Log:Alderaan: A Noble, Notable Birthday

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Lord Bors Thul is turning forty and it is a time to celebrate amongst the turmoil and war. Nobles, dignitaries, and allies come to the newly built manor of Gravenheim in the mountains of Alderaan to drink, dance, and make merry. This should've gone off without a hitch. Should've.

A Noble, Notable Birthday

OOC Date: September 29, 2022
Location: Aberrin Mountains, New Alderaan
Participants: Ulani Kalgaav (GM), Bors Thul, Aryn Cortess, Ejnar Celchu, Yari, Ban Iskender, Colo Nell

/^,< Gravenheim Manor - Aberrin Mountains - Bastion, New Alderaan >/^,../^,../

Gravenheim, the terrestrial home of the ancient and noble Thul family. Carved from the pure, living rock of the Aberrin Mountains, the estate is as beautiful and immense as it is strategic and stoic. Crafted so that it blends seamlessly into the granite cliffsides, the estate makes aesthetic use of the natural, black basalt columns which forms much of the architecture's outer facade. Broad towers are expertly pulled from the sheer cliff face but only halfway -- the rest disappearing into the black rock. Overhanging brows of rough-looking stone provide natural awnings for shallow caves. Hidden within these grottoes are elegant terraces with balconies carved of granite, gothic-paned transparisteel windows, and concealed doorways craftily lost in the shadows.

Beyond the grim, looming stone doors, the multi-level interior of the estate is illuminated by several means. A predominant use of mirrored tunnels and skylights redirect sun and moon light throughout the space. Recessed into the walls are clusters of bioluminescent plants kept alive and glowing; adding several hues of natural colour to the black, silver-streaked walls and floors. Complex chandeliers of intricate silver worked in weaving geometric patterns dapple light from high above in tall, barreled ceilings. And yet all this light does not entirely vanquish the gloom; allowing shaded and dark corners for spies or assassins to dwell.

Dominating the walls of the main hall, bas-reliefs depict the great works and downfalls of the noble family over the course of three thousand years. And all throughout the estate, the sigil of House Thul -- a black and gold, 'pie-wedged' bullseye encircled by two golden rings -- can be found. Be it as silhouettes upon the basalt, a bloom of shaped light on deep red carpets, embroidered into the large, hung banners, or hidden among the intricate woodwork of the expensive furniture.



When the invitations said that the birthday party for Lord Bors Thul was to be held in the mountains, that was to be taken quite literally. Gravenheim, the estate of House Thul, is an expansive, ornate home carved from the very living rock of the Abberin Mountains. Balconies of granite and halls of basalt swoop and tower in vast magnitudes. Foreboding and fortified on the outside, inside every room is grand if dark in colour. Long, lush carpets line the corridors leading to the ballroom where the festivities are taking place. Draped in blues, greys, and blacks of House Thul and intricate chandeliers light the space well into the evening.

Live music resonates throughout though keep low to allow for conversations and the occasional toast. Several long, cloth-draped tables hold an assortment of foods and delicates from all over the galaxy. Roasted game hens and spit-fired beasts, steeped and seasoned vegetables, towers of tiny pastries, various wines and ales, freshly baked artisan breads, three trays of different cheese: it can all be found here. And if it cannot, a quick request sent to the kitchens can whip up a miracle in a pinch.

Tonight's celebration is well underway. For as much as she attempts to be present for the guests, Ulani has been kept busy making sure things are going smoothly. She's already had to deal with one caterer not arriving, a servant droid breaking down, and a malfunctioning fountain of melted chocolate threatening to coat the senator of Naboo. Currently, she has a small plate of fruit skewers and various cubes of cheese that she is enjoying. All the while trying to make sure she is present.


For once, Aryn Cortess is not in some tunic and boots, with a cape and appearing the adventuring Princess. Tonight, she looks the part. She wears an evening dress of pine green, leaving her shoulder bare, and arms decorated with long matching gloves. Heeled shoes were strapped on, putting her pale, slender feet on display with painted nails of autumn orange. A shiny linked belt of bronze is fastened around her slender waist, and her shoulder strap was fastened with a glittering electrum brooch fashioned with her family sigil.

Aryn stands off from the fire that cooks a grand beast, her hands clasped politely over her tummy as she listens to the hunter responsible for the kill. Her father had always been an avid hunter when she was growing up, so to hear tales of other hunter exploits drew her interest. When she nodded her head, smiling slightly, her blonde hair gently moved threatening to cup her pretty face.


White. Pure white, red, black, and a mix the shiny metals of polished Alderaanian shine mined from the remains of Old Alderaan in the buttons and embezzled in the high collar. Ejnar Celchu was dapper in his dress uniform. He had a choice between this, his usual suit of armor with the Family Colors, or the new uniforms they had been designing for the House Guard... alas, he stuck with what he knew would impress, his Military digs.

With him is Pyretta Blaze, dressed in her own New Republic Uniform with similar yet senior rank to that of Lord Celchu. She had her blond hair done up just right and the exact amount of makeup painted on her to avoid the label of trashy but not to little as to be barren of plane. Not that anyone could consider Lieutenant Pyretta Blaze plain in the slightest.

"We're not going to get attacked by Mercenaries again, are we?" She asked the man who's arm she hung on as they walked inside.

"No, no, no. I don't think so. That was hopefully only a one time thing." Ejnar responded. Pyretta sighed with a bit of relief. Her azure eyes found Aryn and she nodded towards the Princess, "Princess Cole looks stunning."

Ejnar chances a glance, smiles, then looks to his date. "Aye. She does... but have you seen her fly. It really is something else." A wink. Pyretta swats his arm in a playful gesture.

