credits, gems, crystals, ingots - if it glittered, it was in there. We loaded up our Droids so heavy that they couldn’t even walk anymore. And then! As a final kark you to the enemy, we overloaded the ship’s reactor and got the hell out before the Big Bang!”

“And that, my friends, is the time that I was a pirate!”

At this point, Darth Metus raised the tankard - not to drink but to challenge. He pointed it at those near, asking: ”So! Who can best that tale eh? Will it be you, Srina? Will you tell us all about your days on Eshan? Or maybe you, Eladia? Can your smuggling days beat that? Or maybe...what about you…”

He pointed the tankard directly at @Riggs.

”Surely you’ve got a tale to best that, eh!”

Now that he had been thrown under the Star Destroyer, he made good and certain his Apprentices were put on the spot all the same.

[member="Aaron Stratus"], [member="Jorco Czeku"], [member="Srina Talon"], [member="Eladia Laux"], @Jasmine Zittoun, [member="Asher Mossa"], [member="Katrine Van-Derveld"], [member="Connor Harrison"], [member="Anya Malvern"], [member="Natasha Darkstar"], @Tha’ga Temi, [member="Anastasia Verd"]

 

[Tha'ga Temi]

The man beside her also did not grab for a mug of ale and chug it down like the rest of the Stewjonians appeared to be doing. Tha’ga listened with genuine interest as he explained his colorful attire, and when he said he was making it up as he went along, a smile spread across her cheeks.

“No, no it’s fine. I thought they were the colors of the Confederacy at first."

She took his hand in greeting and gave it a hearty shake.

“Well, I am quite certain we haven’t met before. I’m Tha’ga Temi, currently an administrator at the Castle of Per'Agthra and Director of the Hapan Heritage Council. But maybe you’ve met my sister, Tmoxin? She’s a Vicerene of Lok and a high ranking member of the Confederacy?”

They had a slight resemblance for sure, but the younger Hapan seemed much more approachable than Tmoxin ever had been.

“Are you Confederacy as well, Mr. Harrison?”

Post 3 | [member="Connor Harrison"]​

 

[Connor Harrison]

The second they touched palms with a handshake, everything seemed to fall into place a split-second before Tha’ga confirmed it. Connor had only felt these connections a few times in his years, and it proved that his senses were attuned and open and bristling with information locked away in his subconscious that the natural Force seemed to be able to unlock.

Scary, really.

Her surname unlocked the first grey area and straight away the name of her sister – Tmoxin – unlocked the second. Billions of sentient beings across millions of worlds and systems in the known galaxy, and a sister of one he knew appeared before him. It wasn’t as big a galaxy as they said, so he was now thinking.

"Um, yes, yes I am – sorry, Tmoxin Temi?" He was still shaking her hand softly, a little bemused by meeting her sister. "I knew Tmoxin well. In fact not too long ago she helped me out of a little dark place I was in. Unfortunately I never got around to thanking her and I’ve not seen her since."

The aura of Tha’ga was radically different from the dark hue of Tmoxin. Everything was different – the way she spoke, the openness in her questions and tone, her hair colour. Everything. Connor broke off the shake and noticed something he never had with Tmoxin; a wide smile compared to a thin calculating one.

"It’s a pleasure to meet you, Tha’ga. So, an administrator at Per'Agthra and Director of the Hapan Heritage Council? Someone’s a busy bee. You’re certainly a Temi."

The last time he had encountered two sisters, he had nearly pushed them both to the edge of darkness in the quest for seeking the light. Hopefully that blip wasn’t going to come circling ahead.

[member="Tha'ga Temi"]

 

[Ak'lya]

As she drank, Natasha wondered if this was a good idea. A night meant to celebrate was something they all needed, but noise and rowdiness wasn't her preferred scene. Or, to be more accurate, she tended to stay near the outskirts. Drunk men spilt secrets, and no one learned that better than she had. Secrets were her job, after all. So she would listen. And she would watch.

