Faction Court of Iron || Mandalorian Empire

[Serina Calis]

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

Tag - Mia Monroe



Serina Calis did not sigh. She did not flinch. She did not grant the thing courtesy of a reaction—because one does not react to a malfunction.

One diagnoses it.

The creature before her was not a threat. She wasn't even an inconvenience. She was noise—unfiltered, unthinking noise sputtered from a idiot so self-absorbed in her own forgotten mythology that she couldn't recognize reality if it cut her open and scrawled its name in her ribs.

As the thing spoke, Serina didn't bother turning her helm fully toward her. She remained still—glacial. Imposing. Like an executioner at rest.

Inside the helmet, her thoughts spiraled with surgical precision. Not in fury. Not in indignation. But in the way one might mentally dismantle a primitive tool left on a lab table with no label and no apparent use.

"You might have been stupid enough to come here…"

Ah. Projection. Crude. Emotional. No capacity for insight, just raw, unfiltered pride delivered through the blunt instrument of wounded legacy. This creature believed herself to be clever. Believed herself to matter. That was perhaps the most tragic part.

A barely sentient object this broken shouldn't know it's broken.

She wanted to provoke. She wanted a duel—words or weapons, it didn't matter. She craved the relevance she no longer possessed, feeding on imagined slights as if they were oxygen. And now she stood here, draped in the tatters of past glories, wielding the memory of someone else's son as if it meant she was still part of the game.

Carnifex's son?

Please.

Serina had studied the Sith. Had talked Carnifex once. No more than an exchange of ideas and common courtesy. It had been professional. Civil. Detached. She had no loyalty to him. No allegiance. And certainly no emotional investment in the sprawling mess of his bloodline.

This creature—this relic—clearly couldn't grasp that Sith were not a hive. There was no shared outrage. No collective mourning. It's little parlor trick of preserved heads meant as much to Serina as a taxidermied Nexu on a rustic tavern wall.

And now, after having made a threat so theatrically stupid, so fundamentally miscalculated, she expected Serina to carry a message? As if the Sith were errand girls for clan mothers desperate for attention?

No.

Enough.

Serina finally turned her helm to face her—not quickly, not dramatically, but with the slow, deliberate gravity of inevitability. Like a predator entertaining the idea of swatting a particularly loud insect before realizing… it simply wasn't worth the energy.

Her voice came low. Silken. Not raised, not strained—just utterly flat.

Like a scalpel on glass.

"Your intellect is not simply limited. It is so catastrophically absent I am forced to wonder how you remember to breathe."

A pause. Calculated. Clinical.

"You walk into a diplomatic court dressed in the rags of dead wars, interrupting discussions you don't understand, and issue threats to an empire you couldn't even find on a map, that's if you even have the ability to discern different objects, but maybe you haven't moved past the infant stage yet."

Another breath, let through the filtered hush of the vocoder like the cold whisper of death.

"You speak of heads in boxes like a drunk child trying to shock their elders at a dinner table. It isn't frightening. It's pathetic."

She took a single step forward, just enough that the violet glow of her helm washed across it's armor.

"You assume I care about Carnifex's lineage. I don't. You assume I serve the man. I don't. And you assume your message carries weight. It doesn't."

Then the final blow. Delivered like an autopsy note.

"Nobody fucking cares about you."

Then, without a word, Serina gave the faintest nod. Not to the savage.

To ARACHNEA.

A silent command flashed across her HUD.

:: INPUT RECEIVED — SUBJECT "20291283" — MUTE ::
:: AUDIO FILTER ENGAGED — NON-RELEVANT VOCAL STREAM BLOCKED ::

And just like that… the relic was gone.

Unless she made any guttural sounds or anything of the sort which may be perceived as an initiation of hostilities, the AI could deal with that.

Her mouth might still be moving, but in Serina's world, in her court of thought, in her realm of calculation—The thing had just ceased to exist.

There was no flourish. No exit. No final glare.

Serina simply turned her head away.

 

[Aselia Verd]

​

Until now, Aselia Verd had remained still half-shadowed against one of the towering columns along the Court of Iron's perimeter. She'd been silent, not out of indifference, but intent. A sentinel's poise with a tactician's mind, ever watching.

But now, the threads of the moment had begun to pull taut—grievances given voice, names turned to weapons, history bleeding back into the present.

It was time to step forward.

She moved unhurried, and deliberate across the floor of the chamber. Not as a figure drawing attention, but as a presence reasserted. One that demanded no permission, one that asked for no audience.


She passed beside Talohn Atar , pausing just long enough to rest a gloved hand on his shoulder. The gesture was solid, certain.

Not reassurance.

Recognition.

"When the time comes concerning Cathar," she said, her voice low and unshaken, "you and Cathar will have my full support."

That was all. No flair. No further word.

A nod then, angled toward Zlova Rue , a simple gesture of acknowledgment sharp, knowing, respectful.

And then her gaze shifted.

First to Mia Monroe not in confrontation, but in cool observation. She saw the way Mia stood now, weight behind her stance, the quiet edge to her posture. A warrior's read of the room.

Then, her eyes passed to Serina Calis .

The mask. The stillness. The calculated silence that masked storms beneath.

Aselia didn't stare. She didn't challenge.

But her attention lingered.

Not as a Mandalorian, not as the sister of Mand'alor but as one who remembered what silence could mean. As one who knew exactly when presence became a blade.

She remained there, beside Talohn.

Not for protection. Not for display.

Because family stood together.

And in the Court of Iron, that meant everything.

​

 

[Marlon Sularen]

C O U R T_O F_I R O N

IMPERIAL CONFEDERATION
MANDALORE, OUTER RIM TERRITORIES

Sularen maintained his composure as Drego Ruus went about explaining in detail his past and providing his "evidence" in the form of the Dark Troopers he had utilized during the reign of the Dark Empire along with the 3ICW-era Commando Armor that he had used for his Special Forces in order to reinforce his argument against Imperial-Mandalorian cooperation. It was frustrating, to have his attempts at diplomatic reconciliation and normalization between the Imperials and Mandos sabotaged by some deranged dissatisfied Mandalorian who couldn't let go of the scars of the past. It took all of Sularen's mental strength to not respond with harsh words to the irrational and agitated Mandalorian as he instead waited for the Mand'alor's response.

