| abstract | - The Doma Plains are exquisitely drab, exquisitely flat, and exquisitely boring. The only real use for them is to test one's new speeder or swoop prior to crashing it in the Halidome, which lies far to the south. In fact, there are only a few things visible on the horizon. One of them is the racecourse, a small blister on the southern skyline, and Mount Kraskhara, which lies to the east. Pax city, of course, is also visible, it's transparent bubbles reflecting the sun's rays in places. Draven is handling last moment details, addressing a small force of security. This is only a few hundred of what amounts to twenty thousand strong, armed beings that guard this fortress planet. Zamir seems to approach the Doma Plains from the main city, staring skywards for some moments. He stops once he's near the crowd, and just watches. The Doma Plains, flat and grey and bare, have become the site of a small city of great silk tents of every conceivable color and shape. Starships sit landed in rows in the tent-city, and people from all across the Rim and Core bustle about, buying and selling, talking and drinking from concession stands. The mood is that of a huge galactic fair, and all across the plains, large red landing lights wink on and off, guiding the ships down. High overhead, huge and ominous, the black Guardians and Defenders and the silver Star Destroyer of the Black Imperium's fleet float in orbit. Every few minutes, a squadron of silver-and-black X-Wings flashes overhead, trailing glittering contrails behind. Fireworks shower from their missile tubes, lighting up the sky with a chaotic brilliance of color. A red carpet leads away east, with Black Imperium soldiers standing on either side of it, rising gently up into the shadow of Mount Kraskhara. A flame burns on the watchtower summit far away. Grachazza wanders through the area, in the general direction away from his silver yacht and towards the red carpet. Atop his head is his now trademark royal purple top hat. Raxan is in the crowd as well, using one of the Unified Command's shuttles for a bit of a shore leave. He wanders through the tents, noticing the Star Destroyers and the fireworks, looking silently. The Plains are boring and bland, but you know what? No Bothans! That's enough to make any man smile. James Loro glances up to see Raxan nearby, "I see you managed to get your shuttle back." From his landed yacht, Bail makes his way towards the red carpet as well. Among the crowds of beings, Bail navigates by keeping an eye on the purple top hat hovering over everyone's heads. Yay state visits! The young senator of Taanab has been scheduled to go, so here she is! A good chance to practice flying. At least getting here. Anneke steps out of her ship, locking it up and slinging her purse over her shoulder, then waits for her chance to get into the line for the Red Carpet. Suddenly looking very pale. Anakin Skywalker wanders in to join the crowd, searching for familiar faces. Akurel strides in with a noble yet earthy gait, his white armor concealed by a, not black, but royal purple greatcoat with the words "Vitality, Industry, Prosperity" stiched in red descending down the back. On either side are the symbols of the PLC and the Jambhala Compact, and across his shoulder is slung a carbine perhaps a step above his traditional E10. His first formal visit to Paxo, and he was determined to make a respectable showing. Before he can greet anyone however, he is drowned in a tide of Incom employees. Celebrity of a different sort, perhaps? Let the hand shaking and inspiring oratory begin! The red Nikto Vizuun makes his way down the red carpet along with the others. With a smirk, he glances at some of the others nearby as he lights up a cigarra and exhales two thin streams of smoke through his nostrils. Touching down in a consular shuttle, this is perhaps one person who wont be participating in the games here tonight. From the ramp comes a lady, ambling behind her a medical droid, beeping with a whurr as it's tracks hug the transteel grating and then onto the ground. A pack on the woman's back sports all the necessaries as one should have to repair injured sentients of most races-- though she will be aloof if it comes to a Quarren with a facial injury. Nevertheless, Jasmine locks up her shuttle before telling the droid to come along, veering off the red carpet and trying to find some not so obtrusive route to where she might watch. On the watch-tower of Celebes, in the distance, the flame pulses. Slowly, a series of light-beacons light up, moving outward from the Doma Plains, up the red carpet into the hills, and lighting the path up Mount Kraskhara to Celebes Watchtower, where the fire burns. There is a soft rumbling, and then the surface of the plains opens with a soft 'hiss' and a concealed doorway parts. An enormous carved cylinder begins to rise out of the plains ... Grachazza continues along the red carpet, and those nearby might notice a distinct lack of his typical weapons, usually seen somewhere nearby even in the Senate building. It seems that on a diplomatic mission like this, he'll just have to tear anyone who tries to mug him limb from limb. As the cylinder starts to rise, he looks up towards it, his expression hidden behind his breath mask. Draven stands placidly with members of the Paxin Legion, the black clad lord of the Imperium surveying the turn out with a sly smirk. As he gazes on the arrivals he notes certain prominent beings making sure to bow