Amber fidgeted beside her, the woman clearly uncomfortable. The operative made little effort to comfort her. In truth, she wasn't sure how. The fear that the woman showed. "Are you going to share something?" The question was low, quiet.

"No. Glory and honour are faiths men hold to sleep with the bodies they leave behind." The words were curt, cold. Her cynical side bleeding through. Mechanical eyes scanned the crowd, looking to see if there was anything interesting. "He still hasn't shown." Quiet. Amber seemed released, and simply sat listening. "You okay if I leave for a bit?" A nod.

Slowly, she stood, smoothing the creases out of her dress uniform as she watched a viceroy she had barely heard of tell of a man simply because he wasn't 'important'. It made her blood boil. The man was apparently under the minister of war, although the position had yet to be filled to her knowledge. Something about ability and calling. Maybe some soul would fill the gap soon. Careful steps carried her to the man.

"So you're new here, Mr. Aaron?" She asked gently, trying to seem friendly. The same act she always wore. "I couldn't help but overhear. If you like, I could show you around, maybe make a few introductions before things devolve into full drunken hysteria?"

[member="Aaron Stratus"] | [member="Jorco Czeku"] | [member="Srina Talon"] | [member="Eladia Laux"] | [member="Jasmine Zittoun "]| [member="Asher Mossa"] | [member="Katrine Van-Derveld"] | [member="Connor Harrison"] | [member="Anya Malvern"] | [member="Tha'ga Temi"] | [member="Anastasia Verd"]​

 

[Jorco Czeku]

Looking over he saw [member="Aaron Stratus"] coming near him. After listening to his little predicament he spoke. "Ah I see. Well I'm Jorco, Jorco Czeku." He said, providing his long, slender hand to shake. "Well I'll be honest with you. My apologies but despite my position as viceroy of Rodia, I'm not actually all that familiar with members of the Confederacy." The Rodian informed him. However, just after that [member="Natasha Darkstar"] approached with her own proposition to help him out.

"Well well well, It seems you may just have your wish fulfilled. I'm sorry I wouldn't have been much help. But it seems our friend here if more then willing to be of service. Despite this I do hope to see us working together in the future." Jorco said as he seemed to be passing the commando along to the agent.

 

[Anya Malvern]

[member="Darth Metus"] [member="Asher Mossa"] [member="Connor Harrison"]

Seemed like the party was in full swing, she glanced around and could only smile. She sat off to the corner alone with her drink and food, she had to admit these people had their meats and ale on point. She glanced around again and looked towards Darth metus as he began telling his tale. She could only grin a bit listening to his story, she had to admit the man was powerful as he was interesting not even knowing at all the man before her was a mandalorian!

Finally he called out for anyone who had a story to top that, either the drink or the recent battle had some effect on her but she suddenly stood

I HAVE ONE!

Realizing what she just did, she cursed....she had the spit light now it seemed, she grabbed her ale and strode towards the front. She cursed her bold nature...and this ale

i...may not have one to top yours sir, but it's a story nonetheless! I shall tell the time....I led troopers into battle

She took a long drink, she put the glass down and let a breath out before she grinned

Now this isn't long ago, in fact I consider it a past life experience, there was a time I fought with the ones we consider our enemy. I remember my first time I walked onto the battle field with the storm troopers, fear and awe could be felt among them....we were sieging a city that had artillery cannons and anti air like no other! And walls tall as the tallest building!

She paused to get a drinking, then sighed

enemy was dug in quite well, it seemed as if it was a stale mate, then I jump out of the line and activated my blade...I let a rally cry out and spoke words to pull them out of the firing lines, we charged the enemy head on and jumped right into their line. Chaos was all around! But we came out victorious...

She paused closing her eyes, she couldn't help but smile...she enjoyed that battle, she took a breath then sighed out

But, that was a past life, now I am surrounded by my fellow knights and comrades. All who I consider as important as kin.

