Faction Tying a Golden Knot | Hapan Royal Wedding of Prince Astor Daaray

[Briana Sal-Soren]

Outfit: XoXo | Hair: XoXo | Tag: Astor Daaray
​

Briana’s lips curved slightly, watching Lily leap into the fray without much thought, squarely digging the heel of her foot into the chest of one of many assassins and sending them sailing back. The eldest of her Padawans shone in many areas, but in battle — the Echani noble was always brightest. She was as dynamic as a storm, swift as the wind, and a force of nature in her own right; with or without any additional ‘gifts’ from the Force.

Pausing only to confirm her path was clear, Briana darted from behind the pew that she and Lily had been crouched behind, eyes narrowing in on the remaining obstacles still standing in her way. With a sharp intake of breath, Briana raised her blade high, the first assassin she came into contact with barely having the time to turn before she struck, the edge of the Hapan weapon slicing across his chest in a clean arc. The man's eyes widened in shock as he stumbled backward, clutching at the wound, before crumpling to the floor. The others, alert, turned and raised their guns of command with intent to fire, but before the zealots could let loose a single bolt, a potent concentration of Force energy released in a powerful gale, sending the men flying backwards into pillars, and walls, and pews.

Briana turned back towards the dias and...

...it took her a moment to grasp it.

What she was seeing.

A low and heavy breath was pulled into her lungs, and the eroding bond between her and Astor finally snapped. The Prince’s body folded in on himself, and with it, all illusion of her control.

She stared and stared, watching as the dark haired man yanked a wet blade from the prince’s chest, an instant red stain blooming through the fabric of Astor's pristine white tunic. Rooted to the spot, Briana felt the fight drain from her body, vision contracting around the single point of Astor as his knees gave way to the pull of gravity. The clanging sounds of battle continued around her, but the sounds, the faces, everything blurred and stretched and twisted into something strange, all of it drowned out by the even louder sound of her own heartbeat slamming against her ribs, blood pulsing in her ears.

Her parents and Romi were already ashes in the wind, and now…

A sudden explosion shattered what remained of the stained-glass windows, forcing Briana’s attention to snap back into focus and move, barely having time to throw her body out of the way before being crushed by a collapsing transparastel column — the impact and blasting force behind it throwing her across the marble floor, shards of glass cutting into her bare knees and legs.

Gasping to catch her breath as the smoke and dust settled, Briana lifted her head, eyes opening to what little remained of the mangled ceremonial hall, just in time to watch as the last members of the Crimson Veil began to evacuate. Every muscle ached, the coppery tang of blood coating her tongue.

She needed to get up, she needed to get to Astor.

Gritting her teeth and with a pained groan, Briana pushed herself onto her elbows and up from the ground, barely feeling the pain as she stumbled and swayed to her feet, lungs burning from the inhaled dust as she hurtled herself in the direction where she'd last seen the Prince.

Please, please be alive.

​

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Lysander von Ascania Roman Vossari
Anneliese Kaohal

Kill them, then yourself.

The command forced its way into the blank space of her mind. Cora's expression screwed in blind confusion.

Kill them, then myself?

As Lysander's blade cleaved through the man's arm in a violet flash, Cora managed to wrench the gun from his disembodied grasp. Shortly after that, his body was flung across the room.

Pushing through the lingering shock, Roman rushed to Cora's side, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. "Cora? Are you okay?"

A hand landed on her shoulder, and Cora jolted. She whirled around, whipping the butt of the gun toward Roman's chin, a feral sort of madness in her eyes.

Her hand stilled just before the metal crashed against his jaw. Her expression shifted instantly from savagery to horror.

Cora stumbled back in shock of what she'd almost done. Everything had happened within the span of a few seconds - the command, Lysander's strike, Roman's intervention.

"Wh…what…"

The Hapan's instructions evaporated from her mind, replaced by shock and self-disgust. Cora looked down to the weapon on her hand. She'd figured that it was a simple blaster, never having seen a gun of command in person before. The reality was far more sinister than a few stun bolts.

