Junction Exodus Crash || ME/SO Junction of Eshan & Tyra'Weilen

[Beskar]

EXODUS CRASH
"When winter crowns the steadfast, the future learns its name."​

ESHAN, INNER RIM TERRITORIES

Winter had come early to Eshan, settling across the white stone spires of Estin like a held breath drawn too long. Snow clung to banners and balustrades alike, softening the hard geometry of a world built for discipline and war. The streets below the Capitol Tower stirred with anticipation that was neither chaos nor celebration, but preparation. Eshan stood on the edge of bloodshed, and everyone knew it.

The disappearance of Queen Noelle of House Varanin had left the world leaderless at the worst possible moment. With the collapse of the Galactic Alliance, the old protections vanished overnight, and when Mandalorian scouts were sighted testing Eshan’s airspace, the Echani matriarchy prepared for the only outcome history had ever taught them to expect. The last time Mandalorians held stewardship over Eshan, their rule had been heavy-handed and brutal, marked by unnecessary Echani bloodshed that still lived in collective memory. Martial halls filled. Defenses were readied. Eshan would not be taken quietly.

It was Quinn Varanin who stayed the blade.

Stepping forward as kin to the vanished Queen and bearer of an undisputed Echani claim, Quinn revealed what few on Eshan knew. The Mand’alor who now looked upon their homeworld was Aether of House Verd, heir to the lineage whose founder had liberated Eshan from Mandalorian abuses a generation prior. Where fear had ruled, doubt took hold. Where doubt lingered, Quinn offered certainty. She brokered an accord that reframed conquest into covenant. Eshan would enter the Mandalorian Empire not as a subjugated world, but with the same self-governance afforded to Dathomir and Thule. The planet would rule itself, untouched by unnecessary occupation, so long as it did not act against the Empire and would provide its training, expertise, and warriors when called. Mandalorian presence would be minimal, deliberate, and functional. Eshan listened. Eshan obeyed.

The agreement would be sealed not by ink alone, but by crown and recognition. Eshan would name Quinn Varanin its Queen; for when the world needed guidance and protection the most, she arrived. When the world cried out to the absent Noelle, they found solace in Quinn. Moreover, Mandalore would recognize her as Warden of Eshan, the voice of her world to the Mand’alor and the guarantor of its autonomy. Quinn’s position as the newest member of the Sith Order’s Dark Council ensured the Sith took notice. Many dark ones arrived in her wake for a multitude of reasons. Some came in support of a fellow leader as she prepared to receive the crown of her people. Others came out of curiosity, to see how her rule of Eshan might influence Quinn’s authority within the Order. Still others saw opportunity in a world unsettled by loss and descended to make their own ambitions a reality.

The Mandalorian Empire arrived in force and formation, trusting the Mand’alor’s vision even as unease lingered. There was no formal relationship between the Empire and the Sith Order as a whole, and old wounds had not faded with time. Many Mandalorians still remembered the devastation wrought upon Mandalore and would have welcomed the chance to answer it in kind. Yet the Empire’s contract with the Sith Empress stood, and the Mand’alor’s ambition to forge the galaxy’s mercenary superpower demanded discipline beyond grievance. For now, grudges were set aside, even as watchful eyes followed red blades through Echani halls.

Now, beneath falling snow and converging banners, Eshan waits. The coronation has not yet begun. The crown remains untouched. While dignitaries gather within the Palace of the Matron, the city beyond stirs with Solstice celebration, private negotiations, and sanctioned displays of martial prowess, offering space for rival powers to observe, test, and measure one another beneath Echani law. War has been averted, empires have been bound, and the future of Eshan stands ready to be claimed, not through fire, but through oath.​

Spoiler: Objectives

THE CORONATION
(Politics & Ceremony – A space for characters inclined toward negotiation, quiet maneuvering, subtle schemes, or simply bearing witness as the future of Eshan begins to take shape.)

At the heart of Estin, the Palace of the Matron stands ready to receive history, its soaring spires and flowing arches of pale stone and crystal rising above the city in silvers and deep winter blues that catch torchlight and falling snow alike. Banners of House Varanin and House Talon hang in solemn prominence beside the sigils of the Mandalorian Empire, their arrangement intentional and impossible to mistake. The Mandalorian arrival unfolds with ceremonial precision rather than conquest, armor polished, formations exact, and movement restrained, a visible declaration of respect for Echani sovereignty even as imperial presence settles into the halls through discipline and scale alone.

