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 agony, 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."

 

[Thayze Montserrat]

|| TYING A KNOT ||
Head in the Clouds - Chapter 1

OUTFIT: Black Formal Dress
DIRECT TAG: Ceri Fraissi | Kahne Porte
INDIRECT TAG: Briana Sal-Soren

Spoiler: THEME

FOUNTAIN PALACE, HAPES

A Serennian blue-blood with a lightsaber is not one to mess around with, yet the chaotic nature of a blood pit does not discriminate. This is not an honorable duel between two dignified men, but a cowardly attack on order and justice. Despite possessing a lightsaber, smuggled in by one of his family’s disguising guard, Thayze decided against igniting his, doing so would only attract the attention and rage of the jealous, dirty rag of scums.

“Do not succumb into their low. You rise above them and step on them, convincing them that it’s a blessing to have your feet pressed on their chest,” Lady Giulia likes to say. Thayze often disagrees with such statements, it’s unnecessarily cruel and vindictive, it’s not the way of Ashla. But at times like this, he can’t help but wonder that there’s some merit to his mother’s statement.

Instead of igniting his lightsaber, he listened to his Master’s words. He jumped into the first pillar, waiting for a barrage of blaster to find another target before approaching a still warm Chume’doro’s body, only their eyes can be seen between the face guard, yet it paints a thousand pictures. Death is very much a possibility, it can strike him, his parents, Master Briana and Master Kahne, or the other padawans, just like it did the bride and the dozens of bystanders caught by blasters and sharpnels. Just like it did his old Master.

Picking up the discarded shield, Thayze hurriedly rushed to another pillar. It shielded him from direct blaster fire, yet sharpnels flying so close to his side is just yet another reminder that it can always be over soon. So carefully, he glided through the panicking masses and dead bodies, occasionally checking on his parents, ever so swiftly until he reached Kahne Porte , who is now with the young padawan he spotted earlier.

“I’m breathing,” he answered Master Kahne, before shifting his attention to the younger padawan. “Are you alright?…” he asked Ceri Fraissi , not knowing how to address her as he can’t seem to recall her name.

Shifting his gaze back to the stage, Thayze sees Briana with the groom who also seems to have been butchered. Even from far away, he can see, and he can feel how devastated she is.

“Is she going to be okay, Master?” he asked Master Kahne with a gutted tone. He doesn’t know if he has it in him to lose another Master so soon after the last one.​

​

 

[Lily Decoria]

Location: Wedding
Outfit: Dress
Tag: Briana Sal-Soren | Astor Daaray | Lysander von Ascania

She knew that Briana was heading to Astor and that things would be handled there. Her master was a powerful warrior and whoever this assassin was attempting to taking down Astor was going to regret facing Briana. Lily knew that if the leader of this attack escaped, they would need to capture at least one person if they could. Someone to interrogate, figure out why the attack happened and what it was that they were seeking. As she fought, Lily was trying to make sure that she could knock one of the assassins out and tie them up so that she could present them to her Master. She knew that Briana would be able to figure it out.

"I need a medic!"

Hearing that from her Master sent a shiver down her spine. Briana for as long as Lily knew her had never been someone who panicked. She was always so calm and collected. Rushing over, Lily abandoned her fight and ignored everyone and everything around them. She was not someone who was skilled in the Force for healing but she knew plenty of combat field medical tips since her aunt was determined to teach her some basics. Especially since Lily was a warrior for the front line. It was necessary for her to know how to handle injuries.

"Keep it compressed, staunch the bleeding." Lily informed Briana, placing her hands on top of Briana and demonstrating the firm pressure needed to be placed on the wound. Lily didn't want to take this moment from her Master and she knew if this was someone she cared about, Lily would want to be the one doing everything she could. "Don't panic, help will be coming and we just need to slow the bleeding."

There was a lot of blood though and Lily could feel a panic growing in her stomach that this might not go in the direction that Briana wanted to go. But Lily was here and she would do everything she could to help.

 

[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

Connel was dragging the “Veil” criminal by the collar of his shirt. He could do this by the Force, and he will if the guy tried to escape, but Hapan was going to see what he caused. “Release me! Our cause is just! Equality for all!

Now Connel was furious.

Picking the man up and throwing him at the pillar closest to the remains of cousin Liram, Connel put him in a chokehold, facing Briana Sal-Soren , Lily Decoria and the remains of the fallen Prince Astor Daaray . ”Just”? “JUST”?! Then picking him up, still in the choke and making him face everything, even doing his best to keep the Hapan’s eyes open.

You killed men, women, and kids! He did not know whether the last part was true or not, but right now it did not matter. Connel was not going to let this poor excuse for a sentient feel justified, especially since the last remains he would see before the Shadow cinched the choke in fully would see.

... and a Galactic Alliance Admiral… you lost everything today by trying to gain something you were already on your way to.

The criminal would survive. He was simply put into an unconscious state, he did not matter. Right Now Connel was tasked (self-tasked) with putting his cousin’s remains into a body bag. Wondering if this is what Shadows he knew like Allyson Locke , or Valery Noble , or Syn had to go through he finished up with a few last moves and zipping it up, he uttered words said to him by the late Admiral when he himself was clinging to life.