Ejnar's eyes however return to the crowd, looking to seek out someone specifically, yet seems to be missing.


Ban Iskender is attired in his dress uniform, as gentlemen have the luxury of being considered socially acceptable and rather dashing in such. Apart from the decorative sword hilt sheathed at his side (which approaches being a piece of male jewelry) , the nobleman carries no other weapon. white gloves and green cloak complete his gold braid bedecked ensemble, as the gentleman hears out tell of a hunt with interest that is either genuine, or very well feigned.


It's no secret that Yari Bartyl is, in no manner, impressed by the institution that is 'nobility'. The seemingly arbitrary rules and hierarchies, the larger-than-life soirees and expenditures....she's drifted in and out and among them for two years now and the impassive stoicism with which she regards her surround has, by and large, remained unchanged.

Gravenheim, however....It's next-level. It resonates within her, this 'city' within the stone, both emotionally and a bit literally, as acoustics do fun and funny things.

The Kijimi cook is here this evening more in the capacity of a guest than staff, but it hasn't stopped her from getting acquainted with the estate's kitchens as, someday, she'll presumably be using them to cater for a very special wedding. She may or may not have made a few contributions to the evening's menu. Is that nerf tongue? One wouldn't know it from appearances alone, as it's been sliced thinly, cooked tenderly, and arranged in whorls of pretty petals on a bed of cream. One of the flimsy floppy slices finds its way into her mouth now, draped over a bedjie cap stuffed with spiced jerba cheese. The young woman chews once, twice, thrice, as the food runner whisks the platter away, out to the hall, then chases the savory snack with a small handful of cardellian mints. A quick sip of brandy - the good stuff - steels her resolve to make the trek back out there herself. She's not alone, of course. She's got her own tray to bear - a 'present' of sorts for the man of the hour, Lord Thul.


Presently flanked by Uypiia and Vanko with the elders Iella and Vix, their parents now 'retired' from courtly affairs, Bors is set with a particular frown carved into his features. There is a plate of nibbles being held by L7 - just out of arms reach. Barely. If... he... could... just...


Uypiia is affixing a little chromium crown atop his head with a serious expression complete with her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth and a multitude of hair pins being used to keep it from what has likely been a series of Hat Escapes she is intent on halting. Vanko, quiet as ever has taken the only glass from the tray Kuhlai holds and is drinking it while making uncomfortable eye contact with his brother in law who is under the close watch of the regal former heads of the Thul house.

"It's tradition." Noted by Vix with his voice like paper running over cloth.

"Ancient tradition." Iella now, with her own light voice only enriched by age.

Bors simply sniffs and manages to pull his eyes from Vanko to look at the nibble plate, then at LR-7CH. It's momentary and soon he is forced to look back to Vanko who is issuing an 'ahhh' of refreshment while sister dearest tilts his head and adds more pins.

"See, brother dear? Thou art the sight of thine namesake, Bors the Strider..." a sly grin spreading, "He flew the stars as well, two thousand years ago. He explored."

"Yes, there hasn't been a Bors to grace The House of Thul in ages, dear boy. Ere thee hath been gifted and so have carried the banner in manner to bring pride to our line." Iella cutting in, the Blood Thul of the parents. Bors sighs and looks to his mother with a 'look' squinting even behind his monocle that his father has do kindly returned to its perch after cleaning it.

"But why?"

"Harken to truths, present, brother dear, you are aged now. Officially."

"Thou art older."

"Nay, I am a Lady of Thul, forever thirty and curse thee thrice for contesting so."

"Fie and codswollop."

"Language, my son." the chiding half serious from the former Countess to her son.

"If it be my day, then why do I starve and thirst?"

"Because we love you."

"Fie on it."

"Language, Bors."


The hunter recounts aloud, arms wide, hands open. "There I stood, upon the slight ridge with a clear view of the beast. It grazed, unawares. I sawr it as an opportunity to strike. I figure, if the wind blows again.. he will know." Aryn's eyes narrow in anticipation for the story's end, her gaze lingering until movement catches her attention and she sees Lord Celchu and Lt Pyretta passing by. She did not hear their comments, but she offered a small, quiet wave, her cheeks red from the volume of this man's story telling.

"WOOSH! The spear whistled and sank home.. caught it right between the shoulders, I did. It took two steps and collapsed. I could not have lined it up better. A spear!!" He exclaimed. "Like the old days!"

Aryn turns her gaze up toward Ban to gage his interest in the story. Her hands come together in a generous clap, "Well done, sir. My father only taught me the compound bow, though I still struggle to pull the arrow back, fully. I am ashamed to say, he never allowed me a spear, or to be in close proximity of any dangerous beast. One might say it was not even hunting.."

The man chuckles with Aryn, who always joked at her own expense. His attention goes to Ban. "What of you, my Lord? I am told you are cavalry.. surely they have hunting games?"


What little fruit and cheese she has taken for herself now gone, Ulani leaves her plate with one of the service droids and slips her heeled shoes back on. Then she sets about adjusting her dress: a grey and blue number that is tight at the torso and flares out from her hips downwards. A cape to cover the otherwise bare shoulders and her hair in an up-do that rivals gravity. No doubt a Lady Thul signature held together by so many pins and hairspray.

Adjusting herself a moment more, she returns to the open expanse and starts to weave her way through: bowing here, clasping a hand there. So many 'thank you for coming's and 'a pleasure to see you's. That's been her night. She spies Bors being doted upon by his family, but before she can reach him, she intercepted.

