Faction Court of Iron || Mandalorian Empire

[Aether Verd]

SUNDARI PALACE, MANDALORE
"Let your voices rise. Mandalore will not turn away."​

One week after One Mandalore...

The throne of Mand’alor had been silent for too long.

Now, it was occupied.

Aether Verd sat upon the seat of iron and history, surrounded by the ever-watchful gaze of giants — towering statues of Mand’alors past, each a reminder of what had been earned, lost, and carved into legend. Their stone visages loomed above him, not in judgment, but in expectation.

The hall was cavernous. The air still held the faint scent of scorched stone from where the forges had been rekindled. A crimson carpet stretched from the foot of the throne to the great entrance doors at the far end of the chamber, a river of red underfoot. Supercommandos stood sentinel along its edge, unmoving and armed — not in threat, but in promise.

This was the Court of Iron.

And Mandalore was listening again.

Aether leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the arms of the throne, gloved hands folded as he surveyed those gathered and those still arriving. The Planeshift had fractured more than stars — it had shaken trust, sundered routes, and scattered entire clans. There were questions that burned behind every helmet. Grievances too long unspoken. Uncertainties waiting to be met with clarity.

He welcomed them all.

“Step forward,” he said, his voice echoing beneath the vaulted ceiling. “Whatever burdens you carry, bring them here. The Mand’alor is listening.”​

Jonyna Si , Aselia Verd , Ze'bast Verd , Talohn Atar , Zlova Rue , Drego Ruus

 

[Drego Ruus]

Tag: Aether Verd
​

It had been too long since he had been home. Kicked off his world by Sig Dryggo , and left to wander under the tentative flag of the New Mandalorians.

Jenn had treated him well, but the promise of returning to Wayland had opened a door he had thought locked forever. But then again, nothing was forever.

Landing back on the home-world, Drego couldn't help but be disappointed in what the Crusade had left of his works in restoring the homeworld. Months of neglect had left Mandalore once more a desert, the gardens and forests he had started left without the care they needed to grow.

But Clan Verd had offered a new promise. A promise of return. Entering the court of this new Manda'lor, Drego was skeptical.

"Do you plan to stick around?" The first words to escape his helm. "The Rekindler left us without a word, the Anointed splintered us. What do you plan to do, Manda'lor? The Crusaders had told my clan they were not welcome, will you do the same? I saw your declaration, and I question it. Do you speak truth, or is this another call to gather forces and throw more bodies at the Alliance?"

 

[Aether Verd]

SUNDARI PALACE, MANDALORE
"Question me, and you will find only truth."​

Aether remained still on the throne, his posture unmoved, yet there was no sense of dismissal in the silence that followed Drego’s words — only consideration.

When he did speak, his voice carried the weight of someone who had heard such pain before. Not just as a Mandalorian… but as a son, a leader, and a man who had walked among the scattered.

“I do not blame you for questioning me. After what has come before, I would question me too.”

There was no fire behind the words, only clarity — and truth.

“But I will not vanish. Not by choice. Not by disinterest. Not by pride. The only thing that will remove me from this duty is death. And if that day comes, it will not come quietly. It will not come without a fight.”

He shifted then, just enough for the light above the throne to catch the glint of iron across his shoulders.

“All who follow the Resol’nare are welcome on the worlds of their ancestors. All who swear the Caburian Creed are welcome as citizens of the Empire. That is not a bargaining chip. That is a promise.”

Aether’s eyes locked with Drego’s through the space between them, speaking not just as Mand’alor, but as kin.

“I did not take this seat to throw our people into another fire. I did not return to make war for the sake of glory or vengeance. Not when there is so much to rebuild. Cities, homes, clans — that is the work ahead of us. That is where my heart is. That is where your people’s future lies.”

He gave a slow, respectful nod.

“So yes. I speak truth. And if you choose to stay… if you choose to help shape what comes next… you will not be cast aside. Not here. Never again.”

Drego Ruus

 

[Drego Ruus]

Tag: Aether Verd
​

Drego's unmoving helm stared down the Manda'lor. He had heard empty promises before. He had seen men declare themselves saviors before. He had felt the heartbreak when they let him down.

"We shall see if your words hold weight, Verd. Time will tell if my clan can trust you. One thing is certain in this moment though. I will be returning my clan to Wayland, where we were before the crusade began. We will assist our Vode wherever needed, but we do not swear allegiance to this empire. Not yet. Show us that your word holds, then perhaps we shall consider. For now, I yield the floor, to someone much more of a reason to hate your guts. A cathar."

Drego didn't have much else to say. He had work to do. Restore Wayland to how it was. Restore his castle. Restore his clan.

And find his Foundling. Where ever she ended up.

 

[Jonyna Si]

TAG: Aether Verd

The Dawn of Hope still sat over Cathar, even as the Mandalorian Empire rose from the scattered ashes of the Crusade.

Mandalorian Empire.

