Log:New Alderaan: The Red Summit

Lana's Big Betrayal

OOC Date: March 22, 2022
Location: Grand Bay, Delaya
Participants: New Alderaan, Ban Iskender, Merek, Sorin Endesea, Nora Frayus, Orren Rist, Ariel Teral, Bors Thul, Ulani Kalgaav, Lumira Cortess, Aryn Cortess

The Peace Summit has lasted more than a week now, and in all the politics and debates, neither side had come to a compromise to find peace. The talks have been taxing, but the food has been wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. Tonight's dinner had been the best so far, drawing inspiration from the sea, the group was led to an estate far from the Leilani capital where they could see the Grand Bay, and in the distance, Last Light, the seat of House Killesa. Last Light sat on the ocean, like a looming shadow in the mists with only one feature that made it stand out, especially during an evening such as this; it ever-lit torch, lit at the top of the tallest tower and burning eternally to mark the way in for all sailors navigating the misty seas.

Views and good food aside, the festivities for the evening have drawn to a close. Entourages from both 'sides' have gone their separate ways, navigating the 'Mirror Gardens' cleverly named for the matching hedge maze grown as a college experiment and art study. The hedges stood roughly 10ft tall, and were arranged in a clever maze pattern separating the group from their quarters for the evening.

It was to be the first time they navigated the maze, but it poetically symbolized navigating the obstacles toward peace, and was written into the itinerary for the final event this night.

A protective detail escorted the nobles forward, bearing banners for each lesser House which served for the Summit as a means to endorse the pursuit of peace between all the Great Houses. These Knights were Delayan born, quiet and somber, and dressed in full decorative plate wearing green capes and bearing swords and other armaments.

Princess Aryn Cortess takes up the center of the group, quietly walking with her hands clasped at the small of her back, beneath the confirnes of her cape. "I feel a chill in the evening air. I do hope this maze is not long. I long for a warm, crackling fire to warm my bones for the evening. Such would be a comfort of my mind and the spirit, I think."

Ban Iskender is also dressed in ornate, burnished armor, with a green half cape bound over one shoulder by a length of gold cord. If not for the subtly different style of his armor and ornament, the noble Jedi might be mistaken for one of the Delayan knights. His green eyes had lingered a long moment on the distant tower of Last Light and prior promises, before he'd looked back toward the land and hedge ahead at Aryn's comment. "Such sounds fair indeed, Highness," he comments evenly, moving with steady, measured steps to proceed toward the evening's end.

It's not often that one finds Merek at these things, that said he is a noble, and it's time for him to get back into politics. Listening has been interesting, though he seems to be content to walk along with the escort and takes his time to check his computer. He wears armor that is white-black, and he keeps an F-11D along his shoulder with the strap. He watches from the faceplate of the helmet, and takes a drink from the flask with him. There's nothing like a little bit of whiskey for the tired man which needs to keep his mind upon things. "I've never understood the noble fascination with these things."

A late arrival, missing the majority of the negotiations, Sorin is newly present and represents Endesea and those pledged to its colors, past, and future as he walks among those present. A handful of paces behind the Princess, the Lordling Knight - for he is, in his own mind, the latter before the former - easily fits within Aryn's retinue. The duralloy plate of his powered armor has never looked cleaner, polished to the point of battlefield impracticality. The green and blue of Endesea shines, trim that seems to welcome what light remains this evening. That familiar crystalline sword hangs at his side. "They're seldom used like this, I think," Sorin adds to Aryn's observation. "But the intent is clear enough, and if reflection helps bring peace, I'll walk it alongside each of you."

The talks have been taxing. The food exquisite, the outfits exotic, and the -intrigue- abundant. Despite their heir-apparent's clear fondness for Aryn Cortess, House Frayus itself has straddled the line of these particular peace talks. With one foot in support for House Panteer, and the other in support of Cortess, Corwen himself had made many claims to be well and truly a supporter of -Alderaan- throughout. And yet, while Aryn has Nora's ear, it would seem to many observers that Lana herself had Corwen's. Would the total amount of time been tallied between the two, House Frayus' Count would have been seen with Lana a considerable amount more.

And, were a scholar to analyze the language, siding with her too. Diplomatically, of course. But there were always commitments in Count Corwen's ambiguity.

Tonight, however, Nora is alone. At least, she is alone in her representation of House Frayus. Aryn's mention of the chill upon the air sees the young woman lift her chin and turn towards a hedge wall that was nearest to the sea. Her nose wrinkles a moment at the mention of a fire, and her upper lip curls over her top row of teeth in a way that typically warns of a sing-songed little jab at the Princess' expense. It never quite makes it, however, as one of their party members comments on the hedge maze.

"Ah, it is our obsession with absolute frivolity. The maze is a metaphor, you see. A metaphor and an exercise, though I have not yet figured the 'of what' out of either part," Nora says. She giggles a bit at her own assessment of the maze, her left hand dropping playfully to her left hip where an ornate, durasteel rapier casts a bit of light off its reflective surface.

"It is wretched, no matter the answer. I detest mazes. And puzzles. And riddles," she muses, probably rattling off a few more things she hates as she moves, high heels tapping in perfect rhythm with her steps.

Orren Rist has been quiet for most of the night, not atypical for the laconic Rist Lord who has openly declared his allegiance to the Cortess in contrast to the rest of his House. He's dressed as formally as one *can* dress while wearing Specialist armor, an ornamental overcoat in green and black covering the durasteel plates when his arms are at his sides, separating to reveal it when he reaches for something or moves quickly. He'd eaten dinner at Lumira Cortess' side, his presence there intended more as a statement more than a reason for him to be an active participant. He had a single glass of wine, and when he ate it was only sparingly, and only after seeing others eat. In short, he's been kind of a paranoid stick in the mud the entire evening. Who invited him anyway?

He lingers in the back of the group of nobles, remaining out of the conversation entirely, allowing others to navigate the maze without his brooding guidance.

Ariel had been talked into wearing her armor by Herol and Hiroku. Because her bodyguards were over protective at this point and given they were in the home stretch of things they didn't want to let their guards down and end up with a dead Senator. That would look bad on a resume really. So the woman is in her armor and walking in between the two men who she's entrusted her well being to. "If you'd worn your gown you'd have caught a chill for sure, my Lady Senator." Herol tells her quietly. She just gives a shake of her head at her guards and continues to walk with them quietly.