She bowed her head and took a step back

that's the first time I ever led any type of soldier in a battle field. Thank you for listening

She sat down and let the rush fade off

 

[Ravenfire]

Aaron was told by [member="Jorco Czeku"] he was the Viceroy for Rodia. "What is it with me and running into Viceroys I seem to have a knack for it." He gave a small chuckle. Just then he was approached by another lady [member="Natasha Darkstar"] who did offer to show him around. "That is correct I am new here." She seemed friendly enough but his training as a Commando made him lightly more careful about how heard things.

You didn't just randomly overhear things. You would have to be listening to overhear something in here. The hall might be large but it was filled with slightly drunk people who were being loud and obnoxious. The Viceroy seemed to be passing him off to her anyways he had no choice but to accept the offer to show him around. "I would love to have some introductions. I would like to start with your name first please. Also it was a pleasure, I hope we work together soon." No matter what she responded with he would follow her for the introductions.

 

[Tha'ga Temi]

Unlike Connor and Tmoxin, Tha’ga was closed off from The Force. She’d shared the long-existing connection with the Ni’Korish cult on Hapes - a sect who feared Jedi and Sith alike. By the time Nsia was born - the youngest Temi sister - the family had severed ties with the cult. Therefore she did not share that same transitory exchange that Force users often had. In fact, she had little knowledge it was there inside of her.

“Tmoxin helped you,” the Hapan remarked, brows lofting, the amused smile making another appearance. “There must have been something in it for her, I bet. Yes?”

She chuckled as Mr. Harrison’s assessment of Temi’s as productive members of Hapan society, maybe in Tmoxin’s case for the CIS. Tapping her lips with her finger anerd then lowering her hand, Tha’ga said, “You do look familiar after all, but not through a connection with my sister. I think you may have been on a Gala on Neo Polis. Did you happen to be there too? You are quite an unmistakable figure."

A slam of someone’s fist on one of the nearby wooden tables caused her to jump slightly. “Does it seem loud in here all of a sudden? Maybe we can go somewhere quieter.”

As if on cue, a large burly warrior bumped into a door frame right beside them, wobbled on his feet, threatening to pass out, but he steadied himself and flung himself out into the fresh air, presumably to walk off his stupor.

Post 4 | [member="Connor Harrison"]​

 

[Riggs]

Post #2

Leaning back in his chair he listened to the tale from the ViceLord [member="Darth Metus"] , one that was goaded into existence by [member="Srina Talon"] to the amusement of many. Following the rules of the game he took a deep draught from his mug at the story's conclusion. As Metus offered his challenge to the small crowd the final motion at Riggs inspired him to accept the duel of stories.

But even as he went to lean forward [member="Anya Malvern"] began her own tale. Easing back he listened respectfully to her story of combat. His head inclined slightly in acknowledgement toward the woman and her own glimpse into her past. It spoke volumes of where her loyalty lay. And she was secure in the knowledge that those she served with were her brothers and sisters, in the past and the present.

Taking his mug once more he finished off his drink before refilling it and turning to look the esteemed ViceLord in the eyes, challenge accepted.

"I could regale you with stories of piracy and mercenary work. Of raiding and warring. But I have a tale of love, or at the least, of lust. Once there was a merchant who hired a renowned swordsman on the sleepy planet of Gerian. The job was to destroy his political rival. Not through murder, nor through thievery. But by decimating his reputation."

Taking a strong swig of his mug he set it down again.

"To make matters worse this man who was to be destroyed was the father-in-law of my benefactor. So I decided to find my way into a compromising situation with his wife. But first I had to learn what the mother-in-law liked, so I spent time with the Duke's own wife to better understand how to romance the mother-in-law. As the weeks passed I was able to ingrate myself into the household. But as I grew closer to the mark's wife, so too did I with the Duke's wife."

Smirking at Darth Metus, Riggs finished up his story.