Those two words together made Jonyna's stomach turn. Her initial research into the group had quelled some fears. They weren't a bunch of Imperials looking to work with the remnants of the Crusade. That nightmare could wait, and Jonyna could sleep a little sounder on that.

No, this was a different group. Clan Verd, trying to reunite the clans after the Crusade, The Protectors, the Enclave, each splintered the Mandalorians of the galaxy further and further. A commendable thought, one that made Jonyna think of her ex. Jenn Kryze was somewhere out there, making her own name.

But what did Jonyna want from this new lot?

A promise.

The skies of Mandalore seemed to darken as rain clouds filled the blue above the capital city of Sundari. The marking of an arrival.

The Tenacity entered the atmosphere of the planet, the Cathar markings of the ship clear as day as it poked it's reddish orange undercoat through the clouds that Jonyna had called. She had never set foot on the planet, and now she intended to make her entrance. Not with hostility, but with honesty.

She wasn't happy. She wasn't angry. She was frustrated. Mandalorians again, and again, had laid claim to her planet. Her home. The last had attempted to burn her Liko'we to the ground. Attacked the heart of her people, and threatened to repeat what had happened all those generations ago.

She had hoped the Alliance would extend it's borders to protect her people.

She prayed that one day it would.

For now though, she needed to keep her people safe.

As she stepped down from the loading ramp, she walked with a strut she would normally reserve for entering battle against a sith. Claws dug into the ground, poking out of her specially made boots. She wore war paint across her fur, exposed without her battle armor on.

Today she was not the Sentinel of Harmony. No, that side of her had been left back on Coruscant.

Today, she was the Parra Zerpa'era

Entering the court of the self proclaimed Manda'lor, the Cathar stared the man down with an intensity of a woman who had been burned before. Who had stared sith lords, and imperial moffs down. Of one who still kept the helm of a stormtrooper she beheaded on her bedroom desk.

"So, you call yourself Manda'lor. You lay claim to my world. What do you plan to do with it?" Her words were laced with a patient temper. A storm held in a cage waiting for a reason to open the door.

 

[Kirae Orade]

Tags: Drego Ruus Jonyna Si Aether Verd

Kirae stood silent and listened. Watched. She had not stepped up in the past. Not to the calls for Crusade. Not for the calls to Battle. No. Yet she was here to listen to what the new Mandalore had to say. Would it be more words calling for war and battle against their aru'e or would they finally focus on their people. Their heart. To her, the people were the heart of the Mando'ad. Without the people, they were nothing better than barbarians. Not even warriors. No. Warriors had a purpose. If they forgot their people, then they were nothing better than raiders. Pirates with fancy armour.

It is why the words she heard pleased her ears. Not her heart however. Words were just that. Words. She'd have to wait to see what actions the Empire would take. Of course, if they decided to attack, to invade, then she will do what she always has. She will stay. On Mandalore to protect those left behind. Only if she truly believed in the new cause will she move to defend on the Battlefield. Some may see honour in battling, in fighting and bringing destruction to their enemies, but Kirae saw honour in protecting. Those who sought the frontlines could have their honour, could have their titles and respect. She would be content to just stay here in the backline, until she was needed.

For now, she carried on staying silent. Her gaze falling upon the Clan Ruus member as they spoke before turning her attention towards the sound of the Cathar walking in. This would most certainly be an interesting discussion. Adjusting her posture to stand up ever so straighter, she once again listened. It was her way. She listened. She took things in. She did not react unless needed.​

 

[Aether Verd]

SUNDARI PALACE, MANDALORE
"Judge me not by the throne I sit on, but by what I build with it."​

Aether remained motionless on the throne. Like iron cooled beneath the hammer, his composure did not falter in the face of fire, doubt, or fury. When Drego spoke his final words, the Mand’alor gave only a small nod—one of understanding, not dismissal.

“Then go in peace, Drego of Wayland,” he said, his voice quiet but unwavering. “Restore what was lost. And may your clan find strength in the work.”

As the armored figure turned to leave, Aether’s gaze lingered for only a moment longer. You cannot force the stubborn to join, his father once said. Only offer them the truth and let time test their pride. It was a lesson etched deep into him from youth—Mandalorians are proud, Aether. They are carved from stone and war. You will not sway them with crowns or songs. Only deeds. Only conviction.

The rhythmic sound of claws on stone caught his attention.

Aether’s brow lifted slightly as the Cathar descended into the court—painted, unarmored, but no less formidable than any warrior who had ever stood on this floor. He did not interrupt her when she spoke. He did not shift under the weight of her stare. He listened.

Only when her question hung in the air like a blade did he speak.

“This world holds deep meaning for me,” he said, his voice level. “Not just as Mand’alor… but as blood.”

He leaned forward slightly, the light catching on the dark lines of the Iron Mandalorian’s armor.

