Junction Mother Knows Best [ ME & TSC Junction of Hapes & Empty Hex ]

Beskar · 2026-07-08T01:02:37-0400

MOTHER KNOWS BEST
"The Light fades. The Queen ascends."

HAPES
Inner Rim

What happens when Mandalorian supremacy collides with matriarchal tradition?

Hapes.

A jewel of the stars, a throne wrapped in beauty, intrigue, and legacy. For generations, the Hapan people and the worlds sworn to their crown have stood apart from the chaos of the Galaxy, ruled by Queens, shaped by noble houses, and guarded by traditions older than many empires. Their courts have whispered with ambition. Their palaces have gleamed beneath foreign suns. Their bloodlines have carried power, grace, and pride through an age that sought, time and again, to bend them into something lesser.

Yet in recent years, one truth has drawn the eyes of Mandalore.

Hapes had become a fountain of the Light.

From its worlds came Jedi lineages. Through its courts passed champions of restraint, mercy, and gilded weakness. Across its histories, the Light found refuge behind noble names and silken veils. It was allowed to root itself within the matriarchal culture, turning Hapes into a sanctuary for the adversaries of Mandalore. To some, this might have simply been legacy. To the Mandalorians, it was infection. It was weakness dressed in tradition. It was a fire allowed to burn too freely, and by Iron it would be smothered.

So Mandalore descended.

The puppet crown raised by the Black Sun Syndicate was cast down. With it fell the sordid hands that had once steered Hapes toward the whims of criminals and foreign masters. The old Queen was rebuked from her throne, not as a conquest of Hapan identity, but as the severing of rot from the royal line. For when the smoke cleared and the Cluster turned inward, Hapes did what Hapes had always done in its hour of need. It looked to its own blood, its own houses, and its own ancient pride. From among its people came a Queen worthy of the crown.

She was not raised by syndicates. She was not chosen to serve a criminal empire. She did not lay with brigands and brutes. She was not fashioned as another gilded mouthpiece for those who saw Hapes as a prize to be claimed and spent. She was Hapan, born of noble line and sharpened by vision. Beneath her hand, the throne would not be surrendered. It would endure.

Thus came the accord.

Hapes and its vassal worlds would join the Mandalorian Empire as an autonomous state, their throne preserved, their customs honored, and their internal rule enshrined beneath imperial law. In exchange, Mandalore would be granted leave to excise the Light from the Cluster, to hunt the Jedi influence that had taken root within its worlds, and to cleanse from Hapes every lingering devotion that threatened the future now being secured.

Mandalore agreed.

Now the Empire comes not as a conqueror alone, but as witness, sword, and guarantor. Beside it walks the Sith Covenant, a newfound friend to the imperial cause, drawn to Hapes by purpose, opportunity, and the promise of a new order taking shape beneath the crown. The mission before them is threefold. Witness the coronation of the new Queen Mother of Hapes. Join the violent excision of the Light from Hapes and the worlds bound to her throne. Or stand among the courts, feasts, and celebrations as a people rejoice in the dawn of an age they may finally call their own.

For the streets of Hapes are alive with splendor. Banners rise from palace spires. Noble houses gather with smiles sharpened behind jeweled masks. Soldiers march beneath imperial colors while courtiers whisper over wine, measuring the worth of every oath and every ambition. Music carries through halls where history is being rewritten, and beneath every note lingers the question that will define the future of the Cluster.

What does Hapes become when its crown is clean?
The filth of the Galaxy no longer sullies the crown.
The future of Hapes is secured by Hapan hands.[/i]
The Queen Mother ascends, and Hapes survives.

THE ASCENT OF THE QUEEN MOTHER

Ta'a Chume'Dan glitters beneath a brighter sun.

Within the Fountain Palace, high above the capital city of Hapes, history is being written beneath vaulted ceilings, jeweled banners, and the gaze of every power wise enough to attend. The puppet Queen has fallen. The influence of the Black Sun has been cast from the throne. In her place rises a daughter of Hapes, chosen from among her own people to preserve their crown, their customs, and their future.

