The Ball of Bastion [Invite Only][Primeval & Guests]

[Tmoxin Temi]

Tmoxin smiled back at Captain Vaiden enjoying his charming demeanor tonight. He was showing a side of himself that she had never seen, but which she liked just the same. There was a bit of scoundrel there behind all of the poise and pomp. That may serve very well later in the bedroom, she thought since she knew they were staying the night, though their actual quarters had not been assigned yet.

She took his hand and lead him back to the Throne Room. Commander Temi looked around for anyone she knew. Mother of Kwath, the only person she knew was that silver tongued Chiss, Cryax Bane.

"I suppose if you have enemies, you've done something worthy in your lifetme," she said to Hans and went right over to her sometime nemesis Cryax Bane. "How is the Coruscant Tourist Center," she asked. "Lots of planetary tours for all of those... confused off-world visitors?"

[member="Hans Vaiden"] [member="Cryax Bane"]

 

[Matsu Xiangu]

Likewise.

Wine-stained lips pulled back slowly at the corners, closed-mouth, something that reached the eyes with something less like mirth and more like hunger. Vrag was no mere insect to be trapped in a black widow’s trap but Matsu would circle the edges of her web, red and sharp and ready for war, waiting until Vrag tired. What a thing it would be, wrapping her in silk, sinking in fangs. (Battle, rust, earth, tributaries of blood in runnels cut through dirt, metallic hand around a pale throat, harsh breath, lips parted. They could. Just lose it and cut through everyone in the room, make halves, eat each other whole in a room smelling like copper. A throne.) She took another sip of her whiskey to concentrate. It was hard not to let her mind wander – it was the first time in a long time she had no obligations but to enjoy leisure. Of course her utmost goal was to please herself – everything she did in life was with that idea in mind.

If the firrerro was distracted by something Matsu couldn’t see, the Atrisian wasn’t concerned. She respected the taller woman enough not to rummage around in her thoughts and therefore couldn’t feel the presence of the visiting specter unless she decided to make contact with the Sith Lady directly. Instead she turned dark eyes back to ‘delectable’ creature at Vrag’s side. His discomfort was palpable even without her trying to read him, a look of confusion that fit the descriptor her fellow Sith had applied perfectly. Matsu wasn’t one for long-term playthings but she could see the entertainment value in this.

When he was shuffled forward she tilted her head, adopting an expression one step removed from human. Reptilian, an intense study she was never aware might be unsettling. “Yes Hal, say hello,” she said, her smile blooming at complete odds with the rest of her predatory expression.

[member="Vrag"] | [member="Hal Terrano"]​

 

[Sitara Qin]

Sitara smiled politely at Kerrick, who she assumed was probably more quiet than his partner. He could be the chiss’s arm candy for all she cared. She winked playfully at the lad as Marek addressed him, politely asking him what type of business he was into. Marek stepped a bit closer towards her, and she moved a bit as well so that part of her back lightly pressed against his chest. The people who surrounded her were all dark horses in her eyes and it made the night a little more interesting.

Cryax Bane would then mention a casino with interesting shows. Her eyebrows raised and she glanced up at Malek. Interesting was often a synonym for dangerous. She chose her men like that after all, and judging by Marek's reply he probably worked in the casino industry and probably owned his own casino. Maybe Mr. Starchaser liked himself a little gambling. Sitara was a good pazaak player, and if she played her cards right there was probably more in the pot tonight than she thought. She batted her eyes at Cryax and smiled. “Sounds like fun.” She giggled.

Speaking of fun, she was more than certain they’d push through with tonight’s events. If it involved a promise of pain, then she was more than certain the organizers would deliver. They were Sith after all and it was a grand party. There was no way they’d disappoint their guests and risk embarrassment. It just wasn’t how it was done.

|[member="Marek Starchaser"]|[member="Cryax Bane"]|[member="Kerrick Ikon"]|

 

[Quietus]

Lorelei made a thoughtful noise, eyes trained on the direction in which Cavill disappeared. Cade Lee, ex-face of BlasTech, alter ego of Jacen Cavil. ...what a horrible cover-up that had been, "The resemblance is uncanny."

But she knew the name Jacen Cavill from somewhere else, too. About Eight years ago, once upon a time, the young Princess of Kuat ventured out into the wilds of space to start anew with estrange family. There, in the distant stars, she'd met a man that curiously stole her heart with a few good deeds on his bloody sleeves. Lorelei was suddenly altogether pleased with the fact that that particular arrangement hadn't worked out.

Amore's current situation was certainly much more favorable.

Now about this other gentleman.