“It is the birthplace of my uncle, Talohn Atar . I was raised hearing the stories of Cathar—not just its beauty, but its wounds. The ache in his voice when he spoke of what was taken from your people. The betrayals. The scars. That pain is not forgotten.”

Aether paused, letting the weight of those words settle before continuing.

“As Mand’alor, Cathar is bound by the Caburian Creed. That means its people are not subjects to be exploited—but citizens. Protected. Heard. Respected. That is not an occupation. That is a covenant.”

His gaze, hard and unwavering, held hers.

“Even now, we await word from Cathar’s leaders. They will decide who shall stand as their Warden—their own voice, their chosen governor. They will guide the world’s future alongside us. Not beneath us.”

He then looked out across the gathered court. The scars of old were carved into many of the faces before him—some fresh, some decades deep. He acknowledged them all.

“My cause as Mand’alor is not war for war’s sake. It is the security of Mandalore, the safety of its people, and the prosperity of this Empire.”

He leaned back once more, the echo of his words lingering like a hammer’s strike on anvil.

“Whatever you believe of me now… judge me by what I build."

Kirae Orade , Jonyna Si , Drego Ruus

 

[Serina Calis]

"Questions... So many questions..."

Tag - Aether Verd , Kirae Orade , Jonyna Si , Drego Ruus


The Court of Iron had grown quiet in the wake of the last challenge—too quiet. Even the ever-watchful Supercommandos seemed subtly on edge, though their armor betrayed no emotion. The chamber, so used to the booming cadence of warriors and warring words, now held its breath.

And then, the sound came.

Not the heavy tread of beskar boots, nor the rumble of engines, nor the barking of a warhound's cry.

No.

It began as a whisper. A soft, arrhythmic beat—metal on stone. The sound of taloned heels, deliberate and exact, clicking against the crimson carpet like a clock winding toward judgment. Each step was slow. Measured. Impossibly quiet. And yet it echoed louder than any war cry.

Eyes turned. Even the statues seemed to tilt toward the entrance as she arrived.

Serina Calis entered not like a diplomat, nor like a threat—but like a phenomenon. The vaulted doors had not opened for her. They had parted. Yielded. As if some silent pressure bent them backward from within.

She stepped through the threshold, alone.

Alone… but sovereign.

The figure that entered was clad in midnight—the sovereign's second skin. Her armor did not gleam. It drank the light, each inch of obsidian curve absorbing radiance and returning only suggestion. Her presence radiated force without volume, tension without conflict, menace without hostility.

Six violet eyes glimmered in symmetrical alignment across the face of her helm, scanning the room with predatory calm. Not twitching, not searching—cataloging. Calculating. She gave the sense that she already knew the placement of every exit, the weight of every breath, the purpose of every soul gathered.

The cape behind her flowed like smoke trapped in velvet, whispering secrets with every shift. It did not drag. It did not flutter. It moved because she moved.

And Serina did not walk.
She arrived.

When she reached the foot of the throne, she stopped.

Not bowed. Not postured.

Paused.

Like the final moment before the blade descends.

Then, and only then, did she speak.

Her voice was modulated through the helm—not to disguise, but to distort. Velvet run through iron. It emerged low, resonant, and shaped by intention. Every syllable was clean, poised, and coldly articulate.

"Mand'alor."

A single word, but not one spoken lightly. She did not mock the title. She honored it—but with the reverence a tactician gives to a live weapon.

"Serina Calis."

She gave no titles. No grandiose claims. The gravity of her presence filled in the void where pomp might have lived.

"I come not as an emissary, nor as a rival. I bring no demands. Only interest."

Another pause, calibrated to let the tension breathe.

"Taris."

The name landed in the room like a dropped knife. A thousand histories. A thousand wars. One city's name.

"I have… investments there. I wish only to understand how the Mandalorian Empire intends to engage with the planet's future."

Her tone never changed, but something beneath the surface shifted. Not threat. Not even concern.

Scrutiny.

"I will not speak of alliances, nor offer counsel. Not today. I am here to listen."

Her helm tilted slightly, the six eyes dimming, as if narrowing.

"To listen. And to remember."

The phrase carried weight. Memory, to Serina Calis, was never passive. It was currency. It was leverage. It was ammunition.

And yet, even now, she radiated nothing but restraint. She had not come to dominate the room. She had come to test it.

The woman who stood there was not a conqueror, nor a supplicant. She was a question with no punctuation. A cipher whose meaning would only be revealed after the war began.

Serina stepped aside, unprompted, taking her place at the edge of the great hall with the ease of someone who had already mapped out how best to burn it down.

But for now… she simply observed.

She was not here for war.
Not yet.
She was here to decide.

 

[Lysara Rynn]

To the side, Lysara stood among those gathered watching the events unfold and listening to the words shared within these hallowed walls. Her arms rested comfortably folded over her chest, armor partially covered in a worn cloak that had certainly seen its share of being worn. Though the visor hid her expression, none would have been found as she stood as silent as a sentinel on watch, simply taking it all in. In her eyes, her own clan felt as if they were lost children forgotten to the winds of fate long ago. Despite this, she seeks to hear what this Mand'alor has to say and perhaps bring her clan back into the fold properly for the first time in generations.