Though the coronation has yet to begin, the palace hums with anticipation and calculation. Members of the Echani matriarchy gather beneath ancestral banners, attendants rehearse rites older than Estin itself, and honor guards stand motionless along marble corridors and open courtyards. Beyond the formal procession, quiet conversations unfold in galleries and side chambers where influence is tested rather than declared. Noble houses unsettled by Queen Noelle’s disappearance weigh security against autonomy, Sith dignitaries lend visible support to Quinn Varanin’s claim while seeding their reach beyond familiar borders, and Mandalorian envoys observe, listen, and position themselves with care. While the crown of Eshan rests untouched, the future of the world begins to take shape in murmured agreements and measured glances, long before the first oath is spoken.​

DISTRICT OF LIGHT
(Social & Celebration – A space for merriment, gift-giving, debate, and informal encounters amid the Solstice festivities of Estin.)

As Solstice settles over Estin, the Echani capital comes alive beneath falling snow and lanternlight, its silver-blue spires and sweeping avenues transformed into a city in celebration. Markets spill into the streets, the District of Light burns well past dusk with music and drink, and the promenades fill with laughter, debate, and the steady rhythm of a world welcoming its guests. Gift-giving lies at the heart of Echani Solstice custom, not as indulgence, but as expression. Offerings are chosen with care, whether finely crafted blades, art, rare materials, or shared experiences, each one a statement of respect, curiosity, or intent. Public exchanges draw crowds, private ones draw attention of a different sort, and even lighthearted gestures carry meaning in a culture that prizes clarity of purpose.

For the Sith, Solstice offers a rare season of access that will not exist once the Queen is crowned, when formality gives way to defined rule. The Empress’s presence draws gravity, but the city’s celebrations invite conversation, rivalry, and indulgence alongside influence, from noble salons to crowded halls alive with music and argument. For Mandalorians, Estin becomes both welcome and proving ground, a chance to experience the world entering their fold not through conquest, but through its people, craftsmanship, and customs. Feasts are shared, contests of wit and philosophy unfold beside cups raised in challenge, and wary glances slowly give way to measured camaraderie. Beneath the merriment, everyone understands the moment is fleeting. When Solstice fades and the Queen is crowned, the city will change. Until then, Estin opens itself fully, offering warmth, spectacle, and the rare freedom to meet one another without armor fully raised.​

WINTER EXHIBITIONS
(Martial Exhibition – A space for characters inclined toward contests of skill, rivalry, and displays of might, or for those who bear witness as ancient adversaries study one another at bladepoint.)

In keeping with Echani tradition, the days surrounding Solstice see the Center of the Saber opened to public exhibition, its great halls and open courts prepared for sanctioned contests of skill. These are not battles of conquest, but deliberate tests overseen by Echani masters who enforce one rule above all others: the taking of life is forbidden. Beyond that boundary, warriors are expected to demonstrate the full extent of their discipline, power, and doctrine. Armor is worn by choice rather than mandate, blades are prepared to wound rather than kill, and abilities are brought to bear without apology, so long as intent remains clear and combat remains standing. Within these limits, participants do not fight for territory, but for reputation, insight, and the unspoken measure of worth.

For Mandalorians and Sith alike, the exhibitions offer a rare chance to face ancient adversaries without the chaos of war obscuring form or philosophy. Each exchange becomes a study, each clash a conversation carried through movement and force. Techniques are tested openly, reactions scrutinized, and strengths revealed beneath pressure as the galleries watch in deliberate silence or hard-won applause. Old animosities are neither softened nor denied, only focused, sharpened into understanding rather than bloodshed. When Solstice ends and the new Queen is crowned, what is learned at bladepoint will endure, carried forward into the future.​

WALK THE WORLD OF ESHAN
(BYOO – Eshan is yours to explore!)

Eshan stretches far beyond Estin and the pageantry of coronation, a disciplined world of academies, noble estates, training halls, industrial centers, and ancestral sites shaped by centuries of martial tradition. Mandalorians may move through these places to better understand the world entering their Empire, while Sith may seek influence, knowledge, or philosophical kinship among Echani houses drawn to power and legacy. Across the planet, divided nobility, unresolved questions surrounding Queen Noelle’s disappearance, and the quiet consequences of Eshan’s new future offer fertile ground for stories that unfold away from the spotlight.
​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Location: THE CORONATION
Interacting with: Open
Items: x x x x x

Sibylla stood at the high gallery overlooking the great hall, quietly observing the steady flow of arrivals below. Hazel eyes peered down with a cordial, contemplative expression, one that belied the depth of her thoughts as they raced, considering what was presently occurring and what was to come.

