Faction &nbsp; [BSS, ME] A Common Enemy

Kinley Pryse
[ME]

Velzari Tharn · Jan 5, 2026

BLACK SUN SYNDICATE
A COMMON ENEMY

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.

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Nunterc Trundiav · Jan 5, 2026

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 · Jan 5, 2026

Nunterc Trundiav

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 · Jan 6, 2026

Nunterc Trundiav

Hakar Scaleback + Anyone else joining

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 · Jan 6, 2026

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

Nunterc Trundiav

Velzari Tharn

A Smooth Criminal

Aether Verd · Jan 6, 2026

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 ,

Nunterc Trundiav ,

Scherezade deWinter ,

Kirae Orade

Itzhal Volkihar · Jan 7, 2026

| 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.

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Aselia Verd · Jan 7, 2026

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.

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Kirae Orade

Adelle Bastiel · Jan 7, 2026

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Kirae Orade |

Velzari Tharn |

Nunterc Trundiav

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.

Nunterc Trundiav · Jan 11, 2026

Kirae Orade

Seiji had to concede that the Mand'alor

Aether Verd surrounded himself with good company, as each of his companions

Adelle Bastiel ,

Aselia Verd , and

Itzhal Volkihar were formidable in their own way, even without fully understanding the type of gear and firepower they were bringing to this conference.

If they chose to, the entire leadership of the Black Sun Syndicate could be eliminated, down to the last man or woman, which made this situation far too perilous for his taste. His eyes moved away from the Mandalorians to the decanter of wine near his hand.

The rich, purple liquid caught the low light. For a moment, he considered it. Then, with a movement that was neither eager nor reluctant, he reached out. His nine fingers closed around the crystal, the touch precise. He poured a single measure into a glass, the sound a soft glug-glug in the quiet.

Bringing the glass towards his noise to catch a scent and to detect if anything was poisonous. The scent was complex, floral with an undercurrent of iron. Umbara, he thought. Even the wine tastes of damp stone and buried things.

He turned his head, the numerous scars on his face stretching taut, and fixed his single eye on the Underlord

Velzari Tharn . When his voice finally broke the silence, it emerged as a low, gravelly rasp, lacking inflection yet some semblance of respect. "Forgive me for speaking out of turn, Great Underlord," he began, his words slow and measured, mindful not to create any tension between them and disrupt the delicate united front they were currently presenting.

"But before we can unleash the hounds of war..." He gestured towards the two Akk dogs either side of him as a point of reference. "There is the small matter of logistics that needs to be addressed. The Diarchy moves with the weight of a state, no matter how pathetic they seem to be. Their resources are vast, standardized and replenishable." He allowed the silence to linger, his gaze momentarily drifting over the gathered Vigos at the conference table as he looked for their response to his question.

He leaned forward slightly, the leather of his tunic creaking.

"What forces do they command?" he asked, the question stark. "Not their ideals, not their grievances. Their forces. Fleet composition. Army groups. Logistical chains. Planetary defense grids. All vital information that we need to consider should our Underlord agree to your alliance.."

Velzari Tharn · Jan 12, 2026

BLACK SUN SYNDICATE
A COMMON ENEMY

Black Sun’s network of spies, informants, and shadow brokers had been working diligently since Dandoran to infiltrate the Diarchy. Their efforts have revealed enough about the self proclaimed Bastion of the North to wreak havoc, but the Underlord rarely strikes until he knows his enemy like the back of his hand.

Nunterc Trundiav spoke out of turn. If he hadn’t asked such a vital question, he’d have to change his name to No-Fingers Seiji… the Tongueless.

“We have deduced that the Lilaste Order comprises a significant portion of the Diarchy’s military force. The brothers brought their winged lizard into my palace; he’s an unimpressive specimen.”

Velzari handed a datapad to one of the silent Bando Gora sentinels, who in turn delivered it to Aether. It was a manifest of war assets and who had provided them to the Diarchy. Several names repeated themselves: Lilaste, for one; N&Z; and Trigonus Industries. The Prince afforded the Mand’alor and his accompaniment a moment to peruse the intelligence before he spoke on it.

“Not an entirely disappointing repertoire, but it lacks… coherence. Nothing like your own fleets, or the pirate armada under my command.”

Velzari clicked his tongue thrice, like a skeptical onlooker at a poorly rehearsed performance. “They collect companies, toys, and systems as they become available. I see little evidence of unified command or a dedicated effort.”