Her attention turned slowly toward her brother and the blade humming at his side. Then to then severed arm on the floor. Then to Roman again.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I had no idea that-"

One of the chapel's glass windows shattered in a hail of fragments. The Crimson Veil was quick to escape through the havoc they had caused, and the hall fell eerily silent as the survivors were left to pick up the pieces.

Just like that, it was over.

"I'm alright," Cora's voice strengthened as she held her head in her free hand. "I've got a terrible headache, but I'm alright."

Squinting, she peered to Roman, Lysander, and Anneliese, confirming that they were all unhurt. A sense of shame swept through her at having lost herself, even if only for a few brief moments. It had been enough time for her to almost harm her own Padawan.

And Lysander - Lysander had disfigured a man in order to save her. A flurry of horror and pride followed the shame, but if the roles had been reversed, she'd would've done the same thing.

"I have a feeling that this isn't over," she sighed. "For now, let's help Master Serys and her padawan in caring for the wounded."

 

[Connel Vanagor]

"In my experience,
when you think you
understand the Force,
you realize just
how little you know"​

[COMM TRAFFIC]
LOCATION : Hapes | OBJECTIVE : FInish the Job | TAG (FRIENDLY) : Amani Serys | Corazona von Ascania | Briana Sal-Soren | TAG (FOE) : Kalen

The floor of the palace was a melange of blood, of remains, and of destruction. This was a horrendous scene to witness. Connel could not stop and pay respects to the fallen though, lives were in danger and while he was no longer technically a “Guardian” he was a “Guardian of Peace”. He knew he had to act quickly and decisively. He had to find the source of the danger and stop it before it could cause any more destruction. He was determined to do his duty and to protect the innocent.

Then he saw some Jedi he recognized, Master Serys, Asconia. They were tending to survivors and wounded as well. I’ll keep anyone off you. He saw two standing over the fallen Prince as the one who looked to be behind this was making a hasty exit.

Oh no you don’t! Both of the two Veil were responsible for his cousin’s murder. They would answer for their crime. Only one of them was armed though. He would get a Throwing Lightknife to the head, it was either him, or Connel, and it would not be Connel.

There was the ringleader… wait what was Kn… did that … what the frell just happened here?

Connel did not have the chance to process what he might have just seen. The last Veil who killed his cousin was trying to make an exit…

… trying.

You’re not going anywhere.

In a blur, Connel thrusted a hand to the throat, the murderer would live, but it gave the Shadow a moment to move into position to put him in a hold. A hold to where he could drag this monster to justice…

… a justice he was going to answer for.

 

[Caelan Valoren]

He'd managed to take down one of them, but in the throngs of people it was clear that there were more of them. Several more. His eyes drifted to the front of the room, and he saw the attacker struggling with the groom. He prepared himself to leap over the heads of those fleeing, intending to jump in and help the man, until something caused him a great deal of pain.

Spinning around, he found himself facing a man holding a bloody dagger. His blood. He'd been stabbed.

"Stabbing people in the back is what cowards do," he said, wincing at the pain.

He was fortunate, at least, that the person hadn't stabbed him somewhere vital. That and his clothing had resisted the attack enough to keep him from getting too deep. Benefits of having a wardrobe made out of materials that kept him safe in case of assassination attempts that didn't involve someone shooting him in the head or blowing him up. In other words, his clothing was resistant to bladed and blaster attacks, which was of some use given the situation they were in.

The man didn't say anything, just lunged at him again. Caelan stepped to the side and forward, bringing his arm up underneath the attacking arm until his hand rested on the mans shoulder. He hooked one foot behind the attackers closest, and then pushed forward with all of his Force assisted strength, taking the man backwards and slamming him roughly down to the floor. He kicked the knife out of the mans hand and then smashed his foot into his face for good measure.

Immediately after, he dropped to a knee, reaching his hand around behind him at the knife wound. Might not be deadly, but that didn't stop it from hurting.

