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

[Avela Wren]

Objective I
The Ascent of the Queen Mother​

The palace breathed with expectation.

Gold caught the afternoon sun and scattered it across polished marble until the halls themselves seemed to glow. Every banner, every jewel, and every carefully chosen flourish celebrating a future reborn beneath a Hapan crown.

My gaze finally drifted from the gathered nobles and the unseen hands that upheld them all to the Mandalorians standing amongst them. Armour looked strangely at home beneath vaulted ceilings and crystal chandeliers. Different surroundings did little to change the people wearing it.

One warrior, however, drew my attention without seeming to ask for it. Ivory and gold Beskar caught the light beautifully, though it was not the armour that held my focus. It was the silence surrounding it.

He stood as any Mandalorian stood. Straight backed, unwavering, every inch the disciplined warrior we were all raised to be. Yet there was a distance about him that I recognised immediately. His body had remained in the palace. His thoughts had not. I knew that feeling all too well.

Duty had an unfortunate habit of demanding pieces of you in places your feet could never reach. I had half a mind to cross the hall, but the bells rang before I could take a single step.

Their deep, resonant toll swept through the Fountain Palace, cutting conversation as though the very walls had commanded it. Around me, whispered discussions faded into reverent stillness. Even the Mandalorians seemed to settle instinctively into respectful silence. I did the same.

Though Hapan customs were not my own, I understood what it meant for people to place their history upon ceremony. Every culture had its sacred moments. Ours were spoken through iron and oath. Theirs through song, incense, and crown. Neither deserved interruption.

The procession entered with measured dignity, every figure carrying more than the symbols in their hands. I watched fragrant smoke curl lazily towards the vaulted ceilings as the High Caller passed, the Crownbarer following with jewels that seemed to weigh far more than precious metal ever should. They carried expectation. Legacy. The hopes of an entire people gathered into objects that would outlive everyone standing in the room.

When the Mother Tongue spoke, I found myself listening not the politics of her words, but to the conviction behind them.

Today, Hapes looks to Hapes.

There was comfort in that. A people choosing themselves. A people remembering who they had always been. I understood that feeling.

As the great doors opened once more and every eye turned towards the woman soon to become Queen Mother, I found my own gaze lingering only briefly before they were drawn back towards the ivory-clad Mandalorian. Even now, his attention seemed divided. I wondered how heavy a burden had to become before duty asked a man to witness history whilst fearing for those making it elsewhere.

As the bells faded and the Queen Mother began her measured approach towards the throne, I decided to cross the final few steps between us.

I stopped beside him, rather than before him, allowing my attention to settle upon the procession. For a long moment, I said nothing. Some silences were best left undisturbed. But as the procession crept ever forward and disappeared beneath a crowd of colourful silk and glistening jewels, I finally broke it.

“They’re beautiful ceremonies,” I whispered, watching the incense curl through shafts of sunlight. “They remind us that some moments belong to history,” A small pause lingered between the words. “And others belong to the people who aren’t here to witness them.”

Only then did I glance towards him. “You’ve been counting names since you arrived.” There was no accusation in my voice. Only understanding. “I hope they all make it home.”​

Adonis Angelis IV​

 

[Mia Monroe]

Tag: Mercy​

There was a moment, brief and fleeting, where Mia calculated how quickly she could move, as Mercy stretched, dismissing her as an unworthy threat, the Warmaster considered the speed and strength it would require to bury gauntleted fingers into the soft flesh of her throat and rip it out.

The moment passed, the Empress settling as she returned her attention to the procession and the Mother Tongue’s speech.

“I can’t imagine a threat worth your while would have been kind to those caught in the crossfire,”

Beneath her buy’ce Mia’s jaw tightened, her eyes finding Itzhal Volkihar again as the memory of his words drifted over her. It was enough to remind her that any fight would have to be contained or held far from people if it couldn’t be.

Her fingers twitched once at her side, her gaze moved to a side door then back to Mercy, head tilting slightly with an unspoken question: Do you want to step outside and test that theory?

Then she settled, attention apparently fixed on the coronation, though behind her visor, she was watching Mercy, waiting for her answer.

