Dominion Re:Storation [CIS Domion of Rodia Hex]

[Rience]

Tag: Cordelia Malkavian
Objective: I - RE: SETTLE

The Request challenged her very nature.

In the beginning, Cordelia had not always been a Huntress of the Night. She had not always had an insatiable thirst for the lives of others. Yet, even when she was Human, she was a force to be reckoned with. Even when she was normal, the mission of the day was one that would hardly appeal. Ah, the gift of memory was one that Rience would never again take for granted. After so many years, wandering the stars without knowing who he was, it felt good to truly remember. Truly be whole.

And in doing so, he truly recalled who the woman beside him was.

Being on her best behavior was something that could set the world ablaze. But for him? She would abide by his definition of best behavior. Would he have to make up for it later? Absolutely. And it would most certainly be worth it in every respect. As the velvet tone of her voice reached his ears, the Titan unleashed a hearty chuckle. "You got me there." he agreed. Her definition of keeping the trip interesting could range from exploration to execution, depending on the day.

And being kept on his toes? While it would certainly make going home fun later, it might not be the best time and place. They'd find a middle ground, he was certain of it. Reaching, his fingertips would trail underneath her chin. Slowly. Deliberately. "You'll do as you're told." To coil his fingers about her throat would not be a sight well taken in public. That was for later. But for now, she would have that reminder - the threat and the reward all mingled into one glance.

"Rumor has it that there were some Vong who called Rodia home." he said, retracting his hand. And thus, setting their attention back on the task at hand. "Lets see if we can find any here...should be worth the effort." He had never met one of the Vong race before, but it would be a fun experience nonetheless. Well. "Fun."​

 

[Hester Shedo]

Location: Aboard the Stargazer

Tags: HRD Jalan Riyadosh



Rodia. The swirling atmosphere like a sea of oils dripping and dissipating in a pool of water. A scene of treachery for the Confederacy. This was personal. It was heated. It was emotional. It was convenient. When the call to reclaim and rebuild had gone out, Hester Shedo knew exactly what she had to do. She had a legion of construction droids that had been quietly, diligently and militantly building a brand-new city on Scarif. They had already built one; why not another? There had been no time to lose and had made the necessary contacts. With the system fleet unable to leave the busy hyperlane patrols and the new contingent not yet finished, she had used her connections and gained passage on the Stargazer.

2000 units. She had taken what she could spare from the construction sites and loaded them upon the mighty vessel. They would begin the rebuilding of Rodia. They would make new homes, new dreams, new opportunities. They would help repair the damage caused to the CIS’ reputation. It would help heal wounds across the galaxy.

It would help Hester’s image tenfold.

------

The people of Scarif, sacrificing the means for their own world to rebuild one of the heartlands of the Separatist movement.

“You know, you cannot spell sacrifice without Scarif.”

Hester murmured this to the nearest person in the command centre, the worker focused on the piloting of the vast vessel. They did not reply. She scowled. She remembered.

She was surrounded by Droids. Human Replicants. But droids, nonetheless. They would not diverge from their function without good cause; humouring the wit of a Viceroy wasn’t vital at this stage.

Her host, Jalan Riyadosh, had been generous to her. The transporting of the units would make a great different to the relief and rebuilding of the city populations and reclaim Rodia as a Jewel in the Confederacy.

Hester spoke into her communication device.

“Jalan, I will accompany the deployment of the units myself on Rodia’s surface.”

She was not sure if she was talking to Jalan or the replicant. It unnerved her but she took it as she came. Hester had encountered many things, and this was nothing out of the ordinary.

----------
The shuttle’s transporting the units were active and alive, bustling and begging the shipping of goods to the surface like the ants on Scarif did. Hester smiled, stepping aboard her designated shuttle and breathed a sigh of relief. It would be good to see Rodia and take her place as one of the many who had answered the call when it came.

 

[Sabine Delacroix]

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It was an odd thing for Sabine, to be among the Rodian people as the many transports left the protective umbrella of the ships above before descending to the planet. It was not the vulnerability of the transport, nor the company of the natives that unsettled her; it was in fact her own thoughts that caused her mind to wander, from the adventure into Beyond Shadows with Vytal Noctura they both had embraced change but not without great care. For herself the pool of knowledge had shown much to her, only a small portion she had shared with the Nightmother and Kyyrk only what was needed for now.

A sound caught her attention finally and the realization hit her quickly when she realized that the landing struts had firmly pressed into the surface before rebounding slightly, the white-haired woman turned to face the gathered Rodians, her blue eyes watched silently as the exits began to open to allow the people to disembark. She too made a move to disembark and help to guide the people home. In another place or another time she would not have bothered to be part of such an endeavor, in fact, it would be more likely she would have been the one to end the lives she was here now to help restore to normalcy yet here she was.

Jedi speak of compassion, to some degree she had found it within herself among the Confederacy, this of course by no means meant she was about to go sign up with the Lotus of the Knights Obsidian, far from it in fact. Voph had offered her an option and she took hold of it at once a seat among the Octarchy Covenant and with it the responsibility to help those who needed it but on her terms. She was by no means ‘one of the good guys’ but she had at the same time tempered herself, in truth her role as the Elder Vampirika also played into this forcing her to moderate herself even more.