The halls are resplendent with celebration, though beneath every smile waits ambition. Hapan nobles mingle with Mandalorian officers. Sith emissaries walk among courtiers and commanders. Leaders of the Cluster gather beneath one roof, each bearing witness to the coronation of the new Queen Mother, and each understanding that this day marks more than the rise of a monarch.

The objective here is one of presence, influence, and intrigue. Witness the coronation. Offer fealty, friendship, or calculated courtesy. Secure alliances, whisper promises, measure rivals, and lay the first seeds of power in a court reborn beneath imperial protection.

For this is more than a gallery. This is the dawn of a new Hapan age.

THE HAPAN ENCLAVE

There was once a time when the Light came to Hapes wearing the face of trust.

During the era of Hapan membership within the Galactic Alliance, a quiet temple was raised with noble intention. The Hapan Enclave was meant to serve as a bridge between the New Jedi Order and the people of the Cluster, a place where collaboration might flourish and understanding might take root. Yet when the Alliance fell, the Enclave did not vanish with it. Instead, it remained.

Quietly, patiently, the Light endured.

Hapes had already birthed Jedi lineages. Its noble houses, courts, and vassal worlds had already known the touch of those who claimed serenity while shaping destiny from behind silk and stone. With little opposition, the influence of the Enclave crept deeper into Hapan society, until the will of the Light threatened to become indistinguishable from the will of Hapes itself.

No more.

The objective here is simple: put the Enclave to the sword. Break the seat of Jedi influence within the Cluster, scatter those who would defend it, and make clear that Hapes shall no longer serve as fertile ground for the Light.

Let the temple fall. Let the Cluster be cleansed.

THE STREETS OF TA'A CHUME'DAN

While crowns are placed and temples burn, the capital city rejoices.

Ta'a Chume'Dan is alive with celebration, its streets filled with music, color, and the roar of a people who have watched their future return to Hapan hands. Parades wind through the capital. Dancers move beneath banners raised for the new Queen Mother. Feasts spill from noble halls into public squares, and merchants eagerly part revelers from their credits with finery, trinkets, wine, and every glittering indulgence the Cluster can offer.

This is the city at its most radiant.

The objective here is to partake. Walk the streets, join the revelry, drink with soldiers, dance with strangers, buy what catches the eye, and taste the joy of a world that believes itself delivered from corruption. Beneath the celebration, opportunity still waits for those with sharper instincts. Every toast may hide a bargain. Every procession may conceal a rival. Every smiling noble may be searching for the next hand to hold, or the next throat to bare.

The crown is clean. The people are joyous. Now is the time to celebrate the future they have been secured.

BRING YOUR OWN OBJECTIVE

The story of Hapes is not confined to palace halls, fallen temples, or crowded streets.

The Cluster is vast, storied, and alive with possibility. Noble houses maneuver for position. Vassal worlds look toward the throne with hope, fear, or ambition. Mandalorians, Sith, Hapans, and those who walk between powers all have cause to carve their own path through this turning point in history.

Make the adventure your own.

Hapes has survived. Now decide what that survival means.