"I'm surprised you get time to shower with how long it must take to shell you out of that and then tuck you back in." Countess Uypiia has Bors to her left while her husband Vanko is on her right - the Champion of Thul and the brother to her walking with the sixty year old armor encasing him, save for the helmet clipped to his belt behind where his sword is hangared and below the heavy carbine slung while he is on official guard detail.

"It's easy when you know what you're doing." "So you must take hours." Kohl lined eyes and a dress intended for making her statement, a fan of blade like petals formed in a half corona behind her, alternating gold and silver before a halo of sheer red cloth casts a crimson reflection on her cheeks and dark hair. Truly, the siblings are distinctly different in appearance. He the taller by bare inches, she dark and he fair. She armored for court and he for battle. But they match perfectly to their clan.

A sweep of silvered blacks, midnight blue and ruby gems, cloaks and capes, dark suits, bright accents and a closeness that feels secretive despite their boisterous manner. Sidewise glances, half grins and murmurs to one another not helping the association of House Thul for 'snakes in the reeds' despite their allegiance to the Princess.

"Kuhlai helps me." "Cheating." "Ulani helps me?" "Scandalous." "L7 helps me?" "It takes all kinds." "You're a brat." "Yes, I am. That's why Vanko loves me." a ripple of chuckles running through the Thuls at that.

Since the first night, Ulani has been on edge, eyes often looking around and shoulders tense. She's had little to say and has remained close to the Thul clan. A heavy cloak over her shoulders does well enough to keep out the chill which she hugs closer to herself as they stand in front of the maze's entrance. It's almost over. Or so she is telling herself. Just a little longer and they can return home; to security. This planet... does not feel secure at all.

The Thul siblings bickering nearby, though? That brings a measure of security. If they're quipping away, then things are okay. But still... Ulani does pass one more look over her shoulder into relative darkness and unfamiliar territory. She will be glad to leave when this is all done.

Lumira Cortess is here as well. Despite a bit of friction with the senior Rist Lord on their first night in Delaya -- which resulted in a nigh hysterical holo-call to Orren that allowed her to systematically list every creepy thing about his family -- she has attended each public function with confident posture and a *delightful* persona. She is a social butterfly and it shows, the noble lady working her way around the functions and summits to inspire smiles and laughter between friends and foes alike. That is her intention here -- to remind those who have forgotten what peace and kinship looks like. With mixed results, of course.

Tonight, Lumira is swanning around in a brilliant white gown that has been painted with some sort of bioluminescent paint that makes the entire thing glow with a soft light. She strolls with the rest of the party, enjoying the mirror garden -- and her fetching reflection within it -- with a cheerfulness that is only a bit forced. In truth, she has been ill at ease since she received the threat of being made a widow, which no doubt inspires her ever to loom with delicate insistence by Orren as they walk.

"A fire would be nice," Lumira muses to Aryn, her hands neatly clasped behind her back as she saunters along. "No doubt the great hall will be a welcome respite after this stroll. Even if the current banners give me monstrous indigestion." She turns a glance over her shoulder, playfully fluttering her lashes at Nora and Aryn before reaching over to amicably *poke* Orren with her elbow. This is her preferred means of reminding him to smile at her pithy wit.

"A noble sentiment, Ser Sorin. Peace is worth it, in the end." What's left unsaid is what honor truly demanded: Justice. The only Great House missing the festivities at all was the victim and the entire reason for the war. House Teraan's sole heir remained in the safety of Countess Belleau-a-Reyn's charge, and far from the snakes who led Delaya with chains.

"It is hardly a riddle, Lady Nora. Though it would not surprise me if your Lord Father was behind this. It seems he enjoys stepping aside to cause you discomfort. Such is the task of fathers." Aryn laughs, but not at Nora's expense. Her thoughts linger on her own father for the moment. Ban's agreement by calling her earlier idea fair earns the Green Knight a crooked grin.

The group goes into the path now, and their escort stops at the entrance, leaving them to sort out which way to go. "Hmph, fitting," Ser Lars intones under his breath. "Leave the hard part to the rest of us. I say we cut our way through.. nothing like forcing peace and cutting to the chase, I say." Which earns a few laughs as it's obviously said in jest. The tall Knight takes the lead, being the 'First Sword' in metaphoric and literal sense.

Ten minutes in, the maze proves more complex than it originally seemed. Ser Lars is a little annoyed by the inconvenience, and a few of the others in attendance start to air their discomforts as well. That's when the braziers and lanterns around the maze park cut out, and there's a silence that falls over the crowd.

In the distance, they can hear screams of terror from the 'other side' of the mirror maze and it seems clear what this has transformed into. Lana had painted targets on those who did not public support her, and now they were paying the price. The same fate arrived for this group too, when two bolts sprang out of nothing in an instant, whistling until they hit two people near the front right in the chest.

The sudden kills prompted Lars to draw steel in a defiant rasp of metal, then screamed, "TO ARMS.. AMBUSCADE!"

Whispering forms etch out of the darkness like ghastly wraiths of death, Rist assassins! Too many to count and moving with quick purpose to silence the party. Ser Lars defends a trio of young Ladies, engaging two assassins using his sword, then a dirk from his back, which he pulled after locking blades with one to stab them in the eye in a cheap, yet effective, technique he would no longer be able to repeat.

Aryn turns in place, not immediately concerned with the Rist but by another presence that was nearby. "..Lana.. she is near," Aryn says, brushing her cape to one side. "See our group from this maze of horrors.. if Lana intends our death, she will have to earn it by the cut of her sword. I will seek her out..--LANA!" One moment, Aryn is there, then the next, she's vanished with only the rustle of a cape to announce her departure.

In the dark, and in chaos, the Rists are joined by loyalists wearing the darkened sea-themed sigil of Killesa, who also draw steel and blasters, eager to kill any and all.