The issues raised by those gathered, for their worlds, their own clans made her ponder her own concerns as well. For now, however, she would observe and listen.

Tag: Aether Verd , Drego Ruus , Kirae Orade , Jonyna Si , Serina Calis

 

[Aether Verd]

SUNDARI PALACE, MANDALORE
"Taris doesn’t need new investors. It needs its people."​

Aether Verd watched her in silence.

The mask of six eyes, the composure, the lack of pretense — all carefully measured. She came without banners. Without threat. But not without purpose.

Her interest in Taris wasn’t missed.

He made a note of that. Quietly. Internally.

There were foreign eyes on an ancestral world. Ones that claimed investments, while the Clans that bled for it still remembered what it once was.

His voice, when it came, was firm. Even. Certain.

“Taris is Mandalorian.”

“Its roots are ours. Its scars are ours. And the Empire has returned it to the care of those who remember it best — the Clans tied to its soil, and the people who never stopped calling it home.”

“If you — or anyone beyond our borders — seeks dialogue, you know where to find us."

“But I don’t barter at the doorstep with those who bring no olive branch, no alliances, no counsel. Only questions.”

He didn’t dismiss her.

But he didn’t invite her further, either. He’d heard what she came to say.

That was enough.

Serina Calis , Lysara Rynn , Kirae Orade

 

[Jonyna Si]

TAG: Aether Verd

Talohn. Jonyna had only recently met him, but the name inspired a bit of hope.

Still, the thought was concerning. As Serina Calis barged past her, not content to wait her turn, Jonyna mulled over the answer, letting the sith take her turn. Jonyna wasn't here to make enemies, only protect her people. If the Manda'lor promised that, then so be it.

Still, she had her own demands.

"My fleet stays above Cathar." Not a question, a statement. "We are still rebuilding after the Crusaders bombarded us with their fleet, and I intend to finish the job I started. My company operates out of there, and I will continue to service my planet as their Sage. I do not seek to lead in your system, Talohn has my endorsement. But I will not stand idly and not offer my people assistance. Rebuild, regrow, renew. If that's a problem, then you can take it up with me. Not as a jedi, but as a Cathar. What of those who attacked us? Will you stop me hunting them, seeking retribution?"

She rarely pushed her luck like this, but it was a matter of Cathar pride.

Her people were not Mandalorian. They would not be seen as part of the Mandalorian Ancestral Lands.

They had survived worse. Lived through Crusaders and Empires, Mandalorian or otherwise.

They would stand as citizens, not as subjects. Jonyna was willing to die on that hill.

 

[Aether Verd]

SUNDARI PALACE, MANDALORE
"You may care for Cathar — but Mandalore answers for it."​

Aether’s gaze lingered on Jonyna. Not with judgment. With clarity. She had spoken plainly — and so would he.

“You speak for Cathar, but you haven’t taken the Creed as they have. And I won’t permit a foreign fleet to linger over Mandalorian soil.”

“If Talohn is chosen, so be it. If not, another will rise. The Warden is chosen by the people — not by appointment, and not by force.”

“You speak of retribution. Of hunting Mandalorians. But you are not vod. You are not of any Clan.”

“So you have a choice.”

“Take the Resol’nare, and this becomes a matter between Houses — our customs allow that."

"Or take the Caburian Creed, and be regarded as a citizen. Your fleet may aid, but you will follow our laws. Citizens do not hunt one another.”

“No matter how benign the intent, I will not allow a foreign military to operate within our borders.”

“Cathar will be protected. Not as a favor. As our duty.”

“So says Mandalore.”

Jonyna Si

 

[Vytal Noctura]

​

"How like your father." The vaguely feminine voice echoed in the chamber from nowhere and everywhere.

A person-sized stirring of air was soon joined with a growing black smoke and green flame. It flared ten feet into the air before being instantly snuffed out, and in its place strode a pale woman in crimson armor. "Eloquent. Persuasive." Vytal smirked as she stopped a respectful distance away from the throne. "Commanding. I look forward to seeing your will put to action, Mand'alor the Iron. May it be as unyielding, yet adaptable."

Her crimson armor was not what most expected as traditional garb of Dathomir, but its influence had been in mind when fashioned by the Mando'ade Kad Tor himself. The black tattoos against her bone-white skin certainly made her heritage known, even if her attire did not. Vytal had been born on Dathomir, raised on Dathomir, and despite all this time still cherished her homeworld -- and reviled those that thought to spoil it for their own gain.