 

[Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata]

OBJECTIVE 1

Spoiler: Arms and Armor

Ship: The Cabur Rekr (The Guardian Wolf)
Blade: Tal'Alor Beskad
Secondary Weapon: Paired Beskar Tonfa

Kael moved quietly through the crowd as the procession started. He watched attentively as the assembled paid their respects. His mother was busy with her friends, so he quietly made his way towards the only other figure that he even remotely felt comfortable around in this room. The Sith present were radiating the dark side, but at this moment, they were not his enemies. That still didn't stop him from being drawn to the light of the Warmaster as she watched the proceedings with an aquiline gaze behind her helm. Quietly stepping to her side, he watched the proceedings as if trying to find the meaning in each reaction of the crowd. He noticed the interplay between the Warmaster and a particular Sith, so he quietly settled into a waiting meditation, keeping his mind and body centered so that at a moment's command from the woman beside him, he could act. It didn't matter that he was not in his Beskar armor; he had fought many years without it. He had his weapons of choice for being discreet. He would not interrupt the warmaster; he would let her speak first. Though he desperately wanted to convey his support to her, he knew when he should keep silent.

Tag/ mentioned: Mia Monroe

 

[Adonis Angelis IV]

The murmur that had taken the room ended when the bell tolled. Even the children seemed to hush, their eyes turning toward the doors. Adonis imagined every culture possessed an instinctive understanding of a tolling bell. Some sounds simply demanded attention. The towering Mandalorian snapped his attention toward the grand doors that were about to open.

The Vaalan warrior pondered to himself as the first trails of smoke announced the procession's arrival. The Hapans had a gift for ceremony. Every measured step, every curl of incense, every gleam of polished gold carried the weight of centuries. Adonis was no Hapan. He felt like he was drowning in the silks and tapestries that clung to the walls. Again, his thoughts trailed off to the battlefield, to the men and women who were laying their lives on the line so this...procession could happen.

The pageantry stirred an unfamiliar thought. When Vaal had named him Warden, there had been no procession. No hymns, no sacred relics carried before him. Manda'lor had simply placed a world in his hands and expected him to carry it. By the time Adonis understood what had changed, he had already been ruling.

Soon, dark brown eyes found their way through the crowd, from Mandalorian to noble, he scanned the lot of them. There was an awkwardness in the air from both the Sith and the Mandalorians. It was clear that tensions were razor thin, and one wrong move could set the coronation into a bloodbath.

Politicking within the Empire was nothing like Vaal. On Vaal, disagreements were settled face-to-face, often with brutal honesty. Here, every smile concealed a calculation, every courtesy carried intent, and every conversation seemed balanced upon the edge of a knife. He truly marveled at the social hierarchy the Hapans had cultivated.

After the jewels and the crown came the Mother Tongue. Her conviction was unmistakable. She spoke not for herself, but for Hapes. That, at least, Adonis understood. He could feel the weight of her words, the conviction behind them. Perhaps this time would be different, Adonis never kept up with Hapan politics, but he was familiar with the high turnover rate on Queen Mothers. The Empire intended this reign to endure.

For the sake of all the lost lives today, he hoped so.

Before his thoughts could wander further, movement entered the edge of his vision. Another Mandalorian crossed the space between them without ceremony, stopping beside him rather than before him. Her stature was much smaller than Adonis's, something he was used to. What he wasn't used to, was her ability to discern what had been keeping his attention from the present. Even through his buy'ce, she could read him.

He hoped he wasn't always this easy to see through.

Her voice came softly, just enough for his ears. She spoke of history, of belonging. For the first time since arriving, someone had noticed where his thoughts truly were.

"They know the price of the path they walk." His voice remained low beneath the ceremony around them. "Every one of them chose this life. None of them would ask to be anywhere else."

He paused, turning his visor toward Avela Wren .

"It doesn't make it easier to read the reports though." He cleared his throat.

"You recognized it. How?"

​

 

[Sylor]

Enclave
Objective - Find and Eliminate
Tags:Open
​

It didn't take them long at all, before first contact was made. There was a brief word exchange, and thus the firefight started. Sylor moved forward, getting into a defensive position at first, then barking orders to those around him, simple, single words that only they would understand. He had fought witih this group for years, the knew each other as well as any close family member would. Tactics, instincts, and anything in between, their movement was fluid and one could even say magnficient to watch.

Sylor breach the first lines, pushing through, letting lose an array of fire, before getting in close with the sword. The force was always a last resort for him, he was a Mandalorian, and would prove thus, every single time he was out here in the field.

"Forward!"

 

[Sabine Delacroix]

The coronation itself held little fascination for Sabine. Crowns had always been fleeting things. Over four millennia, she had watched kingdoms rise with promises of eternity, only to become forgotten names buried beneath newer ambitions. Republics proclaimed themselves the future, empires declared themselves inevitable, queens, kings, chancellors, emperors, all believing history had finally reached its proper conclusion.