"Finally I was able to procure the leverage that the Duke required and fulfilled my end of the bargain. But the Duke was not a worthy man to hold the position he wished for. So once I was paid I gave him the footage of me romancing and bedding his mother-in-law, yet he was not able to use the footage as it wasn't a coupling but rather a threesome which included his own wife. So I completed a contract and fell into lust simultaneously. And let's face it, there's nothing better then getting paid to fight someone ... Unless it's getting paid to bed someone."

Smirking again he raised his mug toward Metus before taking another deep drink.

 

[Kip Ridel]

Spoiler: The Unbridled Minstrel

Many ages ago, a wandering minstrel traveled the plains carrying naught but the clothes on his back, his wooden instrument, and his lofty spirits. The man, legend tells, had neither a kingdom nor a king. He knew loyalty to no flag and offered no allegiance to any border. Yet for all that the man lacked, he found himself wanting of little. For without the shackles of loyalty and without the vice of citizenship, the minstrel was never bound to policy nor was he ever conscripted to war. Wherever the minstrel spoke, there were always ears to listen. Whenever the minstrel sang, there was always bountiful claps.

Three kings in three seasons approached the Minstrel, offering riches for his services. The first King approached the Minstrel in a meadow on a warm Summer afternoon. "My dear Minstrel," the King greeted, "how far your travels take you. My enemies speak of war and treachery. If you would but lend your ears to me, then forever shall my kingdom lend its feet to you."

The King's servants brought forth a purebred steed from the King's personal stock. Its golden bridle glistened brightly, lighting up the Minstrel's awestruck face. The minstrel laid his hand upon the steed's sturdy neck, adoring the magnificent animal before looking back at the King. "My Lord, your offer is gracious. But see this horse as it bears the bindings of your kingdom's colors. See this magnificent animal who can travel far, but only as far as its lord allows. I am a Minstrel, and I travel as far as my voice carries me. For me to lend you my ears, I would have to lose my voice." With a respectful nod, the King and his horses traveled on.

The second King approached the Minstrel in the Forest in a blustery fall morning. "My dear Minstrel," the King greeted, "how sparsely you travel. My people conspire to overthrow me. If you would sing of my bounteousness, then forever shall you knew bounty." Three knights brought forth three bags to the Minstrel, each bag containing the King's coins. The Minstrel drew a coin from the bag and examined it,

"My Lord," the Minstrel replied, "your gift is bountiful. But see this coin that bears your name. The worth of this coin is not in the name that it bears, but in the people who spend it. Such is the worth of a song, for it is not of whom the song speaks but to whom the song speaks that gives the song value." Dejected, the King withdrew the bags of money and rode onward.

The third King approached the Minstrel in a snow-covered mountain trail on a cold winter evening. "My dear Minstrel," the King greeted, "you travel far, but you have no home to lay your head. Come, tell me tales of my neighboring kingdom's woes, and I shall offer you the comfort and shelter of a worthy home."

On this blistery night in the mountains, the Minstrel thought in silence. His feet ached, his bags were empty, and his head lay heavy and numb upon dirt, snow, and stone. But the Minstrel responded, "My Lord, you speak of comfort and home. But we are not born in a home, nor do we die in a home. Home and comfort come from within. My Lord, I could not seek any comfort in any home that is a house of betrayal." The King looked down upon the shivering Minstrel with pity, but rode onward.

The next day, the snows came down harder. The Minstrel attempted to cross the mountain path, but found his feet too cold to tread the snow. He found a stable, but could not afford a horse. He found an inn, but the cold had stolen his voice and he could not sing the fee. It was that wintry night that claimed the Minstrel.

News of the Minstrel's passing spread throughout the land. Upon hearing of the Minstrel's death, the First King ordered that all horse bridles be inscribed with the words, "Travel as far your voice carries."

The second King's successor, in honor of the Minstrel's passing, inscribed on each coin, "Worth of a song."