Maia

Sylor

Kivah

Sylor

Kyran Thaln
@Coranth Renth

Cabur

Fiore

Kyramud Kass Holliday
@Ekka Batari

Mao

Alden Akaran
@Kael Varr

Hrist

Niijima Izumi

Vael Saren

Elian Abrantes

Serrik Skirata
@Astella Verd

Quinn Varanin

Ivalyn Yvarro

Rowyna Galeway

Xerxes Verd
@Tessa Thayne

Mia Monroe

Azen Kast

Cyran Vaas

Cabur Nau'ur
@Kotak Vikar'Ranov

Avast Verd

Pal Veda
@Dral Kar'taal

Zurak Bruul
@Ajalurk-Chaidth Kryze
@Arden Priest

Inez

Sidonia

Maur

Ferris Skirata

Veyla Krinn

Renn Vizsla

Perseus

Hubert Starhopper
E erida Lok

Acier Moonbound
@Colden Renth
@Domina Prime

Elira Verd
@Viera

Nando
@Tin
@Serra Toss

Palladium
@Songsteel

Kassandra Beskar'ad

Liorra

Conrad

Reshim

Red Mobius

Suleiman Lok
@Kyrida Verd

Jiriad Galaar

Kandosii Ka'rta
@Manti Wyrvhor

Mia Monroe

Ladante Mamba
R raef Malstadt

CT-312

Rhys Swynol
@Lysara Rynn

Nephthys Nardithi-Verd

Hanna

Siae Andronike

Zlova Rue

Runi Kuryida
@Ren Ashbridge

Vyse de Valorous
@Varuun Rekaal

SL-0182

Xhaz

Renji

Drakul

Myra Arceneau Dashiell

Kaelyr

Zavik Maltheris
@Vess Sandragen

Meya Liefi

Nodak

Daella

Rengore

Teev

Cerbera

Ashbone

Milla

Rixa

Vel'ari

Gillem

Naniti

Meliant

Ansisa

Srina Talon
@Madrona A'Mia

Ivory

Karok

Suzaku

Ives

Ghruna

Kirie

Mercy

Vestra Tane

Arris Windrun

Arris Windrun · 2026-07-08T01:36:33-0400

OPEN

Arris Windrun said:
"But I’m Arris Windrun,” she pointed index finger and thumb up, then leveled it at Mercy. “I’m the gun.”

She looked at the gun in her hand. It felt heavy. Hell, it was heavy, but habitual use had a way of evening out the sensation. At some point, it was no longer the gun that was heavy, but that her hand was light without it. So why the sudden reversal?

Arris thought about it. Kattada came up, of course. The first time she hit a Jedi Enclave. Back then, the Sith Covenant had no name. They were just a disorganized band of violent thrill chasers - claiming fortunes by force, no matter the risk. Scratch that - because of the risk.

But no.

It wasn't Kattada.

It wasn't what happened on Corellia either.

It wasn't about the people she had hurt.

Or those she had let go.

Arris Windrun was just tired of being a gun.

But she also wouldn't have it any other way.

One round. Then two. Three. Four. Until all six slugs were pushed inside; cylinder rolled back into the songsteel block. She flicked the accelerator on, then off. That electronic whirr had a way of exciting her.

And she had every reason to be a gun then and there, on a starship dropping hot over the Hapan Enclave. Arris Windrun hated the Republic. She hated the Jedi she had met. It didn't matter who these Jedi represented, because she saw the same thing.

Arris Windrun said:
"They will lecture you... insist on your wrongness, appeal to your better natures, all while holding an ignited lightsaber in their hands."

They stood. Proud guardians of the peace... Arris snorted. Yeah, right. Peace. That's what those entrenched nobles and backroom jockey senators represented. Peace. Her hand squeezed around the grip. But her finger stayed cool, a twitch away from the trigger, but never touching.

She told a Jedi once...

Arris Windrun said:
"You should've jumped me when you had the chance."

And another...

Arris Windrun said:
"I'm right here," she said, a touch lower. "If you actually want to save lives... be decisive."

Of course, they responded the same.

Lily Decoria said:
"I would never dare to dishonour myself or you by fighting in such secretive ways. I always fight in the open and honest."

Isobel Serraris said:
"You ask me to kill you, while you are unarmed. . . While I have not a clue who you are, Arris. Must I become some heartless monster to strike back against corruption?"

Yes, actually.

Because otherwise--

The dropdoor opened, Arris jumped out, and the first sign of motion she saw from the Enclave:

Bang.