Putting his hand on the top of the bag, he said I don’t know if you can hear me, but I want you to know. We’re going to get them for this.

 

[Judah Dashiell]

"You're not a burden Director. Quite the contrary."

Judah probably pushed a little more than he should have to get them to the exit. Pushing against the door, he burst out with Liin Terallo into the abundant sunshine. A very beautiful day weatherwise considering the overall horror that had just occurred. Not knowing too much about Hapan current relations, he wondered if there were warning signs. Although he doubted any cracks would have outwardly shown with the general public. Staff would know. Government officials perhaps.

Pulling out his datapad, Judah looked over for the location of the Sirena. It wasn't far off, but they were going to have to move away from the cathedral. At least, in his eyes, they could move at a slower pace. It wasn't wise to push a lady in heels to move quickly on grass either way. Yet he still kept hold of her hand and they moved across the well manicured side lawns and landscaping.

"So this put you off weddings for awhile?" Judah chuckled. "I don't think I have any scheduled on the horizon unless the one son surprises me. Beyond that.....Unsure. Most corporate types are divorced or single so I can't see being suddenly invited unless it was for one of their children..."

Weddings were often social in nature. Much like business events or galas or garden parties. A networking event. This certainly wasn't a networking event - well, if one wanted to become a terrorist maybe.

"The ship is landing in a park down the block. Not too much further Director."

 

[Kha'la Daaray]

Everything happened in an instant, a blur of sound and movement that Kha'la struggled to process. One moment, the ceremony was proceeding — strained but under control — and the next, chaos erupted. The explosions had been distant enough at first, but they came closer, shaking the palace itself. Then, the unthinkable.

Kha'la froze. Her eyes were wide as she stared at the dais, at Astor standing amidst the chaos, and at Shaya — beautiful, poised Shaya — suddenly crumpling to the ground, blood staining her radiant gown. The knife. The flickering disguise. The screams of the guests. It all swirled together in her mind, incomprehensible yet painfully vivid.

"No," she whispered, her voice lost in the cacophony.

By the time her senses caught up to reality, the Chume'doro were already surrounding her, their polished armor glinting as they formed a protective barrier. "Your Majesty, we must move!" one of them urged, his voice sharp but controlled. Kha'la barely registered the words as they began to escort her away, her heels clicking against the polished floor as if her body moved on its own.

She turned her head, looking over her shoulder as they led her toward the grand doors. Her gaze sought her family and fell on the the altar that had become a battleground. She saw Astor, blade in hand, standing tall against the assassin who had shattered their lives in a heartbeat. Her heart screamed to go to him, to stand by his side, to hold Shaya's hand even as her life slipped away.

But the guards pressed her onward, their duty clear. "Your safety is paramount, Your Majesty," one said, his tone brooking no argument.

"Astor," she murmured, her voice breaking as she tried to glance back once more. Every fiber of her being resisted leaving them behind. She was more than their queen — she was family — how could she abandon them? But even queens were mortal, and she knew what it meant to be Hapan. The survival of the Consortium demanded her safety, no matter how much it tore at her heart.

Her fists clenched at her sides, her body trembling with a mix of anguish and fury as the heavy ceremonial doors swung open before her. "Make sure he survives this," she ordered the nearest Chume'doro, her voice cutting through the chaos with steel-laced resolve.

"And that those responsible understand what wrath they've unleashed on themselves."

With a final glance back, Kha'la stepped through the doors, her vision blurred by unshed tears and the raw fire of her determination. Whatever this attack was, whoever was responsible, they would answer for it. Of that, she was certain.

Astor Daaray Shaya Khal | open

​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Corazona von Ascania Briana Sal-Soren

​

Lysander felt uneasy as he approached Master Briana. He could sense the desperation radiating from the Jedi. And as he drew closer, the urgency in her voice pierced the air. The Padawan could barely process her plea, for his mind was still wrestling with the sight of her vulnerability. He noticed Lily Decoria at her side, doing everything she could to offer assistance.

Inhaling deeply, he flicked a switch on the curved hilt and deactivated his lightsaber; it felt like removing his shield, and skepticism crept into the Padawan's mind. He hoped there were no further threats lurking nearby. Without saying a single word and turning on his heel once more, he forced himself to center his thoughts; time was definitely not on their side.

But where to find a healer?

As he advanced, his gaze quickly locked onto his sister nearby. Urgency caused him to sprint forward, but he then remembered how she nearly assaulted Roman with a blaster just moments ago. It served as a sharp reminder to be cautious. "Coruhh!" he called out, his voice blaring through the air. He hoped the other blonde's senses would be more alert this time and recognize the voice.

After closing the distance between them, he stepped to the side and grasped her hand, instinctively trying to tug her towards where Briana was with Prince Astor. As his fingers curled around the palm, the boy realized he'd grabbed the prosthetic hand. His heart dropped, and a wave of guilt washed over him. He swallowed hard and glanced up to meet Cora's gaze. "Sorry," he mumbled, trying his best to mask any discomfort from the sight of it. "But Briana really needs your help! There's no time to waste!"