“And that’s not even mentioning their clearly divided public and internal agendas,” he added with a deep laugh.

But slowly, Velzari’s ridged eyebrows returned to their natural, heavy shape. Beneath them were deep lavender eyes that carefully assessed the room before him. Even among those he considered allies, Velzari was cautious. Deliberate. Exact.

“Our conflict with the Diarchs has been limited to intellect thus far. They asked for a result which we simply could not produce… and at such an embarrassing price, no less. They came to Dandoran with a shopping list of heinous crimes against Mandalor to be committed, offered us a few old ships and some petty cash, then stomped away like children when we refused.”

A smile broke his otherwise serious expression. Yes, he’d have served Diarchy against Mandalore. This was always a possibility. But the cost Velzari would have levied had the Diarchs not ran to their rooms like petulant children was far deeper than their coffers ran.

“The Mandalorian Empire,” he shifted, “has faced them more directly.” Velzari nodded at the datapad with curious eyes.

“What do your warriors think of the Diarchy’s little war chest?”

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Scherezade deWinter · Jan 15, 2026

Adelle Bastiel + Open to whoever joins

Scherezade noted the woman with the toothpick to her side and nodded towards her. Not so long ago, head-honcho Vigo

Velzari Tharn had tasked her with keeping an eye out for

Kinley Pryse , make sure she painted between the lines if she wanted to become a spice queen. So far, the mission hadn't officially begun yet, but Scherezade had her hear to her connection networks, trying to see what they could come up with regarding the woman.

And then came the Mandalorians. Scherezade took a quick inhale, blocking her blood hound senses. She didn't need to know which among them was an inbred or connected to those she'd sworn to undo. Ultimately, it didn't matter. A Mando was a Mando. All positioning and postures that she had seen an endless amount of times before.

And then the talking began, the Mandalorian side of the room being the first one to start it.

Intel was quickly granted. The structure of the meeting so far was one of old as well. She had seen these things happen, been in more war councils and room than she could be bothered to remember. There was also the little issue of her liking the Diarchy pricks, though not enough to keep her hands away from the gorgeous war that would soon be upon them.

So yes, Scherezade had plenty of opinions. She could also easily start never ending speeches. But… Why?

For now, she merely opted to remain silent, occasionally sipping from her water as her glowing gaze focused on each of the Mandalorians in turn.

Itzhal Volkihar · Jan 20, 2026

| Location | Umbara, Expansion Region

Silenced eveloped the room, disrupted only by the scrolling of a datapad and the light inhales of those who waited for the discussion to progress beyond the exchange of critical information. In the midst of the stillness lay a single datapad, it's sleek surface and soft glow, seemingly innocuous for all that it bore the immense weight of an empire's secrets. It should have weighed more. Solemnly, the device was passed from Mandalorian to Mandalorian, eventually ending in his gloved hands. His hands curled around the edges, a tighter grip on the compact frame.

Many of the names within meant little to Itzhal, detached as he was from the greater Galaxy, until recent events had returned him to the fold. He knew little of the industrial giants that were N&Z Umbrella Corp or Trigonus Industries, beyond their existence, and the few small arms that stumbled their way into Mandalorian Space. The Lilaste Order, however, was one such group he'd faced, short as their confrontation had been.

"I cannot speak for the naval assets, but the Lilaste Order and their shield tech will be something of a problem in any infantry conflict," He still remembered blaster bolt after blaster bolt pinging off Laphisto's shield, his expression exposed to the bleak light that filtered in from gaps in the ruined landscape. It had taken far too much to break through. "I wasn't able to confirm if their commander's shielding was stronger than the rest, but after I dropped a building on him, his shield still lingered against a mixture of blaster bolts, shrapnel and sub-zero gases. Repulsor seemed to catch him off guard, threw him a couple of meters back, before it adapted to a follow-up blow. In the end, it took a rail shot to punch through the shielding and armour."

He paused, drumming a finger against the table as he gathered his thoughts.

"It's not insurmountable, and based on reports, I assume that the standard line troop doesn't have something of that calibre. If their officers are equipped, however, it'll mean we'll need something heavier for decapitation strikes. I'm confident they'll fall regardless, but it'll delay our objectives if we're not prepared for it."

Unspoken was the fact that it would probably be better to sabotage such equipment off the field or eliminate the targets far from the battlefield, but it wasn't an option he wanted to linger on, nor was he inclined to suggest bringing out the daggers to a faction that surely possessed such capabilities.

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