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

[Adelle Bastiel]

Tags: Sibylla Abrantes | Acier Moonbound | Open

"It is certainly tense in the air," Sibylla murmured, though she did not shy from the question that followed. "But truthfully, with the Blackwall in place for so many years, even in my role as a politician, there are faces unknown to me… much less the ties that bind them."

She let out a soft breath, following Adelle's line of sight.

"Do you recognize her, then?" Sibylla inclined her head slightly toward Srina, clearly unfamiliar herself. "You seemed to be observing her a bit longer."

Tense was an understatement. At her question though, the kneejerk shock was followed quickly by reason: in her own recent memory, Srina Talon had been public maybe once. And that had been at the battle of the third Death Star, when so many other more public faces of influence had been in play. Adelle only knew about her because she'd been a medic for the Mandalorians that had stormed the superweapon and attended the subsequent victory feast on Jutrand.

"It's . . . not intentional," Adelle admitted quietly. Looking away from the Sith Empress felt very similar to looking away from a Corellian sand panther. "Her presence is like a black hole. You might even feel it, if you're ever close enough. Like a pressure in your head before a large storm."

She worked her jaw, noting other movement. A large, mountainous person ( Mercy ) she'd seen dancing with the Empress at the feast on Jutrand entered at the back, quiet for someone of their size. Closer to them, a young man moved slowly through the crowd in their direction. Getting a better vantage point, perhaps. Adelle's eyes flicked back to the ceremony, rituals and rites being observed. She hadn't actually answered Sibylla's question though.

"That is Srina Talon," she whispered, nodding imperceptibly at the woman in question. "The--"

"Eshan runs tight ceremonies." Ace said quietly. Flat. Observational. "Every blessing accounted for... I noticed one came through without a herald though."

There was no emphasis. or accusation. Just a simple fact, placed where it couldn't be ignored.

His eyes stayed forward. "Guess that's what happens when aliit is… a-liht."

The word was wrong. Intentionally so. Ace didn't pause to see anyone react, he just continued, tone unchanged.

"Some houses don't like being seen..." He said. "They let friends speak for them. Ones who aren't sitting the throne."

The music swelled again as the rite moved forward. That was his exit.

"Just hope no one ends up paying for favors they didn't ask for..." Ace finished.

The young man she had seen moving through the crowd earlier stood near them, not facing them but speaking nonetheless. Darkness ran deep in his presence but the Light surprised her more. More like twilight than the blinding sun many Jedi radiated, and at least one presence here radiated such a light.

However, what he said next drew a subtle widening of her eyes and a quickened beat of her heart. Outwardly, she maintained her composure and returned her attention to the ceremony, but inwardly a flutter of nervous anxiety stirred. Neither of them was particularly skilled in covert tactics or subtlety.

Yet there was a particular phrase she caught immediately, along with its hidden meaning. The mispronunciation sealed it. Even as her heart seemed to hammer in her chest, Sibylla replied evenly, "Quiet arrangements usually cost the most…"

She did not correct the word, and that was her answer. Only then did she turn to look at him. This time, concern shone clearly in her hazel eyes, an expression that sought to take in more than appearances, to read what lay beneath what he chose to show.

If he let her.

"It has been a while, Ace," she added softly. "How are you?"

Sibylla's response spoke volumes. Not a look of confusion, not a continuation of their previous conversation. The first comment, Adelle could have reasoned it away as making small talk. But facing the young man, addressing him with familiarity--Adelle wasn't sure if it was naïveté or Sibylla completely trusting her. You didn't act nonchalantly, like this were a happenstance meeting, to someone who knew you. Not without reason.

How did she know someone with so much Darkness, mixed though it was? Aether, Adelle could understand. He was Mand'alor, she was an ambassador, it was politics. But this one?

Adelle took a step forward, eyes on the ceremony, but placing herself between Sibylla and anyone that might be watching. With the young man being unfamiliar to her, Adelle couldn't send him a message in words. Neither would addressing him directly be wise. However, images and impressions could be passed between Force users without much difficulty. She chose an image of putting beskar on over a CorSec uniform. It wouldn't convey everything about her, but it'd be enough: helpful if he truly was friends with Sibylla, a warning if he wasn't.

Sibylla required a different tactic. Adelle had to take a shot in the dark about the young man's current allegiance. If she was wrong, well, it'd just sound like a continuation of their earlier conversation.

"Sibylla," she said softly. "It might be beneficial for you to visit Malachor. While historically it's been Sith-aligned, the planet is now in Mandalorian space. It would be a relatively safe space to learn more about the Sith themselves."

Please for the love of the Whills, take the hint.

Her eyes stayed sharp, as she let her eyes wander over the crowd. No longer just looking for threats to the coronation. Adelle didn't understand fully what was going on, why this man was trying to speak discreetly with Sibylla, why she reacted the way she did, but there was enough for a former CorSec liaison agent to put pieces together. Which meant that there were enough pieces for anyone looking for them.

She hoped no one was.

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren did not laugh with the others, but there was a quiet warmth in her expression as the group's energy shifted from caution into something closer to anticipation. The snow crunched softly beneath her steps as she moved with Varin, her hand still resting at his arm, neither tightening nor withdrawing when his heat bled through the cold.

When Varin spoke of restraint, of promises not to level districts, she angled her head just enough to glance up at him, a look that carried both amusement and grounding.

"You are allowed to enjoy yourself," she said evenly, her voice calm against the hum of the city and distant sounds of activity. "Just remember that not every challenge is meant to be answered with force. Some are meant to be observed, understood… and remembered."

At the mention of coaxing information from someone, her grip shifted slightly, not to restrain but to anchor. Her tone remained composed, almost gentle.