"[member="Disciple"]?" another name quite familiar to the woman from her days of working with Darth Moridin in secret. Disciple had been mentioned more than a few times, usually not for good reasons.

Games. Tricks. Jokes. Lorelei smirked, fingers drumming along the corner of [member="Gerion Ardik"]'s arm. She rather liked the cut of his charm...it reminded her of someone...

"Well at least someone is being honest about it. Can't imagine too many people in here even know the definition of good. How do you fit in? Part of the Saber or part of the Stick? ...or perhaps just a wrench?"

 

[Hans Vaiden]

With fingers still interlocked with [member="Tmoxin Temi"]'s, Hans trailed after her begrudgingly. Green eyes scoured the area for familiar faces and only those of his superiors came to mind. He hated kissing ass and sucking up to his lessers was almost just as bad. Rather, finding equals was often a task in his department for companionship and he was lucky enough to even find one such woman, one in particular who was courted upon his arm this very moment.

"Quite so, dear." He picked up the pet name instantly, half-wittedly murmuring something about enemies and interrogation under his breath as he prepared his world famous "Go die, scum" smile. The Captain's eyes landed on someone with blue skin, a gold suit, and mesmerizing crimson eyes. He looked a little... different. Not just the way he looked, but the way he felt. Though they lacked pupils, Hans saw something behind them, something much more than this little facade at a ball.

He shrugged it off. Nothing to worry about at all.

As for the rest of his little posse, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Some bloke who looked rich and famous enough to buy an entire planet had some fine honey grasping to his arm, seemingly enthralled by their current conversation once Tmoxin and Hans strode into the scene without a care in the world.

They wouldn't know him either, especially with the lack of his uniform. Rarely he was ever grateful for not wearing the thing, but now he was. With that tight, polite smile creasing his lips, he silently remained at his woman's side.

[member="Cryax Bane"], [member="Marek Starchaser"], [member="Sitara Qin"]

 

[Disciple]

[member="Lorelei Darke"]

Disciple wet cracked lips again, although the effort was still in vain. There was a slow nod before his tired, amber eyes drifted about the room. "Yess..." he says, word rolling off his tongue with all the pleasure of a wine taster enjoying a rare vintage. "A wrench." There was a mirth filled cackle that followed, entirely devoid of the phlegm so inherent in his voice. "Not enough wrenches around here. Plenty of gears, not a lot of wrench. Sith seem to have forgotten how to wrench folk about."

He frowned. "Rather sorry state of affairs, all told. Truly. Lot of flamboyancy, lot of ego. Not much subterfuge. You could see half the people here coming a parsec away." A bony finger rose to point at her. "But you. You no one saw coming. Kudos to you for that one. Magnificent performance, truly."

There was a shift before he turned on [member="Gerion Ardik"]. "And you, I saw the flicker of understanding. But you keep quiet. Very good. Decent head on those shoulders." There came a nod. "But I should leave you two, be. Our dear white haired friend here is unamused. I can tell when I am unappreciated. Yes, yes, the show must go on."

 

[Micah tol Powl]

The Host Lord. The Prophet of Sargon. The one who shaped the will of believers, and defined that which they believed. She led the Primeval because she was Primeval, entering now into the main audience chamber without anyone so much as ceasing the inane conversations in which the mass of party-goers seemed inextricably engrossed. Trivial witticism and vapid commentary, devoid of substance or the zeal of faith.

Were these Sith? or sheep?

The young Pantoran's facial expression grew cold as the boy stared out over an assemblage which seemed to give insult to the woman who was the right hand of his Gods made manifest.

And, yet, these were her honored guests.

She must have patience for them, and so he would. Even if he'd have very much liked to silence the din of talk and so cast attention where it belonged.

Her appearance signaled the start of festivities. And, thus, the commencement of more tasks for which the blue-skinned youth had volunteered. "I must take my leave of you, my lady," the azure monk remarked, smiling for a moment as he turned to look up at the droid. "Enjoy the party," the youth implored, before turning and making his way through the crowd.

The executions were not going to prepare themselves.

---

[member="Destiny"]

 

[Delyna Karthoys Haymire]

And there she was.
Accompanied by some form of male servant was [member="Anja Aj'Rou"] . The oracle's eyes peeped up as she first straightened her back, then slid off her chair. In her time she learned little, most of the people here were either bored, angry or suspicious of the guests surrounding them. However, while letting her mind wander she did feel something off. The most likely cause was that one of those she had previously spied upon had noticed her. Hopefully it would not turn out to be a cat-and-mouse game but instead just a... Friendly exchange of mutual acknowledgement... The general mood and tone in the room was perhaps to be expected from a collection of the worst the galexy could offer. Well, judging them solely on their psychopathic mindset, their tainted powers, their cruel positions in factions generally associated with tyrany or evil was a bit surficial of her. Besides, a lot of them had certain ideas and goals which they truly believed in. A few individuals even had slithers of what one could consider “good” in them, but that was certainly the exception and not the rule, which all supported her view. To dwell too much on this idea, however, was not exactly the best use of her time.

