Junction A New Dawn | ME and THR Junction of Antar and TBD

[Auren Vellisar]

OBJECTIVE I: The Path of Parley
LOCATION: The Court of Iron, Sundari, Mandalore
CONVERSATION PARTNER: Aurelian Veruna

​

Aurelian Veruna's voice rose from within the assembled crowd, the young noble calling out to Auren with a familiarity that hinted at past encounters and mutual understanding. It seemed no coincidence that the prince had chosen to address him—perhaps it was Auren's reputation that drew the younger man to him, known throughout the Republic for his measured words and preference for diplomacy over the iron hand of military might.

"I would hope you do as well, young prince," Auren replied with a cordial smile, carefully curated for public view. His expression was polished and practised, though behind it lay a far less amused sentiment. This was neither the time nor place for bold remarks, not while their Mandalorian hosts listened from the shadows of their great hall. Such discussions, Auren thought, belonged behind closed doors, far from foreign ears.

As Aurelian came close enough to reach, Auren extended his right arm and clasped the back of the young man's shoulders, a gesture that painted the image of two close allies sharing a moment of camaraderie. In truth, it was a calculated move. He leaned in just enough to lower his voice, his words slipping beneath the hum of the room.

"We are here as emissaries of our Queen and our people," Auren reminded him quietly, his voice firm but not unkind. "I may be older, but not so distant from memory that I have forgotten the past. Even so, we must be mindful of our tone. A touch more courtesy when speaking of our hosts would serve us well, especially beneath their roof. There is wisdom in respect, even when history offers us reason for wariness."

His gaze sharpened just slightly, offering the young prince a warning in the form of a measured stare. Then, just as smoothly, Auren straightened and gave Aurelian a few friendly pats on the back, returning to his diplomatic mask.

"Come," he said aloud, his voice once more light and conversational. "I hear there's wine worth sampling. I'd be most curious to discover what the Mandalorians consider a fine vintage." A soft chuckle followed, the sound genuine enough to smooth the moment over—but not so warm as to forget the lesson quietly given.

 

[Janous Ryss]

Objective II
Lorn Reingard Runi Kuryida Dreidi Xeraic Voli Cholrass Aiden Porte Kyric Maiz Tor'val Adonis Angelis IV

Janous Ryss looked at the jungle, his sensors registering in his vision the heat but not feeling any of it. It would be his first taste of battle since his cybernetic salvation, where his vitals were transported to a metal body instead of his own. Skin metal and blood oil, where his brain was fed a constant cocktail of chemicals to operate as normal as one could with no flesh.

Everything felt it was wrong. The lack of feeling the hot air, the lack of true sensation as he prepared his gear. Even his height and vision were wrong. Numbers and estimations flashed in front of things as he had to will them away.

He could see the eagerness of his comrades, even if he could not see their faces, he could see it in how they moved and prepared. His own movements befitted his body, either robotically exact with no effort in the motion, or a joke as he misguided a grab or a step, enraging him even more with every error. His machine of a body flooding his brain with calming chemicals that, while an insult, was warranted. He lived for battle. The last thing he wished was to snap and be denied even that. Besides Mandalore itself, it was all he lived for.

Some part of him was glad it was a practice battle for his first deployment despite his pride raging against it. He had been training extensively, but every motion raged against his years of experience. Every grab that should be second nature had to be measured or came quicker than expected. The last thing he wanted was to frumble in a live combat environment. His pride could only stand so much. So a praise battle against a brand-new empire? That would do just fine.

 

[Daniel Washburne]

Location: Jungle Expanse, Fortress Vale, New Co, Tropopause
Altitude: 10km
Starfighter- N-1, with stun canons designed for riots replacing the typical plasma and bomb bays empty save for small magnetic devices that would serve as false "bombs" sending out a pulse to training sensors. The N-1 itself is equipped with the same sensors on vital parts of the star ship, in case the Mandos manage to hit him enough times or in the right location while flying about.
Obj II
10 km Above these folks: Lorn Reingard Runi Kuryida Dreidi Xeraic Voli Cholrass Aiden Porte Kyric Maiz Tor'val Adonis Angelis IV Janous Ryss

The system's star glinted off the ice crystals that surrounded his blue tinged N-1 as it the planet continued on it's, at least by human standards, slow rotation. His starfighter sat, drifting in the lower stratosphere as kilometers below him the festivities kicked off. From his vantage point he listened in on his fellows coms, waiting on either a call for support or the spotting of an enemy fighter. Daniel smiled, he beamed at the chance to outfly a Mando, given their competitive nature. He tapped listlessly on his control panel and hummed as the first sounds of blaster fire echoed in his flight helmet. It was moments like that where he thought of his homeworld, and thanked the force that he didn't have to deal with the heat or humidity on a daily basis. The N-1 had an excellent hvac system.

He had mixed feelings about the Mandolorians. Over his years on Ryloth, their meddling, along with some others, had led to alot of pain in his corner of the galaxy. From his read of galactic history, this was not uncommon. Too much like the Sith by his valuations, a love of war and conquest, not enough focus on the important things.

His robotic eye twitched and a brief tingle echoed across his skull as he drifted thru some electromagnetic interference. Daniel shook his head and arms a bit, sort of like a bird as he processed the experience. He hated those.

 

[Runi Kuryida]

OBJECTIVE 2​

Runi looked out from the jungle at the Fortress now that they'd drawn nearer. The Jedi were watchful, but the Mandalorians had the benefit of cover and the darkness of towering foliage. A dangerous trek to be sure, but one they were prepared for -- or that gave the young warriors an opportunity to learn from their seniors on how to prepare for it. Situations like these were of great benefit; especially when it involved an outside force as the foil.

Adonis Angelis IV called to her attention and the Warmaster looked back at him. She nodded for him to continue as he started with a request to approach. Her hazel eyes regarded him for a moment before she turned back toward their target. "They are resolved," she replied.