"Let us begin with asking," Seren continued. "This is a world of ritual and honor today. Even warriors appreciate courtesy when the rules are clear. If we walk as guests rather than conquerors, directions will come more easily than you expect."

Her gaze lifted toward the city, where the sounds of movement and the gathered crowds seemed more deliberate, more structured.

"The Center of the Saber will not hide itself," she added. "Places like that draw attention by design. We follow the flow of people who move with purpose, not hunger."

She glanced briefly toward Lysander and Naniti, then back to Varin, her expression steady.

"And if watching becomes insufficient," she said softly, "you will know when participation is invited. Echani do not test strength without consent."

The faintest hint of a smile touched her lips.

"Until then," Seren concluded, tightening her arm just enough to signal movement, "we observe. Together."

Varin Mortifer

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Naniti Varin Mortifer Seren Gwyn​

Amusement surfaced with a soft sound. Just familiar enough to be comfortable, or maybe he simply wasn’t immune to distraction from Naniti. The motion would not find itself interrupted. “I said we wouldn’t make it Naamino’s problem. That does leave a wide margin for personal responsibility, I suppose..”

An exhale slipped past him first before leaning in just a little closer, enough to make the distance irrelevant. “Or by staying right here,” he answered like it was the most reasonable idea ever. Emerald green dipped briefly to the contact between them before finding her face again. "You’re very convincing,” added dryly. “Sometimes.”

Lysander hummed under his breath, like he was still considering the theory. “I was under the impression they preferred discussion first,” said mildly. “Punching usually comes later. I’d prefer tonight to end with you well fed. I’d hate for you to miss the food because you were.. busy educating the workers.”

If this were anything like the recent trips, then violence was probably how the food was seasoned too. Not that he’d abstain. He was fairly certain neither of them would.

The curve of his mouth arrived far later than usual, the space between them unchanged. Beneath her touch, something tightened in response where strength coiled. One brow lifted at the Togruta's comment. “You're setting terms early tonight. I wasn’t planning on negotiating rations with you.”

Glancing around, he took a few seconds to try piecing some things together.

Varin’s proposal broke through. “Your definition of coaxing concerns me, brother,” came mildly, but threaded with warmth. Just an observation born of experience. At the same time, were there to be conflict, his co-apprentice would've been a top pick. Anywhere, really.

“I don’t imagine they’d bother hiding something meant to be witnessed, no? It can’t be that difficult to locate. Asking should suffice. And if not.. following the applause usually works.”

Too many questions at hand..

“As for watching versus participating.. that depends entirely on the rules, and how charitable the hosts are feeling tonight.”

There was no denying the gravity toward participation.. tempting in the way that unfinished things so often were.

He inclined his head in agreement as Seren’s words settled. “Works for me. Moving together simplifies things.. fewer misunderstandings.”

Returning to Naniti, he angled his arm toward her. Lips drew together in a careful line. “Walking together would improve my odds of behaving.”

​

 

[Darth Carnifex]

Two guards, clad in blackest samite woven with golden medallions, moved to intercept the Once-Sephi. Neither held weapons, though power brimmed about their forms like tightly bound fog. Yet, before they could reach her, hands raised as if to stop the Once-Sephi, they went rigid as stone and backed away. Returning to the shadows that congregated at the margins of the chamber, the way was again left bare for the Subjugator of Mandalore to again continue her stride.

Before her, the Dark Lord loomed.

He was just as imposing as He had always been, the very figure of authority wrought from darkest nightmare. At His feet were the peripheral nobles of Eshan, who's fortunes had thus dwindled and rendered them near destitution. In the Dark Lord they found succor, His promises of wealth and power exceeding their wildest dreams. To them He would bequeath all that their black hearts yearned for, whether it was glimmering metal or sumptuous flesh.

But, as the Once-Sephi pressed forward they shrank even further into the Dark Lord's shadow. For unlike the Dark Lord, the cruelty of Lirka Ka was not so beguilingly clad. She was a creature of ambition and barbarity, and did little to hide such things. To noble sensibilities, she embodied the utter grotesquerie of monstrous appetites. They could not delude themselves into believing she was anything but her true nature. Little could they know, the one they clung so desperately to was ever crueler, ever viler, ever more murderous.

"Lirka Ka," rumbled the Butcher King, "Animals will always conform to their inherent nature, that of rancid inferiority. The old generation had spent what fury and indignation they had to give, depriving these infants of their animating vengeance. Does it truly surprise you that things have unfolded this way?" A thin, mocking smile curled the edges of the Dark Lord's mouth, one that Lirka Ka was all too familiar with.

Predator.

Monster.

His eyes narrowed slightly, more in amusement than in annoyance. "How fares your merry trio? I heard you gave Strosius quite a performance."

Lirka Ka ​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Eshan

Equipment:
Winter Attire| Lightsaber | Cybernetic Arm

Bylla's reaction told him everything. The slight widening of her eyes. The way her attention snapped back to the dais as if nothing had happened. The tension she didn't quite manage to hide. She'd heard it. More importantly, she'd understood it. Good.

Her reply came measured and even, there was no correction, nor follow-up. Ace didn't look at her right away, he let the moment breathe, letting music and ritual swallow the exchange before her gaze finally turned back to him. Concern was there now, plain and unguarded, searching for something beneath the surface he wasn't inclined to give freely.

When she asked him how he was, he met her eyes.

"I'm standing." He answered.

It wasn't dismissive. He just didn't feel the need to soften it or dress it up. He didn't linger on it either. Anything more would've invited questions neither of them could afford here.

He was aware of the shift beside her, the way the woman stepped just slightly forward, placing herself between Sibylla and the room without ever turning to face him. Protective. Deliberate. The posture of someone who'd clocked a pattern and decided to intervene.

