Faction [BSS, ME] A Common Enemy

[Tales of the Underworld]

BLACK SUN SYNDICATE + MANDALORIAN EMPIRE
A COMMON ENEMY

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The only thing deadlier than angering a dangerous beast… is angering two of them.

Diarchs Rellik and Reign have behaved as petulant contrarians in their diplomatic endeavors. They cry out for peace and make concessions for the innocent, all while demanding costly shadow wars and the genocide of Mandalore. The Diarchy is a treacherous engine that is running out of fuel. It cannot sustain its two-faced front for long, a weakness that will remain unexploited no longer.

If the Diarchy wants war, it shall receive it.

On Umbara, Black Sun’s elite meets with the Iron Court in secret at the long-forgotten Sith Academy—appropriated and functioning now as an outpost of the Bando Gora Assassins guild. Their watchful eyes are steeled and unflinching as syndicate boots and beskar-clad warriors march through the citadel’s obsidian halls.

At the center of the Academy is a large, vaulted chamber where Sith Lords once convened to discuss their institution’s goals and interests. The Underlord now sits at the head of the table, eagerly awaiting the Mand’alor’s arrival. The seat opposite him—which is more akin to a throne than a simple chair—is reserved for the Empire’s ruler. A half-dozen seats on either side of the table have been afforded to advisors, informants, and tacticians from both sides.

Quite literally, the table is set; fine wines, expensive food, and imported spice make up a spread that would impress even the harshest warrior. Prince Velzari is not bribing or enticing. He simply knows the value of a good meal before the bittersweet taste of war touches his tongue.

- Tag List -
[BSS] Velzari Tharn | Hakar Scaleback | Scherezade deWinter | Kinley Pryse
[ME] Aether Verd | Aselia Verd | Adelle Bastiel | Itzhal Volkihar | Kirae Orade​

 

[Velzari Tharn]

BLACK SUN SYNDICATE
A COMMON ENEMY​

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The Underlord's sharp fingernails circled above a plate of berries as he considered them one by one. Like a bird of prey swooping in for the kill, he plucked one from its stem and popped it into his mouth. The sweetness was refreshing, but it did not compare to the delicacy that was about to be served: a fresh scheme.

It had been some time since Velzari's first—and last, as it so happened—meeting with the Mand'alor. Aether Verd and the Underlord had an accord built on mutual understanding. It was a symbiotic arrangement that had proved passively beneficial, but had yet to truly blossom into a prize worth flaunting. The galaxy had simply been too... calm. But in that calmness, boldness and brashness had taken root. The Diarchy had become too comfortable in its own skin, too bold for its own good. The Mandalorians witnessed it firsthand, just as Black Sun had. It was time to punish the wayward children for leaving their play pen.

Velzari reached for his glass and eyed the liquid. It was crimson in color and smelled strongly of spices. He sipped patiently as he awaited his guests.

Tags: Hakar Scaleback | Scherezade deWinter | Kinley Pryse | Aether Verd | Aselia Verd | Adelle Bastiel | Itzhal Volkihar | Kirae Orade​

 

[Nine-Fingers Seiji]

Velzari Tharn
Hakar Scaleback | Scherezade deWinter | Kinley Pryse | Aether Verd | Aselia Verd | Adelle Bastiel | Itzhal Volkihar | Kirae Orade

The obsidian halls of the Sith Academy absorbed the sound of armored boots striking the floor, yet the rhythmic click-clack of claws against stone heralded Guildmaster Seiji's presence far more effectively than any Black Sun trumpeter. The newly appointed leader of the Armourer's Guild advanced with a deliberate, predatory grace.

Trailing behind him were two Akk dogs, their thick, brownish scales glinting like armor in the dim light. These creatures were both beasts of burden and instruments of slaughter, remaining silent except for the occasional hiss directed at anyone who ventured too close to the Master of Port Nowhere, which loomed high in orbit.

His tunic, crafted from a robust mix of black fabric and gold accents, reflected the faint light of the arched chamber. Designed to withstand a blade, it was nonetheless tailored for a royal setting. A prominent, puckered scar traversed the area of his missing eye, while his remaining eye scanned the room with a detached gaze.

As he approached the table, he drew back his chair with a hand that had only four fingers, the stump of the fifth serving as a stark reminder of a debt settled in blood.

He refrained from greeting the Underlord Velzari Tharn , as his mere presence was a reminder that the Armourer's Guild backed his rule; they wouldn't be attending this conference if they believed the Falleen had lost his grip on controlling the Syndicate.