As though Lorn Reingard had likewise sensed their presence, the Fortress started its sweep of the jungle with stun bursts.

"Cover each others' backs. Do not let them separate you from your squad. You are the squad; the squad is you. What one does, all do." If there was one way to bring down a Mandalorian it was by Jedi isolating and overwhelming them -- though even that was an ordeal. "Ra'gr, Be'senaar, disrupt turret fire." Runi pointed to the turret currently letting loose and those not yet active. "Lirsa take point. Sacitr stay in formation until you can show the Royal Naboo Republic's warriors just what tall walls and gates amount to!" The Jedi could use the Force to leap about; a Mandalorian used a jet pack. Either way, physical defenses did little more than slowed the advance of heavy weaponry.

Smoke was cast along the western front in the intervening distance between foliage and the fortress itself. Nothing a HUD couldn't peer through. It would hide their numbers until the weapons fire was loosed and the warriors leaped through the air at the Republic forces. It was all about closing the distance to bring them within range of various weapons -- swords, flamethrowers, grapple lines. Blasters were ineffective against Jedi. A number brought scatterguns and slug throwers (with non-lethal ammunition, of course) to avoid their weaponry being thrown back in their face. Training sabers might not be as effective in deflecting bolts, but why give the enemy any advantage? Sadly, the non-lethal slugs wouldn't have quite the same effect as the real thing, but then the same could be said about much of the exercise. Strict realism wasn't the point.

Runi would accompany the strike team. Mandalorian Commanders were at the front. Once they'd sailed toward the top of the wall, perhaps she'd have the honor of finding their commander as well.

Lorn Reingard | Dreidi Xeraic | Voli Cholrass | Aiden Porte | Kyric | Aileni Ifor Xeraic
Maiz Tor'val | Adonis Angelis IV | Janous Ryss
OPEN

Spoiler

Smoke screen. Disable turrets (e.g. ion) for forces to jetpack-jump to the top of the wall and/or over it. No need to be so impersonal; time to say hello!

 

[Maiz Tor'val]

Maiz stared up at the fortress for a moment. When no challenge was made, the black figure planted a hand on her hip. Blue eyes soon narrowed to slivers before they widened to saucers when the turrets opened fire at the jungle.

They used weapons that resembled the deprave weaponry of the Darthiir, and thought a lone Elamshan warrior unworthy of their notice? Shock hardened into ire as the battlefield erupted into a flurry of activity. Maiz's fingers waggled in the air before her as though weaving thread between them until she pulled the pattern taunt. She bent her knees and suddenly launched forward and into the air toward one of the turret positions.

The dark figure drew her hand back, ready to plow it through the turret itself. Darthiir loved their weapons. They laid waste to entire cities with their technological horrors. In response, her people had learned how to use the gifts of the Goddesses -- their very Will -- to crush those fiendish creations. As unsettling as it was to find technology held in such high esteem in this galaxy, the silver-lining was her people were accustomed to defending themselves from it. Though this galaxy had technology above that of even the Darthiir, which meant they would need to redouble their effort in growing even stronger to protect themselves.

Today would be the start of discovering just how far she, personally, had to go.

Lorn Reingard | Dreidi Xeraic | Voli Cholrass | Aiden Porte | Kyric | Aileni Ifor Xeraic
Runi Kuryida | Adonis Angelis IV | Janous Ryss
OPEN​

 

[Siv Kryze]

.​

O B J E C T I V E 2:​

The jungle's humidity clung to Siv's armor as he emerged from the undergrowth, his Nite Owl helmet's optics dimming from active scan mode. He approached the command position with the quiet efficiency of a hunter returning from patrol.

"Warlord," he said simply, his modulated voice carrying just enough to be heard over the distant stun fire.

He crouched, dragging a gloved finger through the damp soil to sketch quick, angular lines.

"Three approaches present themselves."

His finger tapped the western edge of the crude diagram. "Direct assault through their strongest point. Tests their discipline under pressure, but costs us in stun casualties."

The finger moved to a winding path beneath the markings. "Infiltration through the old drainage channels. Slower, but their sentries aren't checking belowground."

Finally, he indicated a looping route northeast. "Feigned withdrawal to draw out their eager ones. Risky if their commander keeps discipline."

Siv stood, brushing dirt from his fingers. "Their aerial support banks starboard after each pass. Their Knight paces the east wall every four minutes. Small patterns, but exploitable."

He turned his helmet toward the distant fortress. "Your decision."

No dramatic pronouncements. No poetic turns of phrase. Just the facts, clean and simple, delivered by a warrior who'd done his job and now awaited orders.

Tag: Lorn Reingard Dreidi Xeraic Voli Cholrass Aiden Porte Kyric Aileni Ifor Xeraic Runi Kuryida Adonis Angelis IV Janous Ryss Maiz Tor'val​

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Aurelian weathered Auren's diplomatic embrace with the patience of a cat being dressed for a formal dinner.

As the older Senator leaned in and issued his little lesson, tone, respect, the ever-watchful eyes of Mandalor, Aurelian's smile didn't fade, but it did calcify into something politely disinterested. He accepted the words like one accepts unsolicited advice from an aging tutor: yes, yes, very wise, terribly important, I promise I'll take it to heart.

He did not.

The moment Auren straightened, Aurelian gave him a perfectly gracious nod, then, after two steps away, rolled his eyes skyward with such theatrical despair it was a miracle no marble statue sighed in sympathy.

Mandalorian wine? Please. If he wanted something bitter, he'd talk to Sibylla.

No, he needed something sharp. Something with angles. Preferably someone who didn't lecture him about tone while pretending not to.

And there.. like a monochrome painting come to life, was Senator Dominique Vexx. Ice in her spine, gold in her eyes, and probably a dossier for every man in the room hidden somewhere in that coat. She wasn't from Naboo, which already made her more appealing. Denon blood ran colder. And smarter.

