Faction Court of Iron || Mandalorian Empire

[Aether Verd]

SUNDARI PALACE, MANDALORE
"Peace is not given—it is chosen, forged, and carried by those strong enough to listen."​

Aether Verd noticed the movement before most did.

The Nightmother of Dathomir—Vytal Noctura—had stirred from her silent post and begun a measured approach toward Serina Calis. It was no idle wandering. No casual drift. Vytal was not a creature of impulse, and he was not a man who feared precision. Whatever words passed between those two would be deliberate. Controlled. Aether did not intervene. He did not need to. There was understanding in the restraint they both carried.

Elsewhere, conversation stirred around Cathar—its future, its safety, its station. Jonyna’s voice had rung boldly, Zlova’s with practical intent. But Aether’s gaze didn’t shift. That matter was no longer his to guide. It belonged to the man he had appointed: his uncle, Talohn Atar.

And Talohn would see it done.

So it was that Aether’s full attention remained fixed—unwavering—on the delegations of Naboo and the Confederation.

While the Warlord lingered in thought, it was Briana Sal-Soren who stepped forward. Not with caution. Not with calculation. But with certainty. The Grandmaster of Shiraya did not ask for permission to speak. She simply did—and that, in itself, was welcome.

Her words bore the shape of steel wrapped in silk. The truth of shared struggle, spoken plain. The offer to come and see was not framed in guilt or pleading. It was framed in strength. In expectation. The kind Aether understood.

A smile curved beneath the visor.

Then came the seasoned cadence of Senator Vonn, whose tone was one that knew fire and had mastered how to walk through it. No theatrics. No threats. Just clarity. Reflection, she said. Rebuilding. A place not just for warriors—but for those with vision.

At first, Aether did not speak.

Instead, he moved.

A bold step forward.

One. Then another. Until the Mand’alor stood directly before Briana Sal-Soren.

Then, for the first time that day, his hands rose—and removed his helmet.

The faint hiss of the seal broke the silence. Aether Verd lifted the helm from his crown and tucked it neatly beneath his left arm. Short dreadlocks swept to the side, brushing against the collar of his warplate. His skin was burnished bronze—sun-kissed and weather-hardened. And his eyes—brown, steady, unreadable yet unflinching—fell upon Briana with the weight of a man who listened.

He reached out.

As Mand’alor. As Voice of His People.

And as a man who had lost much, and who now sought to gain something worth keeping.

He took her hand. Gently. With reverence. And pressed his lips, briefly, to the back of it.

A gesture not of domination—but of recognition. Then, straightening, the smile remained.

“You speak truly, Grandmaster. We do know one another. In scars. In survival. In stubborn hope. I will come to Naboo. Not to make a show of peace—but to learn it. Not to mourn the past—but to meet the future. And when I do… I would speak with your Queen. Face to face. As one leader to another.”

His gaze shifted briefly—warm, but resolute—to the others present.

“As for your offer,” he said, now addressing Senator Sarn and Sibylla, “Sibylla Abrantes will be welcomed as an honored guest of Mandalore, with all protections and privileges that title affords. In turn, I will name a representative of my people to serve as envoy to Naboo. One who understands not only our strength—but our duty to others.”

He stepped back then, but not far.

“Let this be the first act in something greater than remembrance.”

And with that, Aether Verd lowered his helm back into place and waited.

Vytal Noctura , Serina Calis , Zlova Rue , Sibylla Abrantes , Briana Sal-Soren , Dominic Praxon

 

[Serina Calis]

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

Tag - Vytal Noctura



Serina turned her helm at last—not to glare, not to dominate, but to regard.

The six violet eyes of her mask shimmered faintly as they shifted toward the pale woman who approached, each lens adjusting with minute, predatory precision. But there was no hostility in the movement. No calculation of threat.

Only recognition.

Finally.