As her feet touched the surface of the planet she looked around at all the gathering of confederate forces and the Rodians as all gathered together to usher them home and safety she walked with the crowd and let her eyes wander curiously, Rodia was one of many worlds she had never before walked upon.

TAG: Darth Metus | Srina Talon | Taramaz Arcturus

 

[Damsy Callat]

R E : D E M P T I O N​

Form: Humanoid ​

Wearing: ~ x ~​

Toting: Kaminoan dartgun + saberdarts + electrotrident ​

Tag: Hester Shedo​

"Gear down...etheric rudder up. Find me an LZ, Teeseven."​

​

Damsy and her custom astromech unit whizzed ever nearer to Iskaayuma airspace in a steely grey amphib. Its paint job and silhouette was unmistakable in the air, its cast shadow alike on the tops of the capital's highest factories. ​

​

The droid let forth a series of beeps and whirs as it searched local and military air traffic command logs. She didn't have legal access to either anymore. A Verd Mandalorian, warmaster or not, was still treated as a Confederate civilian, with all the clearance to go along - which was painfully little. Public record was a joke. She couldn't get anything done on that alone. So she had to resort to good old fashion hacking. It was a victimless crime, really. She was using the intel to avoid crashing into a CIS vessel, not cause it. If an official disagreed with her on that point though, what would they do, dishonorably discharge her again?​

​

T7 reported a batch of coordinates along the city's outskirts, outside of the habitation dome on a relatively even-topped plateau half a click south from the civilization. As Damsy touched down to the high ground, she tried to likewise place her feelings. Did she want to eat a b'tan flyer, or be eaten by one? The flight from Krant to Rodia hadn't been an enjoyable trip, and she could feel that fact in the back of her thighs. She was hungry from it too, but only at the biological level. In all other ways, she was repulsed by the idea of food.​

​

She felt awful.​

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Guilt shot up her legs when she jumped to the foliaged floor, petrifying her blood as it went. ​

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Just karking awful. ​

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She sighed and somehow found movement. She closed the fighter's canopy and then gravitated towards the nose where T7 sat. His grey hammerhead swiveled to regard her after she clasped a hand on the hull. "I'll be back whenever," she said, honest as she had no plan. Coming had felt wrong and right simultaneously when news of a Confederate-sponsored cleanup reached her in Castle Black - but evidently more of the last. That was then though; and now? She wasn't to leave.​

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And she was nowhere near CDC Avenue yet.​

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~ ~ ~​

Getting into the the dome was easier than the former Adjunct-Major thought it would have been considering the city's recent problems with unwittingly admitting terrorists. She just walked it and made herself scarce in the shadows as soon as possible. Maybe the guards were yet to be posted. Maybe none were coming. Maybe she'd comm in an anonymous tip.​

 

[Kiff Brayde]

S L A C K I N G

Tag: Hisashi | Áine

-- Several Hours Prior --
​

Whatever the terrorists had done to Rodia, they must've done it with a vengeance, Kiff had mused when the transport had entered into the lower atmosphere of the green world. Rodia was known for its pristine domed cities, a marvel of architectural design and practicality. Yet, know, they were all broken, destroyed, as if a child had playing with his toys and knocked them all down. Even now, after the battle, the smoke had still crept up from burning piles of debris. Rodia was in desperate need of aid, and the High Marshal of the Bassadro Sector was going to give them that.

-- Now --
​

"That's the game," the B1 droid across from Kiff warbled. It's three-digited hand extracted a number of credits from the pot, and Kiff had a feeling that if droids could smirk, it certainly was right now. Kiff was beyond confused at how he'd just lost a game of Sabacc to a droid -- a battle droid, one of the dumbest automatons in the galaxy -- but now, he was short a few credits.

Construction droids flew past Kiff and his two new droid friends, huddled together on a small fold-out table underneath a partially-collapsed awning. Kiff had come to Rodia to help oversee the reconstruction efforts, provide security, and a bunch of other boring stuff; the problem was, that wasn't very exciting. After not even an hour, he'd spaced out and finally invited these two droids, who were more than eager, to play Sabacc. He couldn't fathom why -- he was pretty sure droids weren't given credits -- but the two B1s seemed to be happy all the same whenever they won another fistful from the High Marshal.

Kiff sighed, drawing the cards from the two droids and beginning to shuffle the deck for a new round. "Let's have another go at it, shall we?"
​

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[Hester Shedo]

She watched.

She did not have to. There were countless things for her to do. There were people to thank, relief efforts to oversee. But she watched at Locke and Key’s finest construction droids were unloaded onto the surface, to be utilised in clearing debris.

The wreckage of a city was in stark contrast to their last assignment; the construction of a new city on Scarif. Once complete, New Lessu would be a settlement worthy of the CIS banner. It would embrace the merchants and the traders and commercial arms of the CIS. It would uphold the law and allows citizens to live in prosperity and security.

She watched.

She watched as the various dignitaries, officials, refugees, soldiers, troopers, pilots, commissioners, emissaries, builders, designers and, Confederates all, began to rebuild the once prized planet.


The droids were deployed. She had done her job. She had gotten nearly 2000 units to right place at the right time for the right reason. Would the Vicelord hear of this? Would he even care? It was her duty, after all, to provide to Rodia what Scarif could do without. She surveyed the city. She walked.