He knew without a doubt, that she had the ability to heal; there was a confidence in her that Lysander had always been able to count on. Without waiting for a response, Lysander lifted his grip and gave a powerful jerk on her arm, determined to direct her towards the others.

 

[Lorn Reingard]

​

Lorn's muscles strained as he wrestled with the terrorist, the man's grip on the Gun of Command like a vise. He twisted, trying to break free, but the terrorist was strong, his movements fueled by a savage desperation. Lorn ducked another swipe, the barrel of the weapon whistling past his ear. He lunged forward, using his momentum to slam into the man's chest, knocking him off balance for a crucial moment. As the man stumbled, Lorn's hand shot out, securing the wrist holding the weapon. He twisted with all his might, the man's fingers finally losing their grip with a grunt of pain. The Gun of Command clattered to the floor, sliding across the polished stone.

Lorn wasted no time, bringing his heel up to catch the man's knee, sending him crashing to the floor. He straddled him, pinning his arms to the floor, trying to keep him still. He searched his belt for restraints, needing something, anything to subdue him. He quickly used a fabric strip from the terrorists own coat, binding the man's hands tightly. They needed a hostage. They needed answers. But as Lorn worked to secure the man's ankles, a deafening crash shattered the relative silence. The stained-glass window exploded inward, shards of transparisteel like deadly rain falling onto the empty pews. A ship, hovered menacingly in the hole, a gaping wound in the wall. It was there, ready to collect the remaining terroristsl. Lorn braced himself, gritting his teeth against the sting of the falling glass. He knew they were leaving. He watched as the terrorist, now free from his grasp, scrambled to join his crew, disappearing into the belly of the ship. Lorn rose, ignoring the sharp pains in his arm where he'd been cut by a falling fragment. He checked on the Daughters of the Scar, a silent nod passing between them, before surveying the grand hall once more.

The once pristine scene was now a chaotic mess; overturned pews lay like fallen dominoes, stained with dust and blood. Bodies, some still, some injured, writhed in pain. The picture-perfect wedding was nothing more than a ransacked ruin. His gaze finally settled on the front, the dias where the bride and groom had stood, so full of life and promise. Now, the bride lay still, while the groom lay in a pool of his own blood, his white suit now marred with red. Briana was kneeling beside him, her hands stained crimson as she worked frantically to staunch the flow, but there was so much blood. Lorn didn't know the groom, didn't know his relation to the Leader of the Shirayan Order. But he knew the force, the pain and sorry that emanated so clearly from the dias right now was palpable. It was a feeling he recognized all too well, a feeling that rooted him to the spot. He stood, a silent witness as the scene unfolded before him. He felt so helpless. They called for medics, moved to help the groom, but the damage was severe.

Briana's Padawans, faces etched with worry and a fierce determination, swarmed around her, trying to do everything they could. More and more seemed to pour into the area, those who had chosen to stay and fight, to help in such a dire situation. Lorn found himself lingering closer to the dias now, a silent guardian. He wanted to shield those young faces, to keep them from witnessing such a gruesome end. They didn't need to see such a death, not yet, he thought. He hesitated to gather them up, to pull them away, to let Briana have this moment, this painful goodbye to someone who seemed to be so important to her. He would wait until they had exhausted every option to save him, would wait until there was no longer any hope. Then, and only then, would he pull them all away from this scene of devastation, from this moment of utter loss.

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Lysander von Ascania Roman Vossari
Briana Sal-Soren Lily Decoria Astor Daaray

Cora tried to smile - a small, sad, awkward but genuine thing - as Lysander put an arm around her. She squeezed his shoulder back in both appreciation for his comfort and in understanding that he needed to see to Briana. In a way, she was glad to see that he'd grown close enough to his master to feel concerned for her.

As the trio set about their work, Cora could not bring herself to look at Roman. "I'm glad you're okay, too," she murmured. The shock on his face and the way he'd recoiled from her near-strike would be seared in her brain for eternity.

The shame at what she'd almost done nearly permeated her expression, interrupted only by Lysander. Cora stumbled in surprise as he grabbed her hand and dragged her over to the altar where Briana and Lily were tending to the fallen prince.

"Lys, why-"

Grim silence followed her realization as she finally laid eyes on Astor up close. Her weary gaze followed the lines of blood soaked-finery, tracing them up to the origin wound at his chest.

His heart. And the blood, so much blood.

Cora's own heart sank. Lysander's confidence in her healing was misplaced, but she knew enough to know that the groom's course had been set down an inevitable path.

"I'll see what I can do," she said softly. Cora knelt next to Astor's head and placed two fingers beneath his jaw, just below his right ear. His pulse had been reduced to a rapidly weakening thud. Her eyes flickered up to Briana and Lily, grim and apologetic.

Instead of trying to delay the inevitable, the Force would flow through his body, soothing the prince's pain as best she could. At the very least, Cora could try to ease his passing - and perhaps give him a few more moments to say what needed to be said.