Not of identity—Serina did not know Vytal Noctura—but of mind. Of weight. Of presence. The kind that didn't snarl to be seen or bark to be heard. The kind that walked like a stormbank waiting to break—and knew how not to.

That… was rare.

When the Nightmother spoke, Serina listened in full. Not because of what was said, but how it was said. Calm. Measured. With the quiet grace of someone who had tasted power and hadn't felt the need to drown in it. The tone alone set Vytal apart from every other creature who had opened their mouth in this room.

And when she finished, Serina tilted her head slightly—not predatorially this time, but in something almost like a bow.

"I had feared I'd come to a forge," she said at last, her voice dark silk behind the vocoder, "and found only rust."

Her words carried no mockery. No dramatic pause. Only truth—spoken low, and with no need for theater. She didn't turn her body fully toward Vytal. Not yet. That level of vulnerability was still a currency to be earned. But her attention had shifted entirely.

"You are the first to ask who I am, rather than assume it."

She let that linger. A compliment. But not a surrender.

"I do not speak of my master."

A slow exhale.

"And if my temperament resembles one of your Sisters… I take it as a compliment. I know little of the Nightsisters, I admit. In the Empire, our histories are often flattened by the need to keep the bureaucracy from fracturing. If you are judged at all, it is usually by someone who has never stepped foot on Dathomir."

Now, finally, she turned her shoulders to face Vytal fully—slow and fluid, the armor whispering with frictionless menace. Not aggressive. Not seductive. Something colder. Sharper. But not unfriendly.

"I would speak with you. Elsewhere. Soon."

A pause. Then a slight inclination of the helm, as though savoring a thought.

"You're the first in this room who's offered conversation instead of a performance. It's refreshing."

And then, a turn of the blade—quiet, elegant, dangerous.

"And I suspect you don't mistake restraint for weakness."

Her voice dipped at the edges there, just slightly—almost like an invitation. Almost like a challenge. She stepped back into stillness, glancing briefly toward Rae without words, but with a faint sense of satisfaction radiating outward like the edges of a grin you couldn't quite see.

Finally.

Someone worth speaking to.

 

[Vytal Noctura]

​

Serina's six eyes did not cause the pale Witch to react. Not that she expected Serina to want someone like herself to blanche at its sight. There were truly hideous creatures in the Nether, many of them the most beautiful and seductive visually a person might ever lay eyes on. The mask was, however, a curiosity. Perhaps someday she might ask about it; it was not the most pressing matter, and they were sure to have much to speak of otherwise.

A slight tip of her head accompanied Serina declining to speak of her master. It was worth asking. She'd already denied it being Carnifex -- if one could trust that to be the truth -- but there were still many others of all manner of creed and authority.

"Only the strong can practice restraint," Vytal replied evenly, "and only fools may underestimate others." Her black lips curled upward into a smirk as they seemed to reach an accord. Was Serina truly powerful or merely good at appearing powerful? There was only one way to be certain. The question was whether it was worth finding out, and presently it was not. From her demeanor and radiant aura, the Nightmother believed the woman was far from weak; she was also not an enemy.

"We will speak. There is much women like ourselves can discuss." Aside from any Sith heritage in Serina's background, Vytal had no aversion; even then she could swallow her bias if the exchange prove of worth. She would speak even to a Jedi despite their less enthusiastic tolerance of a Nightsister's "Dark" leanings. Knowledge was its own power. There was always more to learn, more power to gain -- the means to protect those Vytal cared for.

In the presence circumstances, surrounded with their current audience, Serina seemed disinclined to continue further. Vytal would accept it in favor of a more productive conversation later. Aether was not ignorant of their ways, but Mandalorians as a whole were not the greatest conversationalists on such matters. Perhaps she would yet make inroads among them, but for now someone like Serina was most welcome. With that the daughter of Dathomir would turn and step away so as not to appear to be 'keeping tabs' on Serina for the Mandalorians.​

Serina Calis​