Ban Iskender comments with sharp solemnity to Sorin's words, "Alas, sir, that such an exercise cannot be more than metaphor." He has been dreadfully serious and consistent throughout the fruitless show of negotiations. Even his choice of wearing armor rather than his dress uniform was a deliberate reflection of House Iskender's publicly stated position. When the all-too-familiar flush of foreboding rises in his senses and Ban's gauntleted hand is moved to his sword hilt, the gentleman sniffs with disdain, "The Pretender is utterly shameless." His sword hilt is drawn clear of the empty scabbard, and ignites with an emerald screech. Any answer he might offer to the Cortess Princess stepping through shadows to hazard all in a duel with her own Usurper must wait until later.. if it goes well. Unable to follow her, even if he wished to, Ban calls aloud in a commander's voice, "Warriors to the fore, all others to the center!" The captain of dragoon's struggles to spot the oncoming Rist, but he has clashed with their ilk before; he replies on his sense of their malice and their pursuit of the easy kills. Once, twice, and thrice an assassin seeks to take him from the side, or to strike at one behind him, and each time a dead body lands on the garden grass.

Orren did, in fact, smile when Lumira poked him with her elbow, the look he gives her is fond but distracted, his own arm lifting to gently nudge her back. The distant screams, however, seems to be what Orren has been waiting for this whole night. The suddenness of the bolts causes Orren's arms to lift, shrugging his cloak off lest he be taken for one of the assailants in the melee. He's by far the most familiar with the Rist tactics, having trained to be one of their infamous assassins in his youth, and it leaves him ready to react with a quickness. He lifts something from beneath his cloak, a soft *snkt* audible as it extends into a battle staff, Orren stepping up between Lumira and the onslaught to swing out at the closest of the assassins, "Lumi, get down now." barked out. It might well be the longest sentence he's said all night. And with a sudden whack-whack-whack combination, Orren's staff flashes out to send the man to the ground where he lays unmoving.

Merek does not know what it is that seems to be happening, but he takes the time to lift up his rifle, with a cock of the weapon. "Alright, well it looks like we will need to deal with this." The man takes the time to aim his weapon while he considers what to do to get people away from the place.

Hiroku and Herol both give a grunt as they go to try to scoot Ariel behind them, but the Lady Senator has her riot control baton out and electrified, "I've wanted to bust someones face since we got here." she breathes out. The short lady finds one of the Killsea to take out her frustrations on...then a second...and a third. It's a shocking revelation for them probably.

Sorin's gaze is mostly fixed upon the the hedge walls that loom ahead, and there's a subdued apprehension behind hazel. He was not unaware of the betrayal and death that underwrote their being here to begin with. Aryn receives a glance, punctuated by a little nod and the subtle upcurl of a smile though it's unlikely she can see it given the lack of eyes upon the back of her head.

But then the lights quite literally go out, and that silence descends. Those hedges now rise in shadow, lending a sense of claustrophobia the Lordling of Endesea reacts to with a held breath. To hear. There had been an odd sound just then, that---

The first scream that penetrates that gloom is ice down Sorin's back, but the second is a galvanizing sound for the man. That emerald sword, crystalline and deadly sharp, rings as it is withdrawn from its scabbard. Rist assassins are not known for the sounds they make; they are known for the sounds their victims make. Thus it is not the knight's ears that direct him but the disturbance of a hedge as an assassin vault's it.

Sorin's armor whines as servos accelerate the swings of that crystalline blade. The Rist is fast, but the knight is - at least in this moment - faster and the weapon is sheathed fully within the now collapsing body of the enemy combatant. The assassin ends up a ruined mess upon the floor as Sorin turns. No Aryn. "The Princess!" he calls out, fearing the worst.

Nora's pupils dilate and her nostrils flare moments before bolts rip through the air and into the chests of two of the party. When she exhales, her eyes turn towards a shimmer of something in the air near to her. The hand on her blade is already drawing steel in an opening cut that sings through the air, catching nothing but crisp night air and, perhaps, a few bits of the hedge maze wall. The second strike catches whatever body stalks through the shadows, and the final sees her blade clash briefly with armor as she brings her face closer towards the foe that stalks in the shadows.

"I see you," she says, biting her bottom lip before pushing off of them and taking a few steps backwards. She adopts a defensive dueling posture, blade pointed out and slowly tracking that shimmer through the dark.

Her eyes flick towards where Ban has begun to carve through assassins with his saber, a soft smirk touching the young woman's pretty lips.

"Do you see that, darling? I would be a bit quicker, were I you," she says with a giggle.

Ambuscade.

Bors's reaction is immediate; sword drawn from his hip with one hand and his helmet with the other, rammed down over his head a click before the hissing whine of seals engaging and the distinct T shaped visor blazing to glowing white-blue. Moving to the fore while Uypiia and Vanko are pulled into a circle of the Thul Family with blades and blasters being drawn from within corsets, weskits, cloaks and at least one flaring skirt.

<"Ula, dear - did you bring a blaster? Knife? Pointy rock? Coarse language?"> voice emitted from the helmet with a hollow tone that yet fails to lose the jovial tone that seems to grow more excited with the few quick sweeping loops before a spark shoots off of a shoulder pad and a figure moving like glass in water attempts to slip past.

<"Bad form!"> whirling in the opposite direction, to come around with his blade going between an assassin's ribs, leaning to bring himself close, <"Assassination, kidnapping, and general mayhem was scheduled for two days ago."> twisting his wrist and drawing back to send the would be killer to the ground with a small, benedictory hand gesture, speaking into his helmet and not to his vocalizer mic, "Mother grant you the forgiveness for the crimes we commit and Father the strength of will to recognize why we must beg forgiveness."

Nope. Nope, this maze is definitely not feeling like they are navigating towards peace. All it feels like is getting lost on a planet of hostiles. The longer it takes, the more unnerved she gets. The closer she draws in to the others wih a frown as her thoughts wander. The message they had received at the Summit's beginning was a dire one, indeed. And the tension in the air never subsided. So what can be done if--

Thoughts interrupted by the lights dying, shouts of horror, and the cries of the dying. It's a flurry of voices around them, some giving orders and others calling out to their adversaries. And she without a weapon. Ulani is skilled in a great many feats, but in terms of offensive, if it's not a rifle, attached to a starfighter, or explode on a timer: yeah... it's not happenin'.