slightly to the likes of Bail Organa, Jedi Skywalker, and the Chancellor. Turning to the legion he says in an even tone "I told you louts that we'd draw the big wigs.. each of ya owes me 10 hours of training, ta be logged within hte week... Silly unbelivers." James Loro turns his vison toward the opening though he's ready to dive away if it's some lunatic with heavy weaponry. Continuing up the Red Carpet, Bail glances at the large opening and the rising tower. An awesome display than elicits a furrowed brow from the King. Akurel seems to have brought his work with him, as any attempt to walk the carpet has brought him into contact with his constituency. A clipboard is produced and he scribbles furiously, having more success making it through the crowd than on the carpet itself. Even in the Imperium, a worker is a worker is a worker. Somehow he manages to spy the opening cylinder, though his attention is quickly drowned by demands for representation in the procurement of a 3 and a quarter credit raise for fighter mechanics. Long live Labor! Slowly, with great, rumbling finality, the cylinder rises from the plain and comes to a grinding halt, towering a hundred meters above the city of tents, its reflection shimmering on the domes of Pax City itself. Then the gates to the Grand Garage of Pax City open, and a sleek black speeder emerges, gliding slowly up the red carpet toward the watchtower in the hills. Its armored windshield retracts slowly, and, standing in the passenger's seat, the Lady Mediator and Hegemina of the Imperium solemnly glides past, her golden hair catching the wind, her feathered silver dress shimmering. Seventy-two X-Wing fighters fly overhead in formation, trailing smoke of every conceivable color and brushing the sky with a wild rainbow. The Warden of Kessel nods to some people who question his about his escape from the Stormtrooper command, but Zamir politely declines offering comments on it. Instead, he smiles at the interviewers, and heads down the red carpet. His eyes focus on Akurel, at first, then upon Jasmine, where they remain for at least twenty seconds or so. Anneke is walking through the carpet as fast as she can, if she's able to. Obviously a bit stunned by the scale, not to mention the announcement of who she is and the attention it brings. But eventually, she gets somewhere to see the cylinder and the X-wings too. "Wow." She says, before rubbing her temples for a moment, and looking all over the area, focusing on a few places and squinting. Grachazza looks up at Effie's grand entrance, and gives a snuffling laugh. His walking slows as he watches her, and the X-Wings overhead. Vizuun's pace slows as the Lady Mediator appears and the X-Wings go streaking by. Even the Nikto seems to be impressed with the sight and his cigarra is forgotten for a moment as he stares. Finally, he lowers his eyes, dumps his ashes on the carpet beneath his feet and continues on. Draven's attention breaks from his observation of the crowd to watching the festivities, flashing a wide smile at Lady Effie as she glides past in the speeder. As the X-wings soar overhead he raises an arm and salutes his factionmates and thier flawless performance "To think, thats only a fraction of our fleet boys!" he announces loudly to his legion.. "The other umpteen squads are on assignment, probably patrolling space." he snickers "Anyone who thinks to bring a fight here is looking for a quick death." The troops nod and start laughing with thier lord and mentor. Bail continues on up the carpet towards wherever it leads. When the fighters zoom overhead and the speeder glides past, Bail nods at the display and keeps moving. James Loro relaxes as the cylinder rises and the X-Wings fly overhead, glancing around recongizes the man who had been arrested at the wedding, then shrugs it off, anyone the Stormtrooper command dislikes can't be all bad. A blaring annunciator's voice booms out from the city, deep and loud: "The Hegemina proceeds to the Celebes Watchtower, where the tower-flame reposes, ready to light the Torch of the Games. Guests of honor, please proceed to the Watchtower for the tower-flame handover ceremony." Triage One spends its leisure harrassing another droid nearby, Jasmine scowling at it to leave the poor thing alone. While the droids share a moment, she looks around-- trying to spot anyone she might recognize. A frown burns upon her brow as she sights one person in particular, walking in the opposite direction as the announcement is made. After kissing a baby (His first, actually), the Whiphid finally breaks free of the throng and descends the carpet unmolested. He does however pause to extend his hands and his lips part to form the words "God Bless". Rolling back his shoulder, the purple coated being who is probably the only one in the room of comparable size to the Chancellor strides towards aforementioned lighting ceremony. A humble, beatific smile on his face, for truly he seems serene for the present. Grachazza speeds up his furry paws, making sure to get inside in good time. As he moves inside, he turns, giving a wave to whatever adoring masses have gathered, before continuing on. Spotting Jasmine, Anakin wanders over towards her through the crowd, not really paying any attention to the ceremony. He waves, something else drawing his attention as he glances away for a moment, frowning slightly. Anneke manages to emerge sometime after the Whipid celebrety. Still looking like a Bantha in the headlights of a