Without further pause, the oracle calmly walked towards the host lord and her company. Unlike many of the finer people present, she did not put much thought in how she walked nor her stance, but caring little for such etiquette she simply approached her at a steady pace, walking as she would stroll around if unobserved by others. That was one of the only similarities between her and Anja Aj'Rou, the average citizen had some weird tendency to heighten social acts to some sort of otherworldly level, something they should work hard to master; To fit in and not offend anyone. A task made almost impossible due to the sheer amount of social norms in different places. No, it was a very delicate and complicated situation. One which Delyna did not have much excess time for, and it seemed the host lord of the primeval had somewhat similar ideas. This was to some degree proven by her attire. Very -primevalish- to say the least. The host lord had adorned not a fancy, long dress but fully functional ceremonial armour. It was not because it was an ugly outfit, no, in fact many would prefer it over a long dress and it was not unheard of for leaders or generals to wear more military orientated decorations for parties such as these.

Anja had always shown herself to be strong willed and matter-of-factly, not to forget full of temper and serious. This was especially shown to Delyna in the crystal caves of Dantooine where, once she had enough with the tricks of the crystals, had let her force run rampant and destroy all the sources of light obscurring their path. Her actions had led to a weird, orb-formed force crystal that the oracle herself had found losing all its colour, becoming nothing but a dark sphere of null. At the time they had agreed to study the questionable item together, in an attempt to further their understanding of it. Which exactly was the reason she had decided to approach her former expedition companion, and de facto ruler.

The aforementioned artifact had now been produced from a small satchel by Delyna, and she examined it for but a few seconds, noting how the light above her was dimly reflected in the ink-black surface. To some degree the surface reminded her of a pool of oil. The precense of the force was still felt inside this orb but not in the same fashion as originally. She pocketed it again and continued. When the Oracle looked up she was within ear-shot of Anja Aj’Rou and [member="Kiber Dorn"] - and the others orbiting around the center of the room and the leader of the far-faring primeval forces, which, to Delyna's observation, was mainly comprimised of people the host lord had approached and not the other way around. The white haired woman once again let her lips curl into a serene smile, and as she did she let her silvery voice form, reaching Anja and her company. “Greetings host lord, I hope things are as planned. I wanted to speak with you in regards to the curious trinket we found half a week ago, perhaps you can spare me a moment?” Of course she had noticed that people addressed Anja as "Your Worship" but she was not sure if the same was expected of her due to the nature of her introduction to the Primeval.

 

[Caulder Dune]

[member="Lorelei Darke"] | [member="Disciple"]

This man clearly had some sort of issue with his lips. Being some sort of undead aberration probably contributed to that. As the conversation pressed on, Gerion didn't seem to lose any amount of his discomfort. His singular interaction with Disciple all those years ago hadn't been totally unpleasant. That was hardly par the course, at least according to several reports written by the old Sith Empire's royal guard. There had been two Shorns apparently, and since the galaxy was a cruel and unusual place, it just had to be the more reasonable one that ended up tortured into oblivion. Gerion preemptively destroyed a scowl by taking another sip of his wine. This was becoming rather repetitive.

Suddenly Gerion was being spoken to. Of course he was unamused. It appeared that Disciple wasn't so focused on his rotting lips as to not notice Gerion would have been more comfortable at a refugee camp than with either him or Cavill. Gerion would have beamed at the compliments from the Sith Lord roughly a decade ago, but presently he only felt it brought him closer to being disemboweled.

"Enjoy the rest of the ball." Gerion said, keeping his evident discomfort well out of his voice.

 

[Laguz Vald]

She watched the petite Sith wander off, no doubt to mingle with some more of her ilk. Now, Laguz was no saint, but she was probably one of the nicer people in the room, all things considered. And looking back at her… colorful career, that was certainly saying something. Like, 'Gal, you're at a gathering of killers' or maybe 'Opportunity of a lifetime'. Not what would come to mind for most people, that was for sure, but most people hadn't been invited to this peculiar party. Well, some were, technically, but those were down in the dungeons and would only be brought up for a special occasion. No spoilers, though!