---------------

The signs of broken domesticity were all too clear. Houses lay ruined, businesses destroyed. Signs of disruption everywhere. What lives taken? What chances spoiled?

She wandered further and further into the settlement, a little further than perhaps somebody like her should go. She wasn’t afraid. It was just that she shouldn’t have been alone.

She didn’t mind. It had been weeks, months since she been truly alone. Oh, she slept alone (for the most part) but not like this. There wasn’t a soul around. There wouldn’t be anybody to hear or her help her or save her.

Or save her.

The explosion wasn’t all that loud. It occurred a little way-a-way, not so close as to cause bodily harm to the Viceroy. It was enough to dislodge various buildings that had precariously hung on to their former frames. They collapsed with great speed, sending rubble, debris and detritus flying. The force of the collapse knocked her back. She instinctively covered her head with arms, her travelling coat offering little true protection against any falling scaffolding or masonry. She hoped and she prayed. To whomever would hear.


Tag: Damsy Callat

 

[Rann Thress]

​

Tags: Yusha​

"Uncle?" Rann was taken aback.

"Uh. Hello. I'm sorry I don't recall much of Netra'yaim. I hope it didn't seem like I intentionally snuffed you. It's good to meet you as well. I'm sorry, but I don't think I know your name."

Just how many family members did Rann have?

"Uh, forgive me, I don't mean any offense but... who's child are you?" He looked to be about Rann's age. Being called uncle from someone about his age was a bit...odd. But he'd get over it. Eventually.

He did blush a little when the man asked if he was looking for a fight. He must have heard Rann's rage filled promise.

"Uhm. You know what? Yeah." He said, his resolve hardening, his face forming into a scowl. "I am. Not just any fight. I want, specifically, the leaders of those Terrorists. The ones who left our Confederacy, their home, to then come back and attack it. What's theirs names... Hmm. DeWinter? Van...something. Those two. If I could get my hands on Bombs Away Australis, I'd gut him too. And Gabriel Volturi." He practically growled that last name, turning back to where the 'fight' 'happened'. If you could call it a fight. And if you could say it happened.

"But, Nephew. The main point. I want to kill them. Me. Alone. They ignored me here. On Rodia. I apparently wasn't worth a fight. Maybe it was the immense numbers on our side. I don't know. I don't care. I want the fight. The only fight that matters. Everything in between is just a distraction. I want the traitors. I want them armed, facing me. And I want them dead before me."

He felt his eyes gradually begin to burn. The all too common sign of his 'other self' trying to wrestle control. Rann squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced, lowering his head.

He took a few deep breaths, trying to get control of the rage that was filling his chest.

He raised his head, opened his eyes and forced a smile at his nephew. "Sorry. Lost control of myself for a minute there. To answer your question. Yes. But a specific one. Being back here....amplified that for me. If you're not flying the flag of Chaos. Which, as a side note, is a stupid thing to say and defeats the purpose of 'chaos' by itself, but if you're not flying their stupid flag, I don't care about you. Hell, even if you are. Anyone that isn't their traitorous leadership, fallen Mandalorian, or their Coward, is just an obstacle."

He sighed, and smiled again. "Enough about me. What are you doing here? You seem to have been here for... at least a bit longer then the sweep teams and clean up crews. Hell, you may have been here longer than me."


​

 

[Cordelia Malkavian]

OBJECTIVE - 1, RE: SETTLE​

​

Tags: Rience ​

"Of course I have," the words came so easily, almost before Rience could even finish speaking about how she had him with her statement. But when he reached out to touch her, he truly earned her attention, and the lids fell to half mast over crimson colored eyes in reaction to both the not-so-simple touch and the words that followed. "Will I?" Despite her half lidded gaze, she loft a brow at him and her own hand shot upwards so that her fingers could curl around his wrist in response. There was no harsh yank or push to dislodge his hand, no crushing or even firm grip, just her chance to touch him in return in that moment. "You seem fairly sure of such a thing." In faith, she was merely teasing; while everything about this trip was wildly out of character for Delia, she was here for Rience. Not for these people in anything more than what was expected of her, just for him. ​

​

"I'll behave," she conceded, and unlatched her fingers to allow her hand to drop back to her side. ​

​

When the subject was shifted, the redhead's gaze did much of the same and she once again took in the sights laid out before them. For a moment there was a rush of envy; all of these families and friends reunited, returning home once again. How long had she spent piecing together her own plans for a chance at such a reunion? And yet here she was, only one piece closer to having what she wanted. ​

​

It was good Rience was here to steady her and keep her focus ever shifting. "Do I even want to know why hunting down some Vong would be rewarding?" she asked, though if she was asking questions it meant she was curious, and if her curiosity was piqued? That was as good a go ahead as any. She was on board.​

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[John Locke]

Location: Rodia
Tagging: Gianna Aegis
Wearing: This

​

The sound of small footsteps could be heard scurrying across the floor as Zhe scampered back to her mother's waiting embrace. Hushed whispers and an excited reply before the young Rodian’s parents looked up, wonder and thankfulness in their eyes. It was the look of worried parents who had found a weight lifted off their shoulders. He could sense an incoming communication from Ettiene Kharne , a report on the damage that had been sustained. The man’s shoulders dropped in relief, at least that was good news, if they could give the returning refugees a safe place to live, that would be the first step on the path to rebuilding their lives.

