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

[Avela Wren]

Objective I​

The Ascent of the Queen Mother​

The ceremony continued around us, hymns rising beneath vaulted ceilings as the Queen Mother took careful steps towards the throne. Towards her future. Every eye seemed fixed upon the procession. Mine lingered there only briefly.

His answer came exactly as I expected. They know the price. Of course they did. Every Mandalorian did. It never made the waiting any easier.

“It never does,” I murmured in response to his admission.

My hand drifted instinctively towards the side of my head before stopping. Fingertips brushing against loose strands of dark hair where the familiar weight of my buy'ce should have rested. The habit remained, even without the presence of the helmet himself.

“You asked how I recognised it.” For a moment I watched the incense curl lazily through shafts of sunlight, its fragrance carried across the hall by unseen currents. “I've carried the same weight. We all have. Even though we try to hide it we all wear it the same. It's as recognisable as beskar.”

A faint smile found me, though there was little humour in it.

“I've taken my helmet off after battles because I thought it might make the reports easier to read.” My gaze lowered for the briefest moment. “It doesn't.”

A quiet breath escaped me. “The names never become easier to read. Even the ones I'd only learned a hour before. I remember them all.”

I patted my chest plate, where the little red book filled with names and the lives they had led sat warm and precious against the thud of my heart. Silence settled between us. It wasn't an uncomfortable thing. Some truths deserved room to breathe.

His words lingered in my thoughts. Every one of them chose this life. I understood what he meant. I simply wasn't sure I saw it the same way. “I'd like to believe they didn't choose the fight,” I said after a while, my voice thoughtful rather than disagreeable. “I like to think they chose to protect. That they chose duty, and honour.”

My eyes followed a pair of Mandalorian guards standing watch over the gathered assembly, motionless beneath banners that weren't their own. “The fight was simply the price that came with it.”

For a few moments I said nothing more.

Instead, I allowed my attention to move through the hall as it always did. Not admiring the grandeur, but taking stock. Armoured warriors stood at every entrance. The honour guards remained disciplined, alert, their focus never wavering from the ceremony unfolding before them. Enough beskar to guard a Queen. More than enough. The battlefield, however? That was another matter. No matter how capable the clan, the warriors, or the army they were part of… Extra bodies were always a welcome reprieve.

“I've counted enough Mandalorians here to keep the Queen safe.” I glanced sideways towards him, a warmth touching my expression that hadn't been there before. “I think they'll forgive us.”

My eyes drifted towards the towering doors beyond which the city, and somewhere even further beyond that the battlefield itself, lay in wait.

“I'm not certain the same can be said for our vode out there.” The corner of my mouth lifted ever so slightly. “I was never fond of standing beneath chandeliers brushing elbows with nobility while other people are out there doing the heavy lifting.”​

Adonis Angelis IV​

 

[Nyra Kairo]

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

Nyra returned Veyla's handshake with an easy smile. "Pleasure to meet you, Veyla." She listened attentively as the Mandalorian explained House Kryze's presence, though her attention occasionally drifted toward a troupe of musicians marching past or a burst of laughter from a nearby café. It wasn't distraction born of disinterest. Quite the opposite. It was difficult not to become caught up in the energy surrounding them.

By the time Veyla finished, Nyra nodded approvingly. "I'm glad you've all come to celebrate with us." Her gaze briefly followed Veyla's toward the Fountain Palace. "A new Queen Mother only comes along so often. It's nice that people from outside the Cluster are here to see the beginning instead of only hearing about it afterward."

When Veyla contrasted the palace with the streets, Nyra laughed knowingly. "I completely agree." She tucked a curl behind one ear. "I'm not nobility, but..." A sheepish grin spread across her face. "Being moderately recognizable has gotten me invited into the palace once or twice."

Her expression turned theatrically cautious as she mimicked peering around an imaginary display. "It was all a bit..." She lowered her voice. "'Don't touch that. Don't lean on this. Don't breathe too enthusiastically near the priceless artwork.'" She chuckled. "I don't think anyone actually said those things." A beat. "...But I definitely felt them."

The laughter faded into another warm smile before a faint blush colored her cheeks. "Though..." she admitted, rubbing the back of her neck, "I should clarify something, I technically grew up on Gallinore." She gave a small shrug. "I spent so much time on Hapes that I tend to think of both as home. They're similar enough that it doesn't usually occur to me to make the distinction."