History never agreed.

There had been a time when Sabine concerned herself with such things. Eventually, however, she had simply stepped away; the galaxy had proven remarkably consistent. Generation after generation, it repeated the same mistakes beneath different banners, pride disguising itself as conviction, dogma masquerading as wisdom, wars beginning with righteous speeches and ending with memorials. Every age convinced itself it had become wiser than the last. None ever had.

So she withdrew to the quiet places the galaxy so often overlooked. While governments exhausted themselves chasing conquest and ideology, she pursued ambitions that endured; her coven grew beyond the reach of any single empire, knowledge accumulated, influence spread unseen. She watched civilizations stumble over problems their ancestors had already solved, content to let them wander the playground they had built for themselves. If the galaxy insisted upon burning over childish struggles for power, it would do so with or without her.

Then came the Planeshift. Foolishly, for a moment, she thought in a moment of survival the powers might come together, but it had not. Even as worlds were displaced and the fabric of known space fractured, old rivalries endured. The Jedi still distrusted the Sith. The Sith still measured every alliance for advantage. Kingdoms bargained while stars themselves became uncertain. Cooperation emerged only where necessity demanded it, and even then it was reluctant, fragile, abandoned the moment survival no longer required it. It was precisely what Sabine had expected.

And yet amidst the chaos, she found something unexpected. Individuals. Scattered among governments, orders, kingdoms, and empires were men and women who had looked beyond the banners they served, not many, far too few, but enough to remind her that institutions often failed long before the people within them did. She had found one already. Vytal Noctura . A woman whose perspective reached beyond kingdoms and beyond the endless argument of Light and Dark, one of the exceedingly few souls Sabine had met in four thousand years who neither sought to impress her nor demanded agreement. She understood. Vytal had earned something Sabine bestowed with extraordinary reluctance: her respect.

Whether another such person existed remained to be seen. That, more than the coronation itself, had drawn Sabine to Hapes; she came to observe. To listen. To discover whether, hidden beneath jeweled crowns, polished beskar, and carefully rehearsed diplomacy, there remained another individual worthy of her time. If there were, perhaps they would warrant a second conversation.

She arrived without escort or herald, as she so often preferred. Matte black robes of impeccable tailoring settled effortlessly around her, touched only by deep crimson hidden within their lining, while long white hair framed features preserved by unnatural longevity and amber eyes wandered across the gathering with quiet, patient interest.

To those sensitive to the Force, there was something almost peculiar about her. There was no oppressive tide of darkness pressing against the senses, no overwhelming presence proclaiming the arrival of an ancient Sith Lord; if anything, her signature in the Force felt remarkably small, restrained to the point of seeming almost ordinary. It was disciplined in a way only four thousand years of mastery could teach. Like a perfectly still ocean, its depth could not be measured by the calm of its surface. Many Sith mistook overwhelming presence for overwhelming strength. Sabine had long since abandoned such vanity. Those who advertised their power invited others to measure it. Those who carried it quietly were so often underestimated. It amused her how reliably the lesson repeated itself.

Yet the Force was only one measure of a person. Heads turned as she passed, because of the quiet certainty with which she carried herself. Conversations softened without anyone consciously deciding to lower their voices. Space opened before her without request or command. She neither demanded attention nor sought to dominate the room, and yet it settled upon her all the same, drawn by an authority cultivated over millennia rather than projected through raw power.

​

TAG: OPEN

 

[Leontis Antalis]

LEONTIS ANTALIS

The tolling bells rolled through the Fountain Palace with measured authority, each resonant note silencing conversations that had moments before danced between politics, commerce, and carefully concealed ambition.

Leontis allowed the murmur of the court to fade with them. His attention drifted from the Hapan nobility to those whose presence mattered far more to his own ambitions. The Sith.

Some were easy enough to identify. The Empress herself commanded attention without effort, courtiers instinctively giving her the sort of respectful distance that no title alone could purchase. Mercy was present as well, a face Leontis recognized through whispered reports and Covenant briefings rather than personal acquaintance. Others bore themselves with the unmistakable confidence of Force users. He did not know their names, but he knew power when he saw it. Power deserved observation before introduction. He had survived Chandrila's changing political landscape by understanding a simple truth: the dangerous were rarely the loudest.