Aurelian slipped beside her like a shadow with purpose.

"Senator Vexx," he drawled, low and smooth. "You strike me as a woman who isn't fooled by ceremonial pageantry or iron thrones. So tell me…"

He paused just long enough to let the smile curl back into place.

"What does Denon really think of all this? The Court of Iron, the welcome parade, this... performance of civility. Are you impressed? Or are you already calculating how much beskar it would take to buy a vote?"

Auren Vellisar | Annis Riyaré | Dominique Vexx | Sibylla Abrantes | Kalantha | Aether Verd | Raigryn Vayd | Cassian Abrantes​

 

[Dominique Vexx]

Dominique smiled for the Mand'alor, but not with the desire for intimacy. The Empire could be quite the customer. Sure, they built their own weapons, their own ships, but few ever had nearly as many factories as they wish, or as many engineers as they'd desire. Not to mention the latest in technological research and development. Yes, there was much they could do for one another, as long as the honorific, martial people didn't think all outsiders forboden.

While they awaited the Queen's diplomatically mandated introduction on behalf of the Republic, Dominique stood with her chin high. Despite Aurelian Veruna 's expectations, however, the dossiers weren't in her coat -- but her glareshades she wore almost everywhere she went. Was the world too bright for her? No, but her gaze might be for those with lesser spine than they dreamt of in the comfort of their own bed. A little information at the right moment could make all the difference.

That bright gaze behind her translucent, lilac shades shifted to the man as he saddled up along side. She knew the man's proclivities. Unlike others, Vexx didn't think little of the man for either his so-called antics or his less overt acts -- which people really should pay more attention to, but she wouldn't tell. He was the sort of person Vexx could interact with. Economic improvements were key, not grandstanding 'performances' as he came to call them; though the man did have a few performances of his own.

"Denon enjoys basking in the culture and traditions of our customers," Dominique replied just as smoothly as Aurelian without a moment's hesitation. "Though it does strike me that the Mandalorians might not be enamored with perceived double-talk. My advice would be to dispense with pomp and circumstance and engage them frankly. Express our purpose -- what we seek, and what we'll provide -- as succinctly as possible."

"That being the case, Denon is envious of Mandalorian steel. Were the Mand'alor ammenable to some sort of trade deal regarding the exchange of it, raw or forged by their craftsmen, Denon would welcome such an arrangement." Dominique regarded the Prince with a smile on her lips. "As, I imagine, would Naboo. They know what they have." Which made negotiating for it all the more difficult.

Auren Vellisar | Annis Riyaré | Sibylla Abrantes | Kalantha | Aether Verd | Raigryn Vayd | Cassian Abrantes​

 

[Kalantha]

A NEW DAWN
… a High Republic Story

​

Despite the open horizon of opportunity before her, Kalantha felt a strange sense of finality juxtaposed against it. The Sundering Crisis had been thwarted thanks to the Calladene Compact; the Southern Systems Alliance was reaffirmed despite rising tensions between its signatories; and now, she was here to bury the hatchet and lay to rest the Plasma Wars that ravaged Naboo's idilyc mountain country. But this mission of utmost diplomatic necessity would be her last as the monarch of the Royal Republic, the last as Queen of Naboo.

Soon, she would be conducting herself as either the Chancellor-elect of the High Republic... or a stateswoman, advising her victorious competitor from as a member of the cabinet.

Truthfully, Kalantha - who now had already begun assuming her given name, Inara, when conducting herself as Queen Emeritus - felt a shadow of relief at the thought of relinquishing the crown. Her four years on the throne were some of the most monumental that Naboo had seen in centuries. From the birth of the Royal Republic and the Second Cataclysm, to open war with the Mandalorians and the dawn of the High Republic, few can challenge the success of the young Queen Inara Kalantha Berenko, daughter of a middling poet and a noblewoman, middle child of three.

She had certainly earned the acclaim attributed to her, and that was why she entered the Iron Court with all the grace and honor she was due, regardless of her career trajectory.

"Mand'alor the Iron," Kalantha said, bowing her head with warm regards. "Thank you for welcoming the Republic back to your world. It is an honor to be here. I believe I speak for not only myself, but my fellow dignitaries and the whole of the Senate when I say that we are eager to entertain diplomatic relations with the Mandalorian Empire. There are scars that have yet to heal, as you are well aware, but Naboo and the rest of the Republic do not wish to allow old wounds to smother new partnerships before they have a chance to form."

She nodded her sentiments to the ruler of the new Mandalorian nation and assumed her position within the chamber, wherever she was expected to perch for the duration of the session. Kalantha intended to allow her fellow delegates to conduct most of the meeting, but she was fully prepared to chime in when the time was right - or to right the course, should things get unruly.

After all, she was still Queen until the election season was over.

Tags: Aether Verd | Annis Riyaré | Aurelian Veruna | Auren Vellisar | Dominique Vexx | Raigryn Vayd | Sibylla Abrantes​

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

COURT OF IRON

The Court of Iron was not known for warmth, but it bore witness.

Aether Verd remained seated upon the obsidian throne, forged and fitted like a blade into the bones of Mandalore itself. He did not rise. He did not fidget. But his gaze moved.

It swept across the room, over the array of faces and Houses and titles assembled beneath the banner of the Royal Naboo Republic. Senators, nobles, guards. Strangers, veterans, ambitions wrapped in fine cloth. Some were new to this chamber. Others were not.

To Sibylla Abrantes, he gave a faint nod, the kind only a warlord could give and still call it respectful. She had once stood here on behalf of another, smaller then, but no less capable. Now she stood for herself. Mandalore remembered.

To Aurelian Veruna, the same, albeit with a touch more weight. His reputation had preceded him the first time, and his presence now was... consistent. Aether would not pretend to understand the boy’s games. He would simply not be moved by them.

But it was the Queen he had been waiting for.