star destroyer... however that works! But now she's free! And plenty of tabloid fodder photos to boot. Will she set a fashion trend? Or be a fashion don't? And on to the seating for the ceremony she goes! Grachazza nods happily to someone who comes to quietly ask him a question, patting them on the shoulder. Euphemia's black speeder floats eastward, rising toward the hills. Each time it passes a pair of lights, they change from red to deep purple, so that its progress up Mount Kraskhara is visible ... Draven removes his communicator and speaks into it briefly "Unit two, report to the landing area." As a unit of battle tested defenders march in from hte south Draven escuses himself from the legion and addresses his newly arrived cohorts. "You know the drill, we make sure theres no funny business. If you see anything suspicious or out of line.. you report to me, I want first crack at the nerf brained idiot simple enough to play the game" He gestures up the hill "March." Vast are the hills that lead into Mount Kraskhara, and the mountain still greater, immense and dark, lit by desolate lights. X-Wings flash overhead, showering the sky with a burst of silver stars. Here, the impression is all of silvery desolation ... Akurel starts scribbling notes, wondering if one could procure Incom fighter craft. The X-Wing in particular catches his eye because though he knows nothing of flight, it has always been something that fascinates him. The greatcoat loses a few buttons and the white carapace is slightly exposed as he follows the party. A silence crawls over here as the motorcade proceeds ... further from Pax City and the Doma Plains 'fair,' one might feel small and mortal under the vast black sky. A wave is returned to Anakin as the large group makes its way up the mountain. She catches up to him, securing the pack on her back a bit better as Triage One takes its time ambling up the slope, as well as being distracted by the silvery shower. "Knight Skywalker, how're you doing?" the doctor asks, watching her footing as not to faceplant. At the peak of the mountain, the beacons glow nonstop. When the last beacon changes from red to deep purple and the black speeder crawls to a halt at the base of the Celebes Watchtower, Euphemia alights with solemnity, her expression as grave as a statue's, her golden eyes aimed at the flame atop the watchtower. She holds up her hand in silent salute, moving toward the tower stairs. Anneke's expression crosses over Anakin for a moment again, smiling as she steals the glance at him, then she starts to look around some more, biting her lower lip as she does. She runs her hands over her skirts, and pauses to catch her breath in the climb, stepping to the side out of others' ways. Effie stops at the base of the stairs. A Black Fleet Officer steps out of the tower at the top of the stairs, bowing low, and says, "Would the bearer of the torch please lead the guests of honor into Celebes Watchtower?" Akurel bounds up the mountain at a lazy jogging pace the same way a mountain goat might. No reason one cannot work on cardio whilst running up a mountain, yes? Probably a good idea to drop a pound or two of blubber that temperate climates just wouldn't shed. His beard swaying in the breeze, jogging in place a moment before he resumes his ibexlike ascent. Spirit of the games and all that rot. Draven, still leading his 'men' slows the fast march to a slow and deliberate cadence, approaching the Lady Mediator with a changed expression. The sly smirk has been replaced with a dark yet blank stare, and a stone rigid, untelling expression. Draven nods to his leader and stops beside her. Grachazza maintains his pace, following the torch bearer, one paw holding his snazzy hat onto his head. Zamir heads up the mountain at a deliberately slow pace, staring out in the distance with a smirk. A pale Mirror Clone with black hair and very white skin, dressed in a white uniform, ascends the stairs, and Euphemia follows behind Grachazza. Having climbed the winding staircase that leads to an open entranceway, you have arrived in the observatory tower, made of smooth white stone. The room itself is hexagonal, ominous and secluded in a princely way. There are a number of things in this lonely tower, a white stone table, round of course, with white chairs around it, with a purple and gold tablecloth made of rich material and a silver loom sits in the corner next to a simple stool which might have woven the table-covering. The north end of the chamber is dominated by a great stone slab, on which sleeps a carven image of a short-haired woman with her hands clasped on her breast and her eyes closed. An inscription reads 'Rem Dolor Memoriam,' and beneath it is a list of Black Imperium war dead by name. So many names. Here, everything waits in readiness. Black Fleet Officers, Paxin Security Officers, Yidrians, Vanixian nobles, Alderaanian lordlings, witnesses, justiciars, Incom executives--all stand silently against the walls, their faces as solemn as the faces of statues, for on the great stone table in the center of the chamber burns the base of the immense flame which is visible from above the tower. All is in readiness. All is silent, almost ominously so. And then from the darkness comes the sound of a silver horn playing a delicate flourish, and the soft whisper of tympani. Zamir trips at the last flight of stairs, but fortunately he finds himself in the watchtower, and not in some steep mountain. Blood trickles from the