His dark eyes continued their quiet survey until they settled upon a woman standing apart from the larger gatherings. She lingered near members of the Covenant rather than inserting herself among the Mandalorians crowding another Sith's attention. It suggested patience...or discernment.

Then there was the dress. Dark burgandy embraced with gold, daringly tailored yet unmistakably expensive. It projected confidence without asking permission, the sort of attire chosen by someone who expected to be noticed and fully intended to control what others noticed.

That, Leontis mused inwardly, looks unmistakably Sith. Not because of its darkness. Because it possessed absolutely no interest in moderation.

The bells continued as nobles turned their attention toward the approaching procession, many becoming absorbed in the spectacle of the Queen Mother's arrival. It created the perfect moment. Everyone's eyes were elsewhere.

Leontis crossed the polished marble floor with the same measured confidence that had carried him through Chandrilan salons since childhood. He neither hurried nor hesitated, stopping a respectful distance from the woman before offering a slight inclination of his head rather than a theatrical bow.

"Lady." His voice was quiet enough to require attention without becoming intrusive. "Forgive the interruption. The beginning of history always seems to encourage introductions before everyone becomes occupied pretending they witnessed greatness from the very beginning."

The practiced smile found its way naturally to his lips, polished through years of diplomacy and deception alike. "Leontis Antalis." One gloved hand rested lightly against his chest, where the discreet crest of House Antalis was embroidered into the inner lapel of his coat. "House Antalis of Chandrila."

He allowed the name to linger just long enough for recognition should she possess it before continuing. "I've had the privilege of working alongside the Sith Covenant's administration since Chandrila joined its sphere of influence. Though I confess..." His eyes briefly met the ceremony beginning beyond them before returning to her. "...I don't believe we've had the opportunity to meet."

There was no attempt to pry into her identity or status. If she wished to be known, she would tell him. If she did not, pressing would only reveal impatience. And Leontis Antalis considered impatience one of the quickest ways to appear powerless.

 

[Nyra Kairo]

Objective: Enjoy the merriment of home.
Location: Streets of Ta'a Chume'Dan, Hapes
Outfit: This
Tag: OPEN | Veyla Krinn

The celebrations were exactly how Nyra remembered them. Not the royal ceremony. That had always belonged to queens, nobles, and people whose family names carried enough weight to bend conversations before they began. The streets belonged to everyone else.

Music spilled into every avenue, competing with the chatter of merchants and the occasional cheer as another parade drifted through Ta'a Chume'Dan. Vendors had abandoned any pretense of restraint, hawking pastries glazed with sweet syrups, handcrafted jewelry, embroidered scarves, and commemorative keepsakes celebrating the ascension of the new Queen Mother. Children darted between laughing adults while older couples toasted one another with crystal glasses filled to the brim.

Nyra smiled to herself. This was Hapes. Not marble chambers or political speeches. People. She wandered at an unhurried pace, a warm cup of caf in one hand while the other absentmindedly brushed across a rack of locally woven scarves. Every so often someone recognized her.

"...Nyra?"

She turned with an easy grin. "Hi!" Within moments she was posing for a quick holo with a young family who insisted they'd followed her channel ever since her camping series back on Gallinore. Their daughter shyly admitted she'd convinced her parents to hike their first mountain because of Nyra's videos.

"See?" Nyra laughed. "The galaxy's way prettier when you're breathing hard."

The father snorted. "I don't think that's what you meant."

"...Probably not." Another laugh, another picture, another promise to upload plenty of Hapan food recommendations before they continued on their separate ways.

Nyra took another sip of caf. She'd spent years building an audience across the galaxy, but there was something uniquely comforting about being recognized at home. These weren't people interested in celebrity gossip or sponsorship deals. Many simply remembered the girl from Gallinore who never seemed capable of sitting still.

As she wandered deeper into the festivities, her attention drifted toward someone who stood out despite making no obvious attempt to do so. Not because of armor. Armor wasn't entirely uncommon today. It was how she wore it. Comfortably. Like someone who belonged inside beskar rather than simply putting it on.

The braid of fiery red hair, the House Kryze sigil upon one shoulder, and the measured curiosity with which the woman observed the celebrations made Nyra immediately place her among the Mandalorian delegation. Interesting. Most visitors from outside the Cluster gravitated toward the palace. This one had chosen the streets. Nyra watched for another few seconds before shrugging to herself. Questions were free.