---

ATTIRE: LINK (The Third Image) | WEAPON: Lightsaber | COMPANION: BD-F8 | OTHER: Sigil Bead (Necklace)

TAGS: Open​

 

[Serena Harth]

Kalen​

Serena watched it all unfold from the sidelines. She remained silent for much of it, letting the chaos speak for itself. In one final desecration of the day's events, the Crimson Veil destroyed the stained glass window with their escape ship. Serena ducked behind the bar as the shards of ruined art scattered onto the scene below. And with almost casual efficiency, the killers left, just like that. For a few moments, Serena remained still, until finally she peeked back out to assess the damage when it seemed all was finally done. A few dead, most of the others were simply injured or just in shock. She spotted her coworkers, who were for once too distressed to steal the spotlight.

Serena stood up, and addressed her camera once more, "The Crimson Veil has escaped, subduing most of the guards. The able-bodied are tending to the wounded, but I can say with… near-certainty that both the Prince and the Lady did not make it…" The reporter paused, weighing whether or not to add the next part, "I also saw, what appeared to be one of the Jedi, abetting the assassin's escape. There appeared to be some kind of exchange, and then he seemingly subdued one of his peers as they prepared to attack the culprit. I won't speculate more without further evidence, but I think the footage will corroborate. After today, I fear there will be more questions than answers, on all counts.

For now, this is Serena Harth, signing off."

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Corazona von Ascania Roman Vossari Briana Sal-Soren

​

The blonde stood frozen for a heartbeat; his gaze fell to the limb that landed against the polished obsidian floor. A flurry of emotions swirled through him; however, guilt wasn't one of them, believing his action to have been absolutely necessary. For the Padawan, it was just like a reflex; he acted to protect someone close to the heart. In the midst of trying to process everything, he then witnessed the Hapan guard’s body go sailing through the air as if gravity didn’t even exist. Lysander’s brow lifted in surprise, as though he were more impressed with the power put behind it by Roman than the battered man’s life.

At least that problem is taken care of, Lysander thought, a hint of satisfaction sparkling in his emerald orbs.

His attention shifted to what was now unfolding, only to witness his sister bring the butt of a gun close to Roman’s jaw. Too close. There was tension in the air, something.. almost absurd about it.

Clarity eluded him as he felt the pull of whatever his prior assignment was fading away. The confrontation had served well at scattering his thoughts.

As Cora held her head, all he could see in that moment was the magic from the hydration masked applied earlier still visible; it was totally a stark contrast to the violence that just unfolded. And while he wasn’t about to express any sentiments in front of the others and feel yucky, deep down, he did actually admire her strength. With a casual shrug, Lysander stepped closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulder to convey comfort. "Coco," he began, leaning in, “even after that mess, your skin still looks so radiant, almost.. glowing, really. I mean it.”

Stepping back, his grip on the lightsaber remained tightened. Something about the hum of its energy was satisfying to the boy. He had to admit, he did find himself wishing there was a more worthy opponent here– a foe he could really test his mettle against.. something to spark the adrenaline that he thrived on.

A glance was cast towards Roman; the look from earlier wasn’t missed, but he decided to ignore it. “I doubt anyone is going to try and play us again,” he suggested.

Helping Master Cerys sounded like a noble thing to do, but for him it would have to wait; Master Briana mattered too. Even if a majority of his actions on Naboo were aimed at attempting to give the woman premature grey hair, he still felt as though she needed someone to look out for her as well. He also knew Roman wouldn’t hesitate to fling another soul through the air if anyone trifled the other von Ascania. “I need to locate Master Briana. I don't want her caught up in any more of this craziness," he stated.

Pivoting on a heel, he searched the area. Once he had spotted the Jedi, he began jogging in her direction.

 

[Orion Pavond]

HAPES - FOUNTAIN PALACE - MARRIAGE CEREMONY
@Anyone Who Cares to Notice | Kalen

The chair collided. Wood and metal struck and snapped under the force as the rebel man before Orion flew off his feet, head and body snapping backwards before crashing onto the ground. Alive but unconscious. Most likely a concussion and a few bruised ribs. Not the important part of his attack. Instead, Orion's eyes traveled to the command gun that flew from the perpetrator's hand. With a flick of the wrist, the weapon slowed in its spin through the air before reversing its spin back into Orion's own grip.

Snapping his head past all other threats—past the noise—towards the one that started it all, Orion raised his arm up and took aim. His eyes aiming down the sights of the barrel at the original assassin. It was a simple and unoriginal act to kill someone. It took a different kind of insight to make someone sorry, truly sorry. The problem?