"Quite," she smiled back, her expression seemingly genuine even though the shifter was far from relaxed. Maybe she hadn't quite thought this through. Of course there would be people at the party that knew Miz Arceneau, and apparently not only superficially. Well, feth.

"We're here for pleasure, are we not?" the shifter purred as she took the proffered hand, allowing her ample curves to brush ever so lightly against the taller man. "Business can wait." Even as the sultry timbre slipped from her throat, Laguz did her best to scour the guest list before her inner eye. As someone who relied upon tricking the eye of the beholder, the shifter had a remarkable visual memory. She was utilizing it now — and rather fervently, too — in an effort to figure out who the man by her side could be.

[member="Jared Ovmar"]​

 

[Arage Bao]

It didn’t seem as if the elderly Sith Lord was much affected by the gentle touch of soft flesh, the purr of the word or even a combination of the two. Perhaps he was, on some fundamental level and he had simply finally learned how to control his more baser urges when the situation demanded a clear mind and decisive notions executed. They would walk, exchanging a few words of pleasantries here and there, salutes were broadcasted to the other important dignitaries of the party.

But eventually Jared Ovmar guided Miz Arceneau into a private room, where they could have a simple chit-chat, without fear of being interrupted mid-session. While she walked into the room, he closed the door behind them, a subtle touch of the Force made sure it would stay locked… until he wished it otherwise.

In the meanwhile [member="Laguz Vald"] would have ample opportunity to realize that she was in the presence of the Lord of the Fringe, Jared Ovmar. One nasty schutta in his own right.

‘Well… there we are, Miz Arceneau.’ the Sith Lord finally said, turning around and offering her a warm smile. ‘Or is there something you would like to confess to me right now?’

It would be easier if she just came clean now, but few people liked to make it easy, no?

 

[Laguz Vald]

They made quite the dashing pair, all things considered, and despite their shared knowledge of the real situation, both would smile and nod and mingle as if their life depended on it. In Laguz's case, it might as well be true. There was something exhilarating about running her sleek fingers along the suit-clad arm of the taller man even whilst weighing all the possible ways her attempt at fun might go wrong. One of these days her reckless abandon would come back to bite her in the ass, but the shifter had a good feeling for danger — heh. Danger — and today was not that day.

Finally the Sith Lord led them both away from the bulk of the partygoers, into a quieter wing of the palace where few guests trod. As their steps echoed down the marble halls, Laguz wondered if she was a lamb being led to slaughter — you could never be sure with these Forcer types — but the that train of thought quickly found itself abandoned as the man tugged her into one of the vacant rooms, closing the door behind them with a decisive click.

Why, you might ask? Well, first off, the shifter had successfully narrowed her pool of candidates to only a few people, and since two of those were women, the huntress was reasonably sure that she was staring at Jared Ovmar. The second fact that influenced her final ruling was, of course, the reputation of said man; throughout her years of freelancing and contract work, Laguz had amassed her share of knowledge and information, and the Fringer was up there with the most interesting of the individuals.

"Confess? Me?" the faux redhead whirled around to fully face the man, returning his gaze with her emerald one. The smirk that pulled at the corners of her lips was coy and shameless, the glint in her eyes much the same. Oh, but for each time that her rash approach led her into trouble, there were at least ten where it brought naught but fun and games.

"I will freely admit I'm no saint, but I've no pressing weight on my conscience either," her murmur would caress his ear as the shifter dragged her fingers along the collar of his suit and downwards, following the neat trail of buttons that would undoubtedly lead to treasure.

"And you… Ovmar?"

[member="Jared Ovmar"]​

 

[Arage Bao]

[member="Laguz Vald"]​

Hands explored and met exactly what they were supposed to meet, and so the chance of illusions were swiftly eliminated. If there was one thing that Jared was good at, one simple thing, it was mentalism. He couldn’t break down skyscrapers, fly, rip off the bridge of a star destroyer or making it crash land. He wasn’t capable of making planets go boom simply by wishing it so, and neither was he proficient in the art of saber.

His time had been devoted to other studies, esoteric in nature and it all came down to the mastery of the mind. There were two people in this Galaxy that might be on his level, one of them had been killed by him (the fact that he was alive now wasn’t all that important in the grand scheme of things) and the other had been his own Master.

No, this woman was no mentalist and there was no light-bending illusions involved either, which brought him back to a plethora of other possibilities. But when you were Ovmar, you knew one simple thing.

Go back to your gut feeling.

And as she stroked his sides, warmed him up from the inside and teased his fabric, the Lord of the Fringe leaned in. His nose brushed her cheek and a whisper would reach her ear, but in this close a proximity?