"I'm afraid not," she answers to Bors with a higher pitch in her voice. "I've not taken up the sword yet and the carbine wouldn't fit up my skirt." So she does what comes natural to her. Ulani steps back from those who are fighting and nears the center, intent on protecting those in the center should any harm come their way.

On the party wanders. Five minutes. Then ten. To be sure, Lumira has chattered for most of this duration, attempting to keep spirits buoyed while also distracting herself from just how tense this entire summit has felt. There has been little progress in terms of peacemaking, and it is distinctly disheartening to see their old enemies walking around so cavalierly.

Lumira stops when the lights go out, her eyes giving an owlish blink-blink. She starts to turn, not *yet* afraid but certainly concerned. "Oh dear..." she says, her glass half-raised to take a nervous chug from the fizzy beverage. But that's when the screaming begins and two bolts *thuwmp!* into their marks. Lumira gasps, her body pressing against the maze wall. Orren yells at her to get down and she yells back, "My cousin! Orren, protect Aryn! She--"

Oh. She just disappeared. Huh.

Orren is beating one of the assassins to death right in front of her, making Lumira stare with horror. She's frozen until hearing Nora battling and ridiculing one of the other fiends; seeing her friend 'in danger' inspires the delicate Alderaanian noble woman to 'help' by letting out a flustered scream and limp-wrist THROWING her glass at the downed assassin.

"TAKE THAT YOU COWARD!" she shrilly intones, just as the beverage splatters all over his face and person.

Distant screams are overshadowed by the ones nearby, as those incapable of defending themselves scramble to the center at Captain Ban's call. Ser Lars is locked in a duel with two, putting himself between the three women he is safeguarding, and the assassins intending them harm. He kills one outright, cutting them down, but then loses his dirk in the trade off with the other, crying out at the pain in his arm from a previous wound.

The Assassins do not relent, and the Killesa's lock blades and fire into the crowds as they can, those loyal knights helping defend the group using their bodies and armor to absorb the blows where possible.

In a different section of the maze, a sudden lightshow gives way to an immense display of energy. Something of purple hue with the crackle of electricity follows the sound of a shrill scream, then a loud hiss and bright sapphire blue sound follows, its humming distinct, halting the advance of the purple crackling energy.

Suddenly another shrill scream and a tower of flames sweeps across one side of the gardens, igniting one side completely, yet once it reached a certain point, the energy was swept to one side and harmlessly directed toward the sea. The fight, between whoever wielded such destruction, was out of view but heard and seen partially, only through the speckled spots of the hedges.

With fire spreading through the maze, the need to move and escape was apparent. Lars screams, "We must cut our way through. Those armored souls with me now.. NOW.. WITH ME!" And he throws himself through a hedge to open a path. Several of the Knights with the group follow, shouldering past Killesa and Rist alike to do the same and open the path to the next area. The fighting continues!

As Lars barrels forward, blazing the burning trail toward safety, Ban lingers long enough to cut down two more of the craven attackers who had beset the noble company. "Forward!* he shouts, indicating the intended path with his glowing sword as a beacon. The gentleman pauses amid the screams and smoke, sensing something great and terrible, unseen. He is stirred from the brief reverie by the most vulnerable nearest him, and stands ready to ward off further injury.

Merek aims his weapon to one of the loyalists, though it's difficult to navigate that maze. The shot which he takes manages to strike into a hedge, though it might manage to distract them. He motions to the party, "If you can't fight then try and get along to safety!" The man checks the cell to that weapon, then he cycles the energy, while he begins to maneuver with the fighters at the front lines, supporting them.

There's little to do but move forward, the hedges preventing any sort of real choice in the matter. It would require a tractor of some sort - or perhaps a tank - to simply roll through the thick native growth. Or perhaps that dervish-wielded blade of ionized green held by Ban. With enough whacks.

Sorin meets Ser Lars commanding instruction, forming upon the man's left. The haze of a cloaked Rist draws that hazel gaze to the side. The stealth-shimmer is but a pace away, the heat-like warble of space likely a dagger-wielding arm as it prepares to thrust into the Senator of New Alderaan. There's little time to properly engage the Rist, Sorin choosing instead to bodily interfere in the suddenly-there form of a power-armor shaped obstacle. The Rist grunts at the meeting of bodies (you all be quiet) and is forced off his feet, though that dagger scores a durasteel leg plate, finding a kink within the join of a poleyn, within which to draw blood. Sorin's own reply, a simple hack of his crystalline blade, isn't anywhere near coordinated or strong enough to catch, let alone bite.

Sorin stumbles back after a moment, collecting himself and dropping a hand to that injured leg. Ariel receives a quick side-long glance, to ensure she's still standing. Then it's through that cut in the maze, orange glow of that nearby blaze beginning to cast evil colors upon the fleeing party.

Lady Nora's head tips to the side as something skitters up the back of her spine and into her skull. She steps back an extra two steps just as Lumira's glass sails over her left shoulder and splashes across the Rist Assassin's garb. Her lips form into a pout and she steps away from him while he swings. "So clumsy, darling. I warned you against that second helping. But you never do listen--," she steps back again with a little laugh. Another swing sees Nora step to the man this time and drive the blade through his belly, careful to stay well enough away from him to keep her dress pristine -- free of red. Blood or wine.

"To bed now," she says, and pulls it out of his side before swinging towards one of the attackers who has advanced towards Orren and Lumira. She steps in front of the two, high heels on cobblestones moving as naturally as a cat stalking through shadows. Some of that glinting steel is dimmed by a smear of red across its blade, but, for now, Nora lets it drip towards the ground.

"Legendary Rist assassins," she says, biting her bottom lip while she advances. "Storied for their -prowess- in battle. Forgive me for saying, I did not think gutting you dogs would be quite so easy," she cackles.

And there is that feeling, too. Somewhere off in the distance. That same feeling that taps at the back of Ban's skull taps at Nora's. She turns briefly to look towards its source, as if called to it, but then quickly looks back towards the assassin as she continues to press her advance.

"Step with me now. We both know this dance by now."