She was here not as Naboo's Interim Queen, but as the High Republic's Ambassador to the Mandalorian Empire. That distinction mattered. Eshan now stood within Mandalorian protection, and maintaining trust with its people was as vital as honoring the authority of its new Warden. That the crown and the mantle of Warden would rest upon Quinn Varanin , a Sith Princess poised between empires made today far more than a ceremonial affair.

A soft hum settled at the back of Sibylla's throat as her fingers brushed together in thought. This was a careful step in a far larger political dance, one Sibylla approached with intention rather than haste. She stood here as an Ambassador, yes, but also as someone keenly aware that the Blackwall had kept the Sith Empire obscured for years. What lay beyond it remained largely unknown, shaped only by fragments gathered in passing and secondhand accounts, each carrying its own distortions. Truth, in such matters, was rarely offered freely and never without cost.

Now its seemingly future Empress stood ready to swear oaths elsewhere. What those oaths as a Warden would demand, and how faithfully they would be kept, remained to be seen. Would the new Warden and Queen of Eshan ensure her loyalty was not to self or status, but to the Mandalorian people and the Empire that united them?

And how would this contrast with her would-be seat as potential Empress of the Sith Empire?

So many questions.

For now, Sibylla watched and waited. The snow fell, the banners stirred, and Eshan held its breath. Today would answer questions that diplomacy alone never could.

 

[Korda Veydran]

Winter Exhibitions, Objective III


The doors to the great hall slid aside with a sonorous hiss, but Korda Veydran did not step through them the way most entrants did — with armor clanking, helmet fastened, and weapons holstered. Instead, he walked into the Echani exhibition ring helmet off, heavy beskar plated shoulders broad beneath the winter-light filtering in through high, frosted windows.


His unmasked face was a study in uncompromising intensity: sun-kissed skin etched with old scars, short coarse brown hair matt with grit, and hell-red irises burning like embers against pale winter light.
The crowd's murmur dipped as he breathed in the space; he didn't need a visor or thermal overlay to gauge distance here — just decades of war and raw instinct.


He wore his armor by choice, not by mandate: heavy beskar scarred from countless battles, etched with a cracked crimson krayt skull and flame sigil of Clan Veydran, the bone-deep marks of his heritage. Death Watch symbols on his knuckle plates glinted faintly, but here in the Echani hall they looked less like doctrine and more like questions.


His gaze swept the ring — warriors from distant worlds, Echani masters poised in silent judgement, and spectators still digesting the doctrine of combat without death. Korda's lips parted, a low and rough voice carrying across the arena like gravel ground under boot heel.


"…So this is aim without kill," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "Form without finish." His eyes flicked to the vibroblade strapped to his left hip, then to the reinforced gauntlets at his fists, weapons tempered for wounding, not slaughter in this place.


A subtle shift in stance, and even without armor-link telemetry active, there was a measure of power in him — breath ready, muscles coiled, presence as dangerous as any blade drawn. This was not a man performing strength for acclaim. Instead, he stood as a study in force restrained, in discipline wrestled from raw destruction — a living question to every warrior around him.


He exhaled once, eyes narrowing as he scanned participants and judges alike.
"…Teach me form," he said — quietly, but unmistakably — "and I'll show you fire."

@Open

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Naniti Varin Mortifer Seren Gwyn Acier Moonbound Naamino Zuukamano​

The snow brushed over his cheek and the bridge of his nose. Just cold enough to make him blink. First time on Eshan. Lately.. that seemed to be happening a lot, so much that it might’ve been losing the sharp edge it once had. Lysander walked easily through the street, posture relaxed, just letting the festivities around them set the pace. A wool coat rested across his shoulders, tailored in matte black. Black trousers followed suit. Predictable, really. But the scarf was the lone deviation, shifting at his throat. Charcoal, but unmistakably not black. A rare color for him. He noticed it again and almost smiled to himself.