Fortunately for Sularen, Mand'alor the Iron was more reasonable and did not succumb to Ruus's anti-Imperial sentiments. Instead he offered a solution : The return all of the Beskar that he had acquired as the first step towards proper Imperial-Mandalorian reconciliation. While on the surface it was indeed a reasonable request, the logistics of it were a complicated matter. The vast majority of the Special Forces Units under Sularen's direct command made use of the Commando Armor that had Beskar and he had hundreds of thousands of active Dark Troopers scattered throughout his assets both Imperial and Corporate.

If he was going to fulfill this request he would have to get rid of both the Armor and Dark Troopers and then have to replace every single Droid and piece of Armor, which itself would be extremely expensive and could compromise the security of his own assets. While Sularen did seek positive relationships with the Mandalorian if he was going to make such a big sacrifice then he would require a major concession from the Mandalorians themselves, especially Clan Ruus.

Thus after pondering on the Mand'alor's offer for a few seconds, he offered his response. "Very well Mand'alor. You shall have your Beskar back even though Ruus here has blatantly lied about the means of their acquisition to prove a point." Sularen said, agreeing to the Mand'alor's offer while still expressing his displeasure surrounding Ruus's comments. "However, considering that melting the Beskar and replacing both the Armor and Dark Troopers with newer alternatives will be quite the expensive expenditure, i require a concession from your people as well." Sularen added.

"I am someone who values compromise highly, but with this offer your gains far outweigh my losses, which is hardly fair if we're using our past relationship as the basis for such an offer. Ruus here has been willing to highlight my past with the Dark Empire and the Maw and yet he forgets that his people have also waged war against mine in recent history with the Protectors and the Neo-Crusaders invading Imperial worlds, killing our brethren and displacing our citizen. Plus Ruus has already hinted at potentially seeking to pursue that Alliance bounty on me, which hints at potential future Mandalorian aggression against us" Sularen explained.

"That being said, i am still willing to accept your offer. But at the condition that all Mandalorian Clans under your banner refrain from taking any sort of action against the Imperial Confederation and those aligned with it. I seek peace with Mandalore, but there must be a sufficient degree of mutual trust to sustain that peace, and the conduct of some of you here has already exposed a vast degree of Anti-Imperialism that would compromise that trust while i have showed nothing but respect and cordiality towards you and your people."

Tags | Aether Verd | Jonyna Si | Drego Ruus | Serina Calis | Kirae Orade | Vytal Noctura | Aselia Verd | Zlova Rue | Talohn Atar | Imperius Indomitus | Lysara Rynn | Briana Sal-Soren | Dominic Praxon | Mia Monroe ​

 

[Jonyna Si]

TAG: Talohn Atar Aether Verd Mia Monroe

"I choose the Empire as my home."

I chose Cathar as my home.

I see its people as my kin.

I see everyone as my kin, regardless of allegiance.

I offer my skill to build its future.

I am a jedi, and will do so out of my own empathy.

I protect what shelters me.

I protect the innocent, with kindness and fury.

I answer when Mand’alor calls. For I am Domarian."

I answer out of a love of the galaxy, not loyalty to a helm.

The oath was taken out of necessity, just as her own people had. Cathar did not see Mandalore as it's worthy ruler, it never had. But it's people knew better. She knew better. The spitfire that had once spat in the face of moffs had wisened up since coming out of the ice. She knew now how to pick her battles. How to keep her people safe. The thoughts running through her head as she took the oath were that of silent devotion, not defiance. 900 years ago, she fought an Empire. Today, she lets this one prove itself. Prove itself to her, to the people of Cathar, and to the galaxy.

Luckily for her, any attempts to feel her out were masked by the circus parade that came next. An imperial delegation, led by a man Jonyna wouldn't have felt a lick of regret had she decided to slice his head off in the middle of the court, followed by the Alor of Clan Ruus making a fool of said war criminal, right in front of the Manda'lor.

As Jonyna made her way over to Talohn, she paused at the sight of a few in the crowd. Mia Monroe was a familiar sight, Jonyna having dueled her over her planet's protection what felt like ages ago, when it was under Protectors' rule. But, more immediately, the sight of Zlova Rue next to her fellow Cathar. Jonyna had known Talohn had a mate, she had done some preliminary research into him after they had escaped being stranded together, but she hadn't expected his mate to be...

A sith.

It was something Jonyna didn't often mention in the company of her fellow jedi.

Back during her time as a Rebel Knight, the sith were a myth. A nightmare scenario, but a myth nonetheless.

When she came out of the ice, the myth turned out to be real, and yet Jonyna had always felt a disconnect between the Sith, and the Empire. The sith didn't use hordes of faceless troopers, hiding behind the consoles of massive war machines. No, a sith lord was liable to face you head on, and for all the atrocities she had uncovered in their wake, she had a strange respect for that mentality.

But she couldn't attribute those atrocities to the philosophy as a whole. The sith code did not speak of commiting horrors against the galaxy, the sith simply chose to. Individuals, chose to be monsters. The Sith Order, led by them.

But Jonyna had been around long enough to recognize when one wasn't associated with another.

That, and Jonyna was wiser to start an argument in the Court of Iron.

She sat next to Talohn, letting out a huff from her recently healed nose. "That's a chitshow." She scoffed. "I need to get that station built above Cathar. Kiltik's aside, the jungle is a mess right now. The Crusade wanted to scare us into submission, and they did that by cratering the fucking planet to hell. Just point me to whatever hoops I need to jump through, and I'll be a happy little circus animal."

 

[Drego Ruus]

Tag: Aether Verd Marlon Sularen Mia Monroe Serina Calis
​

Upon hearing the Manda'lor's judgement, Drego's response was one of habit and tradition.

"This is the way."

He spoke with a certainty, before walking to a seat in the crowd. Marlon's response was irrelevent, and one he could argue with the Manda'lor himself. Drego had gotten what he wanted. Imperialism be damned, Drego got the soul of his people back from the bastard.

He would've chosen a random seat, but then a familiar face caught his eye.

"Well I'll be damned. Monroe shows her face after the Protectors went to hell." Drego laughed, as he sat down next to Mia. "Figures you'd be here to see me rip into the bald bastard."