Nilira Vornix · 2026-07-08T01:37:56-0400

Tag:

The woman huddled in the corner of the enclave, battered, beaten and bruised. Watching as the Jedi rushed back and forth, clamouring about the assault from both Mandalorians and the Sith. Far too focused on the attack from the outside than the one that would come from the inside. It was one of the things Nilira found pathetic about the Jedi now. Their tolerance on helping those who seemed sick and injured. She had learned her lesson a long time that no-one was deserving of help. Or well, to be more precise it had been Neriah who had learned that lesson. At the very least, she had known the right things to say from when she had been a Padawan. Coming to the front door of the enclave, pleading and begging for help, attempting to warn them about the incoming attack, knowing that they would already know it was going on.

As she sat there, watching the Jedi move, keeping her Force presence as subdued as she could. That was when she decided to kick her plan into action, swiftly moving through the halls and corridors. So much of what she saw at the Enclave felt sickingly familiar to her. Almost like an old home, even though she knew she had never been to the Hapan enclave. The Light. The part of her that inside still sought for the warmth that the Light could give. But she was done with being weak. The Light may have nurtured, but it made people reliant on it. She relied on nothing but her own nature.

It was somewhat amusing to see how much people ignored her as they rushed through the halls, focusing on more "important" work like defenses and the like. Underestimating her. That's what people always did. The instructors did that. Her fellow Acolytes did that. That was why she had set out on this herself. Making her way to one of the security rooms, the door sliding open with a clang, before she rushed forward to deal with the guard at the console. It was somewhat difficult work without relying on the Force, but she couldn't alert the entire Enclave as to what she was doing before the plan was set into motion. Fortunately, you could break a neck without the Force just as easily as you could with it.

Now came the hard part however, as she stepped up to the console and worked on the security system, tapping away as she scanned over the screen. The guard's card only got her so far to getting access to the systems. She was able to see through the cameras and the interior security, making sure to lock the security room whilst she was in there. Without her lightsaber, she wouldn't make for much of a challenge...She carried on with her work, doing her best to slice into the systems that she best deemed necessary. She couldn't get access to the exterior doors, but she could at least turn off some of the eternal defenses, for now at least.

Mia Monroe · 2026-07-08T06:59:17-0400

Tags:

Mercy | OPEN

85f5a5377870014323732b865dd89f44e9812dc0.pnj

The Light did not leave quietly, it fought to hold on, not just at the Enclave, but at the Palace. There were nobles within who were making it their business to throw every spanner in the works that they possibly could. The mandalorian security that patrolled had already made three arrests and the coronation hadn’t even begun.

Guests had arrived in droves, the throne room filling and the Palace beyond becoming a playground for a level of politics Mia despised. The sooner she was back in the Southern Territory the better, showing her face was a requirement, as Aether’s second in command, as Warden of the Yavin Sector.

That didn’t mean her focus was entirely here. One side of her HUD was occupied by a report from the State and the frontlines of the war on the Light that had started there, their rogue Jedi group was proving to be difficult to trace, always two steps ahead.

“Covenant has arrived.”

Mia blinked, the report in her HUD vanished as her gaze moved over the crowd seeking the source of the report. She trusted these sith about as much as she trusted the Republic, which was very little. As far as Mia was concerned they were both ticking time bombs racing to see who would betray them first.

“The Mand’alor?”

“Still with the Queen-to-be.”

She blew a sigh out of her nose. Guess it was up to her to play hostess.

Joys.

Perseus · 2026-07-08T10:04:07-0400

The weight of my rifle settled comfortably against my chest as the transport shuddered beneath us. The sound of engines filled the compartment, broken only by the occasional rattle of armor shifting as Mandalorians adjusted their footing or checked their equipment one last time. No one spoke much. They didn't need to. Every warrior aboard already understood why we were here. Whatever words might have been said had been left behind before the ramp ever closed.

I found myself checking my equipment more out of habit than necessity. My hand moved from one piece to the next in the same quiet routine it always had. The rifle rested securely against its sling. The Dral Gaan sat comfortably on my hip. Each knife remained exactly where it belonged. My gauntlets locked firmly against my forearms as I flexed my fingers once inside the gloves, feeling the familiar resistance of reinforced plates shifting over one another. Satisfied, my hands finally settled against the front of my rifle while the transport continued its descent.