"Ah! The soon-to-be Lady Ulani! It is an absolute pleasure. Lovely party, lovely home! Gordo Fas, at your service." The man is stout, squat with a belly that goes all the way around and no doubt a girdle underneath that begs for death. What remains of his hair is parted down the middle and curls upwards. Matching the pencil-thin mustache above fat lips.

"Oh! I... hello, Mister Fas. How do you--"

"From Kuat, I hear! Yes, yes. I have business partners in Kuat. In fact, I have business partners all over! I hear tell you're quite the business woman yourself. I wonder if you would do me the utmost /favour/ in lending me your ear. I've this grand idea that needs only a small investment. Please, just a moment of your time."

"I... uh..." Blue eyes dart around, looking for any familiar, friendly face.


Cape? Or no cape. It can be chilly in cavernous places, but chilly enough for fur? Yari stares at the silvery softness hanging unconventionally from a vacant pot rack. It's tempting, if for no reason but the comfort of its touch, buuuuuut.....

It's left hanging as she exits the kitchen, standing tall in her made-it-myself 'finery' of wool, leather, and a *smidge* of fur. The dark blue flies in the face of fashion 'rules', being worn by one of her non-existant status, but it looks ever so nice against the pale of her skin, the coppery red of her hair, and intensifies the blue in her left eye whilst still complimenting the brown in her right. The tunic tails flutter between her gray-clad legs as she marches on long-legged strides through the corridors toward the sound of merriment. In her hands is a silver platter and upon that, a rectangular chest made from wafer-thin sheets of caramelized honey. Its lid is decorated with the sigil of House Thul, painted in black and gold glaze. Twenty seconds more, and her 'familiar, friendly' face just might be emerging from an alcove to offer poor Lady Ulani salvation.


Ban Iskender inclines his head to the hunter as that bombastic fellow inquires after cavalry games. "Traditionally, there are. Hunt by lance and steed, drawing an aggressive beast in pursuit and firing in caracole. In the present day, joust has grown fashionable once again, as it is oft the opening clash of cavaliers which decides a skirmish, as we faced of late near the Ulgo border. Few of a rider's exercises will dwell upon striking at an unaware or fleeing beast, sir. Though I must admit: your use of the spear makes for a finer and more fragrant meal than does mine." A small smile and dip of his head to the other.


"Do you hunt?" Pyretta asks Lord Celchu, causing him to be drawn back in from his attempted look about for whoever it was he was searching for.


"Hunting," She asked again, "Do you hunt?" The question stemming from the very loud boasting hunter which Ban and Aryn were currently entangled with.

"Oh... no. Actually, maybe if you count hunting other Fighter Pilots. That's our thing, you know." Ejnar offers in explanation. Pyretta smirks.

Ejnar notices the stout man now harassing Ulani, "Looks like someone needs a wingman." Pyretta settles her gaze on Ulani as well and nods, smirking towards Lord Celchu.

Swooping in, the pair nudges their way in. "Oh Hello, so good to see you again... less explosions are always good. I haven't tried the food yet." Pyretta greets, "Put I'm sure it's fantastic."

Ejnar then steps in, having grabbed a plate of fruit, "Good thing I got us some, ha ha ha..." His laughter fake and stale as if he were over acting.

Pyretta clears her throat, "Not so much..." She whispers in a raspy voice before taking a few grapes an planting them neatly between her lips. "Mmmm divine, don't you agree my dear Lord Celchu."

"Ah, yes... indeed. So forth and so on... hither to."


There is an eyeroll that occurs without a singular flit of the ol' mark 1s that is felt, more than anything else. It happens when Bors's face is taken in both hands by Iella after Uypiia steps back to admire her handywork and Vanko as placed a set of flower wreathes about his shoulders.

"There now. Proper birthday boy." patting his cheek before she steps away, Bors is released from the familial cage at last with his jaunty, tall, crown worn at a slight angle. Festooned with flowers of gold, blue and red blossoms. Lifting his hands to flop-flail them now that he's clear and snatching the glass from Vanko's hand to take a sip,

"Trying to murder me!" brow up to his brother in law who chuckles without a sound, shoulders shaking, and Uypiia issuing a most ladylike titter. L7 steps up to let the celebrated man get a bit of meat and cheese in his gob and then he is pushed out into the crowds by his cruel and most evil father. Turned out to be swept up by the ravenous hordes of well wishers and relatives.

Oh! Oh Bors. On a sea of back pats and handshakes. Questions about the Squadron he can't answer because more and more are coming in. Like Aunt Zissa, coming in like a rancor to grab his face and shake him too and fro. He has no idea what she's crooning to him. It could be his death chant. It must be his death chant; she was a Rist before she married Uncle Gyrald. This is how he dies.

He wanted to die on a feather mattress, under a stuffed quilt, eating cheese. That was the way to go, warm, comfortable, in possession of cheese. What else could one want for? No. No today he dies with his head wrenched from his body by his aunt whom he is sure is a master assassin who played the -very- long game.


Ban's answer draws a long winded chuckle from the hunter, eventually becoming more of a laugh. "Spoken like a Cavalier. My father served in similar fashion, though a different war. It was not the thrill of the hunt he recounted. Nor was it the wait that prefaced battle. It was always the charge and thrill of riding into the center of it all. Streamers over head, explosions abound, and only his brothers' courage as they rode to uncertain ends." He claps his hands with a look of modest defeat, "Alas my tales are the height of my lifetime's excitement. To be young again, and capable of a worthy fight.." He held up a shaking fist and smiled. "My thanks for humoring me, of course. Be sure you get a slice, the meat was proper seasoned and all."

"My thanks, sir. Your hunt is a beautiful gift to the Lord Thul. I am sure it will be the topic of discussion for awhile."