Her eyes swept across the bustling boulevard where dancers twirled between cheering crowds and merchants called out their latest bargains. "But if someone wanted to understand us?" she continued. "I'd absolutely bring them here."

She gestured broadly toward the celebration. "The palace tells you who rules Hapes." There was a small pause. "The streets tell you who lives here."

A group carrying trays of candied fruit squeezed between them, laughing as one nearly lost his balance before recovering with an exaggerated bow to appreciative applause. Nyra watched them go with a grin before turning back to Veyla. "I'd rather outsiders remember this than polished marble and whispered politics."

Her smile became a little more mischievous. "So..." She tilted her head curiously. "Be honest." A quiet giggle escaped her. "Are Hapans a little wild for a Mandalorian soldier?"

 

[Veyla Krinn]

Objective: 3
Nyra Kairo

Veyla listened without interrupting, her attention never wandering as Nyra spoke. There was an openness to the woman that she found immediately likable. She spoke of Hapes with affection rather than obligation, finding humor in its grandeur without diminishing it. By the time she finished, Veyla found herself smiling as well.

"I appreciate you taking the time to chat with me." Her gaze drifted over the boulevard once more as another burst of applause rose from somewhere farther down the street. "It's one thing to visit a world. It's another to have someone who calls it home explain why they love it." She looked back to Nyra. "If I have any questions..." A faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "I'll be sure to ask."

A quiet laugh escaped her as Nyra posed the question. Veyla shook her head, genuine amusement brightening her emerald eyes.

"Wild?" she repeated with a grin. "No. Different, perhaps. But every culture celebrates in its own way." She gestured lightly toward the dancers weaving through the crowd and the music echoing between the buildings. "Mandalorians tend to celebrate after surviving impossible odds. Hapans seem to celebrate because today is worth celebrating."

She folded her arms loosely across the front of her armor, her smile growing just a touch more mischievous.

"Though if you're asking whether this is a little overwhelming for a Mandalorian soldier..." She gave an almost imperceptible shrug before chuckling again. "I'm not sure a Hapan could keep up." Her tone carried no challenge, only playful confidence. "You'd be surprised how enthusiastically Mandalorians can celebrate once someone convinces us to put the helmets down."

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Hapes, Inner Rim
| Objective | I - The Ascent of The Queen Mother

Itzhal's thoughts wandered through a landscape of contrasting emotions, caught between the vibrant sounds of eager voices kept to a whisper and the tinkling melodies of celebrations from across the city that drifted through the windows. Signs of joyful revelry were evident wherever he looked, yet the wave of celebration failed to sweep him away; his mind lingered on darker currents. For just beyond the horizon, he knew the Mandalorian's iron fist had descended—a relentless force clad in beskar, leaving nothing but destruction in its wake. Another report flashed across the edge of his screen: early casualty reports, the start of a butcher's bill that duty forced him to read.

Eventually, his gaze peeled away from the reports, over the throne room filled with foes and allies alike, gathered in their cliques and in whispered conversations. To his left, a cluster of three familiar forms; Adelle Bastille stood at the centre, unconsciously guarded by the rugged frame of Aselia Verd and the regal presence of Quinn Varanin—an unusual trio, though one that somehow seemed to fit more comfortably with every time they connected.

From the entrance, Adonis strode forward, his polished armour dazzling in the sunlight. Each deliberate stride commanded the attention of those around him, the sunlight catching the intricate seams of gold and casting shimmering reflections across the ivory plates, heralding his presence with the radiant glow of the sun. All the glitz and glamour of the throne room, cast in the shape of a warrior. Yet, even amidst the glamour that surrounded him, Itzhal could sense an undercurrent of contemplation; the slight tilt of Adonis's helmet not just towards the brilliant rays above but also toward the distant horizon and the unseen battles that warred, for once without the warrior's presence.

For a fleeting moment, Itzhal's visor lingered on the Empress seated at the front, her body lined with muscles that rippled against the seams of her tailored outfit, as if tempted to rip and tear the fabric that dared to contain their form. Impressive for the effort and dedication it must have taken to reach that point; though, his attention swiftly shifted to the woman beside her, draped in polished plates as dark as the depths of night, intricately inlaid with regal gold—a woman that outshone any queen or empress, a beacon in the darkness that had fought and suffered, and yet still continued to light the way in search of something greater than what had come before.