Inara Kalantha. The woman of the hour. Aether’s gaze settled upon her at last, not in challenge, but in full regard. When last they spoke, it had been through static and flicker. A hologram. Words exchanged across systems. There had been tension, sharp enough to draw blood. Yet even so, they had found reason. Ground. The first hand extended had not been slapped away. And in good faith had Naboo operated toward Mandalore...twice now.

So Mandalore would do the same.

His voice echoed, low and solid, through the chamber:

“Your words are received with respect, Queen Kalantha.”

A pause. Measured. Intentional.

“Mandalore remembers the past. But it will not be a stumbling block. Only stone beneath the bridge we build together.”

He did not smile. Not truly. But something near the corner of his voice softened.

“There is merit in what your Republic has demonstrated. Poise. Preparedness. Discipline.” His visor tilted slightly, a passing glance toward Cassian and others who had come armed only with presence. “When the Alliance first stood here, their lower ranks forgot the meaning of restraint. One had to be removed from this Court, physically.”

Aether’s voice didn’t mock. It simply remembered. “At least the Republic understands the value of discipline among its delegates.”

Silence followed. Not a void, but a steadying.

Then, slowly, the Mand’alor lifted a hand, gesturing toward the gathered delegates.

“We are here. So tell me...what are the priorities of the Republic? When you return to Naboo, what do you hope will have been accomplished?”

His tone remained level. Honest. Not a challenge, but a call.

“Speak plainly. Let us see what can be forged in truth.”

And then he went quiet again, still as the throne behind him, waiting to weigh what came next.​

Kalantha | Annis Riyaré | Aurelian Veruna | Auren Vellisar | Dominique Vexx | Raigryn Vayd | Sibylla Abrantes | Ze'bast Verd | Aselia Verd

 

[Jonah]

NEW COV
Objective II​

The rangefinder on Jonah's helm clicked softly as it narrowed in on a high turret spitting stun fire into the trees. Its movement pattern was methodical, but slow to readjust its vertical tracking. Weakness. One of many he’d quietly catalogued over the last hour.

From his perch in the crook of a high branch, half-shadowed by dense jungle leaves, the Warmaster of the Nite Owls had done what came naturally: he watched. Not the kind of watching that came with stillness, but the type born of intent. Of quiet measure. Each movement in the fortress. Each glint of armor. Each trooper out of sync with the rest.

His HUD shimmered as friendlies moved across the underbrush behind him. Orders filtered through from Warmaster Kuryida. The plan was shifting.

Time to move.

Jonah dropped from the tree in a crouch, boots silent on the jungle floor. Moments later, he emerged near Siv Kryze, who stood over a dirt-sketched map of the battlefield. The Nite Owl didn’t speak right away, he never did. Just scanned the diagram, then tilted his helmet slightly in thought.

“Combine them,” Jonah said at last, voice quiet but certain.

He gestured with two fingers toward the western front.

“Push from the strong point. Loud. Controlled. Get them looking that way.”

Then he traced a second path through Siv’s rudimentary channels.

“While they’re occupied, we move through the tunnels. Hit them where they think they’re safe.”

He glanced up toward the fortress, where stun fire hissed through the canopy again. “I’ll take the tunnels. I don’t mind the smell if it gets the job done.”

A beat passed. Then, a slight shift of his wrist activated his vambrace. A blinking prompt. A silent command.

Confirmation pinged from orbit.

“They’ll expect Mandalorians,” Jonah said, tapping the screen. “Let them experience Mandalore.”

The sky screamed.

From above, a dark shape plummeted through the atmosphere, fire trailing in its wake like a comet made of metal and fury. With a thunderous BOOM, the Basilisk War Droid crashed into the jungle near the western edge of the fortress: trees shattered, earth shuddered.

It rose from the crater, plating hissing, the mythical beast of Mandalore made manifest. Where once it would have fired to kill, now it loosed a symphony of restraint:

• Anti-personnel stun rounds barked from twin cannons
• Ion bursts surged toward the Republic’s turrets, aiming to disable them
• Gas rockets exploded outward, saturating the air with dense clouds of multi-sensory interference

And above it all, the war cry of the Basilisk ripped across the jungle. Not mechanical. Not synthetic. A digitized roar from ancient recordings, drawn from the days of the Great Crusade: a sound meant to unsettle the uninitiated and stir the blood of those who remembered what it meant to face true Mandalorian wrath.

While the droid pressed its assault, Jonah vanished into the foliage, heading for the drainage tunnels.

There was no glory in waiting. Only the mission.

And he was Mandalorian.

Tag: Lorn Reingard Dreidi Xeraic Voli Cholrass Aiden Porte Kyric Aileni Ifor Xeraic Runi Kuryida Adonis Angelis IV Janous Ryss Maiz Tor'val + Open

 

[Malachi Vokat]

OBJECTIVE II
New Cov - Stratosphere​

The Fang-type Starfighter cut through the upper layers of New Cov’s atmosphere like a blade honed for this very sky. Sleek. Fast. Feral in design. And inside its cockpit sat Malachi of Clan Vokat, every muscle tuned to the throttle, every heartbeat synced with the rhythm of the hunt.

His visor glowed with tactical overlays as his gauntlet flicked across the control panel. Simulated munitions. Remote-triggered hit markers. Shields calibrated to respond to sensor “strikes” as if they were real. The engagement wouldn’t kill, but it would teach.

And Malachi loved to teach.

"Let’s see what the Republic has hiding behind that gleaming gold paint."

He grinned behind his helmet, a predator’s smile caught between reverence and thrill. A quick tilt of the stick, and the Fang peeled left, executing a sharp banking maneuver as its thrusters flared, driving him downward toward the stratosphere. Target acquisition tones began to ping softly in his ears as a silhouette resolved against the atmospheric haze: an N-1 starfighter, pristine and proud.

Perfect.