He paused, as Mia voiced her opinion on the sith waltzing around like she owned the place. Drego wasn't going to comment on it himself, but the sith made it clear she was gonna disrespect Mia in front of the Manda'lor, so Drego made himself known one more time.

"Hey kid. Go find a jungle gym to play pretend on."

Drego didn't wait for a response. He muted her first, before looking to Mia with a tilt of his helm.

"Sith these days think they can just walk into Court and own the place. I would've lobbed a grenade at them had they done that to Ijaat."

 

[Kirae Orade]

Tags: In Post

She talks too much.

It was a simple thought for Kirae as she zoned out the words of Serina Calis . She didn't need some fancy AI for it. It was as if she just switched off the part of her brain that was involved in listening to the woman's words. Did the Sith make a habit of talking as much as they were? If this was what politics involved alongside peace talks, Kirae would leave it to those who were capable of it.

And then the Imperial spoke. Trying to make bargains with the deal that Aether had given them. To alter an already quite fair deal in her mind. Instead his new deal made it sound like he wanted to make the Mandalorians submit in a way. A flat out ban against interfering with those allied with the Imperials. That did not sound very...smart to Kirae. They could not see the future. The Imperials could side with threats and foes against the Mandalorian Empire and be unable to respond to it because of this "deal". Not to mention the fact that the Imperial expected to to be paid for the Beskar that was expected to be given back. Beskar was a birthright to the Mandalorian people. One that the Imperial expected them to pay for. That was not showing respect to her people. Not in Kirae's eyes. What even was his name again? Oh. Marlon Sularen

Let a viper into your home, expect to be bitten.

She could see people moving in the Court. Aselia Verd stepping over to stand next to Talohn Atar . Kirae glanced to where she was stood, alone, with just her shield to keep her company. It felt like the air of the room was starting to grow tense. Sharper. Not so much as sides were being taken, but disrespect was being thrown around like a commodity by some of the visitors in Kirae's eyes. And so she moved from where she was stood. Moving herself closer towards the placement of her fellow Mandalorians. A small statement in her mind. She'd stand with her people, not with any of the visitors gracing the Court. Resting her shield in front of her once more. She stood with her people.​

 

[Serina Calis]

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

Tag - Drego Ruus



The violet eyes of Serina Calis did not so much as flicker in Drego's direction.

His voice—gruff, theatrical, dipped in the kind of bravado that stank of performative tradition—was more an environmental nuisance than a threat. The kind of background noise one might attribute to faulty ventilation or a miscalibrated generator in the distance. Something you noticed only because it shouldn't be there.

She heard him, of course. She heard everything. Tyrant's Embrace, her armor, was not just armor—it was a surveillance nexus. Every decibel, every heartbeat within this Court was parsed and tagged by ARACHNEA. Including his.

And what it returned was… disappointing.

Elevated heart rate. Blunted cortical resonance. Primitive aggression flagged as "pre-sentient movement"
Translation: He was posturing. Like an idiot.

He hadn't entered the conversation. He had sniffed at it.

And now he'd decided to bark.

Serina's voice came colder than the void between stars. Slow. Smooth. Impossibly still.

"Drego Ruus."

She said it like a surgeon identifying the malformed organ before the excision.

"I see the Mandalorian tradition of concussing your children as a form of bonding has finally caught up with you."

A pause.

Measured.

Cruel.

"Did you speak just now to defend that failed war-mother beside you? Or did your neural damage simply trigger at the sound of polysyllabic vocabulary?"

She turned toward him—not fully, not respectfully. Just enough for her helm to catch the light, letting the mirrored obsidian surface reflect his image back at him.

Small. Squat. Unimportant.

"You may fancy yourself some folklore-stained bloodhound for justice, but you are not a warrior. You're a relic. A walking cautionary tale for every child raised on this broken world: 'Study your tactics, or you'll end up like Drego.'"

Her next step echoed louder than necessary. Not by design.

By dominance.

"You want to talk about lobbing grenades in courts? By all means. It would be the most strategic action you've ever taken, and the last decision you'd make without adult supervision."

She let the silence hang. Let the room feel the gravity that followed her every word. Not because she demanded it.

But because she earned it.

And then, like a cut vein ceasing to bleed, her voice dropped to a murmur. For him. Only him.

"Fuck off."

Serina turned back to the throne.

To actual power. To relevance. To strategy.

 

[Mia Monroe]

Just like that, she'd become insignificant. Underestimated and ignored. She smiled beneath her helmet. Once upon a time the insults thrown would have earned Mia's full ire. Pride would have ruled over reason.

But when you'd lived for over a century, such things got tiresome.

“I'll have you know,” she said, still not facing Serina, her head instead moving to track Aselia. “that this armour is new.”

It didn't matter if she left or not. It was bait, and she'd taken it smoothly. Mia's reputation among the sith remained unchanged. A relic, clinging to old grudges. A relic with no significance. A pebble throwing itself repeatedly against the door in the hopes it would get an answer.

The less they thought of her the easier it was to move among them and in their shadow.

She met the silent stare from Aselia Verd and cocked her head in question. Before she could get an answer Drego Ruus barged into what had been a quiet conversation. Like a bantha in a china shop. She placed a hand on his arm giving a small shake of her head as the tirade of insults continued.

The woman was going to get herself killed.

“Udesii, kat'ube asihr. she said softly. “Rala mhi va katjkara waadasla innerayau bal o'ardir.”

The audacity did bring a chuckle. “She's just another sith with a sharp tongue who thinks little of old warriors. I'd hedge my bets that two minutes in the ring with either of us and she'd change her tune, but she's not worthy. Let someone else educate her “

Serina Calis

 

[Drego Ruus]

Tag: Mia Monroe Serina Calis
​

"She's a mouthy little besom who needs to get her nose broken." Drego said, as crass as ever. "I have her muted. Let's see how long it takes for her to realize." Drego said, ignoring the pest as she yapped on, digging her own grave in front of Aether Verd . "So how you been? I've been bouncing between House Kryze's little operation on Onderon, and falling back on our people's oldest professions. Mercing for those who I deem worthy, and hunting the greatest criminals in the galaxy. Well, that, and dealing with the forlorn Crusade. Need to hunt down a Foundling they kidnapped from my clan."