My visor remained active, but unlike every deployment before this one, I wasn't studying the terrain below. Instead, I found myself cycling through the systems built into the helmet one final time. Motion tracking. Thermal imaging. Audio enhancement. Friendly identification. One by one the displays appeared before quietly disappearing again as I confirmed each was functioning properly. Not long ago I would have considered half of them unnecessary. Now I knew better. The armor wasn't simply something that kept me alive. It allowed me to see more than my own eyes ever could, and I had learned enough to stop confusing confidence with capability.

Somewhere beneath the steady vibration of the transport sat another thought I couldn't quite push away.

I'd never fought a Jedi.

The statement lingered without judgment attached to it. I knew what they were. Everyone did. Stories rarely agreed on the details, but they all agreed on one thing. Fighting someone who wielded the Force wasn't like fighting anyone else. Somewhere below us were people who had spent their lives training for battles I couldn't fully imagine. I didn't know what that would feel like once the distance disappeared between us.

I let the thought sit where it was.

There wasn't any point pretending otherwise.

Not knowing something wasn't weakness.

Ignoring it would be.

My hand drifted briefly toward one of the pouches on my belt before stopping halfway there. The motion had become familiar enough that I barely noticed it anymore. As soon as I realized what I was doing, I let my arm fall naturally back to my side, shifting my grip higher on the rifle instead. The familiar weight of the weapon grounded me far more effectively than chasing thoughts ever could. Whatever waited beneath us would reveal itself soon enough.

The transport began to slow.

Almost immediately, the atmosphere inside shifted with it. Small movements replaced stillness as warriors adjusted their footing without being told. Helmets turned toward the ramp. Weapons were brought a little closer to ready positions. Nobody rushed. Nobody fidgeted. The anticipation felt controlled, practiced, shared equally between everyone standing shoulder to shoulder inside the hold.

I drew a slow breath before the ramp lowered.

Whatever waited beyond it, I wasn't walking toward it alone.

That mattered more than it used to.

The first glimpse of the temple appeared through the widening gap, ancient stone rising against the horizon as the transport settled into its landing zone. I felt my boots meet the deck a little more firmly as the engines continued to howl around us. My rifle came free from its sling in one smooth motion, the stock settling naturally against my shoulder while my visor immediately began painting the terrain with distance markers, movement corridors, and friendly positions.

For just a moment, I looked toward the temple.

Not with confidence.

Not with fear.

With the understanding that somewhere beyond those walls waited an opponent unlike any I had ever faced.

Then I stepped off the transport with the rest of my vode, keeping my place within the formation as we advanced toward the objective together. For the first time in a long while, I wasn't trying to be the first one through the door.

I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

Leontis Antalis · 2026-07-08T11:56:38-0400

THE ASCENT OF THE QUEEN MOTHER
LEONTIS ANTALIS

The Fountain Palace had been designed to overwhelm. Every polished marble corridor, every soaring arch trimmed in gold, every carefully placed work of art reminded visitors that Hapes measured power differently than most worlds. Wealth here was not displayed through military might or industrial output. It was inherited, cultivated, and worn with effortless confidence. To lesser guests it might have inspired admiration.

To Leontis Antalis, it inspired calculation. His polished boots crossed the black-veined marble without hurry, the hem of his long black coat trailing behind him in measured elegance. Gold embroidery caught the palace lighting with every step, framing deep wine silks beneath and the obsidian-and-silver heirloom pendant that rested quietly against his chest beneath layers of expensive fabric. House Antalis had always understood the language of presentation. Tonight, Leontis spoke it fluently.

His invitation had arrived bearing all the proper seals. A son of one of Chandrila's oldest noble houses. A respected intermediary between occupied Chandrila's aristocracy and the Sith Covenant. A welcome representative from an allied government. Every title was technically true. Few invitations were earned by fewer lies.