“Good Job, keep me informed as you start the repairs.”

The man’s eyes softened as he glanced at the family. The next few years would no doubt be hard for them as they tried to rebuild their world and their lives, but you could see it in their eyes in the way that both parents clustered around their daughter. None of that mattered to them right now, all that mattered was the daughter who was smiling up at her parents right now. Large eyes settled on the flame-haired Jedi, beaming with hope, a mother’s lips mouthing ‘thank you’ as they swept Zhe out of the room.

It was a private moment between the family and their doctor that John had stumbled into, the memory of that smile, the re-ignited hope in a mother’s eyes would be one that the cyborg didn’t think he’d ever forget. Hope was such a fragile thing, losing it could condemn someone to the dark void, leave them vulnerable to despair and fear. John knew that all too well, he’d walked that line and fallen into that void himself. Like that family who had just left it had been Gianna who saved him or at least the memory of her that ha walked him back from the edge. It had been the Jedi who had shown him that life was still worth living.

John had never been a fan of hospitals, not since that day over a decade ago. He could remember the weight of the steel girders pressing down on him, the heat from the fire licking at his face. The man had been so sure that he’d was going to die there on the factory floor as the cold darkness had claimed him as it’s own. Only to wake up in a hospital. He’d spent much of the next year in that same room as the doctors ran tests, floating in a bacta tank with nothing but his thoughts for company. It was in that room that he’d designed his first prosthetics, had taken the first steps on the path that had led him here.

In many ways, a version of John Locke had died on that factory floor, the man who had wanted a small factory and who had known each of his workers and their families by name. The man who had been good, and what was left was the monster, the man who had ruthlessly expanded his company, exploiting every trick he could to grow so that he’d never have to worry about poor designs or materials again. He’d become on the galaxy’s predominant suppliers of cybernetics, focusing on healing the physical as if that was all that mattered. Then an ethereal red-haired woman had made her way into his life, possibly the best healer he’d ever met. But…unlike his own focus, she didn’t just worry about fixing the physical but took the time to get to know her patients, to exchange the words that would ease their worries and concerns. Before he’d met her he’d never considered that every patient was a puzzle to be solved and discarded as he moved onto the next.

It wasn’t easy to admit you were wrong, to admit that maybe you’d been wrong all this time, that maybe there was more to life than just the physical. That those who came to him for help needed someone to talk to, someone to sympathise with them and share a moment where they could be vulnerable. Life was scary enough without having to deal with cybernetics, with the issues and stigma that came from being part machine. And it worked. He’d found himself connecting with people, making them feel better about themselves and their cybernetics. At least he could help them with that much. It was...difficult, to open up like that, to reveal even a small crack in the armour went contrary to everything he’d experienced, to everything he’d been taught. It didn’t come naturally to him, none of it did, he could see the benefit but unlike Gianna, it was still a conscious choice he made. Unlike the red-haired woman he chose to open up to while it was just who she was, she was open and caring, she didn’t have the same cold armour he could always feel in the back of his head, she cared about people without reserve.

“You’re welcome.”

A wry smile touched John’s face for a moment as he felt the Jedi lift the mug of caf from his hand. The truth was he didn’t think she’d ever been fazed by the mental armour that kept him separate from other people, the distance he strove to maintain. In a world where letting people close was to invite disaster Gianna had breezed through every defence like it didn’t exist. She’d made him feel like the old John was still in there somewhere, lying just below the surface that the Exarch, the man who had clawed his way to the top of the galactic business scene wasn’t all that he was, that there was some goodness in him somewhere. Despite everything that had happened between them that remained true, she could still walk through his defences like they didn’t exist, make him feel content. Make him feel that goodness still existed.

Maybe all she’d done was to reawaken what had always been there, just forgotten, asleep; he’d found himself drawn to the humanitarian cause to helping people. He was a merchant of death, a design of weapons that could cleanse a world of all life...yet he’d found himself drawn to the aid centres to the refugees. Just to make their lives a little better. Perhaps there was hope for him yet.

The cyborg settled back, leaning against the edge of the exam table, lips pursing as he blew on the surface of the caf, watching the waves his breath generated spreading across the surface of the mug. Dark eyes glanced up at Gianna as he took a sip of his caf and lowered the mug, grasping it carefully in both hands. She looked ok, her face had yet to take on that slightly drawn look that came when she started to push herself but he’d seen her work herself into exhaustion before. Push and give until she had nothing left and then find something more to give. It was the nature of the woman, of the healer to give until she had nothing left, to rest and do it again...and it was in his nature to catch her and help her up, to try to support her as she threw herself into it.

“Well, I can bandage with the best of them now.”

The man gave a small flex, striking a heroic pose for a moment before letting his arms drop, amusement dancing through his dark eyes. For a moment he could let his guard down, relax in the company of the one person who knew him completely and didn’t judge him. Who he could relax with and open up, to be himself.

“I can help with the small stuff, the every day but...how do I help in here? What can I do?”

He knew that Gianna and the medical professionals could handle the kids, could get them through the cold that was spreading amongst them but...he wanted to be able to help. He didn’t want her to do it alone.

“I know next to nothing but I’m pretty good with my hands and eager to learn.”