No fanfare. No formal announcement. Just a sudden, accelerating blur as Malachi angled into pursuit.

He tapped his wrist console, engaging the Simulated Assault Protocols. If he hit this pilot's shields, the system would register it like a glancing missile strike. If he landed a full “kill,” alerts would blare. Evasive systems might even auto-trigger.

"Fight well, Naboo. Give me a tale worth telling."

As the first simulated targeting lock snapped into place, Malachi’s Fang spun into a controlled roll, its signature crimson streaks glinting beneath the sun. The clan crest of Vokat gleamed on the side of the fuselage, and below it, a simple phrase etched in Mando’a: Darasuum kot. Glory Eternal.

Because win or lose, honor was found in the test. And he had come to see what Naboo was made of.

Daniel Washburne​

 

[Adonis Angelis IV]

Objective II
Tag: Kyric (Engaging) Lorn Reingard Dreidi Xeraic Voli Cholrass Aiden Porte Jonah Aileni Ifor Xeraic Runi Kuryida Janous Ryss Maiz Tor'val

The jungle burned with momentum.

Not flame, but purpose, measured, directed, relentless. The Mandalorians didn't rush. They advanced. Like the slow turn of a vibrosaw before it bit deep.

Adonis moved with them, boots silent against the mossy undergrowth, rifle slung across his chest, training saber clipped at his side. His HUD danced with friendly pings- Janous's tall frame striding somewhere ahead, stiff and unnatural, but steady. Runi's orders echoed in his ears, spoken with that iron calm she wore like a second skin. Somewhere to the side, the Warmaster of the Nite Owls had vanished into the brush, the shadow before the storm.

Then the sky screamed.

He turned just in time to see it, a fire-streaked comet dropping through the clouds. The Basilisk War Droid crashed into the jungle with a sound like the galaxy being ripped open. Trees split. Earth heaved. Shockwaves rocked the canopy.

When it rose from the crater, plated and howling with digitized fury, Adonis felt the echo in his ribs.

Kaden Haran, he thought, reverent.

It loosed its storm. Stun rounds and gas clouds. Ion pulses that punched through turret arrays. A synthetic roar drawn from ancient war recordings shook the jungle. It didn't matter that it wouldn't kill. It remembered how to.

He kept moving, working the flank with purpose. Janous was still within his field of vision, his movements clipped, sometimes too quick, sometimes too slow. The rage in his gait was barely contained. Adonis understood that feeling. Wearing armor that didn't feel like yours. Carrying a body that hadn't yet become home.

"Let's make it clean," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

The HUD pinged a warning a heartbeat too late.

One of the fortress turrets pivoted wildly- overcorrecting. Its tracking was lagging. Sloppy. And dangerous.

Adonis only had time to brace.

The stun burst didn't hit him directly, but it slammed into the jungle floor to his left, sending up a blast of dirt, concussive energy, and shattered roots. It knocked him off his feet, armor skidding down a shallow incline. Branches cracked. His rifle was torn free, and he rolled hard into a shallow basin formed by a collapsed tree trunk.

He groaned as he pushed upright, checking for damage. Nothing critical. His gauntlet was scorched, and his shoulder would bruise, but that was all. He'd been lucky.

"Adonis," he said into the comms, "displaced- west flank, twenty meters down-slope from the main line. I'll regroup."

Silence answered.

The interference from the smoke and terrain was too thick. He was alone, and the jungle was quieter here. Denser. Even the birds had gone still. Then he felt it.

The Force shifted- no warning, just a drop in the air, a pressure behind his eyes. It wasn't light or dark. It wasn't hostile. But it was watching.

A presence.

Not like the Jedi he'd seen on holos. Not like the Mandalorian Force-users who guided their strikes with clarity. This was raw. Like stone beneath a river, smoothed only at the edges.

Adonis moved slowly now, steps careful, deliberate. The air smelled like wet stone and dust. Vines tugged at his legs. The clearing ahead opened like a wound in the jungle- wide, overgrown, ancient. Shattered statues hunched beneath twisted roots, and shafts of sunlight cut through the green haze like the eye of a god.

He stopped just at the edge, his breath shallow. He could feel whoever it was. Not close, but near enough. Just out of sight. It made the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

"I know you're there," he said, voice low. Not a challenge. A certainty.

He stepped forward into the light.

"You've been watching." Silence. But the Force whispered louder now.

"I don't care if you're Jedi or some drifter in borrowed robes." His voice took on an edge, not sharp, but firm. "You came looking for something."

He unclipped the hilt fully, let it hang in his hand. It hummed faintly- alive but sleeping.

"So don't make me ask twice."

He turned his head slowly, scanning the trees. There was no movement. Just the feeling of being measured. Just the certainty of being seen.

"Come out," he said, voice iron. "Let's see if you brought anything worth showing."

 

[Aselia Verd]

OBJECTIVE: I

From the side of the hall, a secondary door hissed open, silent but for the faint shift of air.

Aselia Verd entered without fanfare.

Firelight met crimson and black as she crossed the threshold, her armor gleaming in stark contrast to the ancient stone around her. Beskar, shaped for war and tempered by legacy. Her cape drifted behind her, red as blood spilled for family, and her helm turned only once to sweep the chamber with a glance sharp as drawn steel.

There was no announcement. No herald.

Only her footsteps, even and unhurried, echoing as she approached the throne from Aether's right. She stopped at his side, and took her place without need for gesture or command. The symbol of House Verd gleamed from her pauldron, but it was her silence that carried weight.

Aselia did not speak. She stood.

Steel beside Iron.

Her helmet remained sealed, the black visor veiling her expression but not her judgment. The Court didn't demand theatrics. It required presence.

And hers spoke volumes.

Her HUD scrolled data silently: thermal pings, structural resonance, heartbeat metrics. She marked the armed from the unarmed, the confident from the wary. Titles blinked across her screen Kalantha. Vexx. Vayd. Abrantes. Veruna. Each profile was already cataloged, some updated in real time by predictive AI analysis. Behavioral models. Tactical assessments.