Naniti registered at his side before he acknowledged her again. Walking beside the Togruta became more instinctive, a rhythm his body seemed to remember. He wondered when that had happened. It was.. nice. Comforting even. The orbit had widened too. The Zabrak was present, along with Varin, Acier, and Seren. Just another trip away from Desevro. For a while he’d been marking those departures, counting them even. Now they were slowly blurring together. And most of them weren’t related to missions or any other necessary appearances. Perhaps, the best part was that there didn’t feel like a need for justification. It simply.. became how things were done. That might've been the most dangerous part of all, with how easy it felt.

Estin's markets opened ahead of them. Warm light bled out from the lanterns. The scent of spiced drinks and cooked meat threaded through the cold. Lysander could hear voices overlap, laughter coming in and fading. The distant clang of metal drifted to his ears.. but this was not the chaos of combat. The trenches had seared that understanding in his soul.

Then he slowed, letting the scene settle around him. The instincts to hunt for threats stirred. Drawing in a slow breath, he finally recognized this rare gift.

His eyes passed over the others. "So.. we sticking together, or doing the 'wander and regroup' thing?"

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren slowed as the group reached the edge of the market district, letting the flow of Estin move around them rather than through them. Snow dusted the stones underfoot, lanternlight catching on polished armor and fine cloth alike. Celebration, yes—but disciplined, measured, unmistakably Echani.

She did not assume the center of the group. She never did.

Her attention moved first to the city itself, then briefly to Varin at her side, before finally settling on Lysander as he spoke. He was clearly comfortable here—aware, relaxed in a way that suggested command without demanding it. Useful to note.

"Wandering blindly would invite unnecessary attention," Seren said evenly, offering her assessment without asserting it as a directive. "Eshan is… observant. Even during celebration."

Her gaze drifted toward the distant halls where the Winter Exhibitions echoed—steel on steel, controlled, deliberate. "The exhibitions will draw the most honest expressions," she continued. "Intent surfaces quickly when force is restrained."

She glanced again at Varin—just a fraction of a second, but enough to acknowledge the pull the sound had on him.

"Echani combat is philosophy made visible," Seren added. "I think it would be… instructive." Not for her alone. For him. Turning back to Lysander, her tone remained respectful, neutral—presenting rather than proposing. "Perhaps we begin there," she said. "Remain together until the temperature of the room is known."

A pause, then a softer addition—not authority, but practicality. "After that, the District of Light lends itself to conversation. Celebrations loosen defenses in ways councils do not." She adjusted her cloak against the cold, snow melting into dark fabric. "But I will follow the group's pace," Seren concluded. "Not set it."

Beside her, Varin stood quiet, attention drawn toward the sound of combat in the distance. Seren did not comment on it—but she remained close enough that he would feel her presence if he needed grounding again.

Not leading, not following blindly. Just there.

Lysander von Ascania Varin Mortifer Naniti Acier Moonbound Naamino Zuukamano

 

[Varin Mortifer]

The soft snowfall covered the area in a light dusting, steam curling from everyone's breath. The cold was all around them, but it was not felt. Not truly. Varin walked with the group as he looked around to this unfamiliar planet. It seemed that lately he had been visiting strange areas a lot more lately, such was the life of an apprentice. Lysander’s question reached him but before he could answer he heard the echoes of what sounded like combat.

His gaze was slowly pulled into that direction. His blood always ran hot for combat and trial, had he been here when he was younger he likely would have already jumped in ready to fight, but he had finally started getting a hold on the battle lust.

Varin gave a smirk at the idea of trial and tests of might and skill. It was very drawing, very intoxicating.

“I’m sure everyone in our little rag tag group would love to see me thrown flat on my face.”

His gaze trailed towards the district of bustling conversation and cooked meats. The lights that danced around the streets. He gave a slow nod to Seren as she made her presence known to him. He was always thankful when she knew when to pull him back or when he needed that touch of a reminder of where he was.

“I’m certainly not opposed to sticking together. But regardless of if we separate or not, I think the District of Lights would be a wonderful place for us to end our evening.”

He extended his arm offering Seren to take hold of it as they walked. The light snow crunching beneath their boots. Especially his boots where the snow would have melted before. Almost seeming as if he has been starting to control the heat that builds from him.

“If we do separate, if any of you get into any kind of fight, do not hesitate to contact me. Hopefully though it won’t come to that. Last I heard, some Mandalorian and Sith alliances are…slim. Rocky at best.”

He had fought a mandalorian before, and he had underestimated their fighting prowess. He would not repeat that error a second time.