Lady Nora's head tips to the side as something skitters up the back of her spine and into her skull. She steps back an extra two steps just as Lumira's glass sails over her left shoulder and splashes across the Rist Assassin's garb. Her lips form into a pout and she steps away from him while he swings. "So clumsy, darling. I warned you against that second helping. But you never do listen--," she steps back again with a little laugh. Another swing sees Nora step to the man this time and drive the blade through his belly, careful to stay well enough away from him to keep her dress pristine -- free of red. Blood or wine.

"To bed now," she says, and pulls it out of his side before swinging towards one of the attackers who has advanced towards Orren and Lumira. She steps in front of the two, high heels on cobblestones moving as naturally as a cat stalking through shadows. Some of that glinting steel is dimmed by a smear of red across its blade, but, for now, Nora lets it drip towards the ground.

"Legendary Rist assassins," she says, biting her bottom lip while she advances. "Storied for their -prowess- in battle. Forgive me for saying, I did not think gutting you dogs would be quite so easy," she cackles.

And there is that feeling, too. Somewhere off in the distance. That same feeling that taps at the back of Ban's skull taps at Nora's. She turns briefly to look towards its source, as if called to it, but then quickly looks back towards the assassin as she continues to press her advance.

"Step with me now. We both know this dance, don't we?"

Orren glances at Lumi's drink-throwing as the assassin in front of him goes down, clearly amused at (and proud of?) the defiant gesture. Then the others step in to answer for the disrespectful gesture, both Orren and Nora moving in to defend Lumira. Orren is struck twice, once in the chest, causing him to grunt and shift, the second strike slashing down into the meat of his left thigh, leaving a narrow slice that seeps red to stain his armor.

In response Orren's staff comes up, striking the first assailant across the chest, but he stumbles back, sweeping the staff broadly to fend off further attacks as he shifts his weight to his right leg, face twisting into an infuriated snarl.

Ariel's continuing her beating back of the Rist and Killsea's. She was raised on Tatooine and honestly you just had to grow a thicker skin to surive thre. She gives a look towards her guards as they go about trying to make sure she doesn't get shot. When Sorin blocks one of the shots she gives him a bit of head shake, "Focus on those who don't have guards, Sir Sorin!" she calls to him. Then she's back to cattle prodding the dickens out of these poor 'assassins'.

Lars is calling to sally and Bors is turning in place with a maelstrom of blades surrounding. Half swording to parry, catching a blade along the flat of his and another against the guard of the vacuum proofed shell girding his forearm. <"Sister dear?"> Another cut that might have unarmed him skidding along the black painted shell before Lord Thul's pommel strikes away the arm and he is forced into a backpedal.

"Go! Vanko and Kima have me!" called even while Uypiia is firing a holdout blaster over the shoulder of a Thul House guard and Kuhlai D'Mahn is trying to shepherd Ulani into the defenses of the house's defensive circle, doing his best to try and keep out of her way while trying to get her to safety

<"Yes, My Countess!"> anything further said arrested when a short blade is put to the side of his thigh guard and bites in, drawing blood from the leg that has seen far better days than the other. Perhaps soon to become a matching set! His response is specific - the figure's face already bleedig from the pommel strike, his blade comes down broad across the shoulder of the one who'd cut him, dragged along the bone to their neck and leaving them to tumble to the ground while he limps to get his balance.

<"Blast it all..."> stumble. Hop-step. <"I sure love coming to the stab party... Bors, would you like to go to the stab party? Oh! Would I? I can't think of a better way to spend a week. Stuffy, Snobbery, Dash of Angry Brother in Law sending ominous boxes I won't open. Some light stabbing. It's a fantastic time on Delaya, absolutely glorious"> the edge of a blade is turned and clatters against the rounded crown of his helmet, rattling his teeth,

<"FINE. Thou hath acquired tickets to the Stab Party! FINE! I shall stab at thee!">

It's a tactic known to every surviving herd animal on every planet: those with horns form the perimeter while the defenseless huddle in the center. This maneuver, perfected by eons of evolution, proves just as effective now as it does with the nerf, falthiers, and bantha. The pack of assassins attempt to close in; try to break through the line of horns to get at the weakest, easiest targets. But the horns stop them steadfast.

Ulani has placed herself at the smaller perimeter of the center cluster of people, watching the frenzied action with a trained eye. 'Head on a swivel.' A flash of firelight in the distance and then it's gone. Lars calling for the group to barrel forward.

And a flash of illuminated blue as Bors steps in the path of two Rist blades coming for her. "You're Gods-sent, my love," she manages to say until a Rist breaks past the line and rushes towards the Thuls. With a surprised yelp, there is a blur of a cloak and the Rist is doing their best/worst rendition of a spooky ghost in the finest silver and black fabric. Then then, to the urgent ushering of Kuhlai, Ulani is whisked away into the Thul throng.

Lumira is thoroughly out of her element as she stands amdist the fighting in her glowing ballgown like some sort of thematically adjacent jellyfish ( https://tinyurl.com/2tabp8n4 ). She fretfully watches as Nora deals with the wine-soaked man on the ground, both of her lilied hands clasped fretfully over her mouth. She scrunches one eye shut, insisting on watching the carnage even if the violence makes her stomach flip-flop. With her vision thus impaired, she might completely miss the four armed men cutting toward her if not for both Orren and Nora's deft interference.

Meanwhile, the fires blaze all around. Lumira knows that she ought to run, but she stands frozen with fear and concern as both the Frayus lady and the *one* Rist lord she actually likes battle against the assassins. When Nora cuts one of the men down, Lumi heaves a sigh of relief, but that is when she sees Orren being attacked so viciously that a spray of blood bursts from his torso. Lumira stiffens immediately, her eyes going wide with horror.

"ORREN!" she screams, and thoughtlessly runs at the masked assassin who raises his blade to attack Orren once again.

Lumira jumps at him with a delicate *hop*, intending to grab his neck or shoulders or whatever part of him she can wrestle into distraction, her voluminous white dress billowing with majestic effect. Only...the assassin deftly steps aside, his arm extending to snag her around the waist and spin her around with the grace of a skilled dance partner. A moment later, his other hand comes up to grip to her hair and force her head back, his knife pressed against the tender stretch of her throat.

Lumi's eyes go wide, her mouth open and gasping.

With the noblelady secured in his grip, the assassin lifts his arm to push up his mask and reveal his identity: Vidar Rist, none other than Orren Rist's cousin.

