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, Adelle Bastiel, 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 as 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 the back-plate just to experience the heavy crunch of a spine against the palace floor.

Muad Dib · 2026-07-08T14:56:41-0400

Objective: 2 & 4
Tags:

Perseus I

Arris Windrun I

Nilira Vornix

His was just one of many ships to head toward the temple. Inside the drop ship, the soldiers were seated in their armor, weapons strapped to their bodies, and buy’ce in the webbing at their waist. Faces of different colors, genders, and species. Different backgrounds and cultures. All mando'ade. All clan Farr. All House Dib.

An old song echoed within the bulkheads as armored feet stomped along to the rhythm. In the center he stood, beskar'gam covering his form, while one hand gripped the railing above. He was neither the biggest nor the smallest, nor the most heavily armed or the lightest. He was human, with tanned skin and brown hair. Nothing about him screamed alor or command. But to all in the ship and the two flanking them, he was the leader.

Glowing blue eyes blazed from his face. Most who looked therein saw madness. And they wouldn't necessarily be wrong. The galaxy once knew him as the Mad Master of Manda'yaim, among other names. Those who knew him best called him Muad. However, that particular number was small.

Their mission was simple. To excise the light from Hapes' space. It was a simple command passed down from the Mand’alor. The Jedi would no longer be free to till the fertile soil of Hapes. And, as with all unwanted vegetation, they were to be plucked from the ground and removed.

And that was exactly what Muad Dib intended to do.

In the cargo holds were individual stasis chambers and force-dampening collars. Techs, medics, and other specialists were prepared to perform their duties to the letter. Their commander had plans to have the organic crop reaped. They all knew their orders and were prepared to carry them out to the letter.

“Buckets on. Prepare for landing.”

His voice echoed from speakers on all three transports. He put action to his own words, securing his buy’ce and watching the HUD power up. The ship shuddered slightly as the landing skids made contact and the ramps lowered from the vessels. Before the thrusters cut off, Muad Dib stepped from the ramp and strode forth. Mando'ade from Clan Farr exited with a unit of Aegis Knights and Dib’s own personal unit, the Dozen.

Their work was about to begin.

Nyra Kairo · 2026-07-08T17:38:55-0400

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

Nyra Kairo had visited Ta'a Chume'Dan more times than she could count. As a child, she'd been dragged through the capital in dresses that cost more than most freighters, expected to nod politely through speeches she never listened to and smile at nobles whose names she'd forgotten before the introductions ended. The city had always been beautiful. Impossibly so. Marble towers shimmered beneath the sun, fountains sparkled with crystalline water, and every avenue seemed designed to remind visitors that Hapes stood apart from the rest of the galaxy.

Back then she'd wanted nothing more than to escape it. Now she had. That was precisely why coming back always felt... different.

The music drifting through the streets wasn't court entertainment performed because etiquette demanded it. People were genuinely celebrating. Vendors laughed as they sold sweets, jewelry, and commemorative banners bearing the crest of the new Queen Mother. Children darted between adults waving tiny pennants while soldiers—Hapan and Mandalorian alike—accepted drinks from grateful citizens. It wasn't difficult to find excitement when half the capital seemed determined to spill into the streets.

Nyra wandered through it all with an easy smile, one hand wrapped around a steaming caf while the other occasionally lifted to wave at someone who had recognized her. "...Yes, it's really me."

A pair of teenage girls squealed before rushing over with datapads already recording. Nyra laughed. "I know, I know. You were expecting today's upload to be from Dantooine." She leaned comfortably into the recording, curls bouncing around her shoulders. "Turns out plans change."

The girls eagerly asked for a picture, and within moments Nyra had slipped effortlessly into the polished rhythm millions recognized across the Holonet. A bright grin. A peace sign. A playful wink for the second photo. "There." She pointed a finger toward them. "Now promise me you'll actually enjoy the festival instead of staring at your feeds all day."

"We will!"

"I absolutely don't believe you." That earned another round of laughter before they hurried away comparing their pictures. Nyra watched them disappear into the crowd, the smile lingering long after the cameras were gone.

There were certainly things she could have said about the political changes sweeping the Cluster. The Holonet would have loved an opinion from Gallinore's favorite wandering daughter. Instead she had intentionally kept every post about the celebrations focused on the people, the architecture, and the atmosphere. Politics started arguments. Travel inspired bookings. Much healthier for engagement.