The third King, in honor of the Minstrel's passing, built a shelter in the mountains for travelers. Upon its door, words read, "Home comes from within."

Post: 1
Location: Just landed, on route to the Longhouse.

For the majority of his life, Kip saw himself as a minstrel of sorts. A singer of songs, a teller of tales. A man gifted in the art of people. But as his transport ship's door slowly opened and revealed a crowd of men and women looking up at Kip's clean and clean-pressed suit, he felt conflicted. Was he, in fact, the Minstrel hero, come to sing songs to the common people? Or rather was he one of the Kings, riding in on a mighty horse offering gold and shelter to the hopeful commoners?

Several nameless faces and figures walked on ahead of Kip, waving to the crowd but ignoring their faces. Kip watched as several natives greeted the nameless figures. He watched the subtleties in their motions, memorized each nuance, and he responded in kind. As he descended into the crowd, he embraced those who had lost loved ones, laughed with those who had triumphed alongside the Knights of Obsidian, sang with the children, and rallied the crowd.

Not long after, Kip found himself outfitted not in the garb of the Confederacy Viceroyalty, but in the humble and modest trappings of the locals. Along the way to the Longhouse where the rest of the Confederacy was celebrating, Kip began to tell the story of a wandering Minstrel. And as the locals made him feel at home, Kip felt the Minstrel story almost turn into a song, and he traveled as far as the song carried him.

 

[Connor Harrison]

Connor had to turn his back a little to the crowd of jovial Confederacy types to hear Tha’ga speak, but what he heard made him smile, maybe even feel…flattered? Then again, from somebody not knowing him except by looks, he was cutting either a more confident figure than he had for a long time, or his colourful attire was certainly unique!

"Why thank you, and yes I was there. I have to say I was keeping my head and not wanting to stick out," he indicated to his clothes and pulled a face to show how pointless an idea that was to try not stand out. "My apologies for not greeting you then."

He moved out of the way from a tipsy brute singing to himself.

"Tmoxin didn’t really ever let on she wanted anything. She took what she wanted from what you gave her. I gave her my trust and opened up some fears, and she managed to help a little but also fuel her quest for knowledge and research into all things that fuels beings like us."

And on cue, the bang made them both jump. Connor’s brown knotted and he glanced over to the noise – so uncivilised. It was [member="Darth Metus"] taking the stage – and the alcohol – by storm. He certainly knew how to work a crowd. Tha’ga spoke above the noise, and then shouts by one [member="Anya Malvern"] whom he had met once before on Naboo. It was good she had found others to be with on her quest for…revenge.

"Please," he nodded and indicated to the swinging door that led outside, the cool air inviting over the fever inside. "Mind your step," he mused to her.

The man who had made it outside hadn’t made it far at all, passed out against a wall, legs splayed across the door.

[member="Tha'ga Temi"]

 

[Katrine Van-Derveld]

Objective: Trying Mead and Torturing Getting to Know [member="Asher Mossa"]
Wearing: This
Post: Four

​

Glass filled for the second time, she took it again, taking in a few sips before she reminded herself that maybe, just maybe, she should pace herself. Her hand slowly moved the glass from her lips and returned it to the table as Asher spoke of her role as the face of the Mandragora. He talked about there needing to be others mixed among the Knights. "Do you think they're not?" Katrine questioned him without her sapphire gaze leaving him now. "I see in front of me one Lylek. I myself was a Jart before I had been claimed by the three spirits," she told him as she inhaled a deep breath and closed her eyes, letting the spirits whispered into her ear without her using the Force herself. "Three more Doashim and one Jart are present in this room." Katrine knew Uncle Isley was claimed by the Doashim, just as she knew Srina was a Jart and both Anastasia Verd and Anya Malvern were also Doashim. So far, only Asher was a Lylek in here but they were a Pact of the shadows.

Other than Anya though, the other three had devoted their time to the Obsidian Knights yet they were still chosen of the spirits, their children. If they were called upon, they would come. Until then, they were not chained into servitude of their fates led them elsewhere. Such was the way the spirits.