She adjusted the strap of her satchel and crossed through the crowd with the same easy confidence she carried into every new city. "Excuse me?" Her tone was warm, more conversational than cautious. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

She smiled, extending a hand. "Nyra Kairo." There was no expectation that the woman would recognize the name. Plenty didn't. "I grew up here."

Her eyes briefly swept over the bustling avenue around them. "I couldn't help noticing you're with the Mandalorians." There wasn't accusation in her voice. Only curiosity. "I've been traveling enough that I only know bits and pieces of everything that's happened lately." She gave an apologetic little shrug. "Would you mind satisfying my curiosity?"

Her smile widened ever so slightly. "Why are the Mandalorians here for the coronation?"

 

[Astraea Vega]

Queen Astraea​

TAG: Aether Verd | Open

The response that was received earned a soft tut from the Queen to be, and yet she did not turn with an argument about unhelpfulness or anything of the sort quite simply because, “You're right.” Astraea both agreed and conceded. The people would look to her for a great many things, and if she could not do something as simple as uphold tradition due to impatience? Then she would already fail before she even began her rule.

A ruling which loomed ever closer as the bells finally began to toll. The pacing stopped and Astraea turned to look towards the door as if she could see the swinging bells through it. This was it, finally time to put one foot in front of the other.

And she did, still with a lack of fear or nerves. When the door had opened, she had walked through it with confidence which did not waver all the way to the ceremony itself. Only then did she stall, waiting until her name was both announced and called before she made her appearance to those in attendance.

The murmurs and whispers, whether good or bad, that swept across the gathered did not phase her. Astraea’s gaze was ever forward, her pace steady and unwavering as she crossed the distance between the entry way and her crown. There was no hardened expression on her face, and while there was no smile either she could not erase the warmth in her gaze. There was an appreciation for those who had placed her here, and while she was aware that not all were pleased with this change, with her sitting to rule, she did not let it press worry into this ceremony.

When she finally reached the trio of bodies awaiting her, there was a quiet exchange of words before Astraea was assisted to both knees to kneel before the Mother Tongue. The Vows were repeated, with clear diction and volume for all present to hear. Astraea’s voice was clear and did not quiver as she recited everything she had learned in order to take her place as Queen. Promises, words that were solid bonds in the woman’s heart and mind. She would not betray her vows, she would not fail her people, and they would not slip back to what they had been before.

Just as she had been helped to kneel, she was helped to stand again, this time with a crown placed upon her head. She did not need to be led to face the crowd though she did not argue the escort due to tradition, and then she stepped into place in front of the Fountain Palace for the first time as Queen Astraea.

 

[Aselia Verd]

Aselia arrived only moments before the ceremony was due to begin, the measured cadence of beskar on polished marble carrying quietly through the grand hall as she joined the Mandalorian delegation. She wore the same armor she always had, its red and black plates immaculate despite the campaigns that had only recently ended, and a deep blue cape hanging from her shoulders. Formal armor had remained packed away; she had never seen much value in dressing like someone she wasn't. If she represented Mandalore, she would do so as the warrior she had always been.

Her buy'ce rested beneath one arm as she approached, blue eyes instinctively sweeping the chamber. Guards, balconies, entrances, noble houses, sightlines. Years of habit catalogued the room before her attention settled on the two familiar figures standing together. A quiet smile found its way onto her lips as she looked toward Quinn.

"It's good to see you, cousin."

The words were simple, spoken softly enough not to disturb the ceremony gathering around them, but they carried a warmth reserved for very few people. Her gaze lingered for only a moment, taking in the woman beneath the crown as much as the crown itself before she gave the faintest nod.

"You wear it well."

Nothing more needed to be said, Aselia lifted her buy'ce, settling it over her head with practiced ease. The seals engaged with a familiar hiss as the display came to life, the woman Quinn had just spoken with giving way once more to the armored Verd who stood among Mandalore's delegation.

Only then did she step fully beside Adelle. To everyone else, Adelle appeared exactly as she should. Calm. Disciplined. Every inch the Mandalorian representative standing beneath polished beskar and a wolf-pelt cloak. Aselia knew better; she had quickly learned the difference between composure and barely holding it together.

Without a word, her gauntleted hand moved to the small of Adelle's back, fingers brushed lightly as she settled into position beside her, the touch lasting no more than a heartbeat. Anyone watching would have dismissed it as nothing more than a subtle adjustment of position. It wasn't. There was no question in the gesture, no expectation that Adelle acknowledge it. Just a gentle grounding touch to let her know she wasn't alone.