Seren Gwyn | Lysander von Ascania | Naniti | Naamino Zuukamano | Acier Moonbound​

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

The Coronation
Tags: Open

It had been a long time since Adelle had been anywhere near this kind of grandeur. Intent and purpose had been carved into every architectural detail, not merely decorative. She was grateful for her buy'ce that covered her face: she could look around at the impressive palace without moving her head and not be called out as some backwater yokel.

Adelle was actively reconsidering attending the coronation however. She'd met and spoke with the political echelons of Corellia as a CorSec liaison agent. She'd joked with the interim High Chancellor on two separate occasions and trained with the interim Queen of Naboo. But she was not meant for mingling with the high and mighty. Aurelian and Sibylla had been flukes. That they had remembered her at all spoke to their character.

But this was for the betterment of the Mandalorian Empire. The Echani were masters of their martial arts and warriors were always welcome, especially when superweapons like Death Stars were being built. Adelle wanted to support her new home, her new people. Witnessing the coronation seemed like the least she could do.

As she entered the great hall, Adelle removed her helm and stalked through the crowd of guests gathered to post up near a wall where she could see as many of the exits as possible. A gesture of respect but one she intended to revoke if osik hit the fan.

She didn't trust that someone wouldn't try to interrupt. The Diarchy had been silent since Eol Sha but who knew how long that would last?

Adelle took a slow breath, forcing herself to relax. This was for Mandalore.

This would be fine.

 

[Aether Verd]

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

PALACE OF THE MATRON, ESHAN

Aether stood in the heart of the Palace of the Matron with a stillness that spoke louder than any herald’s call, his presence measured and deliberate as snowlight filtered through crystal arches and settled across polished stone. This world knew his name before it ever knew his title. Eshan remembered House Verd in scars and stories, in whispered accounts of liberation bought with blood and resolve, and today that memory breathed again as Mandalorian banners hung beside Echani sigils without conquest staining the moment. A generation ago, his father had come to this world at the head of a Confederacy forged in defiance, standing shoulder to shoulder with the future Sith Empress to shatter a brutal Mandalorian yoke and give Eshan its freedom back. Today, Aether returned not as a conqueror’s heir, but as Mand’alor the Iron, restoring Eshan to Mandalorian borders through oath and trust rather than fear.

As scion of House Verd, he felt the echo of his father’s legacy press close, not as a burden, but as a compass. The blood in his veins carried a vow older than his armor, one sworn in the aftermath of Echani suffering and paid for in war. Eshan would never bleed like that again. Not while House Verd still drew breath, not while Aether sat the throne of Mandalore. This was not rhetoric meant for banners or songs, but a promise etched into every choice he made, standing now beside an empty throne that waited for a queen who would rule by will rather than terror.

And then there was Quinn.

Joy, rare and unguarded, lived beneath the iron calm as his gaze lingered on the ceremonial space prepared for her ascension. Quinn Varanin, sister in spirit and steel, the girl who had spoken of crowns and futures when they were both too young to understand how costly dreams could be. He had heard those hopes by firelight and training yards, had watched them sharpen with age into conviction. Seeing the crown rest upon its gilded pillow, waiting for her, stirred something deeply human within him. This was history, yes, but it was also the fulfillment of a promise whispered across years of shared hardship.

Elders of Eshan stood draped in white before the vacant throne, the eldest among them holding the crown with reverence earned through centuries of endurance. Musicians waited with instruments poised, breath held alongside the city beyond these walls. Aether remained beside the throne, present in a way that left no doubt as to what came next. Mandalorian armor caught the light behind him in disciplined ranks, polished not for intimidation, but for ceremony, a visible declaration that this moment mattered.

His visor lifted slightly as his attention rose to the high gallery, where he caught sight of Sibylla Abrantes among the gathered dignitaries. To her, he offered a single, respectful nod, nothing more and nothing less. An acknowledgment between powers that understood the stakes without needing to voice them. Interesting days lay ahead for all of them, stitched together by decisions made in halls like this.

Aether returned his gaze to the throne, to the crown, to the future waiting to be claimed.​

Sibylla Abrantes , Adelle Bastiel , Srina Talon , Quinn Varanin + Open

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

He wasn't on duty, per say, but he wasn't off duty either. It showed in the tight set of his jaw, the fact that he wore a Phrik breastplate underneath his clay red poncho, atop darker base layers. Naamino didn't care for Mandalorians, not one bit, but there was some kind of recent political maneuvering between the Order and the beskar clad warriors that he was only peripherally aware of.