It was almost as if it echoed into her own mind.

 

[Hal Terrano]

It was a peculiar interaction between the two women, almost interesting enough to pull a man out of his stupor of misery. So far in their torturous time together Hal had only ever seen his captor as a titan of composure, even beyond that almost ever-present layer of armour. So it was an interesting change of pace to see the woman at least somewhat ruffled by another.

No, not interesting.

Worrying.

Why did she garner such a reaction?

That train of thought might have continued had a hand not snaked itself to his rear during introductions. What could have been seen as humorous and merely a mild spot of groping to the majority was very much a source of terror for one Hal Terrano, who immediately went completely rigid. He was not a man who enjoyed being touched, even in a harmless asexual manner, never mind in a more intimate sense.

It filled him with an immediate dread, his biots immediately shifting to reflect such, alien irises displaying such base horror through jaundiced yellow.

Pushed forward into the line of fire the former-Jedi's breath was still trapped in his chest as the simple grope had reduced him to panicked petrification. Never mind a new set of eyes scrutinising his exposed fleshy humanity. Hal wanted nothing more to disappear from the fade of reality in that moment, his sickly gaze flitting immediately to the floor, as if those around him only existed if he chose to look at them.

“Hello,” came the barely audible mumble from the back of his throat, voice cracked and broken, a picture perfect reflection of his psyche.

---

[member="Vrag"] [member="Matsu Xiangu"]

 

[Quietus]

The mischief of her smile could not be missed, stretching into her cheeks, cheshire. Carnal. The cat that ate the canary. Though it quickly faded into something more befitting of a Queen. Regal, perhaps. "Cheers," wine glass tipped to [member="Disciple"] in recognition to what could really only be seen as a compliment from the man. He understood what she was about and there was no lack of appreciation for it.

Yes, she liked him quite a bit.

"We must talk again sometime, you and I. Enjoy your evening..." narrowed, wry eyes lingered after him. I know you will.

Oh, but Gerion.

Lorelei propped a concerned brow his way and with a bit of weight leant against him steered him off towards what looked to be the grand hall. Likely there would be food and, perhaps, another crowd of people for him to press his attentions to, "You seem to have quite a bit of history with these people, Gerion. Should I be concerned?"

Do I need to poison anyone...

[member="Gerion Ardik"]

 

[Artemis Vahl'Nyx]

[media]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x_1ZZR5oN4w[/media]​

Stand still, stay silent, there's no need to get violent​

Stay back, don't talk, there's a reason we're divided​

Slow down, stay quiet, we can't keep fighting​

Why are you doing this tonight?...​

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------​

What horrid satisfaction she was brought when she saw what her actions had wrought. Revenge be loved, damn it all, revenge be praised! Such deplorable pleasure to last for thirty-seven months and twenty-eight days! Oh, what glory! Agony, come clear, with the howls of hell-hounds aplenty! Rush forth, be swift, enter this land and seek your quarry! Come hither, oh friends, oh fiends, and devour the unshed tears, tonight we shall feast like during no other years! Gaze upon the one you search for, witness the sparkling of a glint in her oceanic orbs. What was that emotion lingering in the she-devil's eyes? Was it...? Perhaps! An inkling of fear! Distrust? Concern? See how she draws her pet- her slave- near! What a beast you are, so mighty and brave, but tonight we will learn what it takes... to make fire feel afraid.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------​

I was the hero, you were the villain,​

We were fate gone wrong and murder done right​

I tried my best, you did your worst,​

And yet you still won the fight...​

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------​

"Darling," Nyx started, still grinning, before her murderer looked away. For a moment she felt stunned and shocked (though not ashamed). Such trivial feelings dissipated when she noted the illustrious woman from before taking long strides forward. Who is she? The one who snatches up my spotlight in an instant? I must know more, I will know more, of she who could move mountains with a single smile! Tossing aside her trademark scowl she slid across the ballroom floor. One like her had no need for footsteps or casual movements of the limbs. Apparitions merely glided gracefully across the ground, staying a noticeable inch or two off of it. In regards to the Zorren wondering 'aimlessly' this only added to her sense of pride. During her more pulpable existence she had stood a proud four measures past six feet. Now, in her reanimated state, the lass reached nearly seven (though only due to her floating). Nearly no one here could boast the same thing. So the ever-serious specter held back a grin as she slowly made her way towards the courier of crows.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------​

