Asylum Sepros
It has been a cold night, wet. Rain has hammered down on the windows or the various speeders as they shot across the Sepros skyline. Their destination, an old temple which upto now hadn’t been important enough to warrant restoration nor the man power needed to clear it out. But that had changed and as it did the invites had crept out to those members of Sadowan society who needed to be in the know. Strangely enough amongst those invited were military personal of all ranks, medical staff, law enforcement, blue collared workers and others who would often be overlooked when it came to such grandiose events but who were appreciated by the inviter none the less.
As everyone had arrived the eagle eyed would have noticed the turret mounts, security cameras, armed guards and the odd howl of something quite unnatural. The owner certainly was taking no risks about the safety of the location or those within. But it could also be said that whoever owned the location would have the upper hand on any guests who decided to act out. Not that anyone would be foolish enough to do so in the presence of such an armed presence. Not to mention, everyone is disarmed in the reception area before they are allowed to enter the venue. No exceptions. Once the weapons were handed over all the guests were led into a large open area. Cages hung from the ceiling, dances chilling and relaxing awaiting the night to begin. One end of the room was covered by two large bars, which behind stood an assortment of bar staff all wearing a similar uniform. Soft velvet drapes hung from the roofs, couches, fancy tables, it was all very fancy with a heavily Gothic influence, or at least what passed as Gothic in this environment. Rooms led off to the side, large lounges full of sofas, chairs, booths and tables. Again all rather fancy.
The lights on the main dance floor flickered on and off momentarily then a door behind the bars opened and a huge mountain of a man walked through and stood in front of all the guests. Flanking the white haired giant stood a white haired female wearing the traditional robes of the Nightsisters. The other side stood a woman adorned in a similar uniform to the staff but she was also so heavily adorned in archaic tattoos and cybernetics she didn’t quite seem to fit in with the rest of the staff.
The giant man gestures and the he spoke. There was a strained aggressive tone to voice, something barely contained. Kojiro had always been large but something has happened to him and those in the know of the Sadowan alchemist’s might take a guess that way. But there was also a green firey shine behind his eyes and new tattoos that spoke of a different kind of Magicks.
“Honoured guests. Welcome to my small establishment,” he gestured his hand around the venue. “You find yourself in Asylum, a fitting name for many of those present including myself. You are all my guests and have been invited to this opening night due to your ties to certain organisations.” Kojiro moved forward and the two woman followed behind him. “Some of you have fight by my side, cured the wounds of fellow soldiers or even simply helped others and yet we’re barely noticed. So this night is to celebrate everyone for your hard work. So please drink, dance, enjoy yourself. This is a haven, a safe space. A place of no worry. If you have any questions then feel free to approach me during the night and I will help you. But if I am not free then both of my associates will be able to help”
The two woman stepped forward as Kojiro waved to them. “Lilith,” he pointed to the white haired woman “and a returning friend, Ophelia” the other woman nodded curly “will be here to assist when I cannot. But for now please, drink up and enjoy. Enjoy.”
With that and one final look at the crowd Kojiro turned on his heels and moved towards the bar. As he did so the lights dimmed and the then the music began.
Asylum was officially open.
The archpriest entered the club to be stopped, “You must surrender your weapon sir, if you wish to enter” A man says on the other side of a security glass. Quentin could hear and feel the music from within the former temple, He knew he could simply mind trick him but he also knew that he himself was a weapon and it could lead to a interesting night if something should go sideways, reaching down he lays his lightsaber in the security point window. “I expect you know whom I am see that this doesn’t get lost” he says as the man slid him a ticket for his lightsaber and buzzes the door open for him to enter.
The archpriest walks into the inner chambers his dark Naga Sadow robes flowing behind him, as he heads to the bar and admires the beautiful woman who were dancing about the club.
The man sat in one of the corner booths, a rich purple dress shirt with the top several buttons undone beneath a summer-weight warcoat, his arm draped across the back of the booth, a short glass with a deep crimson liquid swirling in his idle hand. Eyes scarred by a lifetime of nightmares and just as black gazed out across his brother’s newest fascination. A writhing mass of young and beautiful responded to the deep tones of aggressively seductive music, the lights and ambience designed precisely to that purpose. Koji had been busy indeed.