"Can I take your words for these other realms for Dathomir as well? A symbiosis of Will and Strength to elevate one another. A Pact. Understanding of our Ways, which may not be your Ways, but can coexist and be greater than the sum of our parts." It was not outrageous for this Empire to expect Dathomir to contribute. Nor had it been outrageous for the Confederacy of old to demand the same of the Witches of Ryloth. A mutually beneficial arrangement where neither side tried to force the other to change, but each expected a certain respect and decorum be abided. Aether would expect his Authority to be supreme, of course, but if he really were of his heritage Vytal would not find that so arduous.

And if he were not, Dathomir was far from toothless.​

Aether Verd | Open​

 

[Talohn Atar]

Boots echoed as the door opened, announcing a new entry into the hall. None other than Talohn Atar. Every guard, and a few other mandalorians, stared at him as the large double doors shut behind him with a click. They stared, despite knowing who he was. His orange colored eyes dart about as he stands there in leather boots with a pair of brown pants, durasteel kneepads, and an armorweave undershirt with a fur collared brown bomber jacket. A belt around his waist holstered an A-180 on his hip, and a beskad machete resting horizontally in a simple metal sheath on the small of his back, the handle sticking out to the right for him to easily grab. He carefully pulls his pistol from his holster and puts it on the nearby table, followed by his machete. Putting his weapons away didn't stop the staring. Others returned their attention to the Mandalor, but some were still giving the cathar a pointed look. "The hell did I do?" He tosses up his hands. More silence. It's then he looks down at himself, shoulders slumping as he deflates somewhat. "The armor is in progress, Leave me alone." With that, he strolls past them, grumbling a few times to himself, but shifting to silent and respectful as he arrives to stand by Jonyna. He tilts his head, listening in as she and Aether address the matter of cathar.

When he finally speaks, he doesn't mention being endorsed as warden. The matter had yet to be decided and he did not see it as his place to speak on it. At least not here. Wasn't his show. On the matter of conflict between houses, he speaks up. "I'm willing to make what happened to my people a matter between houses." He shifts his gaze from Aether to Jonyna. "But not yet. I'd prefer to see people on cathar have homes for their children first. We must ensure the future of the living before pursuing the prospect of avenging the lost. He then goes silent, letting the nightmother go first before he continues. He reaches into the satchel at his side, digging about until he pulls out a datapad when his turn arrived. "To my earlier point. Us cathar never really recovered from the original incident. The great drowning, my tribe called it. The name varies across the planet. The mandalorians chased our people to the sea enmasse and kept us off the shore till we drowned. Most of us were driven to extinction that day. We still find ancient catharese bones washed up on our beaches. Our species has faced a fierce population bottle cap ever since. The continued pains, the recent actions of the Neo crusaders included, have not helped this. They hurt us. Hurt us bad. But if we don't get the help we need, it won't be their actions that finish our planet." He taps on the datapad, browsing through files as he speaks evenly. Was speaking of the great drowning probably stinging a tad to the mandalorians in the room? Could be. But Talohn didn't mind that. It might make them more inclined to act upon what he was about to display to Aether. A chance to distinguish themselves from the previous mandalorian power structures by righting an ancient injustice. Finally, he hands the datapad to Aether, a rotating display of cathar visible on it's screen. It was as most sources would say. A mostly jungle and savannah planet. But there were large stretches of desert. Aether might have seen enough planets to know that the shift to these deserts in the terrain, even from orbit, were sudden. Too sudden. Not to mention the deserts had massive black splotches visible within their boundaries, scattered all about, some in single black blobs, and others in long shadowed rivers stretching across. "If you have a...' He makes vague waving gestures with his hands while trying to find the words. "Projector or something you could plug that into. That'd be swell. No problem if not." He clears his throat. "The fact that the cathar population suffered is only a part of the problem. The big issue is the population that not just didn't suffer, but thrived. Us cathar are the only frequent predator of a highly invasive species of giant beetle known as Kiltik. When our population numbers were cut down to less than a quarter of what it was before, and kept getting cut down repeatedly by various incidents, the Kiltik population exploded. To the point that, for a long time now, they've been consuming entire portions of our planet down to nothing but dry, dead soil before moving on to the next tract of land." He draws a squiggly line with his finger, his expression grave despite the silly gesture. "You see those black lines? Those are bugs. So many bugs gathered together that they can be seen from orbit. Billions of them. Eating our planet inside and out. if we don't do something, cathar might as well be a barren rock." He crosses his arms, meeting Aether's gaze with an arched brow. "Was wonderin if you'd be interested in the prospect of taking a foray into the pest control business. Or at least providing the resources to do a startup for one on my end."

Aether Verd Jonyna Si

 

[Aether Verd]

SUNDARI PALACE, MANDALORE
"When you take the Creed, your pain becomes our pain."​

Aether Verd felt her presence before the flames took shape.

Though silent, Aether felt the song of Dathomirian magick swept through the Court — subtle, reverent, unmistakable. The same tone his grandmother once carried in her chants, lullabies woven from ash and blood. That power had stayed with him through battles and ascension, and now, it stirred something quiet and familiar.