Asher's sudden declaration didn't surprise Katrine. Some were more attuned to the spirits than others. He seemed quite a bit though it didn't seem yet Lylek was talking to him as he could have been. The spirit was still studying him. "This surprised you?" The Lupine wondered with a small smile before she'd reached for her glass and drink a few more sips before placing the goblet back on the table.

The explanation given took all of Katrine's focus. Asher told her that everyone whom he got close to died violently and tragically. He was always the sole survivor. It would apparently be the death of them all. Hmm," she thought about it for a quick second as she took in what she knew about curses from her own experience. "Here's what I know about curses. They can be broken." She told him with a resolve. "And before you start arguing, I can tell you I'm not making this up. I broke my own curse. You should have seen me just a year ago, I was a shell of who I used to be or who I am now." Katrine was born with her own curse. She spoke of Avarisa from time to time but most of the time, she tried not think of her at all anymore. It almost felt like another life now. She had the spirits now and she knew without a doubt that her ancestor had lost her connection to the physical realms. Even the spirits told her that. Still, now, her unique experience allowed her to understand just what she was being told.

 

[Ahani Najwa-Zambrano]

I paced the hall six times before walking behind [member="Darth Metus"], [member="Anastasia Verd"], [member="Izak Verd"] and apprentice [member="Srina Talon"].

“Boo!” My voice assaults the collection of atmospheric gasses tortured by Metus’ bellowing mouth. He wants a pretty package of oration for the delight and horror of the presented revellers. As [member="Riggs"] talked it strikes me there’s an audience. More than a couple of Verds and the lost daughter of Echani who, for once, does not share my face. I see not but a cloud of fog, punctuated by the lack of my mind’s insistence to acknowledge the crowd of witnesses following everywhere I go.

What a waste is speech, how kindly and imperceptibly syllables produced can be cheated through the auditory canals of sapient beings. How words can lie, even fervent, delightful.

“Baubles, Metus.” Once upon a time, I met Isley Verd. He was not Metus. This is not and is, Isley Verd. For any who truly know the Vicelord they would know that Metus himself is not Isley. They were separate and conjoined, dichometric echoes of wrapped in the false coating of a single skin. I could long tell stories of Darth Metus.

His mug is rough on my hand as I pluck it from him, taking a long drag and grimacing as the liquid pours down my throat. Bedded women and credits. Is that the supposed virility of Mandalorian violence in this Southern galactic reach?

‘On Eshan and Thyrsus that was… we had statues. For those uninitiated in Echani ways, they were incoherent tangles of metal placed in honour’s stations across our cities and in our holy places.’ I gulp more of Metus’ swill, which I’m guessing is tihaar. My hand brushes outward, touching upon the swathes of metal, which I swear I could touch if I could step past this fog of witnesses to… to?

‘The Sun cast shadow plays upon our minds and our eyes and our muscles. Even in the stillness of our art there was motion. We tore slag from our fallen ships, or from our enemies’ as trophies, and built the statues to dictate a victorious battle, or an act of bravery or… stood for hours watching the battles morph and rage with the shadows and the sun. My mother taught me the truth of many things. Of material and incorporeal wealth. Of power and its’ underlining fragility…’

My vocal chords and mouth said nothing. The longing for shadow plays and statues lingered only in the curve of my muscles and the play my posture as my hip backs into the table. Hand aloft, as if attempting to touch a wreck of metal which isn’t there, I stare at my fingers.

They wanted stories. ​

Eyebrows furrowed, I snake a glance at Srina and wonder. How much could a youngling like her know of our old ways? Would she see past the longing to a narrative I hadn’t voiced? Would Metus see more than a woman stealing his drink?