side of his mouth, and he presses a finger against a tooth. "Argh. It's looshe," he grumbles. The Black Defenders space themselves out and mix in with the Imperium that are stationed on hte walls, assuming the same statuesque pose. The Mirror cloones who served so efficiently on Kashyyyk, the Mentors personal squad. seems part of the watchtower itself. For his part, Draven stands amid the gathered guests in hte chamber, his eyes locked on the centerpiece. Jasmine frowns, watching Zamir faceplant. She pauses, warily, before pulling a bit of gauze out of her pack and handing it to him. "Bite down on it," the doctor says, looking at his jaw. "You wont die. Kind of like a punch to the face, really," the chipper lady notes, giving him a bit more gauze to wipe his chin. Akurel nods to the Incom executives, some he does know, more than a few he has probably not endeared himself to. His gaze lift skyward, perhaps silently praying that these Games shall be blessed, and that all shall progress smoothly. Odd, that the most massive thing in the room has demonstrated so much dexterity as he arches an eyebrow at Zamir's misstep. Then again, he attaches symbolic meaning to most things. He folds his arm as he stands in that imperial purple greatcoat, armored ebon form illuminated by the flame. Anakin, walking a little bit behind Jasmine as he glances around thoughtfully, eyes settling on Zamir for a moment. He smiles at something, laughing quietly. "Thanksh," Zamir says, a bit surprised. He takes the gauze and bites down on it, using the other to wipe the blood off of his chin as he stands up, grumbling under his breath for some reason. He stares at the Incom executives against the wall with a smirk. "How goesh it?" He inquires the doctor. Grachazza glances at the various clones around here somewhat warily, though he tries not to be too paranoid. A quick adjustment of his snazzy hat, and he glances over at Effie. Escorted the rest of the way up by James, Anneke makes it, and seems to drift in the direction of the Alderaanian lordlings. She might have even met a few of them at her debut. Or in other capacities, given her lessons from the Queen! Then, once more she begins to looks around, paying attention to what's going on. Euphemia sinks into a gracious curtsey, ducking her head to Grachazza. She rises; a hundred identical pale Amalfiel faces watch her every movement. She walks quietly to the column of flame which burns in the center of the room. There is a torch on the table, a shimmering silver cylinder, a tiny miniature of the huge unlit lamp on Doma Plains. Euphemia stands on one side of the table and solemnly beckons to Grachazza, indicating a place on the far side. The doctor nods, looking around, before back to Zamir. "Well enough. Yourself?" Jasmine asks, folding her arms across her chest. Idly, she regards the Amalfiel-shaped wallflowers, as well as the column of flame. After making sure the Anneke had made it in safely James veers off to look at the list on the Rem Dolor Memoriam wincing as he recongizes the names of a few comrades from his time in the Republic Navy, several years earlier. "Goodsh." Zamir replies to Jasmine and pulls the gauze out - it's bloody, really. He stuffs it back into his mouth and bites into it. "I have to see a dentisht. Goddamn." Grachazza nods to Effie, moving around to the opposite side of the table, trying his furry best to look dignified. There is a soft gasp from the north end of the chamber, and eyes flicker to the sarcophagus of Rem Dolor. Tears have welled up from the closed stone eyes, and trickle down the cheeks--bloody tears. An archaic roll of flimsy paper lies unfurled from the clasped hands of the effigy of Rem Dolor. And on that unfurled paper are names written in a shaky handwriting which some may recognize as Rem Dolor's, or a perfect copy. The first few names are crossed off in red: Cerebra the Hutt. Ryka Starn. Kerrick. There are other names as well, the first few in red, less visible than the others, and then the rest all marked in black, and delicately underlined: Adoma the Hutt, Bulba the Hutt, Vordo the Hutt, and more. And as the light from the flame shines on the roll, another black word appears: The Hutt Nation. Euphemia's face pales slightly as she sees the roll of paper, her lips bloodless and her golden eyes inscrutable in the dark. Then she turns swiftly and catches up the cylinder with a determined gesture, plunging it into the flames where it flares to life. Moving around the table with the feathers of her dress floating behind her, she offers Grachazza the torch. James Loro recoils slightly from the tears of blood and the scroll then returns his attention to Effie. Draven stares with cold, dead eyes at the names. However anyone who is watching the black lord will see the slightest of nods in understanding. Draven cracks the knuckles of his left hand with his right and inhales, closing his eyes. Grachazza solemnly takes the torch from Effie, offering her a slight bow. After a pause, he turns towards those assembled, "Let this be a symbol, the first of many on the road to peace." A short, simple speech, and he starts to walk towards the exit, torch held high. Akurel wonders if there is something prophetic in the gesture as he makes the sign of his faith at this sudden exposition. That manner of covenant is a powerful thing, and even if there was no true supernatural power behind it there had been so much caused so much less. A quick exhalation as the Whiphid