When the green flame vanished and Vytal Noctura stood before him in crimson armor, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Vytal,” he greeted, a rare warmth in his tone. “Your words honor me. Thank you.”

His eyes briefly moved across her form — the shape of Dathomir worn proudly, but the craftsmanship clearly inspired by Mandalorian hands. He gave her a slight nod, voice steady.

“Yes. Dathomir has taken the Creed. And in doing so, she stands not as vassal, but as kin. One among you will serve as Warden — to speak your concerns directly, and be heard. You will have protection. You will have aid. And together, we will forge something stronger than what came before.”

The doors opened again. Boots echoed, and this time, Aether rose.

A genuine grin cracked his otherwise composed demeanor as he spotted the Cathar weaving past stares and side-eyes in his bomber jacket and boots.

“Uncle,” he called, a note of mischief beneath the respect. “Glad you made it. And don’t worry — the staring’s just jealousy. Not everyone can make half-dressed look intentional.”

He chuckled faintly, the court momentarily lighter for it as he settled back upon the throne. THEN Talohn’s tone shifted, and the matter of Cathar returned to the floor. He said nothing as Talohn offered to turn the matter of vengeance into a dispute between Clans — not until the living were secured. But his gaze flicked briefly toward Jonyna as he reaffirmed:

“That path of tradition is only open to those who take the Resol'nare.”

And then, back to Talohn.

He accepted the datapad without ceremony, reading it as Talohn spoke. No one else needed to see it yet. This was for him to weigh, his responsibility to carry. The mention of the Great Drowning drew a slow, solemn nod. An ancient wound. One that bled still beneath the raids of the Neo-Crusaders, like salt in a scar.

When the final words fell — a foray into pest control — Aether did not immediately answer. He simply sat. The datapad rested on his thigh, his fingers curled around it in silence for a beat longer.

And then:

“The Kiltik are an adversary of Mandalore."

"I hereby authorize you, Talohn Atar, to mobilize the Great Heathen Army for a campaign to purge them from Cathar.

Whatever you need — manpower, munitions, or fire — it will be given.

Cathar has taken the Creed. That means their world is ours to protect. And we do not abandon our own.”

Vytal Noctura , Talohn Atar , Jonyna Si

 

[Serina Calis]

"Questions... So many questions..."

Tag - Aether Verd , Kirae Orade , Jonyna Si , Vytal Noctura , Talohn Atar

The six violet eyes of Serina Calis had not shifted throughout the Cathar exchange.

Not when Jonyna made her stand.

Not when Vytal emerged from the pyre.

Not even when Talohn recounted the sins of drowning and devouring.

She remained perfectly still—unmoving, unbreathing, unreadable.

Only once the final declaration from Aether Verd fell like a blade—the Great Heathen Army will march—did one of the lenses atop her helm dilate ever so slightly. A ripple of violet, like an iris reacting to light.

She stepped forward.

Not far. A single pace. Enough for her voice to carry cleanly without effort.

"Prudent."

A single word—precise and razor-
edged.

"Allowing a Galactic Alliance fleet to linger above Cathar would have set fire to the minds of half the Dark Council. Given the current state of hostilities… restraint was wise."

There was a faint hum beneath her words. Her voice, while calm and modulated, carried that same haunting resonance that clung to cathedrals and caskets—truth with the smell of death behind it.

"Cathar is… evocative."

Her head tilted, as if to study Jonyna—not with disdain, but with the clinical interest of a chemist considering a volatile compound.


"So is Dathomir. Resourceful. Proud. Violent when needed. Both worlds will be—useful."

She left it at that. A statement. Not praise. Not threat. A prediction.

Then came a pivot. Subtle. Serina did not turn her head, but the weight of her attention shifted toward Aether once more—back to Taris.

"I have no intent to withdraw my assets from Taris."

Her tone did not change. It didn't need to.

"Infrastructure, medical facilities, and economic frameworks rebuilt since the planet's reclamation were funded—largely—by neutral conglomerates under my charter."

A breathless pause.

"We do not fly banners over those installations. And we will not. But we also do not tear them down simply because the flag over the capital has changed."

Then the edge came in.

Subtle. Glacial.

"The largest scar on Taris was not left by Mandalorian boots."

"It was left by Darth Malak."

The name hit the room like a whispered curse. Ancient. Cataclysmic. Remembered.

"We—remember."

It was unclear whether we meant the Sith… or herself alone. Either interpretation felt dangerous.

"And so does the galaxy."

Another pause.

"Genocide is… unprofitable. In memory. In narrative. In policy."

Her voice did not rise. But something about the cadence slowed—like an executioner adjusting the angle of the blade.

"Purge the Kiltik, and the survivors will be remembered only in the propaganda of your enemies. Let the Cathar cleanse their own world with Mandalorian aid, and you inherit the myth of salvation."

Her head turned slightly, the hood shifting like mourning cloth over armor.