Under the comfort of his visor, Itzhal felt no shame as his gaze lingered upon Mia Monroe. He watched as her helmet tilted toward him, the sounds of bells in the background and words of the Mother Tongue drifting into his subconscious—acknowledged but unimportant compared to the eyes that met his beneath the visor.

Oh, he had noticed the way her helmet had tilted toward Mercy, how the Empress had offered her neck, a deliberate insult in response. He cared little for the brute; let her posture as she wished—it didn't matter. Today was not her day to shine in the spotlight; a fight would only give her what she craved.

With a slight tilt of his helm towards her, Itzhal allowed himself to smile beneath the buy'ce, a genuine curl of his lips that broadened further when he caught sight of Kael Skirata making his way towards the unspoken conflict. They were a good lad, full of promise, though still burdened by a touch of inexperience. Personally, Itzhal would rather the Togruta had chosen to wear the beskar plates that he knew for certain they already possessed, but he was not Kael's father; presumably, the boy had reasons. Poor ones, probably, but it was not Itzhal's job to judge.

Still, a level of judgement was to be expected.

Tags: Mia Monroe Aselia Verd Quinn Varanin Adelle Bastiel Mercy Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata Adonis Angelis IV​

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Tags: Aselia Verd | Quinn Varanin || Mentioned: Mia Monroe | Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata

The touch was brief and light, a whisper of sensation against her gauntlet, but there. It pulled Adelle from the distant battle being fought and back into the palace. She finally took a proper breath, the motion seeming more like a long-suffering sigh than a breath of air after drowning. Quinn had said nothing, but Adelle had at least learned enough of the Echani art to understand: the young Queen sensed it too. It did not diminish the echoes of pain, anguish, and final acceptance, but it made it less daunting.

She offered a slight nod of thanks, an almost imperceptible motion to any but Echani-trained, as she fought the riptide of death in the Force to stay present for the coronation.

Movement caught her eye nearby. The black and gold helm of Warmaster Monroe glinted as it first turned ever so slightly towards a side exit and then toward a looming Firrerreo lounging in a chair. Adelle kept the instinctive revulsion tightly under wraps, choosing instead to focus on Monroe. And Monroe wasn't as subtle as Quinn.

Fething Whills, was the Warmaster actually threatening the Firrerreo? Adelle almost immediately dismissed whatever was going on as ‘not her problem.’ Monroe could deal with the consequences herself, Aether included. Adelle had enough occupying her mind without adding worrying about the Warmaster’s actions to it.

Someone moved nearby the Warmaster, and Adelle saw black and white montrals. Her adopted son Kael moved closer to the Warmaster, determination and unease radiating from his body language. His emotions, however, felt centered, steady. That was good.

But he wore the attire she'd purchased on Naboo for any formal events. Adelle had attended a function of Sith once without beskar'gam and that had been a deliberate choice after much internal debate. Even then, she had acknowledged to herself that it had been a bad idea, in spite of having both her saber and the experience of a master. Guilt welled in her but was quickly smoothed away. She really, really needed to spend more time teaching Kael.

A little of her anxiety eased when she finally became aware enough of her surroundings to recognize Aselia’s presence. The bells tolled and hymns sung by hidden choirs began. Adelle didn't turn her head as her girlfriend approached and spoke quietly with Quinn, buy’ce tucked under one arm. Adelle heard the seals hiss closed as the procession of three made their way down the aisle toward the throne, her own helm thankfully filtering out most of the incense.

The hand on the small of her back was just as quick and feather-light as Quinn’s touch, barely there before it was gone again. Adelle settled a little more solidly onto her feet, some of the tension in her shoulders loosening. Aselia knew about her Caamasi heritage; it wouldn't be too hard to talk to her later about what was going on. She might not understand it but Aselia didn't strike Adelle as the type to be cruel or callous with her people.

A near-reverent silence filled the hall as the High Caller signaled the hymns’ end, the final note fading. Then the Mother Tongue raised her hands and addressed those assembled, calling forth the Queen-Mother to-be. The doors opened again and the woman that walked forward held her head high without looking down. She was helped to kneel, said the vows, then the crown was placed on her head and she was helped to rise.

The Queen-Mother was crowned.

Adelle had to wonder if she knew how much blood was being shed.