"You humble an old man by saying so, Your Grace." The elder dipped his head in a bow, then straightened with a smile. Aryn bid, "Be well," before hooking her arm to Ban's to let the gentleman lead them away.


When Ulani looks back, Gordo already has her hand in between both of his. They are clammy and sweaty; like being pressed between two steamed meat patties. The Thul training kicks in and Ulani manages to keep her face neutral while inside she is shuddering. "Quite a lucrative idea, my dear Lady. Astronomical, even! I would be remiss if I came to humbly enjoy all these splendors and not make a paltry offer in return. Tell me! In all your travels, have you--"

Ejnar cuts in with Pyrette, but this only seems to spurn the man further. His gray eyes light up like silver as he takes in the finery all around him. "My Lord, indeed! You are just in time. I was just speaking to Lady Ulani here of a wonderful business opportunity. And I would do my poor, departed mother a disservice if I did not seek to include you, as well. What do you know of silverwood, mmmmm?" He says this with a wide, greasy grin and perked brows that insist they absolutely should be interested already.

Ulani barely gets a glimpse of Bors before he is swarmed. A casuality to the throng of party-goers. All while the live orchestra plays a jaunty tune carried heavily by the strings section. She looks to Ejnar and Pyrette with empathic eyes.


Two young noble children are running together through the crowds. Laughing and shrieking in delight with their game of chase. Most unnoble-like, but their parents are nowhere to be seen. In their hurry -- in their excitement, they stop at Yari's feet: one on each side. The older boy is trying to tag the young with a breadstick while the other is cackling with glee in his expert dodging.

They skitter away -- the chase afoot once more. Only they are not watching where they are going and the youngest slams right into the legs of Lord Ban himself. Knocked a bit for a loop, he stumbles backwards and is about to be tagged by the carb-sword when the older lad skids to a stop. Green eyes wide and blonde, curly hair framing a petrified face. "Uh... uh... good evening, Your Highness. L-Lord Ban."


Ban Iskender offers a short bow in parting to the hunter, before offering his arm to the princess and stepping toward the next encounter. The next encounter, as it happens, is when a wild Alderaanian child runs flush into his legs, pursued by a... breadstick. "It is evening for a certainty, young masters," the dragoon answers evenly, having only briefly shifted his weight with the collision. Free hand steadies the lie of his sword, with otherwise might have been jostled askew.


Yari rehearses her delivery in her head as she moves between the bands of gentle illumination. Should she say words? Should she bow? Hand it to him and let him figure out where to put it? No...this isn't a lowborn potluck. No, she shall present the goods, offer him first pick, then find a place among the other desserts to let it sit and be devoured by the masses. Yes. Yes, this is best.

Jitters melted away by a plan, Yari reaches a hand to activate her ears just before she emerges from that shadowy alcove.

It's a moment too late to avoid the inbound rush of warring children. No early warning detection system!

Breath caught in her throat, Yari does the only thing she CAN do, which is thrust the silver platter high in the air over her head, on the level, far beyond the reach of breadstick ripostes. She's frozen thusly, face as pale as a moonbeam, radiant with FRIGHT. Fear for her masterpiece, of course, she could care less about the greasy mits or bread crumbs dashed against her thigh.

And then they are gone, as abruptly and violently as they'd appeared, these miniature masters of mayhem. Might be a minute before she can put her arms down, though. Stars above.


Aryn is caught off guard by the sudden collision, prompting an, "Ooop!" from her. This is followed by laughter as Ban's dry delivery of a response leaves little for them to recover from. Aryn offers more respite from the embarrassment, and motions toward the tables of food. "Best to adventure in that direction, little Lords. I heard tales of dastardly dipping sauce to plunge those deadly breadsticks into. Get after it!"

Both surged off with a, "Yes ma'am!" Almost too eager to take off without a bow, they managed it sloppily, prompting another laugh from Aryn who turns to watch. "Mmm, children. Will your own be as rambunctious to spite you, Ser Ban?"


Aryn is caught off guard by the sudden collision, prompting an, "Ooop!" from her. This is followed by laughter as Ban's dry delivery of a response leaves little for them to recover from. Aryn offers more respite from the embarrassment, and motions toward the tables of food. "Best to adventure in that direction, little Lords. I heard tales of dastardly dipping sauce to plunge those deadly breadsticks into. Get after it!"

Both surged off with a, "Yes ma'am!" Almost too eager to take off without a bow, they managed it sloppily, prompting another laugh from Aryn who turns to watch. "Mmm, children. Will your own be as rambunctious to spite you, Ser Ban?"


Kuhlai! Kuhlai has rescued him!

The Fez wearing valet maneuvers into place to create a momentary block for Bors to extricate himself long enough to build up momentum. To weave through the crowd. Back pats, hand clasps that put him into pirouettes. Oh by the Mother he's dizzy. Father grant him equilibrium.

He finds himself by Ula, Ejnar... that lady he can never recall the name of. He's going to call her Pyroletiticia for now. Where did we get the sense of focus to think up that? Oh who is this rotund man who is making people uncomfortable. It's fortunate that the surroundings and food are so close or it is suspected that this thin haired man would likely have the noisome odor of disappointment and lifelong regret. What does that smell like?

We can't quite describe it here. But it's not good. It's not even remotely good. It lacks even that quality that some of the worst stinks have that the beginning, or end, have some lingering that is tolerable. Borderline sense-memory invoking. Not this. Not this at all. This man probably only leaves people feeling like they've been in the sun with near hundred percent humidity for a solid three hours. It's all swamp-rump and groin-fog. It's like someone took the reek of that moment before milk might become cheese and made it feel bad for itself.