Maybe you should go now, it's time you leave​

There's really too much for us to do,​

Some of my friends are still left,​

And I need to say goodnight, I need to say goodbye​

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------​

There was tension in the air, a perfect atmosphere for all sorts of scares! Fickle fools filtered about, some covered in shrouds, attempting to rid their hearts of doubt. Are the prisoners the only ones to die, they thought, or shall I be added to the pyre tonight? Damn it all! Shall I stay or shall I take flight? Would it be cowardly to take off and flee? If I leave they can never get me!... Right? Maybe? Oh dear, oh darling, cloak me in shadows, hide me behind fleece, let never they find, nor let never them see! Hold back the tides that threaten to overrun me! Hold thy lover close and never let go lest the villains dare approach! I swear to thee, I hold no hope, just deliver me and let me go home! What silly things, these odd creatures be, running about more than the tides or seas. Many held hurt or fear in their hearts, dreaming, thinking, of being torn asunder, torn apart, left to dry out on the cliff-side.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------​

I was the hero, and you're still the villain,​

We are still fate gone wrong, death done right​

When I tried my best, you gave me your worst,​

Still we know who won our fight...​

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------​

Wordlessly the soul moved, drifting alongside the guests, never pausing here nor there, ignoring even the least subtle of stares. Oh, they wondered, they held curiosity of her, her story, but never once did she entertain their pondering. None reached for her or called for her attention. Unsurprisingly they were quite content with merely... watching. The appearance of an apparition wasn't peculiar by any means, but perhaps those gathered were attempting to recognize the individual they saw. Certainly at least one of them knew her? If she's here, they thought, she has to hold some level of importance. Ah, indeed, many believed she was a war-mongerer, or a criminal, or some sort of daemon, just like themselves. As right or wrong they may be their interest quickly faded. Perhaps it would return, later, when the ghost made herself more known. For now only a few occasionally spared glances, tracking her careful, calculated movements across the room.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------​

Now they wonder, where I am, where I've been,​

Tell them for me, "I'm haunting my killer again"​

We rose up like the sea, broken not bent​

They're still struggling to get what I've always meant​

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------​

Two white eyes glared into the night, each bright orb seeming to shine. They watched and they stared checking to see who was prepared. A moment passed, the movement paused as the brain behind thought about she who they sought- could she afford to get caught? What horrible things would they do to make her wail- to make her sing? Anything. They'd cut flesh, remove the best and burn the rest. They'd tear into skin, let it heal, then do it again! Oh they'd rip you a new one for less than you've done! You're full of crimes, just think of the war-songs you've sung, each one been lived. Were you not a ghost... Ah, but she has already died, and can take any threats in stride. What is dead cannot die, for with the spirits they do lie. From crimson dawn to filtered dusk, once-body naught but a husk, ghosts may wander, ghosts may fly, but do not ever believe a soul can die. For once... she'd be happy tonight.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------​

We can still pretend that I was a hero, or that you even cared​

Damn it, we're strangers, playing a game of dares​

"I shoot you, you kill me, you run off,"​

"One day, I swear, I'll find you somewhere..."​

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------​

Impatient stalkers were the ones who got caught first. They were discovered and torn asunder within the first moments of the chase. By now it was clear that Drapeam Nyx was not part of that group. Her lasting this long was proof enough. Though, in the pit of her stomach, anxiety was growing. Horrid, tired thoughts were forced aside. There was no time for fretting. If her efforts proved futile than futile they would be, no amount of concern or worry could change the future, if set in Stone it turns out to be. Quietly the Zorren filtered through the last of the crowd, easily moving about, her expression impassive, unreadable. There were just a few meters in between her and her mark. Already she could hear their voices! Ooh, so the small one sounds as glorious as she looks. I might just have to speak to her when I'm done with... hmm, what did they call her again?... Vrag. That was it. Such a silly name. No sillier than Drapeam, of course, but silly all the same. Her attempts to hold back a grin were made easier by a hand attempting to grab her shoulder.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------​

Stand still, stay silent, forgive me for this verbal violence,​

Stay back, stay quiet, I'd rather stay divided,​

Slow down, shut up, we need to stop this fighting,​

My friends are left and I need to say goodnight​

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------​

"May I ask who you are?..." A soft voice asked, coming from the lips of a young lass, dressed like a low-level Imperial. Nyx couldn't help but perk a single brow. "My master," the girl looked back at an older female who was watching the duo, "believes she has seen you before, and wishes to confirm that fact." How... interesting. Should she dare give her backstory? Or even acknowledge the request? A thought crossed her mind at the same time a devilish grin found itself upon her lips. Of course she would. When she spoke her voice was strong, with just a hint of mischief in it. Those behind her- Vrag, her... boyfriend (perhaps?), and the lovely, but rather small, woman from before- would easily hear her if they weren't to distracted by other things. "Drapeam Sahara Nyx. Former Corporeal of the Old Imperial army, granddaughter of Drosk Ssolas Nyx, heir to the entire Nyxai household. Once held the record for most recorded sniper kills in one battle for eight years straight." It was getting incredibly hard not to smirk as widely as she wanted to... But Vrag certainly wasn't the only one with a damn good poker face.