"Just a thought. From a woman with no alliances, no counsel, and no olive branch."

Then nothing more.

She stepped back.

Silent again.

Watching.

Waiting.

 

[Aselia Verd]

​

Aselia Verd remained silent.

Fully clad in black beskar traced with red, she leaned against a column of the Court of Iron where stone and iron met beneath the towering statues of Mand’alors past. The crimson carpet drew the eye to the throne, but she stood off-path, deliberately removed from the center. Not because she was unwelcome but because she didn’t need the spotlight.

Her presence, like her armor, was weight enough.

The Court unfolded before her each voice, each gesture, observed and filed away beneath her visor. Not judged. Just understood.

She watched Drego Ruus speak with the blunt skepticism of someone who’d bled too often for too little. She did not fault him. His pain was real, and he carried it well.

She turned slightly when Jonyna Si entered bare of armor, yet wrapped in authority as thick as any beskar plate. Aselia respected the fury beneath her composure. The fire restrained. That kind of discipline meant survival. And survival meant something in Mandalore’s new age.

She noticed Kirae Orade too. And Lysara Rynn. Both silent. Both still. The kind of warriors who didn’t need to remind anyone they were watching. The kind who waited for action before they spoke. Aselia knew their kind. She was their kind.

But it was when Talohn entered that something beneath her helm softened.

Her uncle.

No pomp, no ceremony. Just a worn bomber jacket, blunt honesty, and a datapad that carried the future of a world. He cracked a joke as he entered. Typical. That was him. That was family. And for all her silence, Aselia’s heart lifted just enough to warm the air behind her visor.

She didn't smile. But if she had been unhelmed, maybe she would have.

Her gaze drifted back to the throne where her brother sat, and where he met every question with something no Mand’alor before him had managed to offer without compromise: patience.

She had fought beside him, bled beside him. But this was different. He didn’t wear the iron to prove something.

He wore it because no one else would.

And when Vytal Noctura arrived, wreathed in green fire and crimson armor that whispered of Dathomir and power carved from spirit and soil, Aselia did not tense. She didn’t move. But her posture changed just slightly. Straightened.

She had heard the stories. Of Nightsisters who bent the veil, of witches who walked as death incarnate. Of Vytal Noctura, who carved peace from war and stood beside the Verd banner when others turned away.

Her respect was quiet. Bone-deep. Earned.

And then there was Serina Calis—blade-tongued and unreadable, every word another step deeper into the room’s nerve. Aselia didn’t blink. She just logged it. Assessed. Remembered.

Let others posture. Let others speak.

​

 

[Kirae Orade]

Tags: Aether Verd Jonyna Si Serina Calis Talohn Atar

Silence. Still no sound escaped Kirae's mouth as her gaze moved between those situated here. First they were settled on the Cathar, as she made her concerns clear. Kirae held her own opinions. You could not call something your planet if you had been willing to leave it in the first place. Yet she held her tongue. Her opinion was unneeded and unnecessary. Cathar was a strong planet either way. It would survive.

And then her eyes fell upon the next arrival. The one who spoke of Taris. Serina Calis. Something about her smelled...off. Kirae's nose twitched for a moment as Serina spoke of her investments. Was that all people in the larger Galaxy cared for? Their investments? At least the Cathar had a worthy concern. It was about her people. Something more important than a simple investment. Even Kirae cared for Taris to an extent. It was not Mandalore, it was not Home, but it was Mandalorian. Yet once again she stayed silent. Her mind might wander, she might have strong opinions, but her restraint was stronger.

Yet her gaze fell upon the Cathar once more as they spoke. Kirae's eyes narrowing behind her helmet for a moment. A foreign fleet over a Mandalorian world was not a smart idea. She'd have expected better from a Jedi...then again, the Cathar did say they weren't here as a Jedi. It was Pride that was speaking. Kirae could understand pride. She had seen many others use it as an excuse to make foolish mistakes.

By this point, Kirae was starting to zone out of the conversation. Not out of boredom however. She had nothing to add to the discussions. She would listen. She might ponder. But she would not speak. Dathomir was not a planet that had her interest. Their ways were not hers. Yet then the discussion of a hunt caught Kirae's attention, as she turned her attention back to the Mandalore and the new Cathar that had arrived. It intrigued her to say the least. Kirae would not go out to invade, to assault other planets...but to Hunt a threat that plagued a Mandalorian world? She would jump at the opportunity.

She ran her hand along her shield for a moment. A subtle action to remind herself of what she fought for. There was more weight to the Shield than just the physical. It held the weight of those she wanted to protect. Of her people. Her Clan. Her eyes settled on the inside of her shield, where there were few names carved in. It was her way of remembering those she had fought with. Those she saw as a warrior. And then her head raised once more when she heard the voice of Serina.