A Jedi was in the way. One that chose—instead of neutralizing a threat—to neutralize an ally approaching from another angle of attack. Orion's eyes widened a little at the revelation before narrowing. He would shoot them both. Do what needed to be done.

Orion squeezed the trigger without hesitation.

Before he could pull the trigger to its final conclusion, the glass shattered as Orion threw his arms over his head and face to protect himself as he crouched low to the ground. Shards either bounced off or embedded themselves into his clothing and skin. Not an unknown sensation to him, the pain remained only secondary to his frustration as he took cover behind a pew as the calvary's guns began to light up and cover the terrorists for their escape. As Orion hid, his gaze focused on only one element of this entire ordeal.

The dead groom and bride laying in pools of their own blood. Lifeless and without any future to call their own. The choice completely robbed from both. A scene Orion witnessed over and over again. Nothing changes in that regard.

The guilty parties were different, yes. But the work never changed. The necessary diligence to avenge the fallen.

Orion kept those thoughts in mind as he tucked the command gun inside his coat. A small souvenir, a parting gift, from his time here. He should leave while everyone was distracted. Get to the work that was due to be done.

But amid the panic and recuperation by all parties, Orion's eyes watched as one lone Jedi ( Briana Sal-Soren ) crawled towards the groom. Orion took his steps forward, brushing and pulling the shards of glass out of his skin—all the bits that remained. Pain like this was not foreign, even the small and annoying kind. But it was unwelcome. Orion preferred it not.

Sitting down on one of the few pews still standing and unbroken, Orion's hand rose to the side of his bleeding forehead and tapped slowly against the skull as he waited and watched to see who would mourn the dead. To collect the image of each of their faces and their sorrow. The memory would be carved into his mind forever.

Not like he could forget much, if anything, with how his brain worked.

A necessary pain to be taken upon himself. He needed to remember the losses here. To push himself forward and do what needed to be done. Even if no one else agreed with his methods. He would do everything within his power.

Each of them will be made sorry.

A silent promise to all who mourn the dead.

 

[Judah Dashiell]

"No one knows who we are and they could care less? Director Terallo you wound me."

Judah offered a small smile at Liin Terallo .He wasn't sure how much the woman would panic if he showed he was a bit fearful in this situation. Only a fool would be unwise to not to be concerned. Either way, it wasn't the first scrap he had been in. His shoulder injury months ago was evident that even routine life could be quite dangerous.

"Yes, right side of the building. Let's keep following this corridor straight down like you've said. Even if we don't reach the outside we'll run into something that might give us better insights."

As they spoke, others were already starting to file in, apparently having the same idea that they did. Some went in a completely opposite direction but with Director Terallo's hand in his, they would go with her plan and continue along the corridor. Judah kept a brisk pace, but was mindful that Liin was wearing heels and escape would only happen so quickly.

"Director, not to be one of those 'take charge' type of guys, but if push comes to shove I'll carry you out fireman style. If we have to move quick...I'm older but not feeble. Let us pray it does not come to such a thing but more of an assurance we'll get out of here."

Distantly, he could hear explosions. At least they sounded like explosions, more chaos in the city center? They couldn't worry about such a thing. Not yet anyway. Reaching into his tux's inner pocket, Judah took out the slave controls for his Santhe Challenger - Sport Edition. Older but it remained the premier vessel in his eyes.

"I'm calling my ship to our location, it might take a moment to arrive so we'll be ready once we burst out.... The quicker we leave." A sign on the wall, exit ahead. "Getting closer, come on...."

 

[Roman Vossari]

Tags: Anneliese Kaohal | Corazona von Ascania | Lysander von Ascania

​

Roman stumbled back, his hand instinctively went up to cover his face, he saw the mix of horror and confusion on Cora's face. Anneliese, standing a few steps away, looked pale but unharmed. She met Roman's eyes, her own wide with the shock of the scene.

"I'm glad you're okay, Master..." Roman sighed, the words a mix of relief and residual confusion.