Look it's really bad.

So Bors sweeps in, hero that he is. Stupid space-damned crown and flower wreathes about him like the village foole (the E makes it fancy) on life day, not knowing he is about to make himself the grandest of Asses. Not Bors though. No. He has a mission.

"BzzzZZZZzz!" a hand flailing before the thin haired man's face in a shooing motion. "No! No business talk!" he'd heard just a small fraction of the talk as he'd stumbled through the Stench Border of this man. This lummox. This nuisance trying to be important at his birthday party. Bors doesn't even want to be important... and it's HIS party!

Again he flails "Bzzzzzzz!" flail, finger flick, flail flail, "BZZZZZZZZZ!"


There was an art to dealing with sleaze and Ejnar had experience with it, especially with a number of years spent with cocky pilots who would undoubtedly move on to becomes smugglers in some fashion later on in his Resistance career. He had two options, be brash and big. Puff out his chest and act tough... which given the circumstances wouldn't have been warranted. Or he could channel his mother's stoicism and his father's seriousness.

There was also something to be said about Ejnar's ability to sniff out freshly baked foods. Particularly bread. In this instance, the fresh bread-stick that was being used as a rapier by the child now running between him and the pudgy clammy sleaze. He snatched up the bread stick with lightning speed and inspected it tenderly, lovingly.

"HAVE YOU, sir..." He interrupted Gordor, "Have you ever tried such an exquisite bread." He pressed the shapely stick of raised flour against his skin and shuddered.

Pyretta gave him a very odd look, but the wink he gave her, shaded by the bread stick was enough for her to catch the hint. "Oh... oh yes. So thick and... grainy."

"Mmmhmm... yes, my dearest Pyretta." He ran the bread stick under his nose and sniffed hard and loud. Then shivered. "You can smell each individual grain and seasoning..." He broke the bread in half and gave one to Pyretta. Then started to lick it, "Oh heavens..." And then he bit off a piece and started to chew, his eyes closed in apparent euphoria.

Pyretta, hesitant at first, eventually joined in on the enjoyment of the bread offering some to Ulani. "Oh yes... Miss Ulani, you must try this. Mmmmm."


There was an art to dealing with sleaze and Ejnar had experience with it, especially with a number of years spent with cocky pilots who would undoubtedly move on to becomes smugglers in some fashion later on in his Resistance career. He had two options, be brash and big. Puff out his chest and act tough... which given the circumstances wouldn't have been warranted. Or he could channel his mother's stoicism and his father's seriousness.

There was also something to be said about Ejnar's ability to sniff out freshly baked foods. Particularly bread. In this instance, the fresh bread-stick that was being used as a rapier by the child now running between him and the pudgy clammy sleaze. He snatched up the bread stick with lightning speed and inspected it tenderly, lovingly.

"HAVE YOU, sir..." He interrupted Gordor, "Have you ever tried such an exquisite bread." He pressed the shapely stick of raised flour against his skin and shuddered.

Pyretta gave him a very odd look, but the wink he gave her, shaded by the bread stick was enough for her to catch the hint. "Oh... oh yes. So thick and... grainy."

"Mmmhmm... yes, my dearest Pyretta." He ran the bread stick under his nose and sniffed hard and loud. Then shivered. "You can smell each individual grain and seasoning..." He broke the bread in half and gave one to Pyretta. Then started to lick it, "Oh heavens..." And then he bit off a piece and started to chew, his eyes closed in apparent euphoria.

Pyretta, hesitant at first, eventually joined in on the enjoyment of the bread offering some to Ulani. "Oh yes... Miss Ulani, you must try this. Mmmmm."


Ban Iskender sniffs in deadpan amusement as he answers Aryn, "I daresay any such behavior in children of mine will not be for spite of me, but rather for the bottomless torment of their grandmother," he quips, imagining the conniption such playfulness would give his mother. "Or perhaps she will warm to such once it is removed from her by a generation." That's probably a joke. The soldier's green regard settled upon the costumed Bors, and the ornaments of tradition he wears. Nearby, Ejnar makes out with a baguette. For a moment Ban is still and silent, before wondering discreetly of the Princess, "Are we.. *quite* certain all families had origin on the same Alderaan? There was another world of the same name, perhaps?" Definitely joking.


"--forsts of them! Just imagine it! Granted, granted. The lands are contested. A village here and there. Something about generations or whathaveyou. But quite frankly, my Lord and Ladies, the commonfolk don't know what they are sitting on." By now Gordo has released Ulani's hand -- thank the Mother and Father -- and has produced a datapad showing a map of said expanse. "The hardwood itself is said to be thousands of years old. It shimmers like silver itself in the grains. Rich blacks and dark brown with this thread of grey as if kissed by the stars itself! Certainly you are intrigued, I can tell!"

Ulani's face is painfully neutral now. If it weren't for the makeup keeping her cheeks softly rogued and her eyes bright, she would be quite pale. It is... quite a stench. Both the cloud around this man and the words he is saying. She tries to edge away, but somehow this tiny, fat man has got them trapped. Trapped! "Mister Gordo-- Mist--- I---" She's trying to interject, but this is a sales pitch that cannot be interrupted.

Ejnar manages to silence him a moment, though, with an ill-gotten breadstick and a sudden exclamation. "... pardon?" He seems genuinely caught off-guard by the praise heaped upon the baked dough and, for a brief moment, appears as uncomfortable as he has made them. Enough if a pause for Bors to arrie in all his flower-crowned glory

Gordo gets his second wind. "Lord Bors himself! By fortune's good favour, I---" Aaaaand it is immediately punched out of him by the direct dismissaly from the man of the hour. To his creit, the sleaze does try to speak again, but the sharp BZZZZZ's strike quick and true. Then, the hand of Kima lands HARD on Gordo's shoulder and wordlessly ushers him to follow her.