He took his seat, the leather creaking under his weight. His akk dogs settled on either side of him, their scaled bodies hunkered down like living boulders. Seiji reached out, his nine fingers hovering briefly over the spread of imported spice and fine wine, but he took nothing. He simply waited, a silent architect of the violence to come.

 

[Hakar Scaleback]

Velzari Tharn Nine-Fingers Seiji

Blood dribbled from Hakar's razor sharp teeth in stark contrast with the Underlord's courtly manners. He tore apart another wriggling klatooine paddy frog with primal relish. True to his nature the trandoshan helped Vezari reign from shadow. Behind such lamentable table manners lurked a cold and calculating mind.

"I have never ssseen a mandalorian hunt before," if he felt nervous about the impending conclave then he was careful not to show it, "I would like to know if the ssstories about them are true."

Hakar exchanged growls with Seiji's akk dogs in a territorial threat display. He did not like the way they stared at his food. It was a look the trandoshan recognized because it was the same look he gave the other vigos. Always hungry for more power. Worthier kills. Juicier paddy frogs. Some creatures could not help their enormous appetite.

"Perhapsss they would like to tessst their will againssst the junglesss of thisss bleak world."

Umbara hosted a savage ecosystem known for its particularly aggressive plant life. While this lost academy provided ample protection from the wilds Hakar fought against a dark urge to test himself against the planet's many dangers.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Velzari Tharn Nine-Fingers Seiji Hakar Scaleback + Anyone else joining

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Scherezade was already seated, glowing green eyes staring at the copious amounts of food offered on the table. Her relatively recent skim into the politic side of business had made her wonder time and time again why food was always such a big part of these political meetings. So far, most of them had ended more with the threat of violence rather than a shake of hands, and fighting was hardly comfortable when your stomach was full of freshly chewed food. Still, that hadn't been the reason she rarely touched it. As the Sithling poured herself a tall glass of water, glowing green eyes darting at those already gathered at the table, she figured that she could hold out until someone thought to place baskets of bantha wings for offer.

A snicker came from her as the trandoshian ( Hakar Scaleback ) mentioned something about Mando hunting. Where some might be in awe of stories and legends considering the Mandalorians, Scherezade was firmly not on the list of those people. The blood feud that had started hundreds of years ago between her family and all the clans was still fresh to her senses, and though she had gone through a very long and beautiful character growth arch, moving from 'all Mandos must die' to 'all Mandos except the ones I individually approve of and hey look here's a few of them' over the years, she still didn't like them as a general rule.

She also didn't like the allied connection between the Black Sun and them. Though, as a newcomer, she didn't really see herself poised to sever that connection. Not at this time, anyway. For now, she'd just watch those filthy Mandalorians like a hawk, and wait for them to give her a reason, any reason, to undo them.

The Sithling cracked her knuckles and grinned, moving to pour herself some of the water with one hand as the other tossed a scrap of meat towards the adorable Akk dogs that had joined them. The puppies were adorable. Smelled a whole lot better than your average Mandalorian too.

She leaned back in her seat and raised her glass, almost as if in a toast, but not quite. The next moment, she sipped from it, the glow green of her gaze washing over the table as she waited.

 

[Kinley Pryse]

You've been hit by... you've been struck by...

When Kinley orders a drink, the bartender pours two, one for her, one for the deadly choice she's about to make.​

Kinley Pryse was already seated when the others arrived, her cowboy hat pulled low over one eye, shoulders slouched in practiced nonchalance. She looked like she was bored, like she'd wandered in early and was now regretting it, but that was the point. Kinley Pryse didn't fidget. She didn't rush. She waited.

A mocktail sat untouched in front of her, a convincing imitation of Tatooine whiskey without the burn. She'd taken a few bites from the spread, enough to be polite, not enough to suggest gratitude. Snubbing an Underlord was dangerous. Appearing eager was worse.

The scent of rich food filled the room, heavy and indulgent, and it only made her feel more out of place. Kinley wasn't a vigo. Hell, she wasn't even pretending to be important yet. Officially, she was muscle, Flint's problem-solver, tied to Cantonica and the vigo who ruled it. That wasn't where she planned to end up.

This meeting was a rung higher than she belonged, and she knew it.

That was exactly why she'd accepted the invitation.

Slow and deliberate, she reached into her pocket, unwrapped a toothpick, and slid it between her teeth. Her gaze drifted briefly to the hounds circling the table, eyes fixed on the food with barely contained hunger. Kinley smirked.

They weren't the only ones starving.

They were just the only ones craving food instead of power.