TAG: Adelle Bastiel Quinn Varanin
​

 

[Veyla Krinn]

Objective: 3

The celebrations had been enough to occupy Veyla's attention for quite some time. Every few steps, there seemed to be another craftsman displaying generations of skill, another family celebrating beneath brightly colored banners, another melody drifting through the streets. It was different from Concordia, yet not so different that she felt entirely out of place. Pride in one's home looked remarkably similar no matter the world.

When the woman approached, Veyla turned with the easy attentiveness of someone accustomed to being addressed by strangers. She accepted the offered hand without hesitation, her grip firm but relaxed.

"Veyla Krinn of House Kryze."

A small smile followed as Nyra explained who she was and asked her question. Veyla's emerald eyes drifted briefly toward the palace rising above the city before returning to the woman before her.

"You're not interrupting." Her voice carried the same calm confidence it always did. "The Mandalorians came to witness the coronation and offer our respect to your new Queen Mother. Whatever happened before today, this day belongs to Hapes. House Kryze felt it appropriate to stand with your people as your next chapter begins."

Her gaze wandered back to the avenue around them. Music floated between market stalls while merchants greeted customers with practiced enthusiasm. Children darted through the crowds, their laughter carrying above the conversations of countless visitors and locals alike.

"The ceremony was important," she admitted. "But ceremonies only tell part of a story." A faint smile found its way onto her face. "If I want to understand Hapes, I'd rather spend time here than inside the palace. The streets tell you far more about a people than a throne room ever could."

She looked back to Nyra with genuine curiosity.

"You said you grew up here." Her eyes briefly swept across the bustling celebration once more. "If you wanted someone to understand Hapes. Not its politics, but its people, where would you take them first?"

Nyra Kairo

 

[Muad Dib]

Objective: 2 & 4
Tags: Arris Windrun Nilira Vornix Perseus Tessa Monroe Lily Rhodes Kurayami Bloodborn Mig Gred Josiah Denko Open

Dust drifted from the stone ceiling, a fine powder that coated everyone in the room. Another explosion shook the temple, proof that the violence continued. His people worked quickly. First, they laid out the stasis bags, unzipped, and then moved each diminutive youngling into them. Once the bags were zipped, they tapped at the flexible viewscreen on the exterior of the silvered cocoons. The sound of battle returned, much closer than desired.

"Get them all ready to transport. The repulsor sleds will be here shortly."

Without pausing, Muad crossed the large antechamber and ducked the breached wall, lest he walk face-first into the stone lip. Once in the hall, he cocked his head to listen. The sound of battle came from the right down a long, wide corridor. It wouldn't do to have Jedi, Sith, or even Mando'ade stumble across his plan. Expelling a frustrated sigh, Muad began to follow the cacophony of battle. Here and there, sections of wall surrendered to the invasive stress of artillery. Cracks so large he could place his fingers in the crevices littered the walls and ceilings, forming a type of barbaric graffiti. Several of the doorways he passed were sealed shut due to crumbled stone.

Slowly, he ceased moving when he neared an intersection. The fervor of battle originated from his left, a hallway that delved deeper into the Jedi temple. As he listened, he heard the familiar sounds of lightsabers, blasters, and the final moans of the dying. Not a sound that could be unheard. His right hand pulled the silver cylinder from his belt and held it, gauging the time when it would be prudent to ignite the purple blade.

The comlink in his ear buzzed. "Sleds are here. We are beginning to load them. Exfil in five."

Muad nodded slowly to himself as his left hand pulled the buy'ce from the webbing at his waist and slipped it onto his head. The helm locked and sealed. On the interior of the face plate, the HUD activated, and a holographic map overlay was shown with 20% opacity. Enough for him to see, not enough to hinder his vision. Small dots appeared; designations of Mandalorians and friendlies sprang into being. A cursory glance told him two engaged in the nearby battle were mando'ade; two more were listed as friendlies. Could be Sith. Could be hired guns.

Lightly, he tapped the plate on his thigh with the lightsaber hilt. His internal clock counted every second that passed with excruciating slowness. The battle and the dots raged closer, closing on his position. With the increased proximity, he could clearly make out the curses, grunts, hissing of lightsabers, and the visceral impacts of armored bodies. The countdown continued in his mind.

The first figure appeared as the Jedi staggered into the center of the intersection. Thankfully, he concentrated on unseen opponents and leapt from sight to engage. Muad leaned his shoulder against the wall and crossed one ankle over the other one. Arms folded across his armored chest, he waited for the inevitable arrival of the battle. As the fight finally entered the intersection, his comlink chirped.