"Well, well, well," Vidar sneers, his dark eyes leveled on Orren. "We meet again, cousin. What do you say? A duel -- one that comes with high stakes." A pause his eyes slinking to the other Rist's wounds with a smirk. "Supposing the fight is still in you, of course."

The feeling those sensitive to Force experience is one of creeping dread. There is something powerful drawing on the energy of the Force, something that uses malice to create the ripples they feel. It manifests like a sickening feeling, turning stomachs and creating an ominous feeling. The source is Lana, who battles Aryn who uses the same energy to redirect her sorceress attacks. The two battered women square off, and a thunderous noise follows, another shrill scream but it's sent away somehow. This thunderous wave grows more powerful a second later, and a harsh kinetic wind sweeps over the gardens rattling the trees and hedges.

The fight with the Rists, and the Killesas, have begun to wane. Their number sees its limit, but the party is still pursued. Ser Lars cuts down two in preparation for the next hedge wall. He shares an appreciative look with Sorin, nodding his head. "AGAIN! WITH ME NOW!" Lars cries out, clearly out of breath but barreling forward and hurling himself into the hedge to bowl it over and make a path. With the help of the other Knights, the path is large enough for the group to traverse.

The smoke now has grown thick, black, and the flames create ash that rains down from the heavens. The battle is NOT over, and they must survive to get out of the maze, but the fire is spreading quickly enough that it could trap them! It's obvious enough at first glance.

Lord Vidar casts Lumi to a pair of Rist Assassins away from the group who begin to drag her away. Freeing the Lord of Rist to draw his poisoned blade and square off with Orren Rist in a duel. "Come along, cousin.. recall you all your failures.. you are about to relive them again.."

Merek lifts up the weapon while he takes the time to aim at one of the people that are trying to kill the nobles. "Alright, well I guess that this will have to do." With that, he pulls on the trigger and a lance of crimson blasts along into one of the targets, taking them down. He then walks with the party to keep guarding them, while he takes the time to sweep.

Ban Iskender finds himself briefly in an island of calm amidst the smoke and slaughter, as the remaining Rist (nom Orren division) have wisely kept away from the green swordsman. His eye is drawn up anew as the palpable wickedness of the Pretender further darkens the night sky. Ban begins to muster his energies, reaching out through the Force.. until green eyes narrow at the sight of bolts flying up toward Aryn. In an instant, the dragoon is hewing through the hedge to waylay those who had fired upon Princess Cortess. Two are dead in a single breath, one by a thrust through the core that cuts free into a sidelong slash that strikes down the second. Continuing his dash another turning step, Ban impales the third, letting the would be assassin fall back toward the ground.

A pulling gesture with his free hand draws the dead man back to his feet, only so that a second smash may strike off his head. Thou shalt not shoot the Princess.

The sounds of murder continue to surround Sorin as he pushes forward at the side of Ser Lars. <"We have,"> /hack hack hack/, <"to get through this faster."> The words come with all the stress death and a raging inferno seem likely to convey upon the man, and if his face could be seen beneath his helmet a wild light would be easily seen behind that luster of hazel.

Punching through to the other side, that tell-tale shimmer announces the presence of an assassin darting forward to intercept. Sorin's blade is held askew, at the low ready, blade out. An invitation. The Rist sees an opportunity to cut close, perhaps shiv within an armpit, but at the last moment the Alderaanian Lordling Knight steps forward, not around, and that blade becomes a lance. The Rist is impaled, the stealth field stuttering into nonexistence. If there once was a light behind those goggles, they die as the assassin stumbles to his knees, then falls backwards, quite dead.

Sorin steps over the body and hurries to reform that shield wall alongside Ser Lars.

Nora Frayus can have tunnel vision. When she gets like this, head tipped to the side, eyes focused on the kill, it's easy to miss the things going on around her. Lumira being apprehended. The face reveal of bizarr-orren. It doesn't help that there's something else, too. Something horrible and dreadful that feeds those whispers in her skull. That draws fingertips so elegantly across strings in a way that almost, for just a moment, resembles something more than discord and sound. She's not playing any more. Something about the sound of it flips a switch in the young woman and she steps towards the retreating assassin she'd been toying with. She roughly rips the flat of her blade across his cheek with a loud -crack- as his neck snaps to the side and he crumples.

She turns towards another attacker nearby -- this a Killesean. She draws that blade across their chest wildly and follows it up with a second swing that nearly connects.

Wordless, now, she stalks towards them, the tip of her blade dragging on the ground in an unsettling, metallic screech.

Orren's infuriated snarl breaks into an expression of surprise as Lumi shifts forward, "No-!" exclaimed as she goes in and.. misses. She's grabbed, Orren's right hand coming off his staff to reach out toward her, attempting to grasp at the diaphanous glow of Lumira's gown as she's whisked away, his earlier shock suddenly falling away to leave Orren's expression completely flat with fury. His eyes lock onto his cousin as he brings the staff up to bear, hissing out "Unhand my betrothed, you sniveling cowards." as Lumira is tossed back to the men behind Vidar.

Vidar's arm snakes out as he issues the challenge, slashing forward with a dulled metal knife and Orren swings his staff up to knock the blade away with a sharp clang of durasteel on durasteel, "You always liked to run your mouth Vidar, let's see if you can succeed where my brother failed!" spat back in the man's face as Orren's staff swings up in a rapid flurry of blows, cracking the man across the ribs with the first hit then driving the staff down into his wrist, sending the knife tumbling from his grip. The final strike slams into the man's nose with a sudden crunch and a spray of red. Orren's style, similar to the assassins themselves, is direct and brutal.

As the man falls, Orren steps forward to plant his foot on the man's chest as he faces off with Lumira's captors.

"Two failed attempts now." said with a 'tsk' "You should thank me now for returning honor to the family name." his words a declaration of purpose as well as a challenge.

Sipon, Herol and Hiroku are getting a bit of a refresher course in trying to guard Ariel. Which is harder to do when she's one of the ones wailing on people. Sipon, a rather heavily armored Duros, sprints after her, catching a shot that was meant for the Senator. This causes her to turn, her green gaze a bit wide as she lines up a new target. She gets a running start and then brings the riot baton down on some heads. Bzzzzzt!