She took another sip of caf while strolling beneath rows of fresh banners fluttering between ornate buildings. The familiar scents of Hapan cooking drifted through the air, drawing her toward overflowing market stalls where grilled seafood, sweet pastries, and expensive wines tempted every passerby.

Her eyes wandered just as much as her feet. A merchant displaying handcrafted jewelry. A noblewoman quietly slipping away from the main celebrations. A courier weaving carefully through the crowd with far too much urgency for someone attending a festival.

Old habits. Even while appearing completely captivated by the festivities, Nyra rarely stopped observing. That talent had become considerably more valuable than any sponsorship deal. Still...

Today wasn't about work. Mostly. She pulled out her holocamera, spinning it toward herself with practiced ease as the celebrations filled the background. "Okay..." she said brightly to her audience, turning so the parade behind her came into view. "Quick update from Ta'a Chume'Dan. The city's absolutely gorgeous today. Music everywhere, incredible food, and I think I've already spotted about six things I'm absolutely buying even though I don't have room in The Drift."

She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Future Nyra can deal with that problem." A mischievous grin crossed her face before she ended the recording. The upload could wait until she found a better signal. For now, she slipped the camera back into a cargo pocket, took another sip of caf, and disappeared deeper into the celebration—just another smiling traveler enjoying one of the galaxy's grandest festivals. Exactly as everyone expected.

Mig Gred · 2026-07-08T20:01:05-0400

Objective 2
Tags:

Arris Windrun

Nilira Vornix

Perseus

Muad Dib
Ship: Valiant-class Arms Freighter Bunker/Whiplash

Well, seemed Mig wasn't escaping any accusations of going against the grain of Mandalore anytime soon. Someone would probably say he spent too much time in the black at this point, but he had a way of sneaking his own objectives into things. Plus he'd never been public about the clan's Prudii'yaim for a reason. Would've seemed like any other scrapped together Gred effort. Use what they could. Bunker's internals had some work done though. Nightshadow. Fun little thing. Plus a fancy little hotwired transponder. Still, he looked at the pilot.

"Start up that encrypted message. If anyone we discussed start getting curious that isn't me, you know the jump coordinates."

"Still not sure why I'm jumping to the middle of nowhere."

"Just trust me. Now to go put on a show, and if I'm sensing this right try to not murder someone before the end of this."

He could play a part. Play it well enough to avoid questions. He looked around, taking a breath and drawing his own weapons. An Echani vibrosword and a Sith vibroknife. Not his usual hybrid weapon. Needed efficency. He was ready for this. He just tapped the comm. Nothing would go to plan, cause of course it wouldn't, but all he had to do was roll with the punches quicker than anyone.

Kurayami Bloodborn · 2026-07-08T20:35:13-0400

Loadout: XC-86 Assault Commando Armor | Modified TL-50 | Modified SE-44C pistols | Viridian bladed lightsaber

When Exactly Kurayami had arrived on Hapes and with which of the Mandalorian craft was lost in the shuffle of preparations for the coming battle. That was entirely fine with him, he wasn't here looking to settle any scores or start any new rivalries. He was here to excise the Jedi Order from Hapes. He had once fought as a Jedi, a lifetime ago. A deep breath, pausing to center himself as he stood at the threshold of the false temple. The thought of how those whom he had fought with, whom he watched die...most of all the one he had loved, the feelings of disgust they would feel at the fact this place dared call itself a Jedi Temple only fueled his resolve.

There was no hiding his signature as he entered the antechamber and was greeted by immediate chaos brought by others. Slowly he surveyed the area looking for any aligned with this temple that wished to fight for their home. At first there were none to halt his progress, focusing on the ones who had come and clearly presented threats. The Drunken Savant had done no such thing, merely wandered in as if he belonged or gotten lost. When he reached the Room of a Thousand Fountains, or what passed for it here, he found there a pair of Lightsiders in meditation.

Wordless he drew one of the pistols and fired a single shot between the two, sending a spray of stone and the promise of more should neither rise to the challenge. One had visibly flinched, the learner, he would see mercy from the Corellian. The master, moved to rise a beat too late as a second shot rang out. Kurayami simply holstered the pistol and drew his saber igniting it and preparing for the confrontation to come as the elder Jedi settled into a Form I opening stance, the Corellian adopting a Form V opening stance as the room seemed to still around them as though holding its breath.

