This one time, when I was drunk...(Paecian Empire/Primeval)

[Taa Nul]

The Morcus Family Gala. Long had it been a popular occasion amongst the close colleagues, friends and corporate acquaintances of Count Veril Morcus, Lord Treasurer of the Paecian Empire. Every year, he'd host one of the most extravagant parties in the galaxy as a display of his personal wealth and prestige, while also using the events as excellent opportunities to secure new business partners. This year, however, he had something special planned. At the bequest of the White Empress, who would be attending the gala this year, he had invited diplomats and leaders from across the galaxy in a plan to make new allies and contacts for the Paecian Empire which he faithfully served.

Void Station had become a vast hive of activity while party preparations were made. The great hall and corridors within the Count's palace built upon the asteroid had been lavishly decorated with the finest objects. Special care was taken to provide food suitable for ALL of the species that would be attending the Gala out of dietary concerns. Even the rare few members of the Count's remaining family had arrived at the gala, a rare public appearance indeed, but it was a big occasion.

When the doors to the Count's home eventually opened for the party, a vast number of guests entered, escorted into the party by a contingent of regally adorned IG-100 Magnaguards from the Count's personal bodyguard unit. The guests were mustered into the great hall, each arrival announced regally by a servant standing near the doorway. At the far end of the great hall, the Count was sat in his throne, surrounded by his advisors, Magnaguard protectors and scantily clad Lethan Twi'lek slaves, the women being another show of the wealth he possessed, being able to afford twi'leks of such a rare variety. He'd made sure to exclude any twi'leks on the guest list though, to avoid any....incidents. He politely welcomed all who had arrived in his regal, dominant tone of voice. ''I happily welcome you all to this prestigious event, my friends. Once a year, we gather here to be merry and celebrate our combined success, and we shall do so again! As you all know, we will be graced with the presence of the esteemed White Empress of the Paecian Empire which I serve.....aka, my boss.'', he said, receiving a bit of chuckling from the crowd of guests. ''But anyway, don't let me hold you all up. Drink! Dance! Partake in all which I offer. This night is yours, so do enjoy yourselves.''

[member="Anja Aj'Rou"]

 

[Boethiah]

Arriving a long way across the galaxy in a Caisson-class transport, the bastard child of Fel Imperium and Sith Empire technology; a testament to the colloquial 'Empire of Empires' that was The Primeval. Anja Aj'Rou, their Host Lord, was not one to take true interests in politics but the fascination of a much larger galaxy than she was born to know had heeded her curiosity. Once landed the woman was escorted from her starship and into the central structure in which the party took place. Why was she of all people attending? With the foundation of the galaxy shaken, few could grasp the nature of who owned Bastion and why, those who even knew The Primeval is was said to be enigmatic at best. Of course the Sith Lord, Darth Metus, had his eyes on their movements for some time. Hidden amongst the guests, the witch of the Eastern fringes was dressed imperiously in a silver and grey-blue dress, but it wasn't necessarily feminine; it had somewhat of a militaristic appeal to it. Adorned neatly with semi-transparent silk along the sides, legs, and joints.

As the Count spoke, the Umbaran took in what information she could; silently watching. Two eyes glanced around the room -- it was similar to Bastion in the sense it felt regal. Who was this White Empress, however? She had never heard such a name in all her life. Perhaps it would be wiser to get knowledge from the source, as long as she was merely a guest the Count would likely not suspect foul play from a proper woman whom seemed at comfort in their environment. Albeit an Umbaran she was, a race not unknown for their sly disposition, but only her eyes truly suggested the natural of her race... The skin on her body was less pale in complexion and she did not partake the custom of shaving ones head. That in she--nor many generations of her blood--was not born on Umbara.

[member="Count Morcus"]

 

[Armand Temi]

Perla had traveled to Count Morcus's fete on the behest of her Master Darth Metus. She was merely an acolyte but the Dathomir exile was not one to turn down a party invitation. She had been spending too much time with rancors and not enough time with humans or near-humans, she thought. She had shampooed all of the nasty rancor-smell off of her and wore a snow stork feathered dress:

Security at the party was high, Perla noticed as she stood in line to meet Count Morcus. The witch acolyte was at the end of the line to meet the Count but that was typical for someone of her station. She didn't mind waiting, she thought, taking an alcoholic drink from a serving tray. From her satchel she drew out a deathstick and also thought she would pass the time by smoking and conversing with those in line around her. She hoped the strict security wouldn't make her dispose of her spice or else this would be a long night.

[member="Count Morcus"] [member="Anja Aj'Rou"]