It was nice to be back with Mia. While the Protectors had fallen, Drego hadn't stopped using their markings. Their logos. He still carried their creed. Part of him wished it hadn't all fallen apart. Another was happy it did, because now he was absolved of dealing with it.

Mandalore was back in the hands of those who cared for it. His clan could return home. He had his friends back.

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Briana Sal-Soren Dominic Praxon Aether Verd

Sibylla stood at the edge of the Naboo delegation, the weight of history pressed like a phantom hand against her spine. Her posture was perfect, her shoulders back, and her chin lifted, but perhaps her fingers gave her away, brushing the folds of her gown as though to smooth the unease in her chest.

The Court of Iron was unlike anything she'd ever seen. Towering walls cast in deep shadows, the air thick with silence and steel, and the silent stone visages of long-dead Mand'alors glaring down like specters of vengeance. The Mandalorians in attendance bore armor that gleamed like war banners, their very presence a living memory of what had been lost.

Dee'ja Peak. Theed. The Plasma refineries. The vineyards. The fires.

Sibylla's heart throbbed with the memory, but she refused to let it show.

Not here. Not now.

It wasn't the burn of anger that consumed her but a quieter ache, something deeper and more stubborn. Bitterness, perhaps. Grief with sharp edges. Because her home had bled when the Mandalorians came.

Her people had died. Her family's lands, stripped bare. And though the palace had been repaired and the groves replanted, the scars remained.

Yet Naboo had sent her here for more than remembrance.

Diplomacy demanded more than pain.

She could feel the weight of every eye as Senator Sarn stood beside her, preparing his address with the gravity of an orator; Senator Vonn, who had already spoken with the polish of a career in wartime courts.

The Mand'alor had called for grievances.

Senator Sarn stepped forward in her place, his presence a counterbalance -- calm, precise, and vast in its quiet authority. The Ithorian's eyestalks moved slowly, deliberately, as he took in the room with the patience of deep roots weathering a storm.

"Mand'alor -- I am Senator Sarn, of Enarc and the Royal Republic of Naboo, and this by my side is Lady Sibylla Abrantes, of House Abrantes." The Ithorian gestured.

"While we do have a list of grievances, Lady Abrantes faced such actions firsthand, and her account is important in the discussion."

Sarn nodded to Sibylla, and she stepped forward to speak.

Her voice rang clear, not loud, but measured, like the toll of a bell through early morning fog.

"While the wounds of Dee'ja Peak may have healed," Sibylla began, "they have left scars that do not fade with time."

She didn't flinch as she said it, though her throat felt tight. The memory of smoke rising from the mountain's edge, of civilians clutching datapads and infants alike as they fled the refineries, played behind her eyes.

"The damage to our plasma refineries was more than the destruction of property. It struck at the beating heart of our economy, our infrastructure, our people. Naboo's prosperity within the Royal Republic does not exist in isolation for it supports the Southern Systems as a whole."

She let the pause stretch just long enough to let the words settle, then lifted her gaze again.

"And Theed… Theed was ravaged. Not just its buildings, not only its palace -- though those too were lost, but its people. Lives were ended. Livelihoods shattered. Families displaced. And still, we rebuild."

She took a breath, subtle but necessary.

"We do not stand here in hatred. Nor do we forget. We are not here to demand punishment. We seek understanding. A path forward. One that honors both the pain of what has passed and the hope of what might come."

Her words echoed in the vaulted chamber, bouncing against iron and stone. She could feel the intensity of the gazes within the room. She stepped back, the shift slight but final. Her heart thundered behind her ribs, but she stood tall. She had said what she needed to say, not as a girl grieving her homeland, but as a representative of it.

Senator Sarn gave a nod at Sibylla, acknowledging her input, while then stepping back in to declare the list of grievances.

"Mand'alor," he began, his tone steady and grave, "As my Senatorial counterpart has indicated, we come not in the spirit of vengeance, but of justice, but more importantly, peace."

Each word he spoke was carefully chosen, as though weighed in the palm of his mind before being offered aloud. He gave voice to everything Sibylla had seen after the raids: the hole torn in Theed's palace, the destruction of Deej'a's capital, the refineries drained by hands that were not theirs.

"It was not soldiers who fell that day," Sarn said, "but the heart of Naboo."

Sibylla glanced at him, just once, and gave the barest nod. His voice carried their shared pain, but also something else. Resolve. Unity.

The Ithorian continued, laying out the terms with firm eloquence.

"What we seek is aid to rebuild. A treaty of peace. A guarantee that Mandalore's wrath would not darken Naboo's skies again."

When he finished, he bowed his head, but not in submission, but in respect. And then he, too, stepped back.

Silence followed. Thick and ironclad.

Sibylla held her breath.

Now, all that remained was to see whether Mandalore would listen.

Or if the Court of Iron would remain unmoved.

 

[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 | Marlon Sularen | Drego Ruus | Jonyna Si | Mia Monroe Briana Sal-Soren | Dominic Praxon | Sibylla Abrantes

IRON KNIGHTS​

Mandalore | Sundari Palace | Court of Iron

He observed the exchange. If it were up to him, he would have removed Ruus and Sularen from the court at this point. Both shared a greatly inflated ego and sense of self-importance, one for petty reasons of pride and legacy, the other for their position in a hierarchy and history that mattered little in the here and now, though to further detriment, was undermined by the very words uttered.

Imperius tensed up at the demands of Marlon, his grip on the pommel of his sword growing tighter. This was not an Outer Rim bazar where you could haggle, especially not with sensitive topics such as beskar. It was a foolish emotional attachment by the culture, yes, but that did not mean you could bargain about it with those who held it dear.

Demanding rather massive diplomatic concessions might add up in value in the head, but it was a certain way of ending a future before it began. The black eyes of Imperius wandered to Mand'alor, hoping that his reason and common sense outweighed both the audacity of the two bickering fools in front of him.

 

[Aether Verd]

SUNDARI PALACE, MANDALORE
"I wonder."​

Amid the shifting weight of tension and testimony, Aether Verd watched.

He watched as Jonyna stepped forward—not with bluster, but conviction. Her voice rang with clarity, not allegiance to armor or title, but to principle. Domarian. It was not a word chosen lightly. It was a pledge made in spite of history, not because of it.