His loose "orders", such as they were, had been to conduct himself admirably and to enjoy the festivities. Whatever that meant. With Elmindra Xitaar as his Master, it ever felt as if there were layers of meaning— always some dual purpose or hidden agenda that he was expected to understand and align himself with in his every action.

So as the group slowed and discussion was had as to next steps, the zabrak was even more dour than usual.

"Do not find yourself in a fight, Varin. Not unless it's part of the 'friendly' competition, like something agreed upon and arranged. Last thing we need is to fry whatever circuit board our leadership is programming, feel me?"

Those icy blue eyes never settled, they slowly swept the areas ahead and behind. His movements weren't rushed or even overly paranoid, but they were practiced and honed.

Honestly the thought of a fight sounded great, gods knew he needed to vent some steam. But Naami couldn't afford to let his blood boil here, he had to keep it locked in and professional.

"Y'know… I've got a bit more shopping to do, need a few more things for Lesh and this is a great time to snag Haro somethin' too. You all go on, ok? I'll meet you later, at the light show place."

Though his bearing softened slightly at the mention of his girlfriend Leshanna Dromar and best friend Haro Aven , he remained intense. Naami's low voice practically rumbled through his arm and into the backs of his friends as he clapped them each on the shoulders, taking a moment even to clasp Lysander's forearm in a soldier's farewell and an upward tip of his horned head at Varin.

"Fellas," then he regarded the rest of the group with less familiarity, giving the other gentleman a two finger salute before addressing his buddy's dates.
"Ladies."

Naami took a stiff inhale as he turned away, walking toward a row of vendors as if he heralded their doom rather than his patronage.

Lysander von Ascania Varin Mortifer
Seren Gwyn Acier Moonbound Naniti

 

[Reina Daival]

Tag: Aselia Verd
Location: Eshan
Outfit


As Reina adjusted her hair, taking the hairband out of her mouth to tie her hair up, the redhead's eyes flickered over towards the crowds. There was a part of her that wanted to be there at the coronation properly. To enjoy herself instead of being on the job. She liked to believe this would be an important day, especially for Quinn...but at the same time she had that thought, her gaze flickered in a different direction, as if she was looking through off to something that no-one else could see. In a way, she couldn't even see it herself, but she knew it was there.

The Enclave. Everest. Jane. Would they all be safe? Reina had felt conflicted the entire time she had prepared for the gig. As she sheathed Whisperwind on one side and Codi'r on the other, there was part of her that had debated. Should she warn them? Tell them to evacuate? Have faith that they wouldn't be harmed? Then she had to remind herself. She was no longer a Jedi. Their business. Their war with the Sith...It didn't involve Reina. Not anymore. What happened to them...She was not responsible for it.

Instead she turned her gaze towards some of the guests to distract herself. Her eyes taking in their postures, trying to make sure there wasn't anything dangerous trying to be snuck past her. People watching wasn't something she had always been fond of. More often than not she stayed in her own head...but it was surprisingly fun. Especially as she noted one of the guests already seemed particularly...inebriated.

"...Looks like someone's already wasted. Wonder what his excuse is. Maybe he doesn't need one."

She muttered outloud, her eyes flickering over towards the slowly-familiar growing form of Aselia Verd . In a way, with her leaving the Jedi, Reina had became more tolerant of other cultures. As a Jedi, she had an immense dislike towards the Mandalorians. Their culture. Their people. Now? Now she didn't really care. They could fight, that was for sure. And they could pay well. Though that did make Reina wonder if she should find some form of disguise when she worked for them...

With the Sith, and the Black Suns, she had a different role she played. Instead of being Reina Daival, she was just Dawn. Though with how much red she wore on those jobs, she could have been called simply Red. Red hood. Red robes. Even a red lightsaber. With the High Republic? Well, most of them already knew her as Reina so she made no effort to hide that from them. As she stared off into the distance, she just had one question she asked herself. If her role was Dawn with the Sith and the Black Suns...and the role with the High Republic was Reina Daival...

What was her role amongst the Mandalorians?
​

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

WEARING: This
WEAPONS: Ferrum Solus | Blodmåne | Strømafbryder
SHIP: Vigfjall
TAG: Naedira Darcrath | OPEN

Eshan.