He took a sip of the drink as he took it all in. It was a pretty major departure tonally from the aptly named Seventh Tooth on Dentavii, and a whole spectrum away from Coil on Tarthos. Not that he disapproved, mind. The flavors swept across his tongue, deep stone fruit and sweet cereal grains hiding beneath rich wood and strong whisky. An eyebrow went up, almost imperceptibly. That was something very good, actually. Something new for him, and one that rocketed up near the top of his list. He relaxed his arm,the gentle clink of the ice sphere in the glass almost lost in the music.
Across the room, he saw the Archpriest enter, a hitch in his gait from the unexpected disarmament before his mind reminded him that Krath were never truly completely disarmed. The whims of the universe were but adumbrative eddies swirling at the mercy of their wills. The Whills would be terrified, and rightly so. Muz felt the twinge of a smile forming at the corner of his mouth as he wrenched his mind away from the pitfalls of getting lost in imagination. In memory.
Muz waited a moment for the man’s eyes to sweep toward him, then raised his glass at the Archpriest, beckoning him. To sit, to drink, to converse, to relax.
Rain. It always seemed like he was at his most pensive when it came to the rain. Cimozjen was out of his element here. His usual haunts were a little more subdued than this place. As he entered the venue, he had been met with the security measures. He made note of the defenses, and was a little off put by the presence of so much force in light of the overall club atmosphere of the Asylum. He was not about to cause trouble, of course, but he supposed that it was not out of style of Sadowans to use overbearing Force, if to make a point if naught else.
He had taken time to disarm himself. He had drawn a uneasy glance as he had unloaded the explosives and the holocam from within his cloak, and this was not lightened as he unstrapped the stiletto bracer from his left arm. Many were clothed for a good time, yet he found himself dressed much as he did in any other situation. The security staff had made note of the lightsaber, slugthrower pistol and the wicked-looking Sith dagger from it’s place at his side. He had been given a ticket, told to enjoy himself, and was permitted inside. The music, the cacophony of sound, was a little overwhelming, at first. Greater though, was the wash of emotions he found inside. Cimozjen took moment to ground himself as he looked around at the interior.
The artistry at work within was interesting. He glanced at the bar, taking stock of those assembled. He recognized the form of Kojiro Keibatsu by the bar. He could feel a few other familiar presences about, though they were muted somewhat by the sheer number of beings who had assembled. With a wry smile, he slowly made his way up to the bar. He didn’t think he would bother his host at this time. Instead, as he approached the bar, he motioned to one of the bar staff by raising a hand.
Please, he focused on one of the bar staff as he spoke through the Force, could you provide the man in the cloak with a rum when you are free?
Vance strode in, placed his weapons down and gave a wink to the security, before stepping inside the bar. His eyes scanned the place as he took in the sights, sounds and smells. He saw a few he recognized, before deciding to sit down at a booth. He let his long maroon hair cascade down his back, and behind his long pointed Sephi ears as he tapped his pink fingernails to the music on the table. It was most certainly an interesting place.
DarkHawk touched down at the coordinates, the strain of the long trek from Shaevalis Prime to Sepros still lingering. His visit to the Royal Court had been sudden, called to the castle for urgent business. It was during that consular duty that he received Duke Keibatsu’s summons — an invitation to a new venture at one of Sepros’ abandoned temples. Ty pushed the Reaver hard, shaving a few parsecs off the trip.
At the entrance, a guard stepped forward. “All patrons must surrender their weapons before entering.” DarkHawk halted, turned slightly, and raised his hands. “I’m unarmed tonight.” The man hesitated, then buzzed him through.
Inside, the music shook the floors. DarkHawk made straight for the bar, flipping the barkeep a coin.
“Whiskey. Corellian, if you have it.” The bartender gave a short laugh. “Ah, a man of taste. Coming right up.”
Moments later, a heavy copita glass slid across the bar, filled with a rich, amber liquid, the silky hue a sign of years spent aging in Corellian oak.