He inclined his helm once, deliberately—not just in acknowledgement, but in affirmation. He had heard her. And in the Court of Iron, that meant something.

Nearby, Talohn stood beside her, already falling into motion. Quiet conversation. Subtle planning. Eyes forward. Zlova Rue at his side, their bond apparent even in silence.

Aether’s gaze lingered a breath longer on the pair—then gave a faint nod.

He had his builders. His thinkers. His Domarians. Then, with the room still rippling from barbed words and clashing convictions, Aether raised his hand.

No words. No threat. Only command.

It was a silent call to his people—to reign in their fury, to temper their instincts, to remember the difference between a throne room and a battlefield. And though he did not speak, the meaning was unmistakable.

We are Mandalorians. We are not children at war with echoes. The room would still, for He willed it.

Then, slowly, Aether turned toward Marlon Sularen.

“That you have entertained my proposal, Warlord Sularen,” he said, voice steady as the beskar beneath his feet, “speaks to the seriousness with which your Confederation regards the Mandalorian Empire. I recognize that. And I respect it.”

He stood from the throne, descending the dais step by step—not in haste, but with weight.

“I do not yet know the truth of your Confederation. I will not sign peace with an idea—I will meet it, test it, understand it. But you have opened the door. And I will not let that go unanswered.”

Another step.

“Therefore, let me match your gesture. From the coffers of House Verd, the Mandalorian Empire will cover the expense of melting down the beskar and returning it to our space. You will not bear that cost.”

Another pause. Measured. Intent.

“In addition, I will visit the Confederation. Myself. Not as a conqueror. Not as a judge. But as Mand’alor. To see your world. To witness your people. And to decide, with my own eyes, whether this peace is one that can be forged.”

His gaze swept the chamber.

“My people are warriors. They’ve earned the right to speak—to feel, to grieve, to believe. But the course of Mandalore is mine to set. And the only sentiment you need concern yourself with… is Iron."

The words hung heavy in the air—calm, but final.

Then, at last, he turned his gaze toward the delegation of Naboo.

He did not interrupt.

He listened.

To Vonn’s measured restraint. To Sibylla’s quiet grief. To Sarn’s composed call for peace. And when all was said, and silence took the chamber once more, Aether Verd finally spoke.

“When I was younger,” he began, voice softer now, “I walked the streets of Naboo.”

There was no boast. No politics. Only memory.

“My father forged the Southern Systems into a single Confederacy. Naboo was its heart. And during those years—when I was still learning what it meant to be a son of House Verd—we bled in its defense. Soldiers from Krant. From Ryloth. From the stars. We died so that world and its neighbors might live.”

His gaze lifted, unreadable beneath the helm.

“It would be a dishonor to those who came before me—to those who perished under the banner of my Alor—to raise blades now against the worlds they died to protect.”

Aether inclined his head slightly toward the delegation.

“Your grief is not unseen. Your memory is not without value. For those who came before—Naboo will be spared.”

He let the silence breathe.

“But I would not have our future built only upon the blood of the past. I wish to understand who you are now—not just what you suffered. If there is to be a relationship between Mandalore and Naboo… then let it be one of knowledge, not just regret.”

Thus did Mand'alor the Iron wait for a reply.

Imperius Indomitus , Sibylla Abrantes , Mia Monroe , Drego Ruus , Serina Calis , Kirae Orade , Jonyna Si , Marlon Sularen , Aselia Verd , Briana Sal-Soren , Lysara Rynn , Dominic Praxon , Talohn Atar , Zlova Rue

 

[Vytal Noctura]

​

Years Ago...

"Nightmother. Nightmother! Why do you hate politics?"

Vytal looked back over her shoulder as she stood in the ritual hall of Vureshakkairn Castle. "People do not listen."

The young witch stared at the pale woman for a moment. "But they have long debates about the future of the Confederacy. Of Ryloth." Of us, they kept from saying, but desperately yearned to do so. Vytal could see it in their eyes. In the way they leaned forward. The thinning of their lips pressed together that sought to hold the words back.

"'You look, but you do not see. You hear, but you do not listen. You learn, but you do not understand. You live, but you are as of the dead,'" the Nightmother recited calmly and dutifully. "People hear what they wish to hear, Daughter. It takes but a single word interpreted in a way the speaker could not have foreseen to lead to war. People are challenging forces in this world. Full of emotion and history that shapes everything that follows. Sometimes they are too challenging for their own good, and those they claim to represent."

"Would it be better, then, to craft a ritual to control them?"

A smile graced Noctura's black lips, and she turned a quarter of the way around to better look at the bold student. "'Better' tis in the eye of the beholder, Daughter. Some claim it 'Better' were the galaxy expunged of all living creatures, or if the so-called 'Force' were utterly destroyed. Do not be too quick to seek a ritual that would force all things to your Will; you may find someone eager to rip it away at the moment of your crowing achievement only to become its first victim."
​

* * *​

The Present...

The Imperial Confederation. Imperius Indomitus and Marlon Sularen, with Drego Ruus challenging the latter and Aether Verd being asked to choose between them. Between asserted crimes of the past, and the Mandalorians of the present. A challenge seemingly settled if not to all parties' satisfaction, then at least to one that did not harbinger a war to follow in short order.

Cather. Talohn Atar, Jonyna Si, and Zlova Rue. A passionate team eager to see their home saved from certain doom.

A nameless, formless conflict; likely lingering sentiment against the Sith by Mandalorians. In part, a misconception of who Serina repreented or would report to -- which begged the question who she truly represented. Serina Callis, Mia Monroe... and then Drego Ruus once more pressing matters were settled. Another quarrel settled, but hardly to anyone's satisfaction; blood between Mandalorian and Sith likely never would be.

The Royal Naboo Republic. Dominic Praxon, Sibylla Abrantes, Calia Vonn, Sarn, and Briana Sal-Soren. A group with a recent bone to pick with those that wore the mantle of Mandalore.

Many matters risen, many addressed. Vytal's personal attention came with that of Naboo, however. Her emerald gaze fell to its members as Aether addressed them personally. She well recalled the events surrounding Naboo. The Fall of the Confederacy. The rampant Nether fiends that had run amok. It had been such an event that she had returned from her deep Netherworld travels -- much as the Planeshift had drawn her back this time. Should they not be convinced, the Nithermother of the the Solanaceae would back the Mand'alor.​

Aether Verd | Briana Sal-Soren | Dominic Praxon | Sibylla Abrantes | OPEN​

 

[Rae Cooke]

//: Serina Calis //:
//: Attire //:

Mandalorians were boring.