Dark eyes wandered across the assembled court with detached interest. Hapan nobles favored beauty almost to excess. Every conversation seemed wrapped in compliments, every smile sharpened behind perfect etiquette. It reminded him of Chandrila before the Covenant's arrival—only here the knives remained hidden beneath embroidered sleeves instead of parliamentary procedure. A wiser civilization, perhaps. He approved.

The Mandalorians were impossible to miss. They occupied the palace with the confidence of victors who had chosen restraint over destruction. Nearby moved Sith emissaries in darker finery, their presence commanding space without needing to demand it. Leontis inclined his head respectfully toward several Covenant officials he recognized, careful never to appear overeager. Sith appreciated usefulness. They distrusted desperation. He intended to remain useful.

As attendants drifted through the hall carrying crystal glasses and elaborate delicacies, Leontis accepted a glass more as an accessory than refreshment. His attention remained on the room itself. Who greeted whom first. Who hesitated before bowing. Which noble houses clustered together. Which stood conspicuously alone.

A coronation crowned more than a queen. It reordered an entire political ecosystem, elevating some houses while quietly condemning others to irrelevance. Somewhere in this palace were merchants seeking discreet routes beyond Hapan customs. Noble families burdened by debts they dared not advertise. Ambitious courtiers frustrated by the limits of birth. Officers eager to supplement imperial stipends with private arrangements.

His interests in the Cluster had begun in the shadows of commerce. They would not remain there forever. Leontis raised the crystal glass slightly as the ceremonies prepared to begin, his expression settling into one of composed admiration befitting a foreign noble witnessing history.

Behind the practiced smile, House Antalis' heir was already taking inventory of an entirely new court. Power had simply changed addresses. And Leontis Antalis had every intention of introducing himself to the neighborhood.

Gillem · 2026-07-08T12:38:18-0400

GILLEM

BYOO: Snuff out hiding Jedi that escaped.​

Gillem’s mechanical thumb flipped back, a blue hued flame flickered like a tiny turbine as he brought it close to his lips, lighting the end of the sweet tabac rolled in simple paper between his lips. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes taking in the relief from the feeling the substance brought him.

It was rare anyone would see him without a cigarette on hand.

Finally he exhaled as wisps of white smoke left his nostrils.

The room had grown quiet, his eyes opened and he walked past each bystander, sitting at their little tables enjoying their drinks. The stench of smoke and stale alcohol clung to the air as his boots tapped over the flooring.

While others were taking part in parties or coronations or killings, Gillem had a job in mind he could do. Snuff out places that were fronts for hiding Jedi or sympathisers. And when the pay was right, he always got the job done.

The Cantina kept eyes on him, a tension of sorts rising in the air as Gillem made his way to the bar, stopping just before it.

The Rodian behind the bar kept cleaning his glass as Gillem had approached, a bead of sweat collecting on his brow. He knew why he had come. But he had to keep face.

Gillem’s hands slowly placed upon the bar. His mechanical hand’s digits rhythmically tapping upon the wood before he spoke.

“Can I get you a drink stranger?”

Gillem said nothing at first. His gaze looking at the bar then following the grain along the table towards the floor.

“You wouldn’t happen to have anything vintage would you?”

The Rodian remained quiet, the muscles in his throat now tensing.

“Perhaps in the cellar maybe?”

Gillem’s gaze finally looked up at the Rodian, staring straight into his eyes. What the Rodian would see was cold calculation. Though this was not something Gillem wanted to do, he simply just had to keep playing along with a cruel game in order to find who he needed to find.

“Unfortunately the cellar door is locked up sir, and the owner is out with the key.”

A lie. Gillem saw right through it. The way the man's heart elevated, the way sweat built on his brow. His mechanical eye saw it all.

This was the owner.

“Well now, that’s unfortunate, ain’t it?”

Gillem placed a few credits on the bar table.

“For the damages.”

He walked around the bar past the protesting Rodian speaking in his native tongue. Words that Gillem simply just ignored.

He stopped at a set of steps leading down to a closed heavy door. He looked at the Rodian.

“Best move along or plug our ears.”