Then came the impression. Not words. Not forceful. Just an image layered with intent: beskar settling over something structured, official, lawful. A warning wrapped in an offer. I'm Mandalorian-aligned. I'm watching you.

Ace didn't react outwardly. Then it clicked. This individual must have been one of the Mandalorians Aether had assigned to her for training. Renn or Adelle. He wasn't sure which. Both names seemed unisex.

The mention of Malachor told him the rest. Not the planet itself. The implication. Mandalorian space. Neutral ground. A suggestion to move whatever this was somewhere quieter, safer, later. Smart, and it was definitely appreciated.

Ace didn't comment on it, he just gave Sibylla one last look. Brief. Steady. No urgency. No reassurance either. Just confirmation that he'd seen the handoff and accepted it.

"I'll see you around." He said quietly. Then he addressed Adelle: "Ret'urcye mhi, burc'yc."

The intel was out. The channel was closed. And now there was one more variable on the board.

With that, Ace didn't linger. He turned with the flow of the hall and moved away from them entirely, letting the ceremony swallow his absence as easily as it had carried his words. Within moments, he was gone from their immediate orbit, another figure lost among banners, armor, and ritual.

-EXIT-​

Sibylla Abrantes | Adelle Bastiel​

 

[CT-312]

//: Quinn Varanin | OPEN //:
//: Outfit //:
//: OBJECTIVE 1: THE CORONATION//:​

It was CT-312’s first time on Eshan. What she knew of the planet was what the Princess had told her in passing. Thinking back to when she first stepped onto this world, the Scout found herself faintly amused at the irony and timing of it all. ‘I should take you to Eshan one time.’ Recalling the words spoken to her more than once. Of course it’s CT-312’s first time to this planet with the Princess and she was being crowned its Queen. Another title. Or titles added to an already growing list.

Quinn Varanin.
Imperial Princess.
Professor of Force Theory.
Dark Councilor.
Warden and Queen of Eshan.

The Scout took note of the banners suspended overhead since their arrival. House Varanin. House Talon. Sigils of the Mandalorian Empire. All arranged with deliberate care. She stored the image of it away for later. When things were quieter… maybe one day she would ask Quinn, how all of this came to be. For now, she adjusted the cuff of her dark military dress uniform with a gloved hand. It wasn’t often CT-312 was out of her armor. Dressed for formality rather than combat, but the uniform had subtle reinforcement fine plating beneath it. Light enough not to impede movement and solid enough to matter if it came to that. The Princess had been explicit.

No armor. No helmet. And especially— no camouflage.

CT-312 tugged once at the covering on the lower half of her face. Settling it more comfortably, ensuring it sat correctly along her cheekbones and nose. At least the half-mask remained. That much, she hadn’t been ordered to remove. Gloved hands returned to rest at her sides. CT-312 stood off to the side, out of the Princess’s way as preparations finished. Her posture easy, but alert.

The air around Quinn felt… different. CT-312 noticed it without knowing why. Blue eyes swept the area, the room itself hadn’t changed. But… something around the Princess felt denser. Heavier. Or maybe thinner? Was it the occasion? Or perhaps the way she was dressed, how the white gown transformed her presence without softening it. Strength shaped into elegance. ‘Hmmm… maybe it’s both.’ CT-312 thought. Despite standing only a few meters away, it felt as if Quinn was very far away. Not physically. Just that she was already stepping somewhere CT-312 couldn’t follow. A small vague sensation settled low in her chest. It wasn’t pain or fear. Just an absence. Something had shifted without warning and left a subtle hollow feeling behind. CT-312 didn’t know what to call it. This was a first.

Realizing she’d been looking at the Princess’s direction a moment too long, the Scout deliberately shifted her focus. Discreet lenses she wore flicking as blue eyes resumed an area check. It fed directly into BARCA through the earpiece, a second pair of eyes quietly watching with her. CT-312 could feel through the bond Quinn’s emotions that were cycling unevenly. Tension spiked, then softened. Concern and stress, something like grief. Resolve fighting doubt in small uneven waves.

She wasn’t good with words. Never had been. CT-312 observed Quinn quietly as she closed her eyes, breathing uneven for just a moment. There was nothing in protocol for this. Nothing in training or briefing covered how to reassure someone who was about to step into history. To be crowned Queen while half the galaxy watched. CT-312 considered staying where she was, but her body moved forward. Controlled. Just a couple of steps, boots quiet against the floor. She reached out, placing a gloved hand gently against Quinn’s shoulder. Solid and warm through the fabric, the touch was firm enough to be real. No pressure or words. Just presence.

The noise inside CT-312’s head eased, the turbulence in the bond softened. Whatever the Princess had been holding inside herself eased just a fraction. But it was enough. The Scout felt it settle as Quinn’s breathing evened, she stayed still. Waiting. Uncertain if she’d overstepped. Then Quinn spoke, a soft thank you. CT-312 withdrew her hand immediately, returning it to her side. Giving a small nod in response.

CT-312 fell into position when the Princess rose. One step back, slightly offset. Following. A silent sentinel once more. As they moved, she hadn’t expected the smile the Princess gave her before entering. It caught her off guard. For a split second blue eyes softened. Easing just a fraction before blinking, the familiar controlled focus settled back into place. CT-312 straightened up instinctively and returned it the only way she knew how. Snapping into a crisp clean salute. Formal and precise. It was time.

Once they entered the room, CT-312 broke off, positioning herself to the side. Close enough to intervene, but far enough not to intrude. Her gaze swept the room. Some faces she recognized from past encounters, others from dossiers she had committed to memory. Sith, Mandalorians, representatives of factions. Taking note of the exits in the room, then structural columns that could serve as cover. Eyes tracking the flow of people gathering. The Mandalorians had their own security measures in place, Sith eyes watched everything behind stillness, and Echani guards held themselves with quiet certainty. ‘Good.’ More than one group wanted the coronation to proceed without incident.