"Moving out with the packages."

Quickly, Muad beat a silent yet hasty retreat. There was no need to engage anymore. However, his spirit roared internally for combat. It would come soon enough. Halfway down the corridor, Muad turned away and jogged back to the barricade. Knights and a squad of the Dozen waited on the other side. He jumped over the fortification with fluid ease and motioned for the group to fall back. He jogged along with the rest of them as they traced their steps to the exterior temple wall.

He peered out the breached wall and frowned at the hellish landscape. Bodies of Jedi, Sith, and Mando'ade littered the grounds. Flashes of blasterfire mingled with the humming lightsaber blades that stretched from east to west. The situation was truly chaotic, which perfectly met Muad's needs.

The emitter built into the hilt of his lightsaber flashed, and a violet blade sprang into existence. Muad stepped out and waited as the repulsor sleds exited the temple. While the sleds headed for the waiting ships, the Knights of Aegis and the Dozen reunited into a single unit. Along the edges of the path to the ships, his tactical troopers engaged the enemy from a distance. However, several lay dead with blaster holes in their bodies. Most likely from a Jedi redirecting the bolts back to their origin. While he kept an eye out for any encroaching enemies, he saw that the Jedi before the temple steps still lived. Muad clearly couldn't say the same about the Jedi's opponents, who lay in various stages of dismemberment.

One of the perks of a lightsaber blade was the instant cauterization, which meant no real bloodshed to create a slippery surface. He twirled his amethyst-hued blade and watched the carnage continue.

 

[Lily Rhodes]

Arris Windrun | OPEN​

Arris eyeless face turned towards her but it wasn’t that that made Lily look away, it was the soft words that found the cracks in her composure.

“I‘m not blocking anything.” The lie was a whisper, like her voice wanted to betray her. She didn’t need to look back to see the Jedi’s body, the image would be burned in her mind for an eternity, same as the sith apprentice on Coruscant. Same as the dozens of Tof she’d killed to defend Jaibrek before the Order had come.

Every single one of them was etched deeply on her soul.

If she didn’t block it, if she didn’t ignore it in the moment then she would fall apart every time, her anguish would have been her undoing, so she had to block it. To remove herself from the grief and tell herself that every single one of them was because of the laws of survival.

Kill or be killed.

"What you feel - is you."

The darkness in her seemed to uncurl at that, stretching like a cat in the sun relishing each moment Lily stopped fighting its existence.

She didn’t fight Arris as she pulled from her grasp, marching forward into the temple, one arm barely functioning and with no eyes. An unstoppable force of hate and rage wielded with deadly precision and for the first time since she met her on Balosar, Lily hesitated.

The memory of a conversation with her cousin on Sluis Van wandering in the ruins left behind by the Alliance’s invasion.

"All destruction and cruelty, and it makes everything Darth Strosius said to me all the more real. That no matter where I look, the galaxy is full of torment and tyranny, there are monsters in every corner and I am powerless against them."

She came to a halt, unlinking her arm from his and turning to face him, her expression one of grim determination. "I don't want to be powerless anymore."

Lily’s jaw tightened, fingers adjusting on her hilt as she followed Arris inside. She had chosen her path and for now, her soul was still intact. Scarred and marked by darkness, but still intact. The moment she stopped caring, stopped feeling despair with every kill, she would know she had gone too far.

 

[Arris Windrun]

Lily Rhodes | Nilira Vornix
Approaching: Josiah Denko | Isobel Serraris
Down & Out
​

Arris knew Lily's words were banthashit. She suspected Lily knew it, too - which is why the cyborg didn't bother lecturing the young woman.

Passing through the threshold and into the main building, Arris flicked her subvocal comms onto a channel she shared with Nilira. For all intents and purposes, there was nothing for Lily to hear, as the conversation happened entirely in the cyborg's head.

<"You surviving?"> She asked the acolyte, unaware that she was currently crawling through some vents.

The carnage inside was night and day compared to the bodies behind them. There were scorch marks, blown-out pillars, and a litter of corpses. To the Jedis' credit, there were more Sith troopers and a small handful of Mandalorian corpses than there were slaughtered monks. But perhaps more disturbing than the fresh carnage and smoldering bodies beneath a scatter of broken lights was the eerie silence. The fighting had moved far enough inside that the sound of blaster fires and screams had grown faint. For her role, Arris was entirely unaware that a single Jedi Master was holding the line further inside.