DarkHawk took in the scene. The Duke’s love of antiquities gave the place a strange, compelling vibe. The crumbling temple was the perfect backdrop for the club’s energy. And the whiskey didn’t hurt, either.
Around the room, Clan members noticed the Consul’s rare choice of dress, no battle armor tonight. Instead, a tailored gray suit under a long blazer, with polished black boots reaching his knees.
He lifted his glass to them all.
“For Sadow.”
Cimozjen took a note of the Overlord. He took note of his choice of drink. He nodded silently as he awaited his own drink. He gave a nod as salute.
For Sadow. he silently intoned.
Vance smiles as he had ordered a Tatooine Sunrise. He then raises his glass into the air towards Darkhawk and nods. For Sadow He thought to himself as he brought the drink to his lips and took a nice long drink.
DarkHawk walked over to where Lord Keibatsu sat. He felt the Kei’s presence slip into his mind, not words, but something sharper. Intent delivered straight to the core. Silent. Unmistakable.
”Formal wear…?”
“The protocols of the Royal Court. A minor inconvenience in exchange for high-value intel.”
The PCon raised an eyebrow, interest flickering behind his eyes.
DarkHawk placed a portable star chart on the table and tapped it.
“A token of appreciation. From the King and General Bloodfyre.”
The chart lit up, casting a pale glow as it projected three star systems deep in Wild Space.
“The General says once we are ready to move, these are ripe for recon. Off the grid. High reward.”
The PCon studied the map, the starlight dancing in his gaze. His voice dropped low, amused. “Indeed.”
DarkHawk didn’t miss a beat. “Also, waiting for you aboard the Reaver, there are two bottles of Shaevalian wine. And one very old bottle of Menkooro whiskey. Straight from the King’s stash.”
The large man moved through the crowd with a grace unexpected for a figure so large. He filled a space for every couple dancing to the music on the floor and yet as he moved he seemed to weave a path with ease.
Then again perhaps the fierce looking Nightsister, bedecked in her garb and covered in ritual tattoos, helped in this endeavour as the party goers seemed to almost hurry to get out of her way.
As the pair approached the rest of the Sadowan’s Kojiro glanced at all who had attended and he noticed Lilly do the same. The pairs surveyance could almost be deemed predatory as they noticed who had arrived at the party. A look passed between them and which others might notice if they paid attention.
Kojiro eased himself into one of the chairs, his bulk snuggled easily onto the furniture. The Night Mother stayed standing.
“Will you not sit with us?” Kojiro asked her off handedly, knowing full well the answer.
“Your companions are all men. I have no intention of lowering my tolerance levels any further,” a stony silence boomed around the table which was broken by a loud guffaw from the self proclaimed Duke. “So easily amused.” She muttered as she turned on her heel and stalked off onto the crowd.
Kojiro noticed the small smile on his brother’s lips before he raised his own glass, which he’d brought with him to the table.
“A cheers aye, I’ll raise a glass to that.” And he did so and raised it towards Muz “To the Lion of Tarthos and the family.”
Vance smirked as he drank and observed the entourage that had arrived. He chuckled softly to himself at pair looking at everyone. Noting and staying quiet. He knew well enough when to keep his mouth closed. Tasha'vel had taught him a few manners about attending events and how to conduct oneself. Instead he smiled and raised his glass to toast the Keibatsu family, before putting the glass back to his lips and drinking it down.
Cimozjen lifted his glass in a salute to his fellow Sadowans. They had all been through a lot in the last few years. He had seen combat, power struggles, a fight for the system. Orian had been his home for what felt like so long. The rise of a public Sadowan Empire had proven to be a jarring experience, yet here they were.
These small, graceful shows of celebration were gratifying. This club, while quite magnificent, was no less wonderful of a show. Good music, good drinks, and good company. He had spent so much time treading his own path, he had not taken the time to appreciate the victories, both grand and minor.
“To Naga Sadow. To a brighter future. To more times like this, when we can reflect, when we can stop and just enjoy the fruits of our labor.” He tilted the cup in a salute, and drank deeply.