Scherezade deWinter Hakar Scaleback Nine-Fingers Seiji Velzari Tharn

A Smooth Criminal

 

[Aether Verd]

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

SITH ACADEMY, UMBARA

Beskar rang softly against obsidian as Mand’alor the Iron crossed the threshold of the forgotten academy, the sound swallowed almost immediately by Umbara’s lightless stone. The halls had once echoed with Sith ambition and doctrinal cruelty, yet even those old ghosts seemed to shrink as Aether Verd advanced, helm forward, posture unyielding. Since the clash on Vexis Station, the Diarchy to the north had proven itself adept at wearing two faces, weeping for peace across the HoloNet while sanctioning shadow wars and the public execution of Mandalorians. They had played the victim with theatrical precision, and the Galaxy had been eager to applaud.

Aether had never been among them.

What mattered were the lives lost, the wounded carried home in silence, the blood spilled while monarchs hid behind speeches and screens. He had not forgotten the images broadcast for sympathy, nor the names etched into iron afterward. Within his chest lived a fury honed by months of raids and reprisal, disciplined but ever-burning, a hunger that answered every provocation since Vexis with steel. And now the Diarchy had gone further still, discarding restraint entirely. If they demanded blood, Mandalore would answer in kind, without apology and without limit.

The vaulted chamber opened before him, its long table laid with wine, spice, and indulgence fit for kings who believed themselves untouchable. At its head sat the Underlord, framed by shadow and confidence. For the first time, Mand’alor and Underlord regarded one another without the distance of holocall or intermediaries, predator meeting predator in the open.

Aether approached without haste. Without ceremony. He took the throne-like seat opposite Velzari and settled into stillness, the presence of the Iron Court made manifest through him alone. Behind him, Aselia, Adelle, Itzhal, and young Kirae Orade followed in silence, their arrival acknowledged only by the subtle shift in the room as Mandalore’s future stood witness.

The Mand’alor inclined his helm once, a measured acknowledgment.

“Underlord,” Aether said evenly, “you have my thanks for hosting this discussion.”

With his gaze fixed on Velzari, beskar-clad hands rested upon the table as Umbara’s shadows pressed inward. Whatever followed would not be shaped by grand speeches or theatrics, but by intent sharpened through shared enemies. This day, the enemy to the north would drink from the chalice they made.​

Velzari Tharn , Hakar Scaleback , Nine-Fingers Seiji , Scherezade deWinter , Kinley Pryse , Aselia Verd , Adelle Bastiel , Itzhal Volkihar , Kirae Orade

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Umbara, Expansion Region

A long time ago, in a Galaxy that often felt so distant from the places he remembered. Itzhal had heard tales of a Brotherhood of Darkness, a shadow that stretched far and wide, reduced to nothing more than a tarnished memory of would-be conquerors and the wandering spectres that dared to claim pieces of their shattered legacy. Not all that unlike his own people, in those dawning days, after the Republic had burned their worlds to ashes, leaving tombs like this as bitter memories.

He wondered then, as his steps clacked against the stone floor, whether those remnants would have considered the temple's current occupants worthy of association, or if they'd be as disgusted with them as those who'd laid them low in the first place. He still wasn't sure how he felt about any of this either. Obsidian, shaped centuries ago, offered no answer to his troubles. It only guided him deeper to the source of his recent woes. The clack of his steps was steady, despite all that lay ahead of them.

Itzhal followed, a couple of steps behind the Mand'alor, a lingering shadow in shades of black and red. His hands held low, not far from the sleek handles of his favoured blasters, always within reach, though he made no further movements to grasp them. It hardly mattered as anything more than a gesture of intent; the munitions on his wrists were just as deadly.

With a slow pan of his helmet, the inside of Itzhal's visor flickered with information as his attention shifted from one target to the next.

Slouched over her seat in a languid display of calm that stretched between truth and performance, the shrouded face of Kinley Pride was marked with over a dozen bounties, many of them minor, though that was only in comparison to the others in the room. Beside her, a woman with glowing green eyes, gestured to the rest of the table with a lift of her glass that felt mocking rather than a greeting. Mere milliseconds later, bounties and contact details for a Scherezade deWinter appeared, courtesy of Deathdrop—another Sith in a Galaxy filled with them. An interesting selection, for all that Itzhal was aware his own party could be considered much the same.

There was something particularly Mandalorian about bringing a lawman to a criminal meeting.

At least, whatever joke was hidden there didn't feel particularly funny as his visor settled on the Trandoshan Vigo. Slavery, murder, where did one draw the line with what they were willing to tolerate?