A pair of Sith soldiers - clad in stolen imperial white - did their rounds, rooting among the dead and making sure none of 'em were left breathing. Arris, for her part, kept what senses she still had peeled.

Which is why she stopped suddenly at the subtlest movement off to her right. She drew a revolver in an instant, pointing the barrel towards the disturbance without ever turning her head. They were just a pair of young apprentices. Probably younger than Lily, even.

Both troopers shifted their attention towards the commotion; veterans long enough in the field to hear the muffled brandish of a firearm. For a moment, it seemed likely that Arris was about to end their lives - but then she lowered her weapon back into its holster and snickered dryly.

With an almost amused voice, she hummed an order to the troopers. "Take them to Coruscant, and don't hurt them."

There wasn't any delay as the troopers fired their stun rounds and retrieved pairs of magnacuffs. Arris didn't wait for it to unfold. Back to marching she went, regardless of how Lily reacted.

 

[Lily Rhodes]

Tags: Arris Windrun Nilira Vornix
Approaching: Josiah Denko Isobel Serraris​

Lily hadn’t expected the eerie quiet to be as loud as it was, even with the distant echo of the fight deeper in the temple, bodies littered the floor, smoke and dust lingered like a haze. She caught a whisper of a thought slipping past disciplined defenses that cracked under the weight of their own fear.

Her head turned at the same time as Arris’s hand moved for her revolver, tension snapping into her shoulders as it came up, settling on a pair of apprentices. Their hands moved for their sabers and Lily reached for their minds, a singular plea rippling through them.

<<Please don’t.>>

Their gaze flicked to her, then back to Arris as the seconds ticked by, Lily wondered if she would do it, would she kill them where they stood, even though they posed no threat. Even worse, she wondered if she was capable of standing their and letting it happen…

The revolver lowered and Lily let out a breath she didn’t realised she was holding as the troopers moved forward. Arris moved on, and Lily followed after a beat.

<<Live to fight another day, don’t resist.>>

They were just kids.

“What are you going to do with them?” she asked, catching up with the cyborg. There was no accusation, just quiet concern for their wellbeing.

 

[Arris Windrun]

Lily Rhodes
​

Arris replied calmly. "They'll go to the Academy - be tested. Then, they'll have a choice: stay and walk the path, 'Sith Lord-in-training,' or leave and fend for themselves."

It wasn't really as simple as that. They'd be coerced into embracing the Dark Side before any choice is finally made. How easy is it to walk away when you taste that intoxicating power for the first time? When all those restrictions your Masters gave you are suddenly lifted? Not easy at all.

Arris watched the entire group of first-generation acolytes on Desevro make that very choice. A lot of corpses were left to freeze in the snow, and those who survived now walked the Covenant as Knights, fully-realized Sith who committed untold acts to get there.

Besides, that same Darkness rolled off Arris too well even now. A part of her was ready to kill them, just because she was a gun.

"Beats leaving them here to get killed, yeah?"

 

[Nilira Vornix]

Tag: Arris Windrun Lily Rhodes

Nilira purposefully kept quiet when Arris sent her comms over towards Nilira. Anything to make the Cyborg sweat a little bit. Though come to think of it, Nilira wasn't even sure if Arris could sweat at the end of the day. That most definitely ruined her plan as she sighed to herself, finally deciding to speak back to Arris.

"No. I'm dead. And I'm a ghost talking to you. Now...Urgh...If you don't mind me...I have some...vents to crawl through."

It was only as she dragged herself through the vents, that she began to hear actually voices coming from below her. They seemed familiar enough, but the issue was finding an exit in this damned thing. Unless...Well, this wasn't one of her smartest ideas, but Nilira placed her hand against the bottom of the vent and forced a wave of Force through it as the metal buckled and crumpled beneath her...before the vent collapsed with her in it, landing hard on the ground, right in front of Arris Windrun and Lily Rhodes

"...Not my smartest idea. But it beats having to find another exit."

She pushed herself up to her feet, brushing off some of the dust, dirt, muck and grime that she had prepared earlier to make herself look hurt. Her gaze flicking between Lily and Arris for a moment in confusion. Leaving who to get killed her-...Oh. The slight smirk on Nilira's face faded back to th cold apathy that she was so used to.

"Ah. You've got more Padawans. Yes. I'm sure whatever Fate awaits them is far less painful than them simply being killed."

​