Standing at attention as the ceremony began, CT-312’s eyes found Quinn again. The distant feeling returned, slightly stronger now. Time had moved strangely fast since the day she’d first met the Princess. Faster than CT-312 had realized. Another feeling washed over as she watched the Princess stepped into becoming the Queen. Something warm and unfamiliar settled beneath her ribs as she watched. A quiet lift in her chest, steady and grounding. It wasn’t sad, but more than satisfactory. It wasn’t a feeling she had a name for, nor one she would have recognized in herself in the past.

Just a quiet certainty that she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

Spoiler: Tagging people on obj 1

Srina Talon Darth Carnifex Sibylla Abrantes Adelle Bastiel Aether Verd Reina Daival Gerwald Lechner Aselia Verd Mercy Eira Dyn Mia Monroe Acier Moonbound Orvak Kresh Amelia von Sorenn Ivalyn Yvarro Lirka Ka Lily Decoria

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Location: THE CORONATION
Interacting with: Open | Adelle Bastiel
Within the Objective: Srina Talon Quinn Varanin Darth Carnifex Aether Verd Reina Daival Gerwald Lechner Aselia Verd Mercy Eira Dyn Mia Monroe Orvak Kresh Amelia von Sorenn Ivalyn Yvarro Lirka Ka Lily Decoria
Items: x x x x x

Sibylla watched Acier Moonbound withdraw into the movement of the hall, the banners and bodies swallowing him as neatly as if he had never been there at all. Only once he was gone did she allow herself a measured breath, shoulders settling as she steadied herself in the moment.

I'm standing.

She wasn't sure if that was enough to assuage her fears. There hadn't been enough time to tell how he was by his posture, by his look, by his eyes.

"Malachor…" she repeated softly, almost to herself, hazel eyes lifting again toward the Sith delegation. Her gaze found the woman Adelle had named Srina Talon, lingering there for a moment before Sibylla inclined her head slightly toward Adelle.

"Thank you. I do appreciate it," Sibylla said quietly. It was not empty courtesy but acknowledgement. "You are very quick to notice such things."

A faint, wry but bittersweet smile touched her lips.

"Though I imagine the Force affords you far more awareness than a mere politician is ever granted."

Sibylla's fingers pressed together briefly before her attention returned to the dais where Quinn now stood crowned, only to drift back once more to Srina's silent presence.

After a beat, Sibylla looked to Adelle again, her voice lowering just enough that it ceased to be diplomatic and became personal.

"...forgive my impertinence.... but did you sense anything from Ace?" she asked quietly, her voice edged with a quiet but certain concern.

"Does he feel like a black hole as Srina Talon does to you as well?"

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Tags: Sibylla Abrantes | Open

Mercifully, both the young man--Ace, Sibylla called him--and Sibylla seemed to catch on to her meaning. Good. Ace left with a simple phrase about his status and a quick goodbye to Sibylla. However, he'd also said Ret'urcye mhi, burc'ya. She'd understood it enough but Adelle wasn't sure if he meant the Mandalorian word for friend ironically.

Adelle opted for a neutral inclination of the head, slight, an acknowledgment without voicing it or drawing attention. Silence settled in the space he left as the coronation continued.

"Malachor…" she repeated softly, almost to herself, hazel eyes lifting again toward the Sith delegation. Her gaze found the woman Adelle had named Srina Talon, lingering there for a moment before Sibylla inclined her head slightly toward Adelle.

"Thank you. I do appreciate it," Sibylla said quietly. It was not empty courtesy but acknowledgement. "You are very quick to notice such things."

A faint, wry but bittersweet smile touched her lips.

"Though I imagine the Force affords you far more awareness than a mere politician is ever granted."

"Being a master has its perks," Adelle said, just as softly. "But this time it was my experience in CorSec. Go undercover a few times and you learn quick."

After a beat, Sibylla looked to Adelle again, her voice lowering just enough that it ceased to be diplomatic and became personal.

"...forgive my impertinence.... but did you sense anything from Ace?" she asked quietly, her voice edged with a quiet but certain concern.

"Does he feel like a black hole as Srina Talon does to you as well?"

There was care in Sibylla's voice, words laced with worry. This wasn't a trivial question she asked, not to Sibylla, if she was dropping professionalism. Adelle weighed the short interaction she'd had with Ace carefully. The Force was not an exact science: it was something that lived and breathed as much as any sentient being while being something wholly incomprehensible. Even with the mental skills like Empathy, Precognition, Danger Sense, they operated more on instinct, on knowing in your bones without knowing in your head.

"I don't know him well enough to be accurate," she said, at last. "There was Light, and there was Darkness. But like Srina? There are precious few that have the pressure of her presence." She'd felt two others in this gathering that came close in different ways. Adelle leaned over slightly, voice lowering as if speaking her name would draw her attention. "Srina Talon is the Sith Empress."

 

[Naniti]

Naniti met Lysander's gaze with an all too sweet smile. "But I'm always right," she countered.

"I'm a reasonable woman. I'll talk. But I heard Echani developed a 'kinetic communication' system. They speak with action -- and their fists -- just as often or more so than their words." The Togruta shrugged. "So if it takes smacking a street vendor over the head with their own spoon before they listen to reason..." Not that she was here to enlighten people on proper cooking practices. Not predominantly, anyway, but if the opportunity came about...

A soft harrumph followed. "I thought that term had already been settled. I only have room to tolerate one set of sticky fingers in my life. Everyone else needs to learn how to get their own food." Not that she'd just let Lysander take her meat. There'd be a struggle for it. Maybe even a stabbing. Nothing too serious though.