 

[Vytal Noctura]

The Nightmother of the Solanaceae had risen the dead with Shalita Verd , Solana Arasne, and Shamira Karuto at her side. They had prowled the street and the sewers to corral and push the terrorists into the ranks of the military. Not that they seemed effective at the task with the way the so-called Agents ran freely about the city. Nevertheless, it had seemed a means of trying to root out the mice that scurried about the city without razing it entirely. Only that too had proven pointless as the self-appointed 'Champions of Freedom' decided to punch a hole in the dome overhead and bring ruin on the city beneath it. And they had the audacity to call the Confederacy the enemy of the people.​

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Once they Agents had escaped, scurrying off into the dark from where they'd come, Vytal had set to work laying the dead to rest once more. Those still of the flesh -- the Rodians brought home from Ryloth -- were the last to sleep. She'd given them as much time as could be afforded before the clean-up crews came or the people of Rodia were allowed back. Better people did not begin asking questions to which they would not like the answers.​

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After recuperating at the nearby Covenstead, the pale Witch had returned to the Capitol dome. She returned to the scene from which she conjured the risen, and began to move into the planet through the chasm carved there. There was the sense of something behind below the city, which she'd not felt before. Perhaps it had gone undisturbed all this time beneath the underground burial ground where the bones gathered. It was a curiosity and if nothing else something she could explore before deciding to pay it no heed.​

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In the end, the resting place of the dead would need to be secured -- sealed off from the surface once more. A Witch should always pick up after herself.​

Template By: Darth Metus (Guy)​

 

[Jalan Riyadosh]

Vytal Noctura

The trip down was nothing special, and the viceroy had come down as well. The HRD giving Hester Shedo the affirmative on her depature and bidding her a farewell and safe journey as the real Jalan watched the viceroy board the same vessel down to the planet. There had been no speech between them. The witch was focused on a sensation, however far away it seemed as the doors opened and droids were brought forward. She wove through the drove of workers, picking her path towards the carves section of the planet she had spied on the way down.

Her armor was about her, the helmet visor open as she picked her way through the ruined city. It was a strange sight. Something akin to moving through a dreamscape. Buildings demolished. Streets showing signs of various degrees of damage and debris. The silence of those that had been evacuated, leaving behind what she considered a husk of a planet. What was a place without people or creatures to call it home? What made a planet home? Questions that filtered through her mind as she tapped into her selkie implant and tried to access the holonet system of the dome.

Static was her response as she accessed stored memories to reference a map. Finding her path and shaking from the rigid lock of her implant keeping her upright, ahe moved to the scar in the land. She could hear steps, reaching out with her senses to ascertain what was here, and being surprised to feel a familiar presence.

"Nightmother!" She called down to the woman with a healthy headstart. She listened for a split second before moving into the wounded planet, picking her way as quickly as she could to catch up.

 

[Tabitha Solus]

Objective: Cause trouble!
Location: Somewhere maybe important? Lots of automatic doors tho. Oooo is that a computer?
Tags: Come find me!
​

The security sure was lax in the Confederacy if they let Tabitha of all Mando'ade into their space. A horrible decision, really. Now, that wasn't to say Tabitha didn't find it absolutely hilarious that they did, even as she shoved another stick of gum into her mouth and waved at one of the citizens walking by her. All the Twi'lek's reminded her of Ba'vodu Star...

Too many dumb grown ups though.

Tabitha crumpled up the gum wrapper into the almost palm-sized ball that seemed to just keep growing as she walked through the streets. Truthfully, Tabitha was half tempted to just toss the wrappers at passing Confederates and their dumb grown up high horses! She tossed the ball of wrappers at a trashcan...

And missed.

"Uggggggggh this is why I didn't do sports."

Snatching the shiny ball of wrappers off the ground, Tabitha stood straight and angrily dunked it into the bin.

"Stupid wrappers. Stupid trash bins not being big enough to throw things in. Stupid grown ups and their stupid... Oh?"

Very, very casually Tabitha stopped across the street from some type of building that looked like it could be important! It was purple! Purple was the Confederacies whole aesthetic, right? So if it was purple, it HAD to be important! Obviously.

But!

The Confederacy had bad security, with only one guard at the door! Either the Confederates were a bunch of dumb grown ups (the more likely option) or they were just overly confident in their ability to guard things (which was equally likely) and honestly? Tabitha was gonna show them what for! She just... had to wait for the guard to get distracted...

And then someone started a fight? Weird flex, but okay Mr. Blue Twi'lek man. You do you.

Dipping through the crowd that briefly stopped to watch the fight, past the singular guard that rushed to try to break up the fight, Tabitha entered the building without the guard noticing. A civilian probably did, but the Confederacy had Mando'ade, it wouldn't be too weird to see a Mandalorian go into a Confederate building.

Right?

Probably.

That was TOTALLY how it worked and Tabitha was gonna roll with that logic as she wandered through the building. It seemed pretty much empty, for a maybe important building. No guards, no droids, no visible cameras... Kind of spooky. Lots and lots of doors though, which meant lots and lots of doors to shove bubblegum into!