Her gaze tracked Queen Kalantha Berenko as she spoke. Not with suspicion, but with weight. The Queen was composed, practiced, but not hollow. She had stood across from Aether once before and had not flinched. That, Aselia respected.

When her brother's voice rang out again, solid as the court itself, she remained quiet at his side. He did not need reinforcement.

TAG: Kalantha Annis Riyaré | Aurelian Veruna | Auren Vellisar | Dominique Vexx | Raigryn Vayd | Sibylla Abrantes | Ze'bast Verd | Aether Verd

​

 

[Alina Grayson]

Objective II

The jungle convulsed.

The earth groaned under the weight of the impact, a thunderous boom splitting the air as fire and fury crashed through the canopy. Trees splintered, leaves were stripped from their branches, and a shockwave pulsed outward through the underbrush. Smoke billowed up in thick plumes, curling skyward like fingers reaching for the heavens.

Alina did not stagger. She stood unmoved in the heart of the blast's echo,. Her white battle armor was unmarred, trimmed in gold, a blue cape whispering around her calves like a living banner. Her presence was radiant, unmistakable: a calm within the storm, the Force gathered around her like a mantle.

Then came the sound.

Not the mechanical whine of repulsors or the bark of cannons but a roar. A war cry torn from a forgotten age. It surged through the jungle, primal and terrible, not synthetic but ancestral. And with it came movement deliberate, overwhelming. The silhouette of the Basilisk rose from the crater, wreathed in smoke and purpose. Stun rounds and ion bursts lit the tree line as it lumbered forward, a god of war bound by restraint.

Alina understood immediately.

Not a strike. A distraction.

Without hesitation, she moved.

Her body became motion, cutting through the haze and staggered defenders. Leaves bent in her wake as she surged forward, drawn not to the beast but to the breach it had made. Her path curved, not toward the western assault but the flank. She felt the flicker in the Force: someone had slipped into the tunnels beneath the fortress. That was the true blade behind the feint.

Her boots barely touched the ground as she ran, each step driven by purpose, not panic. Her saber remained at her side, unlit, her strength drawn not from aggression, but clarity. She didn't need the Force to tell her where to go it pulled at her like a current, steady and insistent.

The Republic line behind her rallied, too slow to see what she had already understood.

She vaulted over a broken root, passed a stunned turret spitting sparks into the mud, and plunged into the shadows at the edge of the fortress. Cool damp air rushed up to meet her as she dropped into the mouth of the drainage tunnel, the light dimming behind her.

No words. No hesitation.

The enemy had chosen the shadows. She would meet them there.

And bring the light with her.

TAG: Jonah + OPEN

 

[Daniel Washburne]

Obj: II
Location- Up, then down, screaming thru atmo towards ground units from 10km up.

The peaceful ice crystals that floated about glistened and shattered as another starfighter blasted past them.

Daniel's body reacted before his brain did, left wrist ticked thirty degrees, rocking the N-1 deftly as the red blip flashed on his console's targeting display. The shields flicked the slightest at the perceived intrusion, had his reaction had been anything less, he would've certainly paid for it. As he turned he banked down and sped up, making a straightshot for the treeline where Malachi Vokat 's fellows were advancing thru, making sure to rock appropriately so any shots layed at him on the dive had a decent chance of peppering the assault force. He didn't want to bank up since he wasn't quite sure on the distance between them, the N-1's size was one of it's main advantages, and he liked to keep the silhouette as small as possible. At the speeds he was running, he'd have a few seconds at most before having to pull up to avoid the ground. In

He wouldn't want to leave them out of the fun.

The kilometers flew by at a breakneck pace. As Daniel found himself chuckling at the Mando Pilot as the ground and sky blurred into a single streaked visage. No fanfare, no touching gloves. Just an aggressive, warlike spirit. He couldn't help but enjoy it.

He preffered such honesty from opponents, it made gauging his own strategy simpler.

 

[Ze'bast Verd]

Court of Iron​

OBJECTIVE I: The Path of Parley
The representatives did provide interesting riffs of conversation with Mand’alor. He had only listened while unseen. Ze’bast had never been the one for flashy showings. Silence held his tongue and servitude stayed his heart.

A protector unseen, but only temporarily.

His entry was delayed behind Aselia. After the comm chatter within his helm dissipated, he stepped forward. He walked as one that knew where he belonged. Dark violet, marred armor would stay partially hidden behind a black half cape. Deep scratches and grooves of battles previously fought had shown true. Ze’bast would take his place on Aether’s left as Aselia would take his right.

The Warmaster’s posture was straightened, disciplined, and revealed his pride. It showed his readiness more than anything. The one that sat upon the Iron Throne was his brother in blood, in battle, and in conviction. That alone made Ze’bast unyielding.

Standing beside the throne, his eyes watched everything, even if his visor gave no expression. Ze’bast visual observation was deliberate. He would take the things he saw meaningfully.

The mending between those of the nations was something he deemed as necessary. The two groups' past weren’t a perfect composition for alliance. He believed that hearts and minds would prevail on this day. Though relatively a bore in the physical sense, woven words are what brought people historically together.

Here Ze’bast stood as an ever watchful sentinel.

TAGS: Aether Verd / Aselia Verd / Kalantha / Annis Riyaré / Auren Vellisar / Dominique Vexx / Raigryn Vayd / Sibylla Abrantes

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

OBJECTIVE 1 - THE WAY OF PARLEY
Location: The Court of Iron, Sundari, Mandalore
RNR | Aurelian Veruna Annis Riyaré Raigryn Vayd Dominique Vexx Cassian Abrantes Kalantha Auren Vellisar
ME | Aether Verd Runi Kuryida Aselia Verd Ze'bast Verd Kyrida Verd Ze'bast Verd

Truth be told, there was an assurance that Cassian Abrantes was with her. Guarding her. It helped to keep her mind focused, watching as Queen Kalantha stepped forward, speaking honestly and plainly, providing more impact in the room than any flattery.