More of the drink, until I set down Metus’ mug at his hand empty of its’ contents. Empty. Void. “Void we fill with promises and cognizance. Inside this void, nothing exists but what we’ve taken with us. I was nothing, not even a pronoun, just a sensation of rebellion… no… that’s not… Nobody wants to know how I made a planet… Think, Ahani. Think…”

Metus wanted stories. Isley wanted them… the false Isley. The half-and-one Isley.

“The planetary defences failed to warn the Queen and her Consort of imminent attack. I disengaged them with the appropriate application of strength to the spine of a Bothan slicer. Our fleet locked down Eshan’s airspace before the Admiral Egyi Raste could blink. The Sith Knight raised his pale head and whispered the attack to begin. My Midnight Guard and I swept to the surface, clad in our light armour with vibrostaves, lightsaber and shields. The Sun Guard blasted downward to distract the Echani, who mostly slept in their beds.

How lazy and petulant they came after Palpatine was destroyed and none thought to keep a vigilant eye. None trained their children in war’s arts. None but the Queen’s Consort and her Royal Guard. Ah! How they shone in their silver armour! How they delighted the eye with splashes of red bathing their cloth and the ground! Oh, to see the day!” My eyes shut and I see the battle unfolding, as my muscles twitch and tell far more to any Echani in the room than my vocal nattering could.

Triumph and fear. Brutality masked around a mother’s penultimate desire to protect her young.

“The Sun Guard poured through the cities, taking all they found in combat. Oh, how lazy the Echani were! How they lowered their hands from their heads, and reached for blasters, instead of their staffs.” My chuckle deepened, muscles twitching as if deking away from a combatant. “Let them cull the reprobates, who denied our warrior way. Only those who fought survived, and the culture was all the better for it. Mother knew best, didn’t I? Be lax with the children and they grow fat and lax like… humans. The echoes of chaos filled our ears as my Midnight Guard and I slunk toward the Queen’s Palace. Her Consort, a few of his Jedi brethren and the Queen herself came out to meet us. Oh, oh the day.”

Staggering away from the table still holding my second stolen drink, I grin wide and proud. “Her belly glowed in the sun as she snapped out her staff and led the charge to defend the wounded in the Palace. How glorious a battle, when the Echani again discovered their courage and the war which rages still in our blood. They remembered their quality to defend their Queen. An Echani without conflict, an Echani without motion and challenge is a wilting flower. A dying slave. Oh, so many slaves died that day, but all the more the warriors stood up and beat us back until we clustered defeated by our kin. Pushed back by the awakening wave of silver. Never since had the Echani such a battle. It was the proudest moment of my life, to see my son and his wife cast us out. Finally…

… finally the Jedi in him was broken. Finally he would defeat any malicious force which came to destroy our people. Finally he was nothing but an Echani General, and our people lost the veneer of slavery we suffered under Palpatine. My lieutenant swept me up before they could unleash the final blow. I returned defeated to the Betrayer’s flagship, my daughters safe recovering from their wounds. Millions never to be lax, or weak again, with souls strengthened as diamonds in the dross of thousands’ deaths. Such a battle I have yet to see in these times.”

For once in front of Metus and his retinue I appear as I was: a perilous and stalwart warrior, who threw into the battles which would bring a future security to my beloved race and downtrodden peoples. My stutter deserted me, the twitches in my muscles stilled for the beauty of battles I likely will never see again.

‘Well done, Gyaumchem.’ His voice settles in my bone cage, rattling back into me the twitch and stutter of my current diminished state.

 

[Asher Mossa]

She was determined to know him, Asher supposed. After all, she continued with a resolve that indicated she would not be leaving him alone any time soon. If that were the case, then she could at least get drunk with him and see what adventure being inibriated awaited them.

Every time the glass emptied, Asher was determined to fill it.

”Am I surprised that Lylek has been studying me? No. He is a spirit of shadow is he not?”

If she could ask questions, so could Asher. The woman wasn’t going to be the only one who would have their curiosity piqued. There was a sense this was the bidding of the spirits however. Katrine was not sitting with him because it was her idea. That was a rare thing for the near thirty year old warrior.