Varin suggested he could convince people to give them directions, if necessary. The violet woman looked over at him with a slight nod. Lysander, however, subtly tried to remind them not to cause trouble by 'coaxing' things out of people. Well, Naniti couldn't speak for Varin, but she had plausible deniability at this point. How could she possibly know a Sith would mean torture, maim, or destroy when they said 'coax'?

Yeah, Lysander wouldn't buy that.

"Bet there'll be Mandalorians there." Naniti glanced back over at Varin. "Trust aside, they're great for fighting." Best part was they liked to fight. Yeah, sure, probably upset at some of the reasons -- like their home being blown up or whatever -- but point was they'd fight. Jedi could fight, but you had to suffer through their preaching first or while the fight was unfolding. Mandalorians were not chatterboxes -- thank the Dark.

Then Lysander thought to wrap an arm about her. Naniti gave him an eye, but didn't pull away. "At least we'll find something exciting together even if you get us lost along the way." Well they didn't expect to blame her if they got lost, did they? They really should considering she had a way of devising the right course, if she had to, but since they didn't know that the responsibility wasn't on her. Lysander was the high ranker present. The Togruta smiled up at him.

Lysander von Ascania | Seren Gwyn | Varin Mortifer

 

[Aselia Verd]

​

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

Her HUD painted a second world over the first.

Exit vectors. Density gradients. Micro-clusters forming and dissolving in turn. Echani guards held discipline like a doctrine hands close, stance correct, eyes forward but the old anger was still there in the way their attention snapped a fraction faster whenever beskar shifted. Sith, too, moved with that particular kind of confidence that made space around them feel claimed, even when they were saying nothing at all.

And then there were the ones who weren't pretending.

A Zabrak in a clay-red poncho and phrik plate beneath it on the edge of off duty, but not really. Watchful in the way soldiers get when they're told to "enjoy themselves." Nearby, a Mandalorian woman had posted up near a wall with clear sightlines to exits, helm off but posture still set like a barricade. Up in the gallery, an ambassador watched the room like it was a chessboard.

Aselia didn't need to move to take it in. She just tracked.

Her ship's patrol feed rolled along the bottom edge of her display: clear lanes, no inbound anomalies, atmospheric scans normal. The city beyond the palace looked like disciplined celebration lanterns, markets, winter exhibitions Echani combat philosophy made public spectacle: force restrained, intent revealed. A perfect place for rival powers to "accidentally" measure each other.

The coronation hadn't even started and half the room was already negotiating with their eyes.

Reina's voice cut through the noise, and Aselia let her attention slide sideways without turning her head. Reina stood like someone trying very hard to look casual while still being a drawn blade hand resting on the pommel, gaze constantly moving. No visor overlay. No external sensors. Just instinct and Force-sense, stitched together with stubbornness.

She followed Reina's subtle nod toward the drunk guest. The man wasn't dangerous—just loud. Already leaning too heavily into courage that came in a glass. A social buoy, bobbing in the current of the crowd and hoping no one noticed he couldn't swim.

Reina joked about him needing company.

Aselia's HUD tagged the man's proximity cluster: a woman beside him, posture elegant and expression bright in the way people get when they're performing "fine." Her companion, however tall, expensive coat, face like he'd rather be anywhere else looked as if he'd been dragged here under treaty terms.

Aselia finally let her head tilt a fraction toward Reina, voice low enough not to carry.

"See them?" she murmured, eyes still scanning the room. "That's not loneliness. That's a diplomatic hostage situation."

Her gaze lingered a heartbeat on the unhappy man's rigid smile.

"If he blinks twice, I'm filing it under 'kidnapped by courtship.'"

She let the humor land, then her tone smoothed back into that steady, work-mode cadence friendly, but anchored.

The throne remained empty. The crown still untouched.

Around it all, Eshan held its breath: Mandalorians in disciplined formation, Echani elders draped in white, Sith present like storm pressure you couldn't see but everyone felt. Old wounds were close under the surface, and the strangest part was how well everyone was behaving.

That was what made it dangerous.

Outside, snow continued to fall. Inside, the room kept pretending it was only ceremony.

Aselia watched the pretending.

And beside her, Reina kept reading faces the hard way by feel, by pattern, by stubborn refusal to make it easy on herself while the future of Eshan waited in the space between a crown and a breath.
​

TAG: Reina Daival + OPEN

 

[Reina Daival]

Tag: Aselia Verd
Location: Eshan
Outfit


There were a fair few faces that Reina realised she actually recognised here. It was partly nice to see. What wasn't nice however was how it felt like none of them even wanted to look her way. Acier Moonbound seemed to be doing anything but coming over to her. Was it because he didn't want to be a distraction? Or because he, like nearly everyone else Reina had opened up to had abandoned her. A fact made even more evident when Everest came into the building. Reina's best friend. The person Reina had first fallen for. And the Jedi hadn't even looked in Reina's direction. Hadn't even acknowledged her. Of course, in a few days, she'd get a message from Everest saying how she had left Eshan, but in this moment? Reina felt as if her closest friend had stabbed her in the chest. The warmth and some what happiness fading from her gaze, as Reina focused on doing her job.

The warmth only came back to her gaze when Quinn Varanin came out. Reina knew her eyes should be on the guests. For her to be focused on her work. But that didn't mean it was what she did. A slight melancholic smile making its way onto her face as she watched the Eshan Princess...Well, Queen would probably fit better now. Queen. So far above Reina's role in the Galaxy. What was she even thinking? She was a no-one. Just a mercenary. Reina sighed to herself, glancing over towards Aselia, ripping her gaze away from Quinn's.

"...You're right. It's not loneliness."