The grinding sound of metal on metal, slipping between the cuirass and the belly plates of his armor is the herald for the sensation of pressure and then pain, a gurgling sensation that tells him that part of his esophagus has been cut met soon after by the copper taste that proves the 'theory'.

<"Four on one, I suppose you'd need numbers."> still biting out little remarks while the wrap-around display above his forehead allows him a compressed view of figures charging to where Ulani can be seen among the Thul line, <"Sister, they seem upset with my betrothed!"> grinding out the words while deflecting another blow with his blade and putting the pommel of the blade into the brow of one of those assailants - sending the foeman to the ground while he continues his advance.

Durasteel wire reinforced plasteel shell erupting in a white spray when vibroblade cuts and churns the material - hitting bone and cutting a long groove along it while another plants a triangle bladed knife into his arm, just at the thin gap between rebracer and lower bicep. <"MOTHERFFFFFFF-ORGIVE YOU... FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUU-AAATHER DEFEND..."> he's so close. <"BOUNDERS!"> GASP! <"JACKANAPES!"> Language, BORS! <"Bollocks!"> BORS! Your mother is here!

"Why don't you fall down?" one of them hisses at him, twisting her blade to the jocular, if pained, response of,

<"Well I would but I have to be over there. Otherwise a kip would be toppers..."> throwing an elbow into her gut, Bors continues his path to keep harm from Ulani.

With her heart in her throat and pounding like mad, Ulani is operating on adrenaline as she watches the Rist assassin struggle momentarily in the mess of her cloak then literally slice his way out of it. Oh. Oh, yeah. That's a good plan. Crafty Rists.

The push to barrel through the hedges commence and a bulk of the survivors make for that direction. Ulani starts that journey, as well, looking back in time to see Bors protecting their flank and suffering for it. With the kind of cursing only Bors can provide.

A breath catches and she's moving without thought. Bursting into a full run -- which is impressive in this dress, believe it -- a blur of red hair and silver silk rushes past and rams under a Rist's center of gravity. Strength is not on her side, but momentum and surprise defintiely are. 'Be unpredictable, yeah?' She hears the formerly reformed pirate's advice in her head...

... as she and the Rist attacker fall hard to the ground. Hey, it's one less on the creatively swearing nobleman.

Lumira is whisked back by the two men, the small blonde writhing and kicking the entire way. Her hair, once elegantly styled, has come unfastened due to Vidal's rough-handling, giving her an uncharateristically wild appearance as she kicks and struggles. "You fiends!" she curses, her voice uppity and superior even now, "Unhand me! You-You-You TRAITOROUS THUGS!" The insult rings out amidst the metallic clank of sword meeting sword and the ongoing screaming from the retreating party.

Lumira frantically looks around, her wide blue eyes witnessing Nora snap a man's neck -- the sight making her stiffen and surprise. Is this the same noble lady she grew up with? Partied with? Gossiped with? She has barely come to accept that the Frayus lady is a Jedi, and now here she is, killing someone with dispassionate deftness.

As one of her captors jerks her backward, Lumira is forced to remember the direness of her situation. She kicks her feet out hard enough that one of her high heels comes free, its fashionable silhouette lost on the ground. Her head jerks to the side, teeth bared as she tries to *BITE* the assassin's hand as he tries to put it over her mouth. Unfortunately, his gauntlets are thick enough that she could spend all night gnawing and would hardly put a dent in them.

As she's dragged along, Lumi looks back to Orren, watching with worried intensity as he squares off against Vidal. Some of her struggling die down, not out of a lack of fear but because she is so absorbed in the duel. Her eyes dart back and forth between the Rists, a soft mewl of concern muffled against her captor's hand. When Orren inevitably strikes him down, she all but sags with relief, her eyes closing and nostrils flaring with a deep breath.

A moment later, Lumira is back to writhing and kicking like an angry loth-cat in a sack.

Lord Ban saw but a glimpse of Aryn through the smoke as harm intended her misses outright. In his assault, the Princess melted away with the creeping smoke, event he glow of her sapphire blade fading to the dark night entirely. Her presence was not gone, but she could not be seen, lending to the success of Ban's surprise attack in cutting three warriors down in quick succession. He was left with three other swordsmen, though, who lost sight of Aryn and had to settle for the Green Knight.

Whilst Lumi is dragged, she is forced to watch her friends grow further away in the fire-lit dark chaos. The Rist are cruel in their handling of her, ensuring compliance by way of painful grips that will undoubtedly leave marks. It seems helpless when suddenly a figure steps from the smoke in front of her and the space between them fills with a humming blue. It is cousin Aryn, and she cuts both assassins down in a single pass of her blade, rendering the pair dead, her blade's passage leaving only embers from eradicated armor to drift from where her lightsaber touched.

Offering a free hand, Aryn intends to pull her cousin free, and in the other, she throws her Lightsaber toward a running foe, only for them to duck, sliding beneath it, then double back and away. Aryn recalls the weapon to her hand with only her mind the culprit behind the unseen action. "Stay near, cousin. I will protect you." Aryn says, turning her scarred visage toward the other blonde a moment, that side of her face illuminated by the blue of her humming weapon.

Ser Sorin's help allows Ser Lars and the other Knights to break free of the maze, finally. Ironically enough, they have arrived back at their starting point where they encounter the survivors from the 'other side' all tending their wounded and mourning their dead. House Serren, House Frayus, House Ulgo, and many of the lesser Houses are all present (non threatening) and suddenly allied in solidarity. What remain of the Killesa mercenaries pursue the (our) group, but suddenly find Delayan swords eager to cut them down. Even Lord Ban is joined by Lady Ulgo and her brave Knight, and they quickly dispatch the three intending him harm.

"Lana has played her last hand of betrayal!" Bellows Count Serrus from one end of the group. "I will tear that palace down myself, stone for stone if it means her rule comes to an end! I swear it! I SWEAR IT!"