pinpoints certain names. A faint whisper, barely audible. If the Whiphid could turn pale, he would. "Heaven's mercy, little sister, did you love so much undone, were you so angry at the galaxy? Will not even the Lord's grace quiet your desire for revenge...justice, perhaps?" After many rests, a dreadlocked head appears on the stairs, followed by his shoulders, torso and the rest of him as he ascends one step after the other. Sweat drips from Jai's forehead, trailing into his beard as he stands at the top of the steps, huffing and puffing like the big bad wolf before he blew someone's house in. Anneke shudders a bit at the display, just shaking her head. Though she doesn't say anything. Just stands there silently, and as she does, again looking over towards Anakin to steal a contemplative glance towards him. Effie, curtseying to the Chancellor, follows him silently. The light of the torch and the central flame both make mysteries of her face, of her eyes. Her hair catches the firelight and glows like golden flames. Draven opens his eyes and gazes at the Rem statue one last time before bowing his head and murmuring a few private words. Draven turns on his heels to follow the procession his tag-alongs in toe. Grachazza keeps walking, the flickering light from the torch casting all sorts of interesting shadows in his fur. He doesn't seem to be in any hurry, trying his best to look solemn and dignified. James Loro stablizes himself, inwardly cursing for recoiling so visabliy with so many people watching. Silently, Jai strolls through the entranceway leading into the observatory tower, his eyes darting about trying to see who is around and what is going on. And it seems everyone is leaving, by the entrance. The dreadlocked human steps to the side, out of the people's way. The procession silently files back out of the Watchtower, and, one by one, the dignitaries from along the wall proceed thereafter in a quiet group. Guided by the light of the flames, they move singlefile down the stairs and down the great mountain, bearing the fire back to the Lamp on the Doma Plains. The statue, with its tears of blood and its ominous scroll, falls into shadow ... waiting. Akurel turns toward the statue one last time, his words lost but they seem to be yet another prayer. Compassion, mercy, the exact context lost as he too joins the procession. His coat is brought tightly around him as he navigates down the mountain side. Vizuun glances at the statue and licks his lips at the sight of the bloody tears. Shrugging, it was probably fake anyway, he continues to move with the rest of the crowd. The silent procession led by Grachazza and seconded by Effie winds its way slowly down the red carpet from the hills, and each time it passes one of the purple beacons, the light flares up, a brilliant gold, and the torch burns slightly brighter, until it is as bright as a small star. When the procession comes into sight, all the city of tents thrills to the sound of a flourish of silver trumpets from Pax City--and then a huge roaring cheer, as ten thousand throats vibrate with applause. Grachazza looks out at the tent city, his expression hidden behind his breathing mask and the torch held high. Somewhere near the back of the procession, Jai fishes a flask, OF TEA, from his pockets and takes a sip while looking at the pretty lights. Draven and his guard follow closely behind the world leaders, the gravity of the spectacle in the tower still evident on his face. Anneke continues to look around over the crowd, spending a moment to rub her temples as if she has a headache, but there's a soft smile on her face too. James Loro walks down from the mountain bypassing the red carpet reserved for the higher-ups and standing on the front edge of the crowd. A series of silver stairs rise out of the plain one by one, leading to the peak of the vast silver cylinder. On a silver platform in the tent city, a Blacks officer rings a fanfare of trumpets and steps forward, speaking in a great, booming voice. "People of Paxo and the wider Galaxy, subjects of the Imperium and the Republic, greetings on this the commencement day of the Games of Paxo. Today, the great Chancellor of the Republic shall light the torch which symbolizes the light of peace. May the light of peace lit here shine across the Galaxy! May these games show the skill, talent, and passion of the people of this galaxy, and bring them together in one combined and common cause! Torchbearer, ascend!" With a hand curled around the arm of her escort, Natalia looks on as well, leaning up to whisper to him for a moment then returns her gaze to the procession. She smiles and flicks another glance up to Chas then listens to the speaker, her pale eyes settling on the platform. Lowering his head, Chas listens to the whispered words of Natalia. A brief smile as he pats her hand that rests on his arm, he looks for a time into her eyes. Then does he look to the procession and eyes the speaker, waiting for the torchbearer. Grachazza starts to climb the silver stairs, still holding the torch high. His long furry legs make short work of the stairs, and when he reaches the top, he slowly lowers the torch into a basin. With some amusement, and perhaps a bit of a smirk, Jai watches the Wookiee ascend the stairs. A pale golden light like a second sun dawns from the top of the column, growing gently and slowly, giving the Chancellor plenty of time to withdraw as it lights up, and the gold light grows, until the immense metal