A wide, cheeky grin spread across Tabitha's cheeks as she pulled the wad of gum out of her mouth, and stepped towards a door. It opened with a hiss, and behind it was a bunch of... Supplies? Why did the Confederates need shovels? Tabitha tilted her head in confusion at the shovels and buckets and that weird looking mop, unsure of this room's purpose. Whatever purpose it had, would now be lost, as Tabitha stretched the wad of gum wide, and shoved it into the door.

Stepping back from the door, Tabitha watched it close with satisfaction. She pulled out three more sticks of gum from her bag, and tossed them into her mouth as she started walking around again.

What else was there to break...

 

[Yusha]

R E : D E S I G N​

Tag: Rann Thress

The Lord of Rannon had a thirst for vengeance.

At first glance, the Uncle had presented himself to be an unassuming individual. He was taken by surprise by the arrival of his nephew - and a touch of crimson graced his features when the question was posed. Yet, passion ignited as the answer began to form and fall from his lips. Rann had a blacklist and their names were Chaos. Those responsible for the tattered state of the Rodian homeworld had committed many offenses - and among them was turning away from combat. As a member of the infamous House Verd, the King of Beggars certainly understood. Theirs was a lineage forged in the fires of battle.

There was no greater offense than being denied.

As the man spoke, Yusha nodded along and maintained a warm expression. His Uncle was certainly an intriguing fellow - one that he would certainly remember not to cross. Lest he end up on the blacklist himself. But, as the man spoke, there were questions raised. The first, unbenowest to Rann, carried enough weight that it made the King of Beggars' smile waver. Only for a moment. "You...wouldn't know her." he began, bringing up the subject of his Mother. "From what I remember, you've only recently found your way to us yes? My mother - your sister..." He wanted to say the words "I killed her." Such was the guilt that had been beaten into his skull all those years.

It was his birth that had robbed the Galaxy of a good woman.

"She passed away when I was very young." The tone of which this answer was given made it clear that this was a touchy subject.

"As far as the Chaos goes, I understand. Should they come again, I can only your blade drowns in their blood. Good hunting to you, Uncle." The remark was heralded by the return of his warm expression, which persisted from that point forward. "As for me...I'm just helping out with the clean up. Least I could do considering."​

 

[Hisashi]

O B J E C T I V E​

T A G : Kiff Brayde , Saraya Arenais

Queensguard.

The mantle was one that felt out of place for the shinobi. From the outset, Hisashi had been born and bred for a life of warfare. His hands were stained in the blood of his siblings. His fledgling steps were across blighted battlefields. For as far back as he could recall, his service was to those waging war. Yet, now, his blade was raised to oppose it. Now, his life was pledged to ensure the survival of another. It had begun as a contract - the dying wish of a man he killed. And now, with a touch of pomp and circumstance, the Queen of Naboo pinned her insignia upon his collar. He was the first of many. He was Queensguard.

How this translated into his existing, Obsidian commitments, he had yet to explore. But, for the time being, the shinobi busied himself with keeping watch over the monarch's movements. From her gilded meetings on Naboo to the humanitarian venture of the day, wherever Saraya Arenais could be found, so too would Hisashi. In the present, a small detatchment had been sent to Rodia. The world was reopening in the wake of the most recent strike. While the War was certainly far from over, the Rodian homeworld was deemed safe enough to return.

But there was much to be done, and Naboo would do its part.

Meaning the Queen would need her Queensguard.

Hisashi was noticeably on edge as they made their first rounds on the planet. There were a few individuals who the Queen had committed to meet, but most importantly she wanted to personally oversee the delivery of supplies to the people. Whilst the details were being chatted over between her and a local, Hisashi took a few moments to gain his bearings. There were quite a few droids about. Everyone seemed to be hands on deck. Well....Almost everyone. His eyebrows hit the ceiling when he saw the designated slacker of the day, one Kiff Brayde . The shinobi would have left well enough alone, were it not for the fact that the man's reputation preceeded him.

High Marshal of the Bassadro Armada, gambling with droids. What a chitshow. "Excuse me, highness." he said, striding over for just a moment. Once he was within earshot, the shinobi spoke. His tone firm, yet unrelenting.

"Is this how you serve, High Marshal?"

For a man born to wage war could not understand what he was seeing.

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[Rience]

R E : S E T T L E​

T A G : Cordelia Malkavian

Some things never changed.

It mattered not how much the changes had tainted her blood. In moments like these, the fiery-haired woman was essentially the same as he had found her. Filled to the brim with sass - but it was a sass that the Titan knew full well how to handle. As his fingers graced her skin, her own hand rose. Fingers coiled about his wrist, but there was no force behind it. The challenge was made, yes...but in that instant there was connection. It seemed she hungered for more than just blood these days. Yet, his point remained. She would behave because he willed it so. And he was fairly sure. So sure...

"I'd bet my life on it."

Immediately thereafter, she conceded. Her hand returned to her side and the man afforded himself a small chuckle. He did not incite her with a victory lap or anything immature. Rather, his dominant arm was offered to her. A small gesture - to hold whilst they wandered the Rodian homeworld. He had posed a suggestion, one regarding a species that he had not personally encountered before. But, of course, the reasons why were asked.

"You do." he began, leading the way forward. "Before we..." he trailed off, hunting for the right words. "...lost one another, I was doing some research into the Vong. Apparently, ancient Jedi had devised a tactic to overcome their Dead nature in the Force. If we can find some of the Vong, perhaps we can figure out this means for ourselves." And therefore, elevate themselves to a position of even greater might. "Rewarding enough?"