 

[Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata]

OBJECTIVE 1

Spoiler: Arms and Armor

Ship: The Cabur Rekr (The Guardian Wolf)
Blade: Tal'Alor Beskad
Secondary Weapon: Bastion-Pattern Kad’au

Kael stands at the Warmaster’s side, surveying the crowd gathered. He can feel the tension and so clenches his leather-gloved hands so much that they nearly lock shut due to the tight leather. He was fighting tooth and nail for control. Thinking back to a Lesson he learned from his Buir, Adelle, he took a deep breath and, in his mind, assessed the room at large, both physically and through his connection to the Force.

First was the Warmaster, Mia Monroe. She seemed to have her focus on one particular Sith Lord as she stretched. In his hyper-aware state, he thought about how she seemed pleased after she stretched, like she didn't think the Warmaster was a threat. However, that wasn’t Kael’s battle until someone made a move to disrupt, as the Warmaster’s orders had been clear. ‘Eyes open, Anyone moves to disrupt, remove them quietly,’ she had said, the orders transmitted to a conductive receiver tucked like a cuff around the base of one of his montrals. To most, it would appear as ornamentation, but without his helm, this was the best way he could receive orders.

What Kael then noticed was an inverse of what he expected to find. In a room that was near choking in Sith drawing on the Dark Side, there was one who seemed small in the Force but carried herself like a waterfowl on a glassy lake. He had seen Adelle pull off the same trick, art of the small, she called it. Out of all the individuals in this room, that was the one Kael would bet was the most powerful in the dark side.

He noticed Itzhal Volkhair, Oath Actual, as he went by his call sign most of the time. It was clear by his posture that he was just as guarded in this den of political vipers as Kael was himself. Kael knew he was out of place as the only Mandalorian he could see who hadn’t worn armor, and he expected the older Alor in his life to correct him fiercely should anything go wrong. However, that was a Katarn to skin another time.

Kael then looked back to his mother, and he could see the tension building in her. He saw Aselia and Quinn beside her, and his heart ached for that connection. He tried to be close to his mother, and he knew she was traumatised, but she always held him at arm's reach. He did his best to respect her boundaries and tried to put a thankful smile on his face. Seeing her being supported by her friends settled him a bit, and he did his best to smother his emotions again. Once he caught her visor again, he splayed an open hand over his heart, the sign they had agreed on to say, ‘I’m ok, and safe.’ However, when this was over, he would make sure he was gone before she could question his lack of balance after seeing her.

Kael heard the Mother Tongue announce the Quen’s arrival; however, his mind and body were tensed, ready to move at the first hint of a disturbance, a small portion of his mind focused on the internal force-activated activation switches of his new tonfa.

Tag/ mentioned: Mia Monroe Adelle Bastiel Aselia Verd Quinn Varanin Itzhal Volkihar

 

[Mercy]

MERCY

EMPRESS | WARLORD | STAR-ARM

Location: HAPES | Objective: 1 - Witness the Coronation | Direct Tags: Mia Monroe | Itzhal Volkihar
Other Tags: Adonis Angelis IV | Amelia von Sorenn | Aether Verd | Astraea Vega | Adelle Bastiel | Quinn Varanin | Kisrelo | Siv Kryze | Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata | Leontis Antalis​

.

Her attention stayed divided.

Between Mia Monroe and the ascension of the Queen Mother, Astraea Vega . The affair was elaborate, extensive, and steeped with the kind of ceremony that Mercy was already used to. She had witnessed it once before after all. The previous time had been a larger triumph for her, while this still filled her with... bitter joy.

Joy for wiping out the Jedi that had infested themselves into this Cluster. Bitterness for the loss of a friend. She wondered yet again where the former Queen Mother was, if she was well or if she had perished among the courtiers loyal to her.

Once upon a time she had been warned that those who ruled could not have friends. They could have tools, allies of convenience and most of all an endless amount of enemies. But never friends. She had not wished to listen to that then. Too young, too smart by half, entirely convinced that she'd be able to forge her own path.

And here she was.

A Lord of the Sith. A self-proclaimed Empress who had taken her title by the shedding of blood. A Warlord.

But Mercy could do nothing but politely clap and smile as Astraea was raised back to her feet with the crown on her head again. "May she rule long and prosperous." Mercy said quietly before her attention was once again fully focused on Mia.