"Oh-... am I- can I... how exactly did you meet your end, Miss Nyx?" The messenger shook in her boots. Perhaps out of fear of her master (and making her wait) or perhaps because she had heard of the Zorren family before. Their later generations may have faded into obscurity, but few will forget the tales of their ancestors. Not when their living legacies spanned thousands of years. Not when they had stood besides Emperors and Dark Lords since those words held meaning. "If... if you don't mind me asking, that is..." Finally letting the smirk rise up higher she looked over her shoulder, staring hard at Vrag, before turning back to answer the question. This time the amused tone to her voice could not be hidden whatsoever. It was incredibly clear just how interesting this situation was to the ex-Imperial. She only hoped that it was just as interesting for those around her. "Well, you see... that lass behind us, with the gorgeous blue eyes?" She paused, allowing the woman to glance at the trio. "She thought it would be fun to cut my head off."

"If only I had been awake to enjoy it as much as she." The grin disappeared.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------​

Once upon a time they called me a hero, pinned medals to my chest,​

They tore their claws into you, hid in the gutter and called you the best,​

"To each their own, regardless of title, name, or family crest,"​

"But dearest of villains, mightiest of foes..."
"Darling, you courier of crows, remember me as a gem above the rest."​

{OOC: You wanted a post so I gave you a poem. Oops. Okay, so maybe every other part reads like a fraking play, but Gods damn it, I had way to much fun writing those parts to take them out. Enjoy your weird-ass Nyxai poetry chite.}
*SPOOKY/SPOOPY GHOST NOISES INTENSIFY*
[member=Vrag] | [member="Hal Terrano"] | [member="Matsu Xiangu"]

 

[Boethiah]

What was improperly called a ball has been for the most part talk. There's nothing wrong with talk... Old acquaintances, common enemies, and new friends were all brought into one place. From a certain standpoint it was a tremendous success. People who kill for a living, Sith Lords, and zealots were getting along without incident.

Yet The Primeval planned more than just a matchmaking opportunity. No, there was much more to come.

Anja quietly made her way towards where the other guests had congregated. Back towards the throne a rather short man walked up the steps and stopped just a short distance from the chair and then turned to face the audience as they were.

Clearing his throat first, "For those interested..." There was a somewhat uneasiness about his voice, a certain pause that came in between his words. "Executions will begin in the Gardens." He gestured towards a rather grandiose archway that lead to the massive gardens that dotted the palace courtyard. "From there we have a special surprise, among the dying Jedi." The uneasiness became raspy, almost like a growl before curving itself into a fine tuned and surprisingly charismatic tone.

In the gardens, seven souls were lined up for execution. The methods themselves would be determined by random selection except for one... Which will be explained in due time. Until then four Jedi Padawans who aided [member="The Dark Man"] , [member="Asaak Tey"] , [member="Mehrk Gorbi"], and [member="Jorda Ulluto"] were the unlucky souls.

[member="Cryax Bane"] | [member="Matsu Xiangu"] | [member="Hal Terrano"] | [member="Kiber Dorn"] | [member="Marek Starchaser"] | [member="Alric Kuhn"] | [member="Silara Kuhn"] | [member="Jared Ovmar"] | [member="Laguz Vald"] | [member="Sitara Qin"] | [member="Fareon"] | [member="Vrag"] | [member="Hans Vaiden"] | [member="Tmoxin Temi"] | [member="Jacen Cavill"] | [member="Disciple"] | [member="Perla Pirjo"] | [member="Kerrick Ikon"] | [member="Destiny"] | [member="Boo Chiyo"] | [member="Lorelei Darke"] | [member="Gerion Ardik"] | [member="Inger Strömfire"] | [member="Delyna Karthoys Haymire"] | [member="Yvette Dusong"] | [member="Sena Lassiter"]

 

[Laguz Vald]

Laguz had been, throughout her life, spoiled for choice when it came to looks. The shifter could literally be anything or anyone she wanted to be, and it was the sheer casualty of it that made her nearly immune to the charms of others. Objectively, she could appreciate beautiful curve of a woman's smile or the sharp cut of a man's cheekbone, but nothing ever really impressed the huntress anymore. She could be dream or nightmare incarnate, a spawn of Netherworld or a child of the Celestials themselves, and knowing that made one… impassive.