candle casts an unblinking glow over the whole of the Doma Plains and Mount Kraskhara is bathed in its golden warmth. X-Wings scream overhead, hundreds of them now, and the sky is alive with gilden-fire as the fighters scream down, pull up, fill the atmosphere with laser bolts, and soar onward, their engine-lights a glorious magenta. The GR77 that lands off at the Doma plains near some of the other ships. The hiss of exhaust go off as the ramp door opens and a dark figure moves from the shadow of the entryway to the the light of the ramp. The female figure is revealed to be the bounty hunter Nashtah Sing making her way down the ramp in the light. She pauses and looks up to the sky at the fighters and then over to the silver steps... Grachazza starts to move down the stairs again, doing his very best not to trip over and making sure his snazzy hat doesn't catch fire. The huntress holds her position at the bottom of the ramp, a short distance from the large crowds as she looks to the torch and the aerial display of the X-Wings Chas shields his eyes by lowering his sunglasses as the torch grows in brightness. His head tilts back a bit to watch the X-wings and their aerial flight and fireworks. "Impressive," he says softly to Natalia beside him. Anneke claps as the torch is lit, and then looks up towards the sky and watches the X-wings making their display, just shaking her head and smiling. Her expression seeming quite calm, really. An 'ooh' slips from Jai's lips as he watches the fighters scream by overhead which he tries to hide by sipping at his /flask of /tea//. Light bathes her face and her eyes blink a few times then she nods up at Chas, "Very.." she replies, watching the display. Draven watchges on with pride, the heaviness of the prior events lifting somewhat, he smiles genuinely at the flyby and relaxes a bit. Akurel produces a pair of sunglasses from his greatcoat and dons them over his eyes. "Mine eyes have seen the coming..." Is all he offers as he grins widely. Maybe, just maybe there was hope after all. His eyes seek out heads of state, generals, soldiers, and he allows himself to be content for the present. Enough, now. James Loro looks up and nods, visably impressed and trying to imagine the kind of training it would take to have that many fighters pulling such a manuver with none of them crashing. Vizuun watches as the fire blazes up. Blinking at the light, he grunts and mutters softly to himself, "That reminds me..." as he fishes another cigarra from the pack in his pocket and lights up. Euphemia Bellamy strides forward up to the platform where the Imperium announcer stands in his Fleet uniform. As she ascends the stage, he booms, "Her Highness the Princess of Vanix and Hegemina of Paxo, the Lady Euphemia Bellamy, Admiral of the X-Wing Fleets!" There is a roar of applause from the Paxin populace, but the lady holds up her hands for silence, and the applause dies swiftly down. She speaks, and her voice echoes, high and clear. "Enough! We have shown the Galaxy that we are ready not only to seek peace, but to create it! Now let the awarding authorities step forth!" A small knot of well-dressed sentients in sharp suits step forward to join her on the platform. Incom directors, Halidome executives, and the like. Zamir fishes a death stick from his pocket, himself, and lights it up as he watches the procedures. Maybe, just maybe, under his breath and lost beneath the applause the dreadlocked human might have, possibly muttered, very quietly, something about mental unbalance as the woman set foot on the stage. Hard to say with that flask before Jai's mouth. James Loro shifts his gaze back to Lady Effie and the award authorities. Chas looks about as the clapping of those about him. But he does not join in with it. Instead he looks down at Natalia for a moment before looking back to the stage. Draven applauds along with his fellow Imperium members, smiling widely as Effie speaks. The young man watching some of the Halidome execs proudly, nodding to them. Nashtah steps from the ramp of her ship and moves toward the area where the stage and Euphemia speaks. Nashtah moves near Vizuun and then others and takes seat, she wears a small comlink around her ear and her eyes are focused on Euphema for the moment... Anneke slips around in the crowd for a time. Head remaining canted towards the sky, then the display, then everyone in the crowd, and even Euphemia for a time. Being alone in the crowd seems to have left her somewhat content. Grachazza finishes descending the stairs, and looks over at Effie and the others on the stage curiously. Eyes fixed on the proceedings Natalia watches intently, her expression perhaps undreadable, her gaze following the ceremony. Vizuun glances at the bounty hunter and nods as she comes close. "Sing. Hadn't thought to see you here. Yer not fool enough to be on a job, are you?" "Viewers of the Paxo Games, and players," Effie says in her clear high voice, "there will be eight great events, each one being awarded a white medal for first place, and a red medal for second place, in addition to numerous other prizes. All prizes will be awarded at the Grand Prize Ceremony, which will take place after final matches. Your competition will show the galaxy your courage and skill, your determination, your fearless endurance! "First billing goes to the Incom Grand Wreath. Sponsored by the principal executives of Incom, the Incom Grand Wreath is a fighter dogfight ladder championship. Fighter pilots