Roman could see Lysander's concern etched on his face, a silent message of solidarity in the aftermath of the chaos. Roman nodded back, signaling that they were all right and that Lysander could focus on finding Master Briana. "Go on, we'll handle this." Roman said, his voice steady despite the lingering adrenaline.

With a final glance at Lysander, who was already heading off to locate Master Briana, Roman and Anneliese followed Cora. The three of them moved through the eerily silent hall, their steps deliberate as they moved to assist those in need.

 

[Liin Terallo]

I know that Mister Dashiell knew what I had meant; and that was that out of all of the dignitaries and elites invited, we were the least notable. Or at least I was. I did not get an invitation, afterall. It was Mister Dashiell that brought me here. Still, I appreciate his attempt at humor to lighten up a frightening situation.

Looking behind us, I see others coming in to try to escape the carnage. Every loud bang or scream causes me to jump. It reminds me of the attack on Ilic City. That was an event that took me some time to get rid of the nightmares. "Alright, let us hurry then!" His pace is quick, yet I do my best to keep up. Thank goodness my gown is not tight, otherwise it would be harder to take large strides. Still, the folds of polka-dotted material did not make moving quickly any easier.

I hold onto his hand tighter as we run. His comment on carrying me is perplexing as I was not injured. "I will do my best not to become a burden. I am not used to having to run so much." It was true. I do not go out for jogs or daily exercises. My whole life consists of work. And will either of those things change? I do not believe so. Yet I was determined to not be a damsel in distress so much, despite my breaths now coming in harder.

The news of his ship arriving to us was indeed a relief. "Let us hope that it does not get shot down." The sounds of another explosion outside causes me to wince and move all the quicker. The exit sign up ahead gives me hope. "Remind me not to go to a wedding anytime soon. I do not think that I like them very much!" I had been delaying the grand opening of my new lab and facility on New Cov. And now seeing what such happy events can turn into here, I do not believe that I will even have one. It is not worth the risk, even though I have no enemies. No, not at all. I only just want to drown myself in my work. At least there it is predictable and safe.

Tag: Judah Dashiell

 

[Astor Daaray]

THE FOUNTAIN PALACE
TA'A CHUME DAN ☛ HAPES
Pinda Solthar • Briana Sal-Soren • Lysander von Ascania • Kalen • Kha'la Daaray

BEAUTIFUL CRIME
THE PRINCE AND THE VEIL #2 / THE LOVER AND THE FLAME #1

He wasn’t expecting what he was up against, now.

Perhaps he should have tried harder to keep up his training, but he was implored to let the Chume’doro do their jobs. As if he hadn’t been one of them, but he relented, understanding, for he had been one of them. But perhaps he should have been more demanding.

Yet that was unbecoming of a male.

And perhaps he was outmatched by brute strength alone, as the bones of his wrist snapped and he set his jaw against the shooting pain, the ceremonial dagger clattering to the floor; as his assassin pressed the attack with relentless force, his dagger slicked with Shaya’s drying blood, inching ever closer, digging into the firmly woven cloth of Astor’s as-yet unsullied tunic, he knew he would get no answers from this brute of a man.

And no chances to circumvent fate.

[ Fate? ]

The blade cut through his tunic and into his flesh, and the Prince stumbled over his own feet, falling backwards and crashing against the pulpit, taking the assassin down with him. In vain, Astor pushed against the dagger and the hands that held it with his unbroken one, but it was in no way enough. One more powerful, rib-creaking shove pushed the blade in further despite his one-armed struggle, scraping bone, tearing through muscle, nicking a lung… and lastly, dragging a jagged tear into his heart.

It was like nothing Astor had ever felt… or would ever feel again, like so, so many things, as the blade was ripped free from his chest, and the weight of the other man left him. He gasped, and in that moment he felt…

…not fear, not regret, but resigned peace as the untenable pain crested, and ebbed. Crested, and ebbed. The smallest bit weaker each time. He had long made peace with death, for it could come at any time; to be Hapan was to expect it. His head lolled, and he absently sought the fresh hole in his body with one hand, and he saw through the teary blur. Hazy at first, but clear, so clear was she, as clear as what he could see in his mind’s eye now.