Asher took another drink from his bottle. At the mention of breaking the curse the mug hit the table and Asher stared at the blonde with a cross look.

”Tell that to the woman and child I buried the last place I called home. How about the villagers that have all died because of my presence? Curses may be broken, but I was born a curse. It isn’t some hex that was placed on me. I am winterborn, child of the solstice, and that is something that cannot be changed.”

His mug was empty and Asher filled it again. What would she say, what could she? Certainly Asher had found a way to silence her.

”Now, if you want to sit here, then keep drinking. I plan on getting completely drunk, and anyone who sits at this table with me.”

[member="Katrine Van-Derveld"]

 

[Tha'ga Temi]

“Oh no,” Tha’ga said waving her hand as though to dismiss them not meeting at the Neo Polis Gala as something inconsequential. “I was keeping a low profile there myself, doing a favor for my sister… something con-” The redhead stopped, not wanting to say too much. “Contrived. A thoroughly boring and contrived meeting.” Certainly not confidential, she thought, relieved she’d not said exactly that. But honestly her arrival and departure had been slightly clandestine for a variety of reasons.

“Yes, she’s always been interested in science and research, but my brother Armand is the real doctor of the family.” Tha’ga wouldn’t besmirch her older sister’s name, especially in front of an acquaintance, but she’d always suspected that Tmoxin’s science endeavors were less grounded in academia and more in the experimental.

As Mr. Harrison opened the door, Tha’ga gingerly stepped over the passed out warrior. “This is much better,” she remarked as they were out on the quaint village streets in the fresh air. “But you still have not told me what you do for the Confederacy. Unless I missed it in the din of the tavern hall, and for that I sincerely apologize." The Hapan had the same impeccable manners as Tmoxin, yet none of the biting edge.

Posts 5 | [member="Connor Harrison"]​

 

[Sor-Jan Xantha]

Spoiler: This thread needs some music

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-nk5ig_1BIA​

Okay, so he managed to at least dress appropriate.

The biots that [member="Matsu Ike"] had cursed his childhood with had even managed to get him into the bath for the occasion. Sor-Jan had drawn the line at combing his hair however. Granted, he generally drew a line at baths too, but there were lines and then there were lines. Adults claimed not to understand this, but kids knew it to be true.

Lines were like when your parents told you to go to bed or not eat a cookie before dinner. Sure, you were supposed to respect the line, but it was more like a guideline than an actual rule.

Lines, on the other hand, were serious, like, bombad, mega-ultimate-serious business. Like dividing by zero. It was just something you didn't, you couldn't, and you never wanted to do.

How simple of a concept was that? And yet, adults didn't understand. Some of them claimed to have been children once, but Sor-Jan wasn't sure he saw it. People like [member="Thurion Heavenshield"] or [member="Connor Harrison"] just seemed like they'd been born old.

Plus, his hair was only going to get messed up again. So the point of combing it was... what, exactly?

The truth was, no matter what Sor-Jan did or how he dressed, he was still just going to look like a little kid. So if he was going to stand out anyway, then it went to his mind that he might as well just embrace it.

So while most were standing around chatting and ignoring the music playing in the room around them, the young Anzat was instead doing what younglings did best. And that was moving. Primarily in ways that few wearing a formal suit would dare to do so. But it got attention.

Not that he could have avoided attention. He was a bowl-cut wearing, four-foot-something juvenile in the middle of the kind of adult-only gala that lacked even the idea of a kid's table.

Maybe he could get the energy up in the room. Or just give the adults something else to talk about. Who knew?

With the Confederacy moving up to Druckenwell, where Corellia Digital kept its major banking operation, the people in this room represented a new, emerging market for the technology giant.

And if there was one thing Sor-Jan wasn't afraid of, it was meeting new people.

Or making a complete fool of himself in front of them for that matter.