Once again her eyes narrowed behind her helm. Why did this woman think her words mattered? She spoke about how a foreign fleet would affect the Dark Council, yet she stated she'd leave her own "interests" on Taris. As much as Kirae was not fond of the Cathar Jedi, they had their own "interests" on Cathar from what Kirae understood. Her own company. And then it came. The edge. The mentioning of Darth Malak and how someone remembered...A response wanted to escape Kirae's lips. A taunt. But she held her tongue, instead turning her attention ahead of herself as she stood back at attention, as the response just flitted over her mind

They may remember. But they are not worth being remembered.​

 

[Imperius Indomitus]

W A R M A S T E R
INDOMITUS LEGION
Through war, we bring order.
Through strength, we bring unity.

Prologue: The Iron Protocols
From Iron Comes Strength

Aether Verd
Aselia Verd | Kirae Orade | Talohn Atar | Vytal Noctura | Lysara Rynn | Drego Ruus | Jonyna Si

IRON KNIGHTS​

Mandalore | Sundari Palace | Court of Iron

Mandalore the Iron. A new claimant to the mantle of leader, creating an Empire from the ashes of the Neo-Crusaders and already spreading the tenets of the Mandalorian people across several sectors. A new Empire indeed. There would be a great many challenges for them, foes and adversaries that would oppose a unified Mandalorian realm, posing a threat not only to the nearby Alliance, but everyone else that did not respect their strength and culture.

Imperius arrived above Mandalore on his shuttle, choosing not to strain potential relations with the arrival of any warships, with the clear goal and request to join the Court of Iron for an open audience with the new Mand'alor. The descent was swift, the direction set on Sundari as the Vehemence broke through the atmosphere and was guided and escorted to a specific landing bay. The Imperial was escorted towards the palace by Supercommandos, but choosing to take two of his newly created Indomitus Praetorians as honour guard, their shields at their side, their lightsaber pikes dormant.

The large doors to the Court opened, titanic steps echoing as the large figure of the Warmaster marched in. His helmet in his left hand, neatly tucked in below his arm, the right hand on the pommel of his sheathed sword, Valoris, relaxed. A deep red cape came from below his black shoulder plates, the entire armor of deep obsidian color with fine golden trim and engravings, covering everything from neck to toe. Black, lidless eyes laid on the ruler and those that already came before him, though the latter only received glances while the focus turned towards the man on the throne. His red skin was covered in markings, tendrils grew from his brows and chin, typical for his species. Yet there was no aura of dread or darkness surrounding him, only a distanced cold.

In front of the throne, Imperius offered a slight bow of his head, his fist clenched above the chest. "Mandalore. The honor of joining your court today is greatly appreciated. From the far away darkness of the Unknown Regions - Zakuul sends its regards and eyes the rise of another Mandalorian Empire with eagerness. I am Imperius, Lord Indomitus and Hegemon of Zakuul. Too long have the Mando'ade been disunited, rising and falling with limited purpose."

His voice was deep, somewhat gravelly and certainly used to command and authority. His choice of words bore no tone of falsehood or double-faced politeness, he spoke his mind as he was used to. And continued to do so.

"There was grief between the past incarnations of Mandalorian people and my people, those that hold high the banner of the Iron Sun of the Empire and New Order. If your realm holds the strength and stability it promises, we have the potential to be of great aid to each other, rather than see grievances of forgotten places and forgotten people overshadow a potential future."

"And while this lies as part of the future, I want to extend my hand in friendship and support here today, creating a possible foundation for our people to stand side by side against the corrupt and decadent influences that currently occupy large parts of the Galaxy."

 

[Zlova Rue]

"Malak?" The name was announced loudly and echoed through the chamber as a deep, red Lethan woman casually strolled across its threshold. Serina Calis ' words caught her ear. The Twi'lek sniffed. "Yeah, he was a warrior. Personally, a later-year Traya fan." Zlova Rue wore half a beskar'gam, and the whole planet should be happy she bothered with that much. This was a formal occasion though, so she'd play nice. Her head, arms, and belly stood out with their many Sith tattoos adoring her flesh. If there was one thing Zlova was not it was ashamed of who she was and where she'd come from.

She strode up from behind Talohn Atar and gave the Cathar man a smirk as she drew near. Out of respect for him being there for his people, she didn't throw an arm about his shoulders. Decorum wasn't her strong suit -- deliberately. Who had time to adhere to tradition and stuffy etiquettes? Mandalorians would understand. Long as you didn't insult their Armorer or forge or skill as a warrior. Okay, they had a lot of red lines, but they weren't hard to avoid.

A grunt followed suit. "Now that you have everything you ever wanted, Talohn, you actually have to organize it." She moved to slap him on the back of the shoulder.

Then her golden eyes fell on Jonyna Si and narrowed slightly. Another Cathar? Female too. Looked defiant, or perhaps it was resolved. Zlova must have missed something. Didn't matter long as it didn't involve her trying to lure Talohn away -- that would be one hell of a show for the Mand'alor. Nothing like christening a ruler's hall like two people trying to murder one another.