Nora takes a few more steps towards the retreating assassin she's stepping towards, watching as they slowly continue to back away and find themselves met with Delayan steel. Her cold blue eyes flick up to their face and then briefly away as her hand guides her sword back into the sheath at her hips and waist. Whatever switch seemed to snap in her slowly subsides, but it's Aryn and Lumira who are met with that last little remnants of it. The call of something strange, dark, and powerful. She shakes her head and briefly closes her eyes, attempting to chase the sound of it away... but it doesn't flicker away. It continues to ring, and she knows well enough that she cannot ignore its call forever. When her eyes open, she exhales and turns to look towards the others just when Count Serrus cries out. Nora stoops low to shut the eyes of two fallen nobles. Struck with bolts through their sternums. A fatal blow, one a piece, directly to the heart.

They were a young couple she'd seen at tonight's dinner. She wishes she'd introduced herself.

"Mother and Father guide these souls from the dark and into the light. See them home to fields of wildflowers," she murmurs quietly as she rises.

"So that they never know cold again."

Orren had given chase to the assassins leaving with Lumira, lagging behind a bit due to the wound on his leg and, of course, the delay caused by having to beat his cousin to death with a battle staff. He rushes through the smoke, staff tucked horizontally against his side, only slowing to a stop as Aryn steps out of the shadows and cuts the two men down. Orren moves forward to join Aryn and Lumira, traveling with them back toward the rest of their group, joining up with the 'other' group, staff still at his side, his other arm looping around Lumi to pull her close (and, gently, lean on her to make up for his wounds) if she allows. It likely ruins her dress which, for Lumi, might be the most distressing event of the night.

Orren lifts his eyes to the roar from Serrus, straightening a little bit on his right leg to stand proudly in defiance of the attack. And only when it's clear that things are at an end, does Orren tuck his staff away and turn down to Lumi, his voice quiet, "Lumira." he says, "Are you alright?" almost crouching before his left leg starts to betray him, forcing him to straigthen back up once more. "I'm going to kill every last person responsible for this." he says, his bright blue eyes sparkling with outrage, ignoring his own wounds for the time being to make that promise to her.

Serrus shouting in a fashion that seems to be that he has swayed towards the side of the conflict that Bors had endorsed to him so vehemently at the start of all of this - the assassins whom had been doing a fair job of doing terrible thing to his anatomy have been battered away, by Ulani, maybe Sorin? Maybe Lars? It's hard to tell, but he knows for sure it was someone! Vision is darkening and there's that all too familiar sensation of adrenaline rush fading away with the the lack of all his blood to properly carry it through his veins.

Was it Ban and Ula that saved him!?

<"Why can't I see?"> still able to run his ceaseless gob, it seems, face down with his helmeted face in the stomach of a felled Killsea. It's a conundrum to how he got here. He remembers swording. He remembers parrying, stepping, riposte. The enemy had been backed off him and he had taken several thrusts and now he was pulling himself up onto his hands and knees - realizing, <"I found out why I couldn't see."> an 'errk' face inside his helmet that blends into the pained gasp when he feels his guts tighten and not all of them are properly connected. Still he reaches up to close the open eyes of the person whom he had fallen upon in his moment of pain and bloodloss induced tumble,

<"Mother carry you to your rest and let you know that despite oppositions thou art still Alderaanian. Father grant thee peace in knowing that your cause was to your own and regardless if it were right or wrong, you were Alderaanian and acted with the conviction of your people."> a gentle pat to the cheek of the fallen while he uses his sword to help lever him up.

<"We won, correct? Medic? Swift killing blow otherwise? I'm not meant for prison, or brainwashing..."> dropping back down to one knee. <"Mother I hope we won.">

"Quit trying to get all the attention baby brother." Uypiia there with house guards to help Lord Thul to his feet and to where he can be rendered aid.

This is about as close to a Rist as Ulani cares to ever, ever be. The stabby ones, at least. Though she saw him from afar, it is rumoured that Lord Orren is one of the good once. And so broody and mysterious. Who doesn't love that? Wait, what were we talking about? Oh, yes.

Wrestling now for her life against a foe who is quicker to recover. The element of surprise gone. It is a good thing Ulani gets help disengaging or she was certainly about to take a poison blade to the throat or something. Kima, that blessed goddess of a warrior, quickly dispatches the Rist fighting with Ulani while the elder Lord Thul separates from the group to help her to her feet.

"Thank you," she breaths shakily to the older nobleman and then makes her way over to Bors, giving him all the attention his deeds have merited, h. "Come. Let's leave this dreadful place."

Lumira is dragged far enough from the group that true fear finally pierces her optimism. For the first time this evening, she is well and truly scared, and with no one left to fret over, that fear is completely centered on her own livelihood. As she is dragged so roughly backward, her slaps and kicks land with no more menace than a kitten's swipes, the Alderaanian noblelady loses her last shoe -- and then she loses her composure. Tears prickle in her eyes, angry and hot, brought on more from the intensity of her emotions than actual grief, and it's *just* as she attempts one last *lunge* away from her Rist captor that she is suddenly enveloped in that buzz of electric blue.

Lumira stares at her cousin with wide-eyed wonder, having never witnessed her kinswoman actually battle with a lightsaber before.

A moment later, both men are down, and Lumira finds herself blessedly free. As she trots after Aryn, she says, "Am I the only one in this Court who isn't Force sensitive? I am starting to feel genetically robbed..."

Lumira does her best to keep her eyes straight ahead and focused on the path rather than the raging flames or the unsettling tang of blood in the air. In truth, she's trembling like a leaf, even if she is rather good at putting on a brave face now that she's certain she won't be dragged off for unspeakable torture at the hands of those damnable Rists. When Orren stumbles through the smoke to join them, her lower lip gives the smallest wobble -- and then steadies. "Orren," she murmurs with relief, her arms enfolding him. There's no time to linger, though. They push on through the carnage, weaving through smaller fires and dead bodies, her bare feet moving soundlessly over the earth.

When they finally emerge at the starting point of the maze, the disheveled lady looks straight-backed and calm -- though the perceptive might notice a certain glassiness that denotes shock. That's how she watches Nora perform the funeral rites for the slewn couple -- with a faraway sadness and too-slow blinks.

Orren turns to her, asking if she's alright, and she automatically flashes him a pretty smile. "Of course," she starts to say...

...And then promptly bursts into tears. This was NOT the fun evening they were promised. Refund, please.