Ulani breaths out, leaning against Bors immediately and laughing nervously. To Ejnar and Pyrette, she tilts her head. "Are they really that good?" I mean, they could be! She manages to spy the royal couple not terribly far away dealing with their own small swarm and Ulani is quick to wave them over. "Over here! I found him!"

And Yari. Poor, poor Yari. A young, preteen girl looking uncomfortable in her dress stops in front of her. "Are you okay, miss?"


When Yari's brain recovers from the sudden influx of sound (only another thirty seconds, honest!) and her nerves from the brush with death (had by her caramelized sugar construct) she lowers the platter back down to waist level. Er...maybe a smidge higher. Just in case. A hesitant look down is pleased to find no damage done to the edible treasure chest of treats. It's held together against the jostling.

She startles for a second time when the young girl halts in front of her with query of concern. Gasping lips clap quickly together into a thin line of resolute, undeniably 'okay'ness. Or constipation.

"Yes," Yari lies through her teeth with uneccessary sharpness. Nevermind that she's just one shade above 'ded' in pallor. Color IS returning, in the form of a pink flush, under collar. "It's....heavy. I needed to stretch." Lies, such stupid lies. Not willing to stick around and be gawped at further, she charges on ahead, around the little miss who, honestly, she would be happy to commisserate with any other moment in time. Just not now. Now, she has a birthday boy to find and it isn't TOO hard of a task, locating the increasing density of a nearby pocket of nobility.


"I cannot imagine the look on her face to have been slain by a breadstick. Surely the years will see her kinder... or we may have a problem." Aryn says, laughing a bit more. Ban's question and gaze prompt her to look, too, and Aryn is left with a crooked grin. She bumps slightly into Ban, then peers up at him. "I imagine it was like this on Alderaan. What with centuries of peace, what else was there to talk about but baked goods and wine, sir?" Urged to join the others, Aryn leads a few steps as if dragging the Dragoon with her, but they are cut off by a young Lord dressed in stylish black styled to a naval look.

"Your Highness, Ser Ban," Says Ty Killesa, offering his gloved hand for a shake. "I owe you my gratitude, sir. You were true to your word. I come bearing news, if you would hear it?" His brows lift to form a questioning expression, his wily dark hair not quite long enough to hide them.


The Malodorous Man is gone! GONE his -HIS- noble hand! HIS. Also Kima's. Kima's terrifyingly delicate, iron hard, grip. A Teras-Kasi grip. It has alleviated them of The Terror. A terror that Lady Yari has been spared. He heard she was here, as was the Princess and Lord Ban himself. Head craning to look for them, for the moment.

Surely Her Majesty and her betrothed would be a shield against the potential terrors of Socializing.

Bors leans towards Ula briefly, to put a peck on her cheek, "Hi." head wobbling, with his blasted crown so thoroughly placed that it doesn't even shake. Like a gaudy extension of his skull. It shall be there for ages, welded to his head by hairpins, by his traitor sister. He cannot even declare vengeance, because it'd be seen as a coup! THE INJUSTICE.

But there is only one aught thing to do, he turns his head on his first victim of the day.

"Ejnar, It's my birthday party. I demand a kiss." tilting his head to point his cheek towards the son of house Celchu.


Ban Iskender does not require dragging, and those well acquainted with the gentleman might even recognize the faint curl to his stoic expression as being one of good humor as he plays along with being 'dragged'. When intercepted by the familiar face of Lord Ty, Ban pauses and greets the young, "Admiral Killesa." The hand clasp is accepted. "I will hear whatsoever word the liberator of Last Light has brought."


Like on the battlefield, the Ace Pilot that Ejnar was took the challenge of Gordo and entered a dogfight with the man. Volleys of uncomfortable feeling and actions. Sometimes salesmen like Gordo needed a taste of their own medicine. However, as he felt renewed at the arrival of Bors, Ejnar's face flattened into a deadpan of disappointment as this dogfight would indeed be long and brutal. Was he up against another Silencer?

Then, before another thought on the matter could be broached he was taken away. The air around them lightened and he sighed. Pyretta turned to Ulani and said, "Perhaps not as good as Ejnar and I were making it out to be, but it's still rather delicious." as Bors approaches she would smile, "Happy Birthday, Lord Captain."

Ejnar chuckles, ripping another bite from the bread stick and chewing before leaning in and actually giving him a loud, "Mmmmmmwwwaahhh." Of a kiss on the cheek. "You're too handsome for me to refuse, sir."

Pyretta laughs, holding a hand up to he mouth, cheeks flushed red.


"You humble me, sir," Ty said, shaking the Knight's hand firmly. He looks to Aryn for permission as well, and she gives a subtle nod. "With the liberation of Last Light, and justice brought to our enemies, my Lord Father bid I attend to share that he has joined your cause. We made a ceremony of burning the Panteer's colors over those she deemed allies. I am sure there is more ceremony to it, but.. we swear for the crown. To the Princess; For Alderaan. Long have we awaited such a day, and to see a shining jewel in our night sky; we know now our bearings. We want to come home, if you will have us?"

Ty looks between the two for a reaction, his own stoic yet bordering excitement.


Ulani had passed on the fascinator Uypiia had offered her for the night. It was a beautiful headpiece adorned with fragile metal filigree and dark gems. One that Ulani had taken a liking to, but had opted for something more practical. And a Thul's idea of 'practical' is the ringlets, loops, braids, and weaves that has granted Ulani a few solid inches extra of height. Bors clearly wasn't so lucky. Loathe to think that he is wearing more hairpins than she is, Ulani cannot help but smile back. "Happy birthday, my love. Are you surviving the evening?" An arm curls around the small of his back and there it remains as he receives the requested kiss.