With a deep breath, the weight of his silence pressed down on his chest. One day, he'd find the answer to that line in the sand. He had a feeling that at this rate, it would sooner than any of them intended. Until that day, however, his people needed him, in whatever way that may conspire.

Tags: Velzari Tharn Hakar Scaleback Scherezade deWinter Kinley Pryse Nine-Fingers Seiji Aether Verd Aselia Verd Adelle Bastiel Kirae Orade​

 

[Aselia Verd]

Aselia entered with Aether, a step behind and to Aether's left was Itzhal Volkihar

Obsidian swallowed the sound of their approach, but her armor didn't need acoustics to mark the shift. Mass distribution changed. Heart rates adjusted. Several people recalibrated their posture by fractions of a second. The room noticed Mandalore had arrived even if it pretended otherwise.

She moved half a step behind and to Aether's right flank, where she belonged. Positioned so that any line of attack converging on the Mand'alor would pass through her first. Purposeful. Practiced. Calm.

Her HUD lit the chamber into ordered layers.

Structural scan first: vaulted ceiling, load-bearing columns, no visible kill-lines, no obvious sniper nests in the upper stonework. Old Sith architecture meant for intimidation and secrecy, not sudden violence. Good sightlines. Limited blind spots.

Biometrics followed.

Multiple life-signs at the table. Elevated adrenaline in a few anticipation, not fear. No weapons raised. No spikes that suggested an imminent strike. The beasts near one attendee registered as potential hazards, logged and tracked automatically. Their attention was on food, not throats. For now.

Aselia didn't linger on faces. Names were irrelevant. Titles meant nothing. All that mattered was the same question, applied over and over with ruthless simplicity:

Are you a threat to Aether?

One by one, the answer came back the same. Not yet.

She took her seat near Aether with practiced ease one wouldn't expect with beskar. Her helm angling just enough to keep the entire table within her peripheral. Forearms rested lightly, close to her centerline. Nothing aggressive. Nothing careless.

She clocked a woman slouched like she didn't care, a predator pretending to nap. A green-eyed presence heavy with old grudges. A trandoshan whose hunger was obvious and uncomplicated. A man with beasts and scars who waited instead of postured. The one at the head of the table radiated confidence the kind that assumed the room was already won.

Umbara itself pressed close, the academy's ancient hum feeding quietly into her armor's sensors. No anomalies. No distortions. No whispers worth listening to.

Aselia settled into stillness beside Aether, alert without tension. If anyone in this room decided to make a mistake, her armor would tell her before their body finished the movement. And if that mistake was aimed at Aether they would not get a second chance.

TAG: Velzari Tharn Hakar Scaleback Scherezade deWinter Kinley Pryse Nine-Fingers Seiji Aether Verd Adelle Bastiel Kirae Orade

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[Adelle Bastiel]

Tags: Aether Verd | Itzhal Volkihar | Aselia Verd | Kirae Orade | Velzari Tharn | Hakar Scaleback | Scherezade deWinter | Kinley Pryse | Nine-Fingers Seiji

The Dark Side sang here.

Every black stone, every carved block, was steeped in its essence. Adelle felt it flowing around her like an oily sludge, sharp crystalline points of a particularly sharp pain or moment of suffering occasionally brushing against her awareness. She brought up the rear of the group, senses trained on the Force in case someone got ideas. She didn't want to be here. But if the Mand'alor was going to walk into a lion's den, she was going to make damn sure he walked back out of it.

The vaulted chamber greeted them with a spread that would be the envy of most citizens of the galaxy. Succulent meats, lush greens and vibrant fruits, gleaming liquors in crystal and metal decanters populated the table. As well as spice. Adelle eyed the containers safely behind the visor of her helmet, taking a seat at the table as Aether lowered himself into the throne-like chair and addressed the Underlord at the head. Spice did not hold fond memories for her.

For his part, Itzhal looked no more comfortable than a nobleman in a bantha stable. Adelle had to acknowledge the irony in bringing an officer of Mandalorian law to a meeting with a criminal syndicate.

Aselia's posture was alert as always. Odds were good that she already had mapped the room and its occupants.

The vigos and muscle Black Sun had brought to the table had already started in on the feast. A nine-fingered man, a Trandoshan, a Sith--from the feel of her presence although it was hard to tell in this place--with brilliant green eyes, and a young woman wearing a wide-brimmed hat tipped down low over her eyes, toothpick in her mouth. If this had been a holodrama, Adelle would have shut it off for being ham-fisted.

But these threats were real.

Adelle laced her fingers in front of her, resting her elbows on the table. Watching the conversation unfold.

Waiting.