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[Srina Talon]

Location: Rodia [Dropship]
Tag: Darth Metus | Taramaz Arcturus

His guilt was a noose.

It choked him, secretly, and she felt partially responsible for it. Her Master had done his best to try and keep her safe. He had protected her from the horrors that had chased her from Eshan in the first place. The man that wished her ruin wouldn’t have dared cross the shadow of the Vicelord of the Confederacy. As long as she was beneath his wings—Her enemy never dared. He was a cruel, abusive, beast.

Not a fool.

The only thing positive that came from the violence on Eshan in the recent past was the fact that the barbaric Dalantus Vectius Eägon and his Clan had been caught in the swell of bloodshed that the Mandalorians brought forward. Srina hated it, however, she was emboldened by the fact that this Echani no longer existed along the mortal coil. He could never darken the door of her loved ones again. Her beloved Tellu was avenged. Finally.

Her mind lingered, briefly, to Darth Empyrean when Metus thought of the small joys that kept her grounded. There were a few people that offered her the same presence of mind. The need to be more than the monster she thought she was. Eira Talon was one of the only siblings she had left, that, while in her care hadn’t died. She cared for her. More than most would ever understand or believe. Adron Malvern was a rock when she had lost all else. @Darth Metus… He was the center of many things.

Here—Now. He had become part of her long ago.

When he chuckled at her response, silver eyes snapped up, briefly flecked with gold. He found amusement in her words. He did not doubt her ability because he did not doubt his ability. Srina sighed, softly, and let the fight drain from her. Not today. Not here. “Teach me, then. It has been a long time since you’ve taken on the role of my tutor.”

True and false. They learned from each other every day, but she was more referring to actually sitting down to pick up a skill. She observed his leadership style often enough. The reply was…Enough. For now. Enough to settle her so that she did not lose sight of the reason they had come. She still couldn’t unwind, still couldn’t keep sensing, looking, for trouble. But, perhaps she would learn how to mitigate the effects of it? Srina had never overcome Kuat.

Would she ever?

Whilst she helped the Rodian civilian with his belongings she became acutely aware of the Viceguard closing in. Her mind likened it to a pack of ravenous piranhas, though, she knew it to be more protective than anything else. Almost fanatical. She was gladdened that they seemed far more obsessed with the safety of her Master than her own. She could not be caged. If someone tried to clip her wings; the scene became violent. Ugly.

It also didn’t help that Taramaz Arcturus bore a striking resemblance to someone she had once known.

She shifted the rucksack over her shoulder and wished that she’d worn something with less material. It was light enough for the weather; however, it wasn’t made for manual labor. Srina didn’t complain and merely kept moving despite the fact that the Rodian at her side kept making careful inquiries. A woman known colloquially as the Dread Queen was carrying luggage for him. For him. Kakir worked in the offices of the Viceroy of Rodia but he had never been noticed by anyone from the higher echelon of the Confederacy before. Seeing how they traversed the nation, laid down arms, just to help the citizens of Rodia reacclimate peacefully? There weren’t words for it.

“What is your favorite place within the Capital Dome?”

Kakir paused, briefly, before continuing on. Was the alabaster woman at his side speaking to him? Bulbous eyes flickered this way and that. The Vicelord was just a few paces behind them with some heavily armed, fancy folk. He swallowed hard. “The market in the center of town. There’s a fountain that younglings toss colored stones into. I used to go there every day to get my wife a pastry in the morning when she was expecting.”

Feathery lashes dusted over pale cheeks while he spoke and the green-skinned Rodian found himself wondering if he had said something incorrect. This Exarch had eyes like lasers.

“Will you visit?”

He paused, slowly, before nodding his head. Kakir responded in the affirmative and slowly realized that he was having what passed for a decent conversation. It emboldened him and he began to fill the young near-human in on everything there was to see and do in the Capital Dome. Her chilly persona and sharp words were softened by the way she listed, aptly, and seemed genuinely interested.

It was the strangest thing; however, it made the short walk infinitely more enjoyable. He was dreaded turning onto his city block less and less. The damage was said to be minimal. Perhaps, this moment of amicable interaction was a good sign. A hopeful sign.

He prayed that they still had a home left standing to go home to.

 

[Kiff Brayde]

S L A C K I N G

Tag: Hisashi | Saraya Arenais

"Is this how you serve, High Marshal?"

The voice that came was harsh, demeaning, and definitely did not seem warm and friendly. Either someone who was above Kiff's pay grade, or miraculously someone who had a fethin' moral. Eyebrows raised, Kiff looked up to see a tall, lithe man with a fervent warrior's look to him. Definitely the latter.

Before Talay, Kiff might've taken offense to that comment. But that fire -- that feeling of actually caring -- had gone down with the Victator. Now, as this warrior stood before him, questioning his honor, dignity, and service to the Confederacy? Kiff really didn't care. That was why he was playing Sabacc in the first place, after all.