With that, her gaze hardened once more. It was meant to be humour coming from Aselia. But with how Reina was seeing things, she realised that it wasn't the same expression as how she had felt.

"If the...di'kut knows what's good for him, he'll complain about this all once he's left. Not whilst everyone is here."

Di'kut. Reina's attempt at speaking mando'a. It wasn't...going well. But she was trying at least. To learn different languages. Cultures. Things she had never done as a Jedi. Things that ultimately didn't matter. But she was learning that even if things didn't matter, it was still important to do them. Which is why there was something else that came to her mind. Something important.

"...When this all cools down, I'm heading over to her. To...pledge my blade."

It was stupid. Lame. Reina was treating it as if she was some wandering Knight, finally ready to pledge her sword to some Monarch. Though in a way, she was. She was a wandering warrior, who was selling her skills to the highest bidder. But now? Reina wanted to openly declare her loyalty. Would it end well for her? It was unlikely. But it was something she needed to do.
​

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Beskar //:

The words that came from the elder's mouth made Quinn's breath hitch. The way they spoke of her sister was as if she were dead. She would have felt it… Wouldn't she? If her sister was gone in the way they were making it sound — why didn't the Force pull her to her side?

Quinn could feel the delicate fabric between her fingers as she rolled it between them like a nervous child. As much as she detested her sister and the way she rolled over for the Jedi, not having her in this galaxy was something Quinn didn't prepare for.

Voices continued as Quinn searched within herself, trying to find something that she might have missed in the past couple of years. Her parents would know, wouldn't they? They would have told her if Noelle had died… but they didn't even tell her that the woman had abandoned her throne.

More fabric curled into her fingers, her thoughts focused now on her sister and no longer on the crown.

Was this what she wanted? How she wanted this to happen?

Her eyes flickered from the speaker, wanting to find something, someone familiar. Unfortunately for her, she saw the gaze of a fellow Echani, one who passed judgment before she even looked beyond her own nose. While Quinn was beloved, just like her sister and mother, some had no right to call themselves Echani. To put loyalties in the pathetic back and forth between Sith and Jedi above one's home was appalling, and then to sit among the crowd and judge.

Quinn would never put the Sith above Eshan — but what did one who couldn't even communicate like a true Echani know?

Her eyes moved from the woman, making contact with a guard who would eventually escort the unwanted, along with her pet. Quinn would deal with the Enclave later — she had hoped they wouldn't be an issue and keep to their mountain. Eshan would never side with dark or light EVER again.

Reina came into view, and a part of Quinn was surprised the woman had made her way to Eshan to see this. It was a welcome sight; her lips curled into a knowing smile as she regarded the former Jedi. At least there was one among them who had the sense to see beyond their foolish lessons of the Force and perceived martyrdom.

Her name was announced after Srina's—it made sense, as the woman was the tie between the Sith and the Mandalorians; she was also the mother figure for Eshan's future Queen. She looked to her; the stoic figure reminded her of Spencer, her birth mother, and the Queen who had helped Eshan find its place in the galaxy. Could Quinn ever live up to that? Noelle couldn't; the woman had been perfect, carefully conditioned to fill Spencer's role.

And yet, she was gone, and Quinn was taking the mantle.

The forgotten child, the exiled princess… the one that no one wanted… She was now to be their Queen.

Quinn found strength in her Mother, but she knew the moment she stepped forward, her world would change. Everything about who she was and how she conducted herself would reflect on more than just the Dark Council. Her feet felt like cement the moment she was summoned. Her body screamed to stay, while her mind pushed forward, reminding the princess that this was what she wanted from the moment she understood her place.

Quinn wanted to run.

Yet as her head tilted upward, she caught the softened gaze and proud salute from the bodyguard. She looked again to see others, faces she knew and others she didn't. All of them looked to her, waiting.

Knowing that Srina, CT-312, Mercy, Reina, Eira, and so many others had come to witness this moment. In that moment, she took a step towards the throne and held the fabric of her gown as she moved closer. Her body relaxing and moving as if this was where she needed to be, where she belonged.

Quinn was a Varanin, a member of the blessed royal family of Eshan.
She was untouchable and ascended.

A smile crossed her face as she drew closer to the throne. She nodded towards the elders, matrons who had seen the worst of Eshan and the best of Eshan, and who were now ushering in the new age under Quinn.

Turning, she faced her people and took her place on the throne, waiting for the crown to be placed upon her head, marking her the new monarch.

Spoiler: Tags

CT-312 Srina Talon Reina Daival Mercy Amelia von Sorenn Everest Vale Eira Dyn Sibylla Abrantes Adelle Bastiel Lily Decoria Ivalyn Yvarro Mia Monroe Darth Carnifex Aselia Verd sorry if i missed anyone

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Location: THE CORONATION
Interacting with: Open | Adelle Bastiel
Items: x x x x x

Sibylla listened closely, her attention fixed on Adelle as the answer took shape. At the mention of Ace having Light as well as Darkness within him, her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly against one another, a quiet tell she rarely allowed herself.

Light and shadow both… and Sibylla could not help but wonder how much of that balance had been shaped... or scarred, by Ace's most recent endeavors.

Malachor, then. That meeting would need to happen sooner rather than later. But it was Adelle's final words that truly caught her breath.

Sibylla took a small step forward without meaning to, her hazel eyes lifting toward the Sith delegation once more, searching for Srina Talon with renewed clarity. And while Sibylla's composure barely held, it was the widening of her eyes that betrayed the weight of the revelation.

"So she is the one who is to eventually hand the Sith throne to the new Warden and Queen, Quinn Varanin?" Sibylla asked quietly for only Adele's ears to hear, even as her thoughts raced to keep pace on that revelation. That the Sith Empress would be here... well, now the pieces are beginning to align in ways she did not entirely like.