Rae stood silently beside Serina throughout the entire exchange. Part of her resented being chosen for guard duty. A sharpshooter reduced to a security detail—just another body standing at attention. She gave no reaction to the speeches, the bluster, or the old grievances the Mandalorians dredged up. They were relics, clinging to names and battles long past. All they had were stories and the empty pride of ancestors who they had failed. Waste of a legacy.

They talked as if the galaxy owed them something.

Her gaze shifted, settling on the pair who had clearly come to challenge her benefactor. Worn-out warriors, loud and entitled, acting as if their sad legacy demanded reverence. Rae recognized Mia Monroe . It was almost disappointing to see how far she'd fallen. Once a name with weight, now just another voice in a crowd hoping someone still remembered her. They ( Drego Ruus & Mia Monroe ) barked and snapped like old hounds, desperate for relevance.

Typical.

One of the others— Jonyna Si , a Cathar—spoke next. Rae had been introduced to her recently. Her cybernetic eye logged the conversation for later, every word and tone archived. A sitting Jedi Council member attending a Mandalorian summit was interesting. Maybe the Alliance hoped to keep the peace.

The Imperials were there, too. One face stood out— Marlon Sularen . The other man ( Imperius Indomitus ), she didn't recognize and didn't care to.

A small smirk tugged at her lips as her fingers twitched slightly, especially the one trained to squeeze a trigger. Sularen had that effect. Still, Rae stayed quiet and still, a silent shadow at Serina's side. Her presence was meant for deterrence, not diplomacy.

She wanted to speak—especially to the ones who had taken every opportunity to tear down Serina's attempt at a civil exchange. But she knew better.

Expecting anything different from this gathering would be wishful thinking. At least their leader seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. The man appeared to want to have a solid footing for his people and the rest of the galaxy. That was something that Rae could appreciate and respect. As much as she disliked most Mandalorians - Aether Verd could change her mind.

Rae shifted in her stance uncomfortably. Despite everything, a part of her missed Ember Rekali - she was only alive because of him and his teachings. Aether reminded her somewhat of Ember.

And she hated it.

Spoiler: Small OOC Note

Rae is Allyson Locke undercover, there are precautions that are put in place to keep her identity hidden. In particular her force signature/aura being suppressed to the point of non existence. She would come off as Force Dead or as an NFU to those around her. If there are any questions or desires to "recognize her" please reach out to be so we can work things out. Thank you!

Spoiler: Tags

Sibylla Abrantes Kirae Orade Aselia Verd Briana Sal-Soren Lysara Rynn Dominic Praxon Talohn Atar Zlova Rue

 

[Serina Calis]

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

Tag - Drego Ruus Mia Monroe Rae Cooke Aether Verd



Serina Calis stood unmoving in the storm of voices, threats, history, and bravado. The six violet eyes of her helm remained fixed ahead—watching the Mand'alor, tracking the currents of power in the room, ignoring the din of what surrounded her like one might ignore the lowing of livestock in the distance. There was no rage in her stance. No indignation. Only the quiet, humming certainty of someone who had long since decided that emotion was something to wield, not wear.

Behind her helm, her mind calculated. Assessed. Catalogued.

And concluded.

These Mandalorians were idiots.

Not in the theatrical sense. Not in the bombastic, laughable, cartoonish sense that holodramas liked to portray. No—this was something worse. This was institutionalized idiocy. A rot embedded so deep in the marrow of their culture that even the ones who meant well—especially the ones who meant well—could not escape it.

Every insult hurled, every muttered comment, every pitiful projection of "strength" that amounted to nothing more than empty volume—it all painted the same picture: a people addicted to their own trauma, drunk on their own irrelevance, and desperate to keep pretending that the noise they made was still mistaken for relevance.

The old woman and her helmet polish.
The blunt weapon who thought muting someone was a victory.
The recycled creed-sayers who seemed to think shouting "For Mandalore!" absolved them of intellectual responsibility.

How quaint.

They didn't understand her. That would have been forgivable. What wasn't forgivable—what was truly offensive—was that they didn't even try to.

Serina hadn't come to Mandalore in conquest. She hadn't come cloaked in power, surrounded by fleets or monsters or ancient curses. She had come alone. Spoken plainly. Respected the room.

And for that, they had treated her like a threat.

So be it.

She was done being polite.

You could all be dead by now.
You just don't know it because I haven't decided to remind you what that sounds like.

There were so many ways she could do it. A mere flick of the Force and Drego's mind would collapse in on itself, reduced to a panicked wreck clawing at memories that weren't his. A single gesture and Mia's nervous system would begin to dry out as her blood abandoned her extremities, inch by inch. Or she could drain them both. Not completely. Not fatally. Just enough to make them understand—to feel what they lacked.

But she didn't move.

Because monsters do not chase ants.

She let them play at being dangerous. She let them speak. Let them think their words mattered.

Because when she acted, it would not be in a throne room. It would be in history.

Stillness surrounded her, like armor within armor. And at her side, Rae.

Serina didn't need to turn to sense her. The girl was always there. Taut like a drawn bowstring. The faint shift of her weight, the telltale inhale that came before frustration. Rae had held her tongue longer than most soldiers would have managed, and Serina appreciated that.

Because Rae was obedient.

Because Rae was lethal.

Sharp where others were blunt. Focused where others flailed. Rage, in her, was a scalpel, not a hammer.

A low purr escaped Serina's lips, audible only to the woman beside her.

"You wear silence better than they wear beskar. Remind me to reward you for that."

There was a teasing edge to her voice—just licentious enough to curve the compliment into something dangerous. But not so overt as to distract.

She knew Rae could take it.

She knew Rae had earned it.

The Mandalorians, in Serina's mind, had failed their test. She had given them a chance to show they could think beyond vendetta, beyond creed, beyond rusted rituals scrawled in blood.

And what had they given her?

Petty barbs. Childish slights. Boasting without merit.