Veyla Krinn · 2026-07-08T21:13:53-0400

Objective: 3

Nyra Kairo @open

The journey from Concordia to Hapes had been uneventful, though that suited Veyla just fine. It had given her ample time to read the reports provided by Mandalorian Intelligence, study what little she knew of Hapan customs, and prepare herself for the role she now carried. She no longer arrived as a wandering mercenary or an anonymous warrior looking for work. She stood as a representative of House Kryze, one voice among many carrying the weight of the Mandalorian Empire into a new chapter of galactic history. The responsibility was not one she wore lightly.

The Fountain Palace was every bit as magnificent as the stories claimed. Marble halls stretched beneath impossibly high ceilings adorned with banners bearing the heraldry of noble houses both ancient and newly ascendant. Gold and ivory reflected the morning light pouring through towering windows, while nobles, military officers, diplomats, and honored guests gathered beneath the vaulted architecture. Beskar stood beside polished silks. Imperial colors mingled with Hapan tradition. It was a meeting of cultures that only months ago would have seemed impossible.

Veyla stood quietly among the Mandalorian delegation, her matte black beskar immaculate despite the miles it had traveled. Crimson accents caught the palace light without drawing undue attention, while the sigil of House Kryze rested proudly upon her shoulder. Her helmet remained tucked beneath one arm, revealing fiery red hair gathered into its familiar braid and emerald eyes that studied the ceremony with measured respect. She was no courtier and had never pretended otherwise, but she understood the importance of bearing witness. A ruler's legitimacy was not measured solely by blood or title. Sometimes it was measured by who chose to stand beside them when history turned its page.

As the ceremony unfolded, Veyla found herself watching less of the splendor and more of the people. Hapan nobles carried themselves with generations of practiced grace. Mandalorian warriors stood with the disciplined confidence of those who had earned every scar upon their armor. Somewhere between the two cultures lay the future both peoples had agreed to build together. It would not be an easy road. Such things never were. Yet if the Cluster truly retained its identity while securing peace beneath Imperial protection, then perhaps this day would be remembered as more than another conquest. Perhaps it would become the beginning of something worth preserving.

When the formalities concluded and conversations dissolved into the familiar currents of politics, Veyla remained only long enough to offer the respect expected of House Kryze. There were diplomats better suited for whispered bargains and nobles eager to measure one another's ambitions beneath polished smiles. That had never been her strength. Nor, if she were honest with herself, had she ever wished it to be.

Leaving the palace behind, she stepped into the streets of Ta'a Chume'Dan. The city greeted her not with ceremony but with life. Music drifted between market stalls, laughter echoed from crowded cafés, banners danced overhead in the afternoon breeze, and the aromas of unfamiliar spices and roasted meats filled the air. It was different from Concordia in almost every conceivable way, yet beneath the celebration she recognized something familiar. These were simply people, taking pride in their home and hopeful for what tomorrow might bring. A small smile touched her lips as she slipped into the flow of the crowd. If she wished to understand Hapes, she suspected she would learn far more here than she ever could within the palace walls.

Josiah Denko · 2026-07-08T23:45:33-0400

HAPAN ENCLAVE, HAPES

This was not good.

Josiah had come to Hapes many months ago. It was a voyage inspired by the whims of the Light, one where he was intent to atone for past failings by passing on his knowledge to the next generation. What, exactly, were those failings? He did not win the hope and trust of a young soul. The Shiryan Jedi had entrusted a Padawan to him, after years of solitude...and Josiah had let her slip through the cracks. The abyss called to her and she answered. Before he knew, she was gone.

Through this, he had hoped to begin to right the wrongs he had done. Hoped to make peace with the Light he had failed.

In a cruel twist, the heavens began to burn instead. The assault came without warning. Armored warriors and Sith alike charged the Temple, seemingly intent on laying all the souls here low. There were wounded that were being tended to here. There were meek who were being sheltered here. There was peace being taught, restraint being learned, yet all of it was to be put to the sword? No. Josiah would not stand idly by and permit this to happen, not while he yet drew breath.

Snap. Hiss.

His lightsaber burned into being as he ascended the stairwell which led to the main entrance of the Hapan Enclave. Already the sounds of chaos were reaching his ears. Already urgency was pumping hot through his veins. Instinct flared and where he saw adversaries, his blade answered. He cut through a Sith who rushed him. His telekinetics caved in the skull of an armored warrior who opposed him. All who waged war against the Light would soon know his name.