"Normally, I'm winning," Kiff replied with a wink and a grin. "But if you have some spare credits to lose, there's an extra seat at the table." Kiff cast a glance over to the woman that the warrior had been accompanying. "And the girl with you doesn't seem to be poor on credits, either. She's welcome to join as well."
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[Darth Metus]

R E : S E T T L E​

Tag: Srina Talon , Taramaz Arcturus, Sabine Delacroix

The answer was oftentimes the most simple.

As the Master and Apprentice disembarked, a final sentiment was exchanged. The alabaster woman remarked that it had been quite some time since he had played the part of tutor - and she certainly was right. For years now, her education came from observing and service. She stood by his side in all matters, and thus she saw how it was that he managed to lead their nation. Their Home. There were times when, through the river which raced betwixt them, she would borrow his strength. A boon of Darkness when the situation demanded - or knowledge of the Force overall.

Yet, when last the Sith had sat Srina down to learn - truly learn...he could not remember. He did not consider their daily sparring sessions to be such; as this was the keening their bodies and minds needed to remain optimal. No, she certainly was right - and it was not a criticism to say so. Rather, the prospect placed a nugget of excitement in his mind; one which would radiate between them like a sun. Though he was in no hurry to see the day end, he was certainly looking forward to the prospect. At long last, her training would resume - in more ways than one.

But in the present, there was work to be done.

It was not lost upon her the feelings towards the Viceguard as they advanced. But dismissing the majority to serve the people would leave only his sibling in tow. It did not take long for Darth Metus to resume walking in stride with his apprentice, who now carried the baggage of one called Kakir. The Vicelord's own question, if they needed anything, was one answered simply: "I'll know for sure once I'm home." And that answer was as fair as they came. He walked alongside them, listening and nodding along as he began to divulge every detail regarding the Capital Dome.

The Sith made a mental note to try the steakhouse once everything was back up and running. He couldn't recall the last time he had a decent steak.

The moment of truth finally arrived when Kakir moved with a renewed pep in his step. His bolbous eyes widened and a sigh of relief fell from his chest. The reason why was obvious. Before them laid a street that had certainly seen better days. The street lamps were fallen over, there were broken windows and debris, but overall? Everything was still standing. Windows could be replaced. Infrastructure patched. But overall? Kakir still had a home to go back to. Such was the reality that most everyone returning to Rodia would enjoy.

"Vicelord? Exarch? I...I do have something I need." he began. The Sith perked up at the news, taking his eyes off of the street. The experience the Rodian had lived today was one he couldn't have made up. His bags were carried by the Exarch, he was holding conversation with the Vicelord, and here they were on his own street - where he had grown up. "Assuming there's power, I'd love to make you both a cup of tea. It's not much bu-"

"We'd love to." came Darth Metus' answer, complete with a toothy grin. He wasn't the Galaxy's biggest tea person, but he understood. It wasn't much, but it was his way of saying thank you.​

 

[Hisashi]

R E : B U I L D​

T A G : Saraya Arenais , Kiff Brayde , Tabitha Solus

Trouble had a way of finding Him.

Unbenowest to anyone on the floor, there was a little troublemaker wreaking havoc on the doors a few halls over. Though she hadn't made her way deep enough into the building to realize she had used the southernmost entrance, her current path would eventually lead her to where the shinobi stood before the High Marshal.

In the meantime, Hisashi could hardly believe the demeanor of the High Marshal. This was far far from the reputation that had been presented by his Obsidian briefings. Either that meant the details had been dead wrong, or they were horrendously out of date. Perhaps, some time in the past, the High Marshal truly was a hero. Perhaps he was someone worth looking up to. Perhaps he was worthy of the rank that he held within the nation. But today, of all days, where politician and soldier alike were helping the natives return home. Today when they licked their wounds, he chose to sit on his ass and gamble.

Hisashi chose not to bite his tongue. Especially after he referred to Mila as the girl with you. Even the daft knew who the monarch of Naboo was. And even the uncultured tried to show some semblance of regard.

"That 'girl' is the Queen of Naboo." he began, eyes narrowing slightly. "If this is how the High Marshals serve, I can see why the Agents have had as much success as they have."

​

 

[Kiff Brayde]

S L A C K I N G

Tag: Hisashi | Saraya Arenais

Kiff narrowed his eyes. That woman was probably the Queen of Naboo, not that it mattered very much. It did matter a lot to whoever this guy was, which probably meant that they were somehow connected. A bodyguard, perhaps, from the warrior look about him. Or a lover? Not a man of his status, at least. If anything, it would be unrequited. Love that was not reciprocal could be one explanation for why this man had a toofa stick up his arse.

Either that or this guy was just always a tightwad.

"There are millions of planets in the galaxy, with millions of presidents, chancellors, kings and yes, queens. There are only a dozen or so High Marshals, so in terms of relevance, I think I outrank your precious queen. And for that matter, I served over Talay. The planet that didn't fall. So, last time I checked, I'm fairly satisfied with my service to the Confederacy," Kiff said, adding a little vehemence in his tone at the mention of the nation he served. It was poison left from Talay, left from Jol.

"Besides, if my memory served correct, isn't that the second Queen Naboo has had in a standard month? For a Queensguard, if that's what you are, your service doesn't seem to be very much up to standard," Kiff said cooly, his eyes staring confidently into the eyes of the man who sold him. The two B1s that sat at the table looked at each other and the two awkwardly, their capacitors unaware of comprehending how to act in this sort of social situation.
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