He pulled a small device from his pocket and walked towards the door, a magnet activating from the underside of the device caused it to latch to the the surface of the door. A small beep later and Gillem made his way back up the stairs.

The Rodian ran back out to the front yelling.

The small device exploded knocking the door out of the frame work, and just on the other side…

Blasters aimed at the ready, firearms cocked ready to fire all pointing at the door Gillem was stancing in. He took another slow draw from his cigarette.

“Well now…you’re not wine at all.”

Tags: OPEN​

Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata · 2026-07-08T12:42:19-0400

THE ASCENT OF THE QUEEN MOTHER

Ship: The Cabur Rekr (The Guardian Wolf)
Armor: Armorweave Greatcoat, Iron Wolf Cloak
Blade: Tal'Alor Beskad

Kael was happy to see his mother after being away from home for a few months. Traveling around had made him a bit homesick, but upon hearing of the accords and the coronation, he knew precisely where his mother would be. Arranging to meet her at the event, he made his way to Hapes. Once he had landed and spoken to his mother, he went and cleaned up and dressed for the occasion.

Kael pulled out the coat and uniform he last remembered wearing on Naboo when he happened to run into King Aurellian, which had seemed like years ago even though it had been only months. He dressed and put on his Iron Wolf cloak, the fur reminding him that even in the polite society of the event, he was a wolf, and a hunter. Since he wasn't expecting a fight, he only took his Tal'alor Beskad with him, but since his training in the Force, he knew he was far from defenseless. Thoroughly armed and "armored," he left his ship and made his way to the event.

Tags: @open

Chernobog · 2026-07-08T13:40:24-0400

THE ASCENT OF THE QUEEN MOTHER

Cherno leaned her shoulder against a fluted marble pillar, stepping away from the main floor of the Fountain Palace to avoid the loudest sounds. Below her, the wealth of the Hapes Cluster was on full display, with crystal chandeliers, jeweled banners, and a group of noblewomen in elegant dresses. She could hear their laughter from this distance, grating and filled with confidence.

Her right index finger twitched on her thigh, as the old wiring in her brain interpreted the noise as if a dagger had been thrust into it from the irritation. Behind the silk of the nobility, the green-and-gray bulk of Mandalorian armor was visible. Three officers lingered near the archway, their heavy boots firmly planted on the polished floor, hands resting casually by their holsters.

One of them adjusted his gauntlet with a mechanical click that complimented the sound of the orchestra. Cherno inhaled the toxic smoke from her cigarette deeply, her eyes becoming lifeless and unblinking. A group of three Hapan women floated over to her corner, their chatter a quick stream of political rumors.

She remained still, only turning her chin in their direction. This gesture was a trait she had picked up from Shavua, a glance that regarded the women as if they were dirt on a window. The gossip died mid-sentence. The women hesitated, their faces tightening as they steered their silks toward the opposite railing.

Cherno held her breath until they left. Her hand fell to her side, fingers grazing the cold, familiar metal of the weapon concealed beneath her dress. She was meant to be there to network, but so far, no one seemed worth her time. Instead, she observed a Mandalorian commander emerge onto the terrace.

His armor clinked with each step, an unwelcome presence in her space. His visor turned toward her, stopping as it caught the glow of her death stick. She wanted him to continue walking and if he didn't, then there would be no trouble driving the point of her heel through a lung-plate just to experience the heavy crunch of a spine against the palace floor.

Junction Mother Knows Best [ ME & TSC Junction of Hapes & Empty Hex ]

More options

Beskar

M A N D A L O R E

Arris Windrun

Gutter Goddess

Nilira Vornix

Character

Mia Monroe

The Liberator

Perseus

U N B R O K E N

Leontis Antalis

Heir of House Antalis

Gillem

You're no daisy at all

Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata

Iron Wolf of the Werd'la Cabur

Chernobog

Dʀᴏɪᴅ ᴡᴏᴍᴀɴ ᴡʜᴀᴛᴇᴠᴇʀ

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