Successor of Darron Wraith.

Breaker of Emperor Vulcanus.

Josiah Denko.

Open to All

Avela Wren · 2026-07-09T00:05:28-0400

Objective I

The Ascent of the Queen Mother

The Fountain Palace gleamed beneath the Hapan sun, every polished surface catching the light until the halls themselves seemed to glow. Gold adorned towering columns, banners of nobel houses drifted lazily in the warmth, and crystal chandeliers scattered fractured rainbows across marble floors.

I scarcely noticed. Beauty had never held my attention for long.

Instead, my gaze wandered to the people who made such beauty possible. Servants moved with quiet precision beneath trays laden with crystal and wine, weaving effortlessly through nobles adorned in jewels and silk. Palace guards stood with the same disciplined patience I recognised in seasoned warriors, their vigilance no less impressive for the elegance that surrounded them. Laughter drifted through the halls alongside whispered bargains and carefully measured smiles.

Different armour, I thought. But armour all the same.

I adjusted the cuff of one glove before folding my hands neatly behind my back, my amber eyes continuing in their unhurried study of the room. Years of travel had taught me that the loudest voices rarely carried the greatest influence. Power lived in smaller moments. In who greeted whom first. Who listened more than they spoke. Who watched the room instead of demanding it watch them.

There was always more truth in observations than in proclamation. My place here was not to outshine anyone. It was to witness. To remember. To stand where Mandalore had asked me to stand. Even now, the thought felt quietly unfamiliar.

Had someone told my younger self that one day I would stand amongst queens, nobels, and rulers as a Mandalorian Protector, I would have dismissed the notion as fantasy. I had never sought any kind of command. Never chased recognition. If anything I had spent years trying to outrun the expectations others placed upon me.

Yet somehow, responsibility had found me anyway.

Not all at once, but gradually. A recruit seeking guidance. A warrior asking counsel. A mission entrusted into my care. One promise after another until, somewhere along the road, I had stopped carrying responsibility for myself and had begun to carry it for those around me.

I had never reached for the burden. I had simply refused to set it down. And, though I would seldom admit it aloud and very rarely acknowledged it privately, I found I did not mind the weight.

Open

Siv Kryze · 2026-07-09T00:48:40-0400

.

The halls of the Fountain Palace were unlike anything Concordia had ever built. Marble and gold spoke a different language than beskar and stone, but history was no less present here.

Siv stood among the Mandalorian delegation, the blue of Clan Kryze resting across his shoulder. His clan had seen Mandalore at its highest and its lowest. They had ruled, they had fallen, and they had endured. If there was one lesson their history carried, it was that victory meant little if there was nothing left worth protecting afterward.

That was why he came.

Not simply to witness another world joining the Empire, but to witness an agreement that spared a people from becoming another battlefield. Hapes would keep its Queen, its houses, and its customs. In return, it would stand beneath the protection of Mandalore. It reminded him of the words spoken after the southern campaigns. Those who accepted Mandalorian rule were allowed to remain who they were.

Many beyond the Empire would call it expansion. Others would call it supremacy. Siv understood why. The Empire had earned that reputation. But after the Diarchy's collapse and the chaos that followed across the galaxy, he found it difficult to argue against stability. Someone had to keep the trade lanes open, the borders secure, and the peace from shattering again.

His gaze drifted toward the throne as the ceremony prepared to begin.

"History doesn't remember every battle," he murmured. "But it remembers who was there when a new chapter began."

For Clan Kryze, that was reason enough to attend.

Tag:

Mia Monroe

Chernobog

Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata

Leontis Antalis + Open

Isobel Serraris · 2026-07-09T03:54:34-0400

MOTHER KNOWS BEST
T H E ‎ ‎ H A P A N ‎ ‎ E N C L A V E

LOCATION — Hapes, the Hapan Enclave
TAGS —

Josiah Denko
PARAPHERNALIA — Armour of the Lost and Vesper et Aurora.

Willingness was a void left untouched--a rift that grew ever broader, ever more ravenous, the longer she remained within the ranks of the Sith Academy. The constant pleas for violence, for the bloodied retributions, it was. . . enough. Enough to drive one mad within their own mindscape, to make their very emotion, their deeds, feel puppeteered by a darker power. And in spite of all the suffering of the soul. . . the light pleading to leave was too quiet to cast the rebellion against the shards of Bogan within.