This man, however; this man was something else. Laguz was well-versed in the use of telepathy, since it was an inherent ability possessed by her species, and she had been humbled by the looming essence of his power as soon as they'd met. Well, perhaps not humbled per se, for the shifter was an arrogant creature, but her interest had certainly been piqued by the seemingly endless expanse of his mind.

So when he leaned in closer, spurred on by her satin touch, Laguz was there to welcome his susurrus, always the adaptable beast. She was fluid in her existence, always making sure she was exactly what the other person was seeking, and such flexibility demanded an open mind. Instead of stubbornly opposing the current, Laguz had always been the type to immerse herself into the cool flow of the river and let the water take her wherever it may. If the ride ever stopped being fun, the shifter was more than capable of swimming to shore, but the ride she was looking at in that moment was looking quite promising; stern, rugged features, eyes that had gazed upon galaxies and hadn't gone blind, and the slight curve of his smile. Oh, a promising ride indeed.

Her smile froze in place at the echo of his voice, but she hid the momentary lapse into his neck, ghosting her lips against his ear as she replied. "I don't know, dear, but I'd be interested to find out," her timbre was a low caress, a heated breath that would make even the most celibate of Jedi shudder with delight.

[member="Jared Ovmar"]​

 

[Aeron Zambrano]

The weather in the courtyard was balmy, a pleasant evening for those slowly trickling out to watch one of the night’s special features. But to Asaak it may as well have been below freezing, the energy of all those both seen and unseen a draining force on all that kept her afloat.

She had woken up disoriented and in the dark, the rattling of chains the first thing to greet her. Heart pounding she’d tried to convince herself to find inner peace, to assess her situation the way she’d been taught to. But she’d started to lose faith the first time she’d been captured and tortured by Sith and it had slowly been torn down since then. Her beloved Master had disappeared along with her lover, Iella had died, Sochi had died – everyone Asaak knew either faded in to the ether of the galaxy or left her entirely to join the Force. Her path had been muddied, drawn across by twin branches of despair and loss to mar that way she’d been so sure of in the beginning.

She felt so foolish.

After that she’d merely kept quiet, making her peace and trying to figure out a way to escape before she met an end she knew she wasn’t ready for, even if she was certain of little else.

The true nature of the trouble she was in remained to be seen, but she had no doubts as to its extent. She was in the lion’s den next to several other Jedi she’d never met, though that mattered little. They were brethren threatened by the same danger. Surrounded by those pumping out some of the most vile Force signatures she’d ever had the displeasure of feeling – and she had scars courtesy of Evelynn Dorn and Nemene Talith all over her body, so she would know – she was chained around the neck, wrists, and ankles. She was sure such precautions wouldn’t last for long. After all the Sith liked to play with their food before they ate it.

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]​

 

[Tmoxin Temi]

Before Cryax would have a chance to respond,Tmoxin's gaze was already fixed on the throne and the woman who stood beside it. This must be the hostess of the ball, she thought - a Queen or Lady of some kingdom or another. And honestly she didn’t know, not familiar with the intricacies with Umbaran castes and lineage. But instead of being dressed like monarchy, the petite brunette woman was clothed in warrior's armor. The Hapan officer hailing from a planet with a matriarchal sovereignty did fancy a good conversation with a powerful female ruler, but the way her guards were protecting her signaled to Commander Temi that she would be getting nowhere near the hostess tonight unless she made a conscious effort to visit with every guest.

Tmoxin then watched as a Primeval delegate stepped forward to announce the execution portion of the ball. She smirked when he said "for those interested." Who in this room wasn't interested?!?! Most of them would quite gladly step up and help with the executions if given half a chance. The Chiss besides her, first in line to lob a head off or put a bullet in the back.

Oh but how disappointing that the executions would be in the Gardens right where she had her first kiss with Captain Vaiden. Couldn't they have been in a more appropriate place like the Imperial Dungeons? A scene of hushed words and tentative caresses, would now be the setting for fear and bloodshed. Tmoxin leaned in close to Hans and whispered, “I hope the executions are somewhat humane.” How awful would it be to try and sip her champagne and right in front of her an axeman was carving up a prisoner with a cleaver. Or worse - a hangman’s victim twitching on a rope, turning blue and gasping for their last breath.

[member="Hans Vaiden"] [member="Cryax Bane"] [member="Anja Aj'Rou"]