are invited to compete in their own fighters, for the grand prize: an Incom X-Wing Starfighter, Mk.II prototype. Matches will take place several times a day on a ladder basis, and free hull repair plates will be provided to contenders. Dogfights will be laser-only, bring-your-own-fighter, and will last until one fighter surrenders, or is unable to continue fighting. Cheaters will be disintegrated, as will fighters who press the attack once their opponent has surrendered by comsystem broadcast. "Would all contenders for the Grand Wreath please activate their comlinks now and signal to transponder code 45871 Nashtah hears the nikto speak over to her and the huntres turns to him with a momentary stare and her voice is calm and cold "I am here to participate.." She looks back to Effie.. Grachazza reaches into one of the pockets of his bandolier, pressing a button. As her comlink starts to burble words into her ear, Jasmine frowns, touching Anakin on the arm. "Something's wrong with a statflight out of Bothawui to Coruscant, I'm going to find my ship for a stronger signal to see what the problem is." A pause as the dogfights are announced. "Good luck!" she says, before moving off back towards the Doma Plains landing pad. Jai continues sipping his tea, perhaps waiting for soemthing more up his alley to be anounced. Vizuun cocks his head as Effie announces the first event. Its not the one he's here for, so he turns his attention back to the bounty hunter. "That so? Hope it ain't the melee." he says with a snort. James Loro is just close enough to hear the doctor's words and moves swiftly towards her, "Anything I can help with?" he asks Jasmine turns, shaking her head with a smile. "Probably a ship issue, rather than anything else-- if there is something I'll be sure to let you know, Admiral." Akurel heads out as well, staying for a few more bits of the introductory speech before he too wanders out. Nashtah looks back to the nikto passively and says "You know better than that...I see the wookiee chancellor lite the torch." She comment and then looka around at the others around her... Zamir taps his chin and looks skyward for a moment. He frowns. "He should be here." Vizuun nods to the huntress. "Yeah, he did. Have to say, I was kind of disappointed some of that fur didn't catch on fire. That'd have been somethin, eh?" Grachazza, luckily, doesn't hear Vizuun. James Loro shrugs and returned to his former place. Euphemia raises her hands again for quiet. "The second great event will be the Halidome Cup. Sponsored by Mr. Gamahon, President of Yidri and Lord Mentor of the Black Imperium, this speeder race will feature the Galaxy's best. There will be medallions for first, second, and third place, and substantial cash prizes of 25000, 10000, and 5000 credits. There are no rules except one: he who finishes first, wins. If you want to race, show up at the track at commencement with your own speeder." The huntress's facial expression remain passive as Vizuun paints a picture in her head of the wookiee lighting up in flames. Her eyes focus around her and fall unto Euphemia on the stage for a moment and then to other, like Zamir and Chas. Draven grins and turns to the crowd "It will be a spectacular event, I promise!" The yound man raising his arm and cheering. "The next contest," Effie says, in a loud voice, "The Doma Tank Joust. Sponsored by Incom Vehicles. Teams of combat vehicles (bring your own or buy Paxin) will vie for victory, bombarding each other at range and then closing. At any time a vehicle pilot can leave the joust, but the vehicle will become forfeit. If you want to compete, bring your own vehicle to Doma Plains at the start time! If you're afraid to compete, well, we will laugh at you." "Boringness. Get to the real stuff." Jai mutters, waiting for something about fists and blood to be mentioned. The manly sport. Effie grins as the first two respondents ring the transponder frequency for the Doma Tank Joust. She laughs aloud. "And now, something for the physical-minded among you! The Great Blaster Free-For-All, to be held in the Halidome! The entire course will be open. Only pistols will be welcome. The only rule--you can surrender at any time. The last one standing who has not surrendered is the winner! Entry fee, five thousand credits. Winner takes the grand prize!" Draven chuckles aloud "I of course, shall enter such a pestigous event. And my monmey is as good as paid. Rest assured." Jai taps his foot, still waiting. Well, maybe he could watch some of these events, get a little entertainment out of them at least. James Loro stands nearby wishing that he had known that the fighter contest was bring your own. Not that it mattered with all that had happened he wouldn't have had time to obtain a starfighter, test fly a fighter to get used to it, or particapate. When Chas hears about the duel he smiles and glances at Natalia, as if asking for permission maybe. "And of course the Wrestling Ladder Matches," Euphemia says with a smile. "These will be pairwise elimination matches, and the last two will vie for the medals and the Grand Prize. Entry fee: 5000 credits." Natalia gives Chas a nervous nod, "If you must.." she says softly, brows wrinkling, though she grins. "Sponsorships are available, courtesy of Incom, for low-income individuals who cannot afford the entry fees to any given contest," Euphemia adds, taking out a datapad and keying in the next page on it. Nashtah looks over to Chas and Natalia before looking back