“AstorAstorAstor —”

She seemed to float down to him, like the… angel? she was. His throat felt so dry, and yet not. He felt his tunic and shirt being torn away, as if it was through the filter of another body, not his own. Faint spots pricked at his vision, gathering at the edges.

“I’ve got it. I’ve got you, Ast. We’re going to get you help, but you have to fight, okay? Please.”

He almost couldn’t feel her touch. But he could touch her, grasping at one of her wrists in a weak grip, unsure of whether what he was feeling was that, exactly. Fight? Fight what?

“Bri...” his face furled, his words hardly above a whisper, coming up through a throat that didn’t feel as if it should work. His head swam. “...Briana… please.”

He swallowed, or tried to.

“You’re going to be okay. “ Her words swam. “Medic—” she wasn’t listening! “I need a medic!”

His hand clobbered weakly against her. “Listen… listen to… to me, stop… listen...”

 

[Briana Sal-Soren]

Outfit: XoXo | Hair: XoXo | Tag: Astor Daaray , Lysander von Ascania ​

"AstorAstorAstor —"

The name fell from Briana's lips on repeat, as if by saying it enough times she might anchor him here as she came upon the macabre scene that threatened to overwhelm all of her senses. There was blood everywhere, pooled out on the steps beneath Shaya's still-warm corpse, and in the short distance lay Astor, a fallen seraphim, his breath coming in short and hard gasps, surrounded by a widening red tide that Briana blocked out. All she focused on was his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest.

In that instant, Briana didn't think, didn't feel — just moved.

She couldn't indulge any of her emotions, or the possibility she might actually lose him. He was fading, but breathing — and that meant there was some modicum of hope. It was enough.

The rest was pushed out. Focus on the task at hand. Saving his life.

She couldn't be the woman who'd once loved him. She couldn't be the friend who'd failed to pull him away from this wretched place. She couldn't be the guilt-ridden girl who'd watched him make choices she couldn't change, choices that'd gone impossibly wrong. She had to be a Jedi Knight.

She slid herself next to Astor and removed the hand against his chest that was pushing much too weakly to staunch any blood flow, "I've got it." Briana scooted closer and with or without permission, carefully opened up his ruined shirt to get a better idea of what they were dealing with. The sight of the hole above his ribs made her stomach flip and the color drain from her face, but she tried to hide her reaction behind an uncertain smile. "I've got you, Ast. We're going to get you help, but you have to fight, okay? Please." Blood was gushing at an alarming rate, and Briana pressed her hands against the wound, not allowing herself to feel the wet, torn flesh beneath her palms as time collapsed in on itself, snagging, speeding, stopping.

She'd never learned to heal more than minor wounds like Cybelle, she'd never had that particular talent, but she tried anyways, fumbling for the Force, trying to weave together the frayed threads of his life and pull them back together with little result.

"You're going to be okay," Briana said, swallowing down the creeping fear as warm blood slid and poured between her fingers. The wound was too great, too deep — and he seemed like he was just getting worse despite her efforts, forcing Briana to again come face to face with the realization of how little she could sometimes do, except absorb the trauma of it all.

"Medic—" the word was strained and broken coming out of her throat. Her vision blurred, but she refused to blink, refused to let the tears come, barely registering as Astor tried to get her attention. "I need a medic!"

The sound of footsteps coming closer made her head whip up, only to see Lysander coming into view. There was initial relief at the sight of him — alive and unscathed, from what she could tell — but it was quickly overshadowed by the more immediate and worsening condition of Astor as his life slipped away beneath her palms. "Lysander," she started, "Help —" Her voice wavered, fighting to keep it steady. "Help find the… the healer for me, will you? Bring them here."

His hand clobbered weakly against her. "Listen… listen to… to me, stop… listen..."

Finally, Briana looked at him, really looked at him. Her breath hitched, a wash of anguish crashing through her like a tidal wave. This was happening. The choked sob that tore from her throat was a broken sound of pure anguish, ripped from somewhere deeper than conscious thought. Her coated hand finally left his chest, brushing aside his golden hair from his face in the same way she used to. "O-okay — okay," she whispered, voice breaking as she tried to reassure him, "I'm here," She felt like she could barely breathe. "I'm listening."