But as Aether Verd 's visor scanned the chamber, the young Junior Representative gave another inclination of her head when his visor paused upon her. He had acknowledged her. Not with fanfare. Not even with favor. But with memory. That alone was a currency she intended to spend wisely.

Then he responded in a low, firm tone to say that the past would not be a stumbling block, but the stone beneath the bridge they'd build together. Sibylla agreed with this pragmatic choice. Building bridges was harder than burning them, and she could't help but remember the two Mandalorian raids that led them to this situation. But this was a new Mand'alor, and from her time under their Queen, Sibylla learned that it was important to be pragmatic and keep the lines of discorse open.

She glanced a moment later at Queen Kalantha and noticed the reassuring look in her eyes. It made Sibylla feel better. The Queen was not pulling back; she was just stepping aside to let her delegates have their moment. Giving her the floor, should Sibylla take it.

And take it she would.

So Sibylla turned slightly to mark herself among those who would first answer. Afterall, one did not need to shout to command attention.

YEt, behind her seemingly composed expression Sibylla's thoughts flickered briefly, thinking back to the night after the Ka'thaa'rahn tragedy, when the Queen herself had ordered a temporary contract with Mandalorian forces to stabilize the region. There had been some that had been against it, but it had been the best decision that had aligned with peace and their ideals. The ideals of the Royal Republic. The ink hadn't even dried on their revised treaty with the Confederacy, and still, still, there had been need. Real need. Immediate aid.

It had made Sibylla ponder and muse. Wondering how to act. How to work through a proposal with the Mandalorians as Queen Kalantha had desired to do.

And that's when Sibylla had done the unthinkable.

She'd approached Aurelian Veruna .

He of tailored coats and cryptic smiles. He of the always knowing glances. And as much as she hated to admit it, he had been right about more things than she cared to tally. His critique of the original Confederate terms that while dramatic, had carried merit, and she'd begrudgingly agreed with it as she stood quietly beside Senator Sarn.

The Queen's goals were clear. But Sibylla? She needed help navigating the parts not in the public record. The ones only Aurelian could illuminate, with his tangle of informants and instinct for attention to detail.

And so, between quiet meetings, late drafts, and careful negotiation, the two had shaped this plan in concordance to the Queen's wishes. A partnership of practicality, not affection. But one that so far had borne fruit; but if Cassian had known of it, he just might have permanently soured his expression at such a revelation.

She returned to the present, to the Court of Iron, as all eyes watched, waited, and listened.

"You ask what our priorities are and what we hope to bring back to Naboo, to the Republic, Mand'alor," she began, her voice clear and forthright.

"The answer is that we hope to build the first stones of a foundation for a more prosperous future. One that will choose unity over division, working towards purpose, open dialogue, and a strategic partnership."

She let the silence stretch for a breath before continuing.

"Our delegation comes with the draft of an accord. A partnership built from recognition of a galaxy shaped by conflict but not bound to repeat it. It proposes four key commitments between the Mandalorian Empire and the Republic:"

Her tone shifted, clear and precise as she summarized, nodding as a retainer moved forward to provide the tablet that would outline the draft of the accord for Manda'lore and his assembly's review.

"First, a Defense and Response Retainer that would allow Mandalore to assist the Republic in matters of planetary security, emergencies, and VIP protection when requested, to be renewed automatically on an annual basis unless written notice is provided by either party." the details on the amount of notice could be negotiated by thirty days in advance was their present terms.

"Second, a summit hosting, designating Mandalore as a neutral site for intergovernmental diplomacy, with the retainer fee covering the attached costs."

"Third, a Non-Aggression Clause that would ensure mutual respect for sovereignty and zero tolerance for sanctioned hostility. And fourth, that the Republic and the Empire each host and protect one formal Ambassador, including the creation of a direct crisis line between our Queen and your throne."

She offered the smallest of inclinations that was neither deferential nor defiant, simply firm.

"This is not a finished treaty, but a beginning. We do not seek blind trust; instead, we encourage Mandalore to approach us with the same openness to dialogue regarding the terms as we have met you."

And with that, she stepped back into place beside Queen Kalantha and Cassian. She had gambled on the thought that Manda'lore would prefer plain speak than posturing. Here's hoping it pays off for them. Had she'd dared, she'd have given Cassian a glance to see his response. Maybe even Aurelian. Certainly, she was curious about the rest of their delegation, as this had been discussed before with all of them.

Now it was the Court of Iron's turn to provide their own requests and edits to the draft, that is... if the draft was at all amenable to them.

 

[Kyric]

Then into the comms again: "Kyric, don't disappear on me. If you're scouting, mark targets. Do not engage alone unless necessary. These are warriors bred for this."

The continued string of commands buzzed incessantly in Kyric's ear with the tenacity of a starved mosquito. He was tempted to shut the damn thing off before their 'commander' issued Kyric any orders. When Lorn finally singled out the younger Jedi, Kyric slid to a sudden halt atop one of the branches and ripped the commlink from his ear. He reared back his arm and tightened his grip in preparation to lob the thing into the depths of the jungle.

But a memory stopped the boy.

A memory of Kyric's father bubbled to the surface of his mind with such lucidity, the kiffar couldn't help but reach out for Ryv the same way he did the day his father marched off to war for the final time.

"Don't be like me, Kyric." Ryv said it with such a profound pain in his voice. Tears welled up in Kyric's eyes then and fell long after his father left.

Kyric reached up in the present and wiped away the thin stream rolling down his cheek. He took a deep breath, centering himself in an effort to return balance to both body and mind. When the kiffar felt the pain recede, he reaffixed the commlink to his ear and activated the device with a flick of his thumb.