to Draven and the stage Grachazza raises a paw into the air, roar-cheering at the mention of a wrestling match. From the horizons, a particularly-bulky fighter streaks across, engines slowing to a dull hum as it makes to land. The cockpit hisses, flipping open to reveal a bald man in simple apparel. "Sorry I'm late!" says Lex, flat cheeks flushing a mild rose red. "Can I still sign up for the Fighter contest?" he asks peevishly, jumping off the starfighter. Chas shrugs and says, perhaps a bit to loudly, "Well, what the heck, guess I will then." At the mention of the wrestling match Jai's face lit up, but it goes dark and sullen at the mention of a 5000 credit entry fee. "What!? Dem think we made 'uh money!" He exclaims. "Again," Euphemia reads, "Incom sponsorships are available for lower-income athletes." "Will all competitors in Ladder Wrestling please signal 4597? And now," Effie says, "would all competitors in Ladder Melee Combat please signal 4599? The rules are the same as the Wrestling--but you can use any melee weapon you like. We are not responsible if you die." Vizuun perks at the mention of the melee combat. Unclipping his comlink from his belt, he taps the signal and then replaces it with a grin. James Loro glances over toward Jai's outburst before returning his gaze to the platform. "And now," Euphemia says, holding up her hand for silence. "The Galactic Sabacc Tournament. Three three-hand games of Sabacc (ante 50, minimum bet/round 25, maximum bet/round 500), with the overall cash winners of each game competing in a special three-hand game with Euphemia Bellamy for the title of Galactic Sabacc Champion (ante 1000, minimum bet 100, maximum bet 1000)." Chas smiles at Natalia and leans his head to her ear and whispers to her. Shrugging his shoulders, Lex props his elbow against the hull of his starfighter, cobalt eyes drifting in idle interest as the announcements are made. Jai drags a comlink out of his pocket and punches in a couple number before putting it away. The huntress looks up to the sky for a moment then back down to the podium and listens to the other events to see what else might hold her interest..She says to the Nikto "I will enter the melee competition. Not my specialty but who knows..." The huntress's dark sinister eyes are on Effie as she finishes speaking "Those interested in Galactic Sabacc Tournament," says Effie, "should send to 8787. And finally, for those of us who admire beauty as well as violence, a final competition: The Bellamy Truth and Beauty Clothing Design Challenge. Minimum one entry, maximum three. Points will be awarded for model's performance in an audience before Bellamy and on the beauty and comfort of the clothing presented. All clothing entered will be placed in the Bellamy Display Room for one month, then will be auctioned to the highest bidder with the proceeds split between the designer and Rim reconstruction charities. The winning design will be awarded 20,000 credits and galactic fame." Vizuun smirks at the huntress. "That so, eh? Well, I guess that'll be one win for me. Wonder who else is entering." "Tank contest and blaster duel here. I'd join the race but I'm not sure whether Sullust Surprise is on the running." Zamir speaks up, removing the bloody gauze from his mouth and his lips curl into a wry smirk. Grachazza adjusts his top hat with a snuffling laugh, and pokes at his comlink again. Anneke bites her lower lip thoughtfully. "Almost a shame Rena isn't here." She says, to herself. She'd'a probably loved the chance to do the Sabbac tournament." Then she continues meandering through the crowd. Until she hears the final contest, when she pauses, and pays attention, before biting her lip and looking downwards shyly. Nashtah looks to Zamir and then to Chas and says "Looks like we all will be in the blaster contest as well as the man other there named Draven as well"..Nashtah looks to Zamir as she speaks.. Natalia squeezes Chas' arm for a moment and glances at the other combatants. "The thing is. I need a pistol." Zamir replies to Nashtah with a faint shrug. "And thinking twice, I better get myself into that speeder race - if I can find someone to provide me with one." "Contests will commence shortly," Euphemia calls out. "Get some sleep, contestants, for while the earliest dogfights may begin at once, most of you will not see competition until the morrow!" The dreadlocked human rocks back on his heels a bit, his tea now finished, wondering who he'd be paired with and which way the fight would go. Chas looks over at the other man, his green eyes look him over a bit "Don't know him, but guess we will all find out in the end." He smiles to Nashtah. He pats the hand that is clasped onto his, smiling to Natalia. Chas looks to Zamir and nods "Yea, pistols are not my main weapon, will have to get one myself." Grachazza continues to listen quietly, glancing around at the others nearby. Nashtah looks to Zamir and shrugs "I think tonight is just opening ceremonies, I don't think they having any events tonight..but I could be wrong.." She looks over to Effie and the other sponsors James Loro overhears Chas's words and walks over nodding in recongition to Natalia, "If you like I have a backup pistol I'll sell you for 250." "The first match," Effie says, her voice echoing: "Wrestling! Grachazza vs. Jai! To be held in the Halidome in ... twenty minutes!" Draven chuckles happily "Outstanding news!" --To be Continued--
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