"I did not realize just how deeply tied the Echani were to either power," she admitted, gaze drifting briefly toward Quinn before returning to Srina.

"There is precious little we truly know of the Sith Empire. Even less of how present circumstances may be shaping those bonds." Her attention flicked downward for a moment as Phantom gave a faint yawn, the small, familiar sight giving her a slight touch of steadiness that only confirmed why Adelle had Phantom around. A soft curve touched Sibylla's lips before her focus returned to Adelle.

"What do you know of the Sith Empress," she asked gently, truly desiring Adelle's perspective and knowledge, "and of her kin?"

 

[Srina Talon]

Tag: Ivalyn Yvarro | Darth Carnifex | Gerwald Lechner | Merryn Sellek | Sibylla Abrantes | Mia Monroe | Aselia Verd | Reina Daival | Aether Verd | Adelle Bastiel | Amelia von Sorenn | CT-312
Note: I only tagged people in Objective I, but all your posts were lovely!
Location: Eshan [Estin - The Palace of the Matron]

____________________________________________________

It must have been so strange, she thought, for Jedi to discover that the Sith were not merely bland caricatures of Sheev Palpatine. If they ever did at all...It must have been so jarring to realize that her people were not simply monsters born of void and malice. Not just the boring tale of corrupted morality that had been rendered convenient and flat for the sake of the civilian perspective and the sympathy vote. It must have been a revelation to discover, often, that they were people with homes and cultures that were older than the Order that supposedly hunted them...With children, vows, ambitions, and grief. With wants and desires that were not so different from their own.

How easy it was to claim righteousness when one never named the dead as people.

It was a Jedi, so long ago, who had killed her husband on Odavessa.

It was a former Grand Master who was the catalyst for this chain of events, a warrior of light, who had set Srina so firmly on this path of destruction and darkness. It was a Jedi who had thoughtlessly split her Maliphant from shoulder to hip, who had watched, while she desperately tried to hold the two halves of him together. It was a Jedi who had watched her heartbreak, watched her grieve, kneeling, in the bloody remains of one who had crossed the stars just to be near her. To breathe the same air. It was a Jedi who had watched while Darth Empyrean spent his last breath, his final heartbeat, trying to comfort her as he lay dying…And it was that same Jedi, the best of them, who watched when the corpse of her beloved was reanimated by a broken ritual. It was a Jedi who had watched while a Dead God came to power, which, led to the here and now.

Srina had not sought this life. But…It was hers.

None would take it from her without her consent.

Metallic eyes lingered on the back of Quinn Varanin while the endless walk to the throne seemed to stretch on into eternity, until, until she reached the foot of the dais. She took the time to glance around at the watchers who had assembled, and her thoughts began to cement themselves with every passing second. Simply put…The Sith Empress didn't like the way they watched her daughter. They were very good at that. Watching. It was an occupation they should take very seriously, engaging purely in professional voyeurism, if they wanted to see the next sunrise.

A Jedi had torn her whole world from her hands in the name of balance, because the light was right.

Because killing in the name of the light excused all manner of sin.

Her expression hardened, and the phantom feeling of gravity pulling toward her would increase while her chin rose in defiance. In anger—In silent warning.

If any of them ever turned that same sanctimony toward Quinn Varanin …If any of them ever threatened her child, blood or not, beneath banners of peace and idiotic doctrine, this supposed Avatar of Death would show them all how little mercy lived beneath her restraint. There would be no speeches. No lessons. No second chances, no excuses, and no reprieve from the consequences of their actions. The Sith Empress would not bring war for the Mandalorian Empire…But she would bring absolute annihilation, oblivion, for the trespass of harming what belonged to her.

Her daughter would always be her daughter—And the galaxy would do well to remember that.

The summons to come before the throne led her to witness Quinn take the seat that had always been waiting for her. Her head tilted in vague annoyance while the Elder spoke about things they didn't quite understand, but she was focused more on the reason she had returned to Eshan at all. She found the young woman before her radiant in a way that had nothing to do with power. She was composed, resolute, and alive with a rare blend of strength and certainty that Srina had tried, imperfectly, to nurture. Quinn was…So much more than she knew. Wanted, needed.

Her wintry countenance softened.

Just enough.

The pale woman moved forward, black-clad and terrible, and unexpectedly leaned down to press a kiss to Quinn's forehead. It was brief, reverent, and achingly private amid the ceremony. It was not a gesture of dominance or some scheme but an expression of affection that she could not put into words. It was the kiss of a guardian, a mother, who had done all she could. Who was so proud…But had to trust what remained. Her voice would fall like soft rain, barely a whisper, against her skin.

"I am here…Always."

Srina straightened, and the Crown of Eshan lifted from the Elder's pillow with slow inevitability. The silvery surface gleamed while it turned gently as it crossed the space between them, floating, until she could guide it with the Force. Her skin never touched it, her hands never actually finding purchase on any part of it. They were too stained with blood, with wickedness, and the pale warrior owned that. She would not sully Quinn's reign before it had begun. Her eyes lingered on her not-so-little one…

Was this really what she wanted?

Her thoughts whispered. Her fears…Her determination. Srina glanced down for a moment, and feathery lashes darted against pale cheeks for a split second. With this crown…Quinn no longer belonged to herself; such was the fate of all rulers. It would make her theirs.

Everything seemed determined to force her to let her daughter go.

She...Hated it.

Still...She nodded her head, having answered the question that had not been asked, and let the crown move on its own to land with ceremony and intention on Quinn Varanin's head. It settled there as if it had always belonged. It was not Mandalorian hands that crowned the Queen of Eshan. It was not empire, nor contract, nor foreign steel. It was one of their own.

A daughter of the Six Sisters. She knew their customs, their way, their language...Even if she was only a low-born warrior.