"I'm behind the smoke line already," Kyric began, his tone even and controlled. "I'm markin' targets and transmittin' data now." He dropped to a lower branch and pressed himself flat against the shaded wood. His poncho worked wonders to camouflage him, but the kiffar knew better than to test Mandalorian tech. He marked dozens in the thirty seconds he braved his perch, then he retreated back up into the canopy, and set off after a band of soldiers joined by a Force sensitive garbed in hardy Mandalorian iron.

Again Kyric went to activate his commlink in an effort to cooperate.

That was around the time the fortress' defenses unloaded on the Mandalorians he'd stalked thus far. The force of impact ripped several of the enemy from their feet and sent them stumbling ass over tea kettle into the brush. Young trees, not yet rooted deep enough in the earth collapsed around them, threatening to crush a pair who hadn't yet recovered from the strike.

"Preserve life, son. That is the Jedi Knight's true purpose."

Kyric thrust his hands forward and summoned a wave of concussive force. It caught the tree midfall and sent it off course. Bark cracked and splintered, dashed against a stretch of large rocks and boulders that made up one side of a tiny creek.

"We've got Mandos movin' up on the flank." Kyric reported to a chorus of static. He suspected the strange gas cloud overhead had something to do with it and he packed that information away for later.

Upon noticing Adonis' recovering form, Kyric elected to remain behind and take a measure of the man. The Jedi allowed his concentration on his concealment to waver and watched.

"I know you're there," he said, voice low. Not a challenge. A certainty.

He stepped forward into the light.

"You've been watching." Silence. But the Force whispered louder now.

"I don't care if you're Jedi or some drifter in borrowed robes." His voice took on an edge, not sharp, but firm. "You came looking for something."

He unclipped the hilt fully, let it hang in his hand. It hummed faintly- alive but sleeping.

"So don't make me ask twice."

"Come out," he said, voice iron. "Let's see if you brought anything worth showing."

Kyric dropped from the canopy ten paces from Adonis. The kiffar gently shouldered his poncho aside, revealing the training attire of a Jedi, albeit missing the pants and slippers in favor of Atrisian hakama, cuffed at the ankles, and big old speeder-bike boots stained and scarred from decades of warfare. His hand moved slowly to the hilt of a sheathed katana in place of the traditional lightsaber one accustomed to the Jedi may expect.

"I s'ppose you could say that, sure," Kyric admitted. "I'm lookin' for a dance partner if you're keen to do-si-do."

---

Allies: Lorn Reingard
Adversaries: Adonis Angelis IV
Nearby: Janous Ryss

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Aurelian, half-lounging in posture despite the formality of the chamber, watched Dominique out of the corner of his eye. He listened to her cool, businesslike commentary with a crooked grin curling at the edge of his mouth.

"Denon," he said, as if unwrapping the word like a gift. "The galaxy's favorite industrial heartbeat. All chrome and commerce, humming with purpose. You know, I once heard someone call it 'the planet that never sleeps because it's too busy counting its credits.'"

He waved a hand vaguely, like that someone might have been him. He didn't care, he wasn't above flattery to get her attention.

"But still... glorious place, Senator. Grand shipyards, even grander appetites. Honestly, if Naboo weren't so hung up on waterfalls and nostalgic idealism, I'd have moved there already. No offense to my homeland, of course. But there's something thrilling about a place that measures its value in output rather than opera."

He turned back toward the throne just in time to catch Queen Kalantha speaking, her voice carrying that practiced dignity he'd always found just on the edge of compelling. And the Mand'alor… still unmoved, still looming like a myth.

Aurelian leaned slightly toward Dominique, dropping his voice to that conspiratorial whisper of his that always felt half-joke, half-gamble.

"Why do you think they keep those gaudy helmets on? All the time?" he mused, gaze flicking from one black-visored helm to the next. "Is it practical? Symbolic? Or…"

His eyes settled on the woman beside the Mand'alor. Sleek. Imposing. Radiating 'stab first, ask nothing' energy.

"…do you think it's because they're secretly hideous under there? I mean, what if the mystery is doing them a favor?" he grinned, then gave a thoughtful nod in Aselia's direction. "Though I must admit, I might be into it. The armor, the silence, the looming presence. Very theatrical. Very intriguing. I do like a woman who could kill me and make it look poetic."

Then the air shifted. It wasn't obvious, but Aurelian felt it in his bones like a change in weather. He straightened slightly. Sibylla stepped forward. "This," he murmured to Dominique, tone quiet but charged with wry amusement, "this is where the fun begins." Gone was the smirk. Well, most of it. What remained was interest. Attention. A kind of quiet satisfaction that looked far too rare on his face.

He listened closely, eyes never leaving Sibylla as she outlined the proposal they had shaped together, each clause, each carefully worded article echoing countless hours of late-night debates, tense exchanges, and rare moments of agreement when neither had the energy to argue. He'd called her impossible more than once. She'd probably called him worse.

But she'd understood the assignment. Understood Naboo's position wasn't just about pride, but leverage. She had seen, just as he had, that the Republic couldn't afford enemies masquerading as neighbors. When she stepped back, the chamber held its breath.

"Brilliant delivery," Aurelian whispered toward Dominique, though his eyes stayed on the Mand'alor. "Not the speech, mind you... that was textbook. I helped write it. But the execution? Cold, clear, and strategic. Like an opera with knives."

He tilted his head. "She's annoyingly competent, isn't she?"

And now they waited. The Court of Iron did not rush. The throne did not blink. Aurelian's fingers drummed idly against his belt, eyes still forward. "Mmm," he exhaled, as if mulling a vintage wine. "Now let's see if the Iron King accepts an olive branch, or melts it down for parts."

Dominique Vexx | Sibylla Abrantes | Kalantha | Aether Verd | Aselia Verd | Ze'bast Verd | Auren Vellisar​