An agonising flurry of daggers pressed against her core, gradually marring the senses as the abyss sought to claim her once more. A violent cycle for with each show of force, with each sight of blood, the mind withdrew to a distant place, leaving only the base instincts to guide her path. Desperate shakes of the head sought to shun the feeling, to slip back into control, and yet it neared her. . . as though it were as natural as the cycle between day and night.

Her quest found no need for violence, it was the simple act of preservation; of acquiring the knowledge within the enclave and better her understanding of the numerous worships of the Force. Fate, however, sought a different path, as the halls were ravaged by the clash between Jedi and Sith, by soldiers demolishing all the foundations of the Temple. No. . . Flames, blasterfire and the weakening light reflected itself within the dark brown of her eyes, a witness to the massacre playing out in front of her.

A charge from the left snapped her out of it, as the golden blade slid from the emitter, countering the first strike with more emotion than precision. A wave of energy followed suit, pushing the Jedi far back toward the intricate frescoes spread out over the dusty walls, cracking and severing beneath the weight of the Dark's wroth.

A second dance was not so easily discarded, as a tall horned alien pushed all his strength into the drive of the emerald great-saber. Her steps drew herself on the defensive, as the fluidity of Soresu shaped a shield to ward off the initial assault--and find an opening for a counter. Isobel longed not to kill. It was not in her nature and all knew. . . mayhap that was why she was forced to come here, to learn that mercies were naught more than a farce. A wicked lie.

The heart thrummed as untamed as a Mandalorian war drum, as another blade joined the resistance, a crimson shoto blade hummed in unison with the other, finding more of a foothold in overwhelming the greater foe. Still, , , it was a pointless path, she lacked the feel of a duelist; each step, each slash, they were but the acts of a Padawan who never learned more than 'what was necessary'. Sloppy.

Vines lashed out beneath the cracks in the flooring, guided by her energy as they ensnared the foe. There was no merciless blade to finish what she had started, no, Bel was long gone after the matter. Or that was the intent. . .

The greying mane, the calm, gallant feel she recalled from months, nay. . . a year ago. "Master?!" Slipped from the lips as the Nabooan stood frozen, staring only at the way he held off the Sith with such precision, as though it were his sole purpose within the galaxy.

When eyes fell upon one of her kind seeking to catch the Jedi Master off guard, instinct flared up, a fierce rush of telekinetics enveloped the darkly-robed figure, before slamming them into one of the pillars. . .

Lily Rhodes · 2026-07-09T07:35:48-0400

Tags:

Arris Windrun | OPEN

0f7dc859ed1ebd4ccfca8f895c11b9dec068ba1e.pnj

Lily was quiet in the dropship, watching Arris out of the corner of her eye, her energy was different, it wasn't like Humbarine where her rage had been sharp and loud, this was quieter, more dangerous even. She didn’t delve, whatever was running through her head right now was none of Lily’s business and if truth be told, she didn’t want to know..

The lightsaber was cool in her hand, her thumb ran over the smooth leather wrap as she looked down at it. Stun batons still rested at the small of her back and a blaster on her hip, not that that would be much good against Jedi.

Arris moved as the drop ship slowed and Lily moved with her as the drop door opened she jumped a second behind her, the crack of Arris gun rendering the air as the Jedi surged forward to meet them. Lily didn’t move, for a few beats she just watched seemingly like a rabbit in headlights.

Lily Rhodes said:
I’m not a killer, Arris.

Her eyes shifted, focusing as a green skinned mirialan broke from the frontline forward, moving to flank Arris. Lily didn’t think, she just acted, force folding around her as she teleported, appearing in her path. The mirialan didn’t have time to stop, or adjust, her only way to Arris was through Lily.

Snap-hiss

No, Lily wasn’t a killer. But she would protect her own.

Whatever the cost.

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

M A N D A L O R E

Gutter Goddess

Character

The Liberator

U N B R O K E N

Heir of House Antalis

You're no daisy at all

Iron Wolf of the Werd'la Cabur

Dʀᴏɪᴅ ᴡᴏᴍᴀɴ ᴡʜᴀᴛᴇᴠᴇʀ

Paragon of Virtue

Character

Alor of Clan Gred, Mando'ad'jetii

Drunken Savant

Character

L I G H T

ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀꜱᴛ ʀᴇꜱᴏʀᴛ

Warden of Concordia

. . . domina relicta . . .

Unseen

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