Gerwald had never set foot on the planet despite hearing its name spoken often in war councils and campaign briefings. When the war had taken place he had not been present to witness it. At the time he had been too new among the Knights Obsidian, recently elevated and still untested in the eyes of those who decided where strength was spent. Others had been chosen to carry the weight of that conflict. He had been sent elsewhere and committed to another battlefield where the outcome mattered just as much and would be remembered far less.

The Confederacy’s war for Eshan had been framed as liberation. The Mandalorian Empire had occupied the world with the blunt certainty of occupation and its removal had been celebrated as both a moral correction and a strategic necessity. Gerwald understood the argument. He had never questioned the outcome. What unsettled him was the echo that followed it. Another Empire now stood poised to claim the world justified by order and stability rather than conquest. The symmetry was difficult to ignore, even if it was inconvenient to acknowledge.

It might have troubled him more deeply had this new Empire not been led by a Verd. That distinction mattered, though he did not pretend it resolved everything. Names carried weight, and empires carried memory. Even so, the thought left a bitterness that lingered longer than he cared to indulge like a taste that refused to fade no matter how often it was swallowed down.

Eshan carried another weight for him, one that had nothing to do with strategy or succession.

The Dread Wolf remembered the night Naedira Darcrath had spoken of Eshan, not in detail or for emphasis, but as something that had shaped her in ways she did not fully articulate. They had stood above a crowded ballroom floor, the noise of it reduced to something distant and unimportant. When they danced, he dipped her in one steady motion and without any hesitation. A realization had settled into place with uncomfortable clarity in that moment. It had not announced itself. It was simply there, undeniable and final.

He had loved her before he allowed himself to name it.

The next war had taken him elsewhere again, not through avoidance or misalignment of duty, but because duty rarely aligned itself kindly. That time he had not returned to a conversation or a dance. Darth Prazutis had killed her and bound her soul to a Nocna Mora banishing her fractured and incomplete to the Netherworld where the beast would slowly overtake everything that remained. When Srina brought Naedira back, she had not done so without cost. Something had been taken from Gerwald to rebuild what could not be recovered. What Naedira lacked he fulfilled now not as memory, but as substance. The tether between them was real, enduring, and absolute.

She was his mate.

The personal shuttle settled onto the prepared landing pad with measured precision. The ramp lowered into the cool air of Eshan, and Gerwald stepped forward without ceremony. Naedira was beside him and close enough that he did not need to look to know she was there. He wondered briefly whether this world stirred anything in her now. Did the name mean more than sound? Would whatever memory remained surface later, or would it be what was borrowed from what she had shown him rather than recalled on its own?

He did not ask, not yet.

He accepted the present reality for the sake of Srina Talon and Quinn Varanin .

Eshan had been theirs before banners were raised and borders redrawn. Loyalty for Gerwald had never been an abstract concept. It was rooted in people rather than institutions, and in shared history rather than shared rhetoric. Srina was someone he had chosen to stand behind not out of obligation but conviction. What she had taken from him had been given willingly, because the galaxy needed her whole. Quinn had once been his responsibility to oversee, to temper, and to release when the time came. That bond did not dissolve simply because time had passed or titles had changed.

Today, Quinn would take the throne of her homeworld. Gerwald allowed himself a brief smirk as he recalled her last attempt to occupy a seat of authority. Power had a way of testing restraint more thoroughly than strength, and he hoped she had learned the difference. Advisors were plentiful, patience was not, and history showed little mercy to those who ruled without listening. If nothing else, he trusted that she would avoid instructing her court to let them eat cake.

“I do hope this goes better than last time she was given a world to oversee,” he spoke only loud enough for his She-Wolf to hear as they descended the ramp.

 

[Aselia Verd]

​

Armor: [X]
Armament: Full List
Objective: Coronation Security (I)

The city was quiet in the way only places on the edge of history ever were not peaceful, not chaotic, but braced. Every movement carried intent. Every smile was measured.

Aselia tracked it all.

Her HUD layered threat cones and behavioral models across the coronation plaza, drawing invisible geometry over Echani architecture. Crowd density fluctuated within acceptable margins. No anomalous energy spikes. Weapon signatures were catalogued, tagged, and where permitted dismissed. Her Kom'rk circled above the city in a wide patrol arc, feeding telemetry straight into her visor. Airspace remained clean.

For now.

Eshan remembered Mandalorians.

That memory lived in posture and breath, in the way Echani guards held their hands closer to their blades than ceremony required. The invasion of Eshan, was not something one could escape when thinking about Mandalorians. True that had been another time and different Mand'alor, still the Eshan remembered. Now the Empire returned, not with chains or occupation, but with banners, oaths, and restraint. It was a harder sell than conquest ever was.