Their warriors were weathered but small. Their strategists were tacticians of the ego, not the galaxy. Their culture was a crumbling temple full of worshipers too drunk on incense to realize the roof had already collapsed.

Even their throne was carved from stone. Outdated. Immobile. As if begging the galaxy to understand just how badly they refused to evolve.

She looked again toward Aether Verd.

Now he was interesting. Intelligent. Disciplined. A man who bore the weight of legacy without being crushed by it. He moved like someone who understood power not as a weapon, but as a burden—one that must be carried with both clarity and conviction. In another life, he might have been Sith. In this one, he was something rarer.

He would endure.

And because of that—Serina pitied him.

Surrounded by children clinging to old glories, sabers rattling in echo chambers, ghosts of failed creeds whispering into every decision. He was building a future on the backs of those who couldn't let go of the past, and in the end, it would devour him if he let it.

Quietly, without mockery or disdain, she offered something she rarely gave.

A solemn, quiet prayer.

 

[Vytal Noctura]

​

Politics. Well, certain politics a Witch couldn't avoid. People were political by nature. Not everyone could get everything they claimed to want, after all.

Vytal had little to contribute to this growing assembly of people interested in their own agendas. She had her agenda to check on just what the Mand'alor had in mind when it came to Dathomir; other than that it was all the Mand'alor's responsibility to bear. Even as Nightmother who was she to make declarations in this Hall or to state what the Mandalorian Empire would or should do? Perhaps in time she might influence then -- to at least keep her Sisters safe -- as she had the Confederacy, but it was far too recent an introduction to humor she had authority among the Mandalorians.

So she had stood there, even as she contemplated leaving, and listened to what those others had to say. She had watched them. Studied them. Felt the currents of life energy that flowed through the cosmos as they were diverted or channeled, embraced or shunned among the membership present. Which led her to sensing the firestorm others might have overlooked.

Others present might sense it, if they had a mind to listen. The Mand'alor himself was gifted in ways, but his attention was pulled in every direction at once as interests were thrown at him as one might grenades. He'd handled those explosive moments quite well. But would anyone act? Nay, would anyone act in a way that wouldn't prompt a bloodbath?

Even Vytal, herself, found this idea loathsome. Not so loathsome as certain Mandalorian had, of course. Not enough to confront and accuse a woman of dark power with the expectation they were safe beneath the gaze of their Mand'alor to shield them from reprisal. Much as the Witch reviled Sith for their history with her world, they had not been a personal affront for some time. It was also hard to ignore the dark-sided influenced Force Users of the Confederacy had been far more of an ally than an adversary back on Ryloth, Geonosis, and later Naboo; but then they had not been 'Sith.' Perhaps... just perhaps...

The pale woman turned and slowly began to take measured strides over to where Serina Calis lurked. She'd stop a few feet from the figure, and their Rae. "I am curious who your Master was or is. Many of the 'Dark Side' are often quick to temper, quick to action, and disinterested in forming amicable -- if strategic -- bonds with outsiders. You, however, show the discipline of a Sister. Your restraint, composure, and... expectation are of a kind." The expectation being that the woman would revisit perceived slights and insults in due time with interest. "Perhaps, elsewhere, we might engage in discourse. Perhaps, when the Court is not so crowded, you will find there are ears open to what you wish to convey."

And there it was. An invitation to talk with what might be a Sith. Then again, perhaps they were not. There were other groups, such as the Nightsisters, that had nothing to do with the endless squabble between Jedi and Sith, or even Mandalorian and Sith (and Jedi). It would be a shame if this were one and they abandoned Mandalore due to merely two heated individuals that took the same apprehension Vytal had and acted upon it crudely.​

 

[Zlova Rue]

Of course, Talohn Atar wouldn't take the moment to appear like an unmoving bulwark of a man. Anyone else standing before their Emperor would have to show their quality. Well, the Cat's quality was that of a lovable goof that managed to get the job done. Naturally, Talohn turned to greet Zlova affectionately in full view of the court with all that in mind.

Talohn was the Cathar she'd met at a formal event where he'd worn a tuxedo with a helmet on. So it didn't surprise Zlova; she had just hoped some of her lessons had rubbed off when it came to power and authority. Perhaps, if he was truly interested in learning about the Force, she might instill a few more of those lessons in more memorable ways.

Or, perhaps, she wouldn't. There were enough Sith Lords in the galaxy already weren't there?

"I'll try not to order any weapons of mass destruction," the Twi'lek replied softly as a joke. Much as she didn't go out of her way to save the 'helpless' like Talohn, neither did Zlova go out of her way to annihilate life because it was there. He could trust her contribution would be Cathar-people safe. To do otherwise would upset Talohn, and while some Sith got off on that kind of thing Zlova wasn't one of them.

And of course he stumbled on the title. Zlova just smiled so as not to embarrass Talohn. Aether already knew him, so this wasn't the First Impression, merely in full view of several outsiders. Right, so it might be embarrassing to her if Zlova cared what anyone thought of her. Probably how the two of them managed to stay together so long in a healthy relationship, actually.

With a nod of her head, Zlova waited for Talohn to step back to her with introductions finished. She put a hand atop the Cathar's shoulder with a smirk.

Once Serina Calis spoke, however, the smile slipped and Zlova's golden rings turned toward the other Sith. Whatever. Had nothing to do with her. Though Talohn probably had some thoughts, he wisely kept them to himself for now. A heightened sense of hearing might as well be considered a parlor trick, and it was one the Lords at least used often to catch foolish servants speaking poorly of their master -- and to frighten guests.

Soon enough, Talohn invited Jonyna to join them. Before they moved to assemble off to one side, however, Aselia drew near. Zlova watched and listened as she pledged to support the effort to save Cathar. The Twi'lek gave an equal nod in turn back at the woman for her thoughtfulness. It certainly wouldn't hurt for him to hear more people personally invested in the matter.

Zlova burst out into a laugh the moment Jonyna Si joined them. It was funny. Chitshow indeed. Actually, it wasn't half the chitshow it might have been, but Serina was no doubt a cunning agent in whatever faction she belonged in. Killing Mandalorians before the eyes of the Mand'alor would be a declaration of war.