"Lord Ejnar and Lady Pyrette were most valiant in their efforts to safe me from that--ah. Uh." Think, think. "Spirited man. I have you all to thank for that, indeed. And might I saw, you two are radiate tonight. Lady Pyrette, you must tell me that shade of lipstick." She looks over to find Aryn and Ban have been intercepted by Lord Ty. Ah, to be expected. Always good to see the young Lord.

And finally -- Finally! -- she spots Yari. "Oh! Oh, there she is! Miss Yari!" Ulani, you foolish girl. Calling out, especially over the murmur of the crowd and the music shifting into something heavier on the flutes, may not be the best idea. So the red-headed woman lifts a hand to try to wave the young woman over towards their gathering group.

"After this," she says to Bors with a smirk, trying to encourage him through the night's social activities, "we'll go spend some time at the penthouse on Chandrila. Promise."


Men like Colo aren't supposed to be at gatherings like this. He's the detritus of Corellia and Nar Shaddaa put together with a mild problem with alcohol thrown in to ensure authenticity on both sides. Added into that is a handsome visage and a hint of fashion sense which is...what gets him into the gathering in the first place.

Like many a party-crasher, he skulks around the periphery of the party and makes himself as unobtrusive as he can be. With senators, family members, and many secondary friends gathered 'round, that doesn't seem so very difficult. Nor is getting a sample of the high-quality wine these nobles always put out to try to impress their friends. To Colo, it all tastes wealthy and that's what it's about. He smiles at his latest score--the remnants of a bottle poured into his glass and the largest spread of sample-worthy cheeses loaded onto a plate that he's yet seen. Triumphant, then, he steers himself towards the remaining mass of the hoity and toity, likely to seek out the birthday boy himself to rub his presence in.


Ban Iskender makes no pretense that he speaks with authority on the subject of fealty to the Crown, though he does allow his solemnity to warm and his head to dip. "For my part, I should be glad to stand alongside your kin in the days to come." Yet the final word must be Aryn's, to whom the Lord looks next, his eye catching with brief amusement on the birthday shenanigans beyond in the movement.


Weaving precariously around elbows and capes, over trains and shifting feet, Yari bears the sucrose-licious offering along toward its recipient. It's a treacherous walk, but she's encouraged by the wave of hand. Is that---yes, that IS Ulani! Something akin to relief relaxes her pensive expression. Relief...or perhaps resignation that this is it and there's no turning back. How will the royal tastebuds receive?

Knowing only half the faces assembled in this little cluster - and Aryn's presently occupied - Yari stops just shy of thrusting the platter at Bors, choosing instead to linger a polite moment on the fringes to exchange smiles or whatever etiquette demands with the unknowns. So it is that such a small, almost apologetic smile is offered to Ejnar and Pyretta, before her eyes snap back to the absurdity that is Bors' floral arrangement and headgear. It's too late to pass the look as nonchalant glance, no, those eyes are *LOCKED ON TARGET*. If only she could disengage, but...

The platter rises a half inch and then two inches toward him, hands at least capable of carrying out her initial plan of action, even if her eyeballs are suddenly distracted. "I..." Blink for star's sake!

  • BLINK*

"--for you." There, she did it. Standing there dumbly like a confectionary dispenser, Yari balances the tray on one hand while the other veeeeery carefully plucks the chocolate-glazed mallow knob atop the caramelized-honey-crisp box and lifts it up to reveal the treasures therein:

Gemstones. Edible gemstones. Colorful baubles of varying shape that consist of fragile, shinily-glazed sugar shells, filled with colorful cremes and jellies. They are as follows:

               Emeraude - Thala-siren custard (green) 
               Dembaline - mallow creme (pearl) 
               Chrysopaz - meiloorun melon puree (yellow gold) 
               Opal - denta bean paste (pinkish white) 
               Garnet - Oi-oi jelly (red) 
               Quella stone - jogan fruit paste (Bluish purple)


"Come home, my Lord," Aryn says. "You know well the seas of Delaya, now come master the seas of New Alderaan." Aryn offers her hand, and Lord Ty accepts, bending the knee in deference. "We would be honored, Your Grace." Aryn gently urges him up with a subtle motion of her hand, the one he holds. "Now come, celebrate the life day of Lord Bors." Aryn says with a smile, gesturing toward the ensemble of people and their hosts! Aryn, too, begins to walk that way tethered to Ban's arm.

Lars Syrush arrives at the part carrying a modest gift. Instead of wearing armor, the First Sword is in stylish tunic and a grey cape. He stands tall over most, broad even without armor, and dashing. It was like the room sighed at his arrival, but some how he did not notice.

"Lord Bors!" He calls out in confident voice, chuckling after as he begins to close the distance, no rush!


Huzzah! Kissed on the cheek and for such Bors puts a hand on Ejnar's shoulder, looking to Pyretta... Pareet? Pyromancer. That's it. Pyromancer, "You do be caring of this one, dear lady, he's been putting himself through his paces in the field." bowing his head, putting the level of his below the lady's for a moment in subtle, brief, deference and noble respect.

"I don't want to go to Chandrila, it's so... not Alderaan." grinning, "We could fit the penthouse inside our rooms." rooms... Like the noble family, the immediate rulers of the house and closest kin practically have their own estates carved into Gravenheim. Then Yari is called! And Aryn is spotted with Lord Ban and Bors lifts a hand to greet her, even if he cannot immediately approach.