Srina stepped back and her head inclined, briefly, respectfully, before turning to face the rest of the hall. Those who whispered, curious, like Sibylla Abrantes would find that her gaze seemed to land on her intimately. As if she knew what they were saying, knew that Adelle Bastiel had her name on her lips. Her attention flickered over Aether Verd , Mercy , Reina Daival , and all those who had assembled to witness the ascension of one they called a friend. Or perhaps more. Even Acier Moonbound would feel the legendary weight of her presence settling in the hall while he made his exit—Pulling all to attention without saying a word.

"…Long live the Queen."​

​

 

["Templar"]

//: Lily Decoria | OPEN //:
//: Eshan //:
//: Attire //:
//: Objective I - The Coronation //:

Commotion filled the planet, drawing Templar's attention almost against her will. She found herself venturing out beyond the familiar boundaries of the estate. The Relic realized despite spending time on Eshan, she had never truly seen the planet before. Not in the way one would go see a place freely. Remembering when she first came to this world, it was only supposed to be a brief stop. Raised voices through the streets drew her attention in fragmented pieces. Repeated words without full meaning: Queen, Coronation, Today. Templar followed the flow of movement, her cloak shifted around her armor as she threaded her way through the ever growing crowd.

The coronation had drawn people from all parts of the galaxy. Banners hung everywhere, adorned on the arches, walls, open plazas, outside and within. One of the sigils she’d come to recognize, the Mandalorian Empire. The other, unknown and one familiar looking. Templar let the tide of the crowd carry her closer to the area of the coronation. Boots crunching faintly against the snow covered ground. Her eyes and ears caught parts of whispered conversations that lacked context, but carried weight. Names and titles. Parts of history spoken softly but urgently. House Talon. House Varanin. The Relic’s interest stirred. Then it clicked.

Her steps slowed, only to stop entirely as her head lifted toward the familiar hanging banner. The helmet shifted down as she craned her neck. Templar’s gloved hand rose automatically, adjusting the rim of her helmet, steadying herself. For a long moment she stared at it, unblinking. It was her Master’s house. The Relic blinked once, realization heavily setting in as the broken whispers she had heard aligned into something whole.

Spencer Varanin had been Queen of this world.
Then Noelle.
Now Quinn. Quinn Varanin.

Spencer’s daughter was to be crowned Queen of Eshan. That was something Templar had never known. A strange quiet thought followed, for all the time she had spent with ‘Master’, there were vast stretches of Spencer’s life she had never bothered to ask about. Nor been offered. Till now, with the time and journey spent, she knew little to nothing. ‘Perhaps…’ Templar decided, ‘that was some worth correcting.’ Her attempts to ignore or outright escape 'Master's' presence had led nowhere. Maybe it was time to try a different approach.

Templar’s footsteps resumed, carrying her toward the heart of the ceremony. As the crowd thickened, bodies pressed closer together and the air grew warmer. Louder. The hum of voices rose into overlapping murmurs. Whispers collided and bleed together until it became noise rather than language.

She disliked it.

Crowds made the Relic’s skin crawl beneath the armor. Too many people, too many unseen movements, and too many shifting intentions brushing against her mind. The light, dark, and things that sat uneasily between the two pressed close. All drawn here to witness the same moment. Templar’s shoulders tensed beneath her cloak. The sound scraped against her nerves. Irritation flared, sharp and unwelcome. It felt like the colosseum at the Kaggath tournament all over again. Suddenly the crowd shifted.

The bodies around her moved as one, their attention snapping toward a single point. Towards Quinn as she made her appearance. Templar was jostled, her shoulder colliding with another form. A low growl rumbled in her throat before she could stop it. Gloved fists tightened reflexively as her side. She held her ground as the pressure of the crowd pressed in. Irritation spiking hard enough to make her vision narrow.

Restrain. Jaw clenched, Templar dragged herself back from the brink. Forcing her grip to loosen and her breath to steady. ‘Not here. Not now. Not today.’ Causing a disturbance would draw attention she did not want. Another shoulder brushed against her as the crowd continued to settle.

Templar turned her helmet toward the figure and froze. A familiar presence. Lily Decoria . The newly appointed Jedi Knight, recognized from another ceremony. Lifting her gloved hand from beneath her cloak, fingers extended together as she brought them briefly to the level of the helmet’s visor. Acknowledgement. Hello. Opening her palm and moving it downward. Catching the cloak by her collar, tugging it outward twice in a small gesture that drew attention to Lily’s dress. Dressed for the occasion. I see. Remember meeting her in her Jedi attire. Templar’s helmet tilted slightly as she noticed another figure standing near Lily. ( Isabsel ) Something about them felt… wrong. Or rather absent. The Force slid around them, leaving a hollow where there should be presence. ‘Hmmm…’ This was something that she could bring up to her Master, to start a conversation. Templar inclined her helmet subtly toward the unknown figure. A silent question. Companion?

Releasing her cloak, it fell back into place around the armor. Her hand rose once more, open-palmed as her helmet than angled toward where the voices were rising and the ceremony was happening. Here for the coronation as well?

Her focus settled back to the proceedings of the ceremony. ‘How interesting indeed.’ , Varanin. The name lingered in her thoughts, carrying more weight now than it had before. Templar found unexpected amusement in it. Perhaps the galaxy wasn't as mundane as she had once assumed. Not if bloodlines, oaths, and histories continued to resurface in such quiet inevitable ways. Templar watched in silence as Quinn stepped forward and finally took her place upon the throne.

The Queen of Eshan.

Curiosity stirred beneath her practiced composure. Whatever Eshan had been… it was changing. The Relic wondered what shape it would take under its new monarch, finding quiet amusement in the uncertainty ahead.