A grunt followed Jonyna's words about the state of affairs. "Always heavy-handed. Always wasteful." Zlova shook her head. "I have more in common with Mandalorians than I do those that raised me -- and even Mandalorians can be heavy-handed when they want to be." The beskar'gam wearing factions weren't without their genocidal history either. Different leaders, different priorities, same crimes. All they could do was help avoid repeating history with this Mand'alor.

"I know of some places you can find resources to construct this station, but I expect the Mandalorian Empire will take it as an affront if we don't use its resources first. If you need something unique that can't be found, let me know and I will pursue it," Zlova added for her part. Being emotional support for Talohn was fine and all, but she hadn't become a Sith Lord by being lazy. This was going to be a large untaking and Talohn needed people to get their hands dirty.

After a while, Zlova's golden eyes strayed a bit to the side. Not because of the ire boiling under Serina's surface, but because of something she hadn't felt since... Rae Cooke seemed an antsy, but dutiful bodybuard that lurked just beside that cauldron. It was difficult to feel at first because of Serina's power, but there was something strange to Rae. Familiar. As a woman that knew the art of cloaking and suppression, herself, Zlova had spent quite some time in the present of a Master to learn the ability; it was not something she could forget. Still, there was no red flag that guaranteed that's what it was. It could also be an unnerving sense of a Force Dead person, but Zlova doubted Rae was that -- she looked too healthy and 'normal' for that. After a few seconds Zlova turned her eyes back to the Cathar nearby; whatever her case, it didn't matter so long as she wasn't there to make a scene.

Aether Verd | Serina Calis​

 

[Briana Sal-Soren]

Briana had been quiet — observational — as she'd been called to be, taking in the current of the Force as it pulsed through the chamber like a racing heartbeat, flickering between charged exchanges, demands, and barbs. All of it gathered at the feet of this new Mand'alor like coiled lightning, whom, to his credit, seemed to take it all in stride, unshaken at the center of it like a fixed point, the room bending around him.

It was easy to see where 'Mand'alor the Iron' stemmed from — he seemed made from it. But then, so were others in this room. Even if that iron was wrapped and presented in something more delicate.

The feel of the Force shifted in the echoes of Sibylla's voice, in the raw pain of her wounds — of Naboo's, wounds that still bled beneath the surface. It was easily identifiable to Briana, because it was shared. Then, Aether Verd spoke his piece in return, calm and deliberate, like cool water over heated metal — beskar taking the shape of words as they formed into promise. But, Briana had stood in the ashes of promises one too many times to remain silent now.

The heel of her boots clicked as she stepped boldly out of line, away from Dreidi and Dominic at her side, and into the silence with a deliberate gait. "You say you wish to know us, Mand'alor, who we are now." Briana began, gesturing off to the delegates beside her, before turning her steely-blue gaze to stare at, or rather through, his visor. As though she could see the man concealed beneath it. "I'd argue that you already do. Like you, we have watched our people rise from the wreckage, time and again. Like you, we take what seems broken and we rebuild, refusing to stay down even when we've been beaten into the mud, even when the rest of the Galaxy has forgotten us. But what you and your people forge with iron, we build with hope and will."

A beat, a breath. "You know who we are, what we are made of, Mand'alor, because despite our differences, we share similar stories. But, even I know that words are like wind, without any substance. If you truly want to understand Naboo, to know us — then come and see us for yourself."

OUTFIT: XoXo | TAG: Dominic Praxon , Sibylla Abrantes , Dreidi Xeraic , Aether Verd | EQUIPMENT: Ligthsaber, Echo Stone, Astor's Dagger

​

 

[Dominic Praxon]

Dominic remained still as Briana stepped forward, her voice cutting through the Court of Iron like light through glass. Strong. Earnest. Unyielding.

She always had been that way.

He didn't turn, but he didn't need to—he could feel Senator Vonn shift beside him, the subtle lean of her shoulder a herald of impending commentary.

"You'll coach your Jedi friend on strategy later, I trust," Vonn murmured under her breath, her tone even, her gaze never leaving the Mand'alor.

Dominic offered a restrained nod, wincing as the Senator turned a single, silent glance toward Briana—a look that said "Know your place, Jedi" without uttering a word.

He shot Briana an apologetic shrug. Nothing mocking. Just regretful. He didn't disagree with her—but that didn't mean he could protect her from every sidelong glance.

Senator Vonn stepped forward again.

"Mand'alor," she began, this time with a voice that carried the full weight of a career built on navigating embers and avoiding flames. "The Grandmaster of Shiraya speaks with the passion of a world that remembers too well the cost of conflict."

Her eyes swept briefly across the chamber. "And she speaks truly."

"Naboo is not here to grandstand or to rattle sabers. We are here to see what might yet be possible. We are here to witness if Mandalore's future includes not just strength—but reflection."

She paused, her chin lifting slightly.

"Come and see us. As she invited you. Not to soothe our wounds. But to show us you understand what it means to rebuild."

And with that, she rejoined the delegation, standing once more beside Dominic.

Aether Verd Briana Sal-Soren Sibylla Abrantes​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Location
Interacting with: Briana Sal-Soren Dominic Praxon Aether Verd

Sibylla listened intently, her heart heavy as Mand'alor spoke. His words echoed in the silence, the weight of his promise and his call for understanding cutting through the room like a blade. She had felt the tension, the grief in the air, the shared pain of both their worlds, but hearing him acknowledge it, to speak with such solemnity, stirred something in her.

She exchanged a quiet glance with Senator Sarn, his steady composure offering her a sense of calm. His voice, when he spoke, was firm with conviction.

"I am grateful for what Mand'alor has said. It is more than equitable. And, as Senator Vonn suggested," Sarn continued, his gaze shifting to Sibylla with a knowing nod, "we are open to forging a true relationship. I agree with her invitation. We must not just rebuild with strength, but with knowledge, as Mand'alor desires."

He then turned back to the Mand'alor, his voice carrying the weight of diplomacy and respect.

"And I would also offer Junior Representative Sibylla Abrantes as a potential liaison, should you wish to explore these new paths between Mandalore and Naboo."

Sibylla's heart quickened at the mention of her name, but she simply nodded in agreement, the hum of the conversation blending with the distant sounds of the ongoing discussions. She had known this moment would come, but now, with everything shifting around her, it felt like both an honor and a burden. She had to trust that her role here was part of something greater. That what she did next could help bridge the gap between their worlds.