The lady from the world like his has attention for now, brought there by Ulani.

"Well... well... well..." her short hair 'done up' like curling waves borne on the wind with golden spikes linked by blue silver chains like arachnid webs between raising from her scalp. Sections where the links meet set by rubies cut into the shape of the house symbol, crowning her in metallic fire to mix with the sweeping high collar of filmy material that wraps halfway around her head to flow down into the gown that moves like sections and single piece all at one time.

Countess Uypiia Thul, head of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Thul runs a hand along one shoulder of Colo Nell, across his back and to the other side in passing, "Corellians have found their way to Gravenheim. There goes the Mountain." one kohl lined eye winking as she claims a bit of cheese from a serving plate and feeding it to Vanko, her husband, dressed in a far simpler black suit with gold lined cape and ruby gem at his throat.

"Enjoy yourself, the invitation was for all who were present on Alderaan." she continues on her way, gown pooling like inky water around her feet when she continues on in a glide with her other half at her side.

Meanwhile, by the Birthday Boy.

"Oh Miss Yari, you're a treasure. If I were not so terrified for my life and being sworded in the face for my temerity I would kiss you for this. But then, as I said. Sworded. Sworded in the face and I would be most unhappy. Because of the sword in my face." taking up his collection of sweets with a notable bounce in his heels. Because sweet-tooth. Putting a garnet in his mouth when he is called out to,

"Suh Lawhs!" he'd wave. But then he'd lose his gemstones - which the taste of has rolled his eyes back, "Movah pwehsehf meh..." knees bending, leaning back "Unf..." chew, chew, chew chew, "Yawi if muh nu fawhfwit."


"Indeed, he has." Pyretta says, coming up to Ejnar's side once more and placing a small hand on his back. She leans against him, rubs his back and then looks to Bors once more. "And now I'll be putting him through the paces on the Dance Floor."

Ejnar blinked and looked towards her, "What?"

It was too late, Pyretta was already dragging him that way with no chance for him to be saved.


What a dazzling display. Colo might be on the edge of the party's most popular for his own protection, but he'd have to be blind to miss the presentations that Yari puts forth in an effort to showcase the tray of the most edible wealth the Corellian's yet seen. His eyes lock on target and there's just the briefest temptation to go in search of a sweet snack to whet his appetite for a pilfered main course.

At least, until the electric shock of pure chemistry channeled directly through his arm alerts him to the finest treat present. Colo has no idea who she is, what house she belongs to, whether her husband is the dueling sort, nor whether illicit liasions are hanging offenses on this rock. What he does know is that cheese and sweet-treats pale in comparison to the flirtations of the highborn. His tongue wags with wit before he can think to catch it. "Corellian, madame. Just the one. We're required to spice these sorts of things else it may turn out so dreadfully dull. What use is a party without one salacious scandal?" He challenges, though it's all rhetoric and teasing--no matter how tempting, he doesn't pursue.

Not least because some guardswoman who might be able to toss him out on his shebs. He shoots the Lady Uypiia one meaningful look of his dark brows and brilliant eyes, then turns on a heel to tarry from tangoing with the temptations of Thul truncheons. Cheese and sweet-treats it is. "Sigh," He says.


Sworded in the face? Not if her fist beat the blade to the punch! Knuckle-sammiched in the face.

But Bors' enunciation devolves into the level of hers when she was learning to speak with her mouth and not her hands, and the very small spark of redheaded feistiness gets snuffed by the sound. If that's not pleasure and satisfaction, she doesn't know *what* is. A patiently pleased smile softens her expression and she answers Ulani with a tiny shrug of "Maybe."

MAYBE!? It isn't a 'no'. And now, task completed, she turns to look upon that 'Sir Lars' - a man she's seen before at the Princess's soirees. He isn't harsh on the eyes.


"Not Chandrila, then. But some quiet all the same. Should we sell our home in Hanna City, I wonder." Ulani starts to extend a hand of welcome to Yari but immediately withdraws it when she sees the platter of goodies. Her eyes widen in surprise, awe even! How intricate and time-consuming this gift must have been. "Miss Yari, do wonders never cease? This looks absolutely incredible! Are you /sure/ you do not wish to freelance a bit in the Thul kitchens? I assure you we can attain any manners of ingredients for your culinary curiosities. If nothing else then to merely patron such art!" She cannot help but laugh to Bors' reaction. "Your favourite, indeed. One ponders how I won you without going through your stomach."

Kima, head of the Thul guard, has been milling about the gathered crowds keeping a watching eye on the party along with several other fine-dressed guardsmen and women. With the social gatherings of the recent path being targetted by Deloyan adversaries and the vague threats towards the Thuls themselves, no course of protection has been spared. The gathered nobility, representatives, and allies have enjoyed an evening of gossip, dancing, and revelry. Much, much needed. Save for attending to a paunchy hopeful harassing the guests and a few young nobles barely in their teens who are only this night discovering their threshold for wine. And then surpassing it by leaps and bounds.

She is doing her hundred round for the night when she is pulled aside by a young man looking pale in the face and breathless. Over the music and the hum of party-goers, what he says cannot be heard. However, as he speaks quietly yet hurried in her ear, the older woman's expression hardens. What she says in return gets a nod from the man and he runs off. But rather than follow, she moves quickly over towards Lady Uypiia, who turns towards Kima with a smile that slowly fades when she sees the expression of their loyal guard.

Kima leans in to speak softly so that only Uypiia hears to avoid upsetting the guests though those in proximity can likely hear it.

"Countess. An attack on the Thul holdings in Asternwald." The town nestled in the woods at the base of the mountains.