Inside the Palace of the Matron, dignitaries gathered beneath vaulted arches and falling snowlight. Aether Verd waited beside an empty throne. Aselia did not need to look directly to know his posture still, deliberate, absolute. House Verd carried weight on this world. Their father's legacy lingered here, the one who lead the Confederacy to break the siege of Eshan.

And then there was Reina, a chance encounter on Atrisia had become a welcome distraction, perhaps even a friend. She didn't turn immediately when Reina spoke. She didn't need to. Her presence registered the same way it had on Atrisia subtle, alert, carrying weight. Aselia shifted her stance slightly, boots scraping stone as she adjusted her angle still casual, still unobtrusive, but now positioned to cover a wider arc of the crowd. The movement brought her a fraction closer to Reina, not by accident.

"I don't mind the drunk ones," she added, glancing sidelong at her. "They're honest. Sloppy, but honest. It's the sober ones I watch. The ones standing very still, pretending to be civil." she nodded to one in the instance, beyond their drunk friend. "That one, silent. Watching too intently, and alone." her hud automatically tagged him in orange, a potential threat.

She sent an updated threat assessment to all Mandalorians working security for the coronation with a quick tap of her gauntlet then she quickly keyed in a sequence to open a secure channel for Clan Verd. "All quiet at the palace, but keep you're eyes open." just as quickly she close the channel. Hopefully the security arrangements were unnecessary but she knew better than to leave such things to fate.
​

TAG: Reina Daival + OPEN

 

[Eira Dyn]

Objective: 1 - Queen's Coronation
Attire: Dress
Equipment: None
Tags: Quinn Varanin | Open to others

It was finally happening. Her Master was finally gaining the power that had been long deserved. Eira felt her tongue caress against her full lips as she thought hungrily about the powerful new gains that were happening.

She had yet to make moves herself in these ways, the apprentice was still young and still learning plenty but she was adapting and ever mindful of the fact that Eira could simply overplay her hand if she was not cautious in her actions. Too many Sith tended to reveal everything and anything about their plans, their desires without acknowledging the patience that one must confront first. Eira was rarely seen as a patient person, she was feral at times. Reckless. Dangerous. But growing her skills in the Force, in assassination, in politicking was something Eira took more care with. Allowing her skills to develop with the careful guidance of Quinn.

The dress had been selected for the coronation, something to show that Eira was worthy of being Quinn's apprentice. That she was not a measly peasant but someone who deserved to stand beside an elegant and powerful Queen that Quinn had become now. Eira had spent most of the morning preparing herself to be presentable for the ceremony. It had been such a long time since the young woman had put this much effort into her appearance, into the styling of her hair and adorning jewellery that was worth more than her parents had ever made as farmers. What would they think of the fact that it was Eira, not Cerys, that was training under royalty, succeeding in life in a manner they could not even dream of?

Eira doubted they would see it as enough, that their precious Cerys was still favoured even in mediocrity.

Entering the palace, Eira felt an eye twitch seeing the Mandalorian sigils dressed beside the banners of House Varanin and House Talon. It was an ugly addition in her mind, but unfortunately it was a necessary one. While the Mandalorians were not here to conquer Eshan or force the people to serve their cause. It was through them that the final steps to crown Quinn happened, at least that had been Eira's understanding of it all. However, she was not thrilled by their presence or their mark being made known in this palace, during this ceremony. This was about Quinn, about her coronation, the only banners should be hers.

However, those were Eira's private thoughts on it all. She would never dare raise objections or throw around demands for changes. This was not about what she wanted for Quinn, but about celebrating the achievement that had long awaited her Master. Another step made towards the end goal that Eira had promised to help Quinn towards and work hungrily to ensure.

Striding through the crowd, Eira did not linger amongst the masses, the elders, the nobles who attended. Eira strode straight towards the front. She was Quinn's apprentice and Eira knew that hiding in the shadows or the background was not the correct position. Not today. Not with a dress like this. Instead, she was at the front, waiting patiently for the arrival of the new ruler of Eshan. The true ruler finally being recognised by everyone else. A smirk lingered on her lips as waited to see her Master's arrival and how she might dress for such an occasion.

It would blow away everyone else's attempts in looking presentable, that much Eira knew but by how much, Eira was keen to see.