It seemed the Warmaster had friends beside her now.

Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata , Itzhal Volkihar ,paying very close attention to the little discussion the two of them were having. Adelle Bastiel on the other hand was ignoring Mia, and her as an extension, so aggressively it was a statement in itself.

Do you want to step outside and test that theory?

Her fingers shifted lightly, loosely on her wrist as her heel dug into the floor.

Your friends think you need them. It conveyed. If they don't believe you have this. Why should I?

As the crowd rose to greet the newly crowned Queen Mother, Mercy rose along with them, but not to approach the Hapan Royal. She had already conveyed her desire to speak with her privately, later on. Instead she began to make her way towards the table with the drinks. Quinn Varanin would know the tension in her shoulders as the Titan carved through the crowd.

Putting her back to Mia. As if to say: Watch my back for me, will you?

A drink was sorely needed right now.

.

ERASE THE PAST

 

[Nyra Kairo]

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

Nyra's smile softened. "I always like talking to new people." She meant it, too. Every new face carried another story, another perspective, another reason to visit somewhere she otherwise might have overlooked. Her career had been built on curiosity as much as cameras.

Veyla's observation about celebration lingered in her thoughts longer than she expected. Mandalorians tend to celebrate after surviving impossible odds. Nyra looked around at the crowds dancing beneath bright banners, children chasing one another between market stalls, couples sharing bottles of wine as musicians filled the boulevard with song. She couldn't imagine growing up any other way.

Not because life had always been easy. It certainly hadn't. But she'd never known war the way Veyla seemed to. Even when conflict had found the Cluster, it had remained distant from her own experiences. She'd been hiking mountains, learning to fly speeders, or wandering forests with a holocamera. The battles had belonged to soldiers, politicians, and history books.

Perhaps that was a privilege she had never fully appreciated. Her attention returned to Veyla just in time to catch the mischievous smile. Nyra's head tilted slightly. Then, slowly, an equally playful grin spread across her own face. "Oh?"

She folded her arms loosely, mirroring the Mandalorian without realizing it. "I'm not merely a Hapan." The emphasis came with mock indignation, though the sparkle in her warm brown eyes gave the game away immediately. "I'm Nyra Kairo." She placed a hand dramatically against her chest. "I have a reputation to uphold."

Her expression became thoughtfully exaggerated. "And I think..." She hummed to herself for a moment. "...I think those words sound suspiciously like a challenge."

A beat passed before she laughed. "I know they weren't meant that way." Her gaze wandered down the bustling avenue until it landed on a growing circle of spectators surrounding a troupe of dancers. The musicians were energetic, drawing more volunteers from the crowd every few moments. Nearby, another stall advertised a friendly speed-and-balance game where contestants raced across a narrow, wobbling course while balancing trays laden with glasses of brightly colored juice. Cheers erupted each time someone inevitably lost their footing and sent harmless sprays of fruit drink into the air.

Nyra pointed toward the commotion. "What about that?" Her grin widened. "Not the dancing." She gave Veyla a playful once-over. "Well... maybe the dancing later." She gestured instead toward the balancing course. "It looks like the sort of thing that rewards agility, confidence, and the willingness to laugh at yourself."

She raised an eyebrow. "And if a Mandalorian really can celebrate as enthusiastically as you claim..." Nyra's smile turned almost conspiratorial. "...perhaps that's exactly the sort of activity that might convince you to put your helmet down."

 

[Perseus]

Arris Windrun | Lily Rhodes | Isobel Serraris | Josiah Denko | Kurayami Bloodborn | Mig Gred | Muad Dib ​

The Jedi finally went still beneath me.

For several long seconds, I remained where I was, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths while pain radiated from the burn carved into my side. Every inhale felt as though someone had driven a heated blade between my ribs, yet the pain only served to remind me that I was still breathing. My hand remained wrapped around the knife buried deep within the man's chest until I finally forced my fingers to move. The blade resisted for only a moment before sliding free with a wet pull, blood following it across the polished steel. Without thinking, I wiped it once against the Jedi's robes before returning it to its sheath. The lightsaber rested only a few feet away, silent now. My eyes lingered on it for only a heartbeat before moving on. It had already taught me everything it was going to.

Habit took over before thought could.

My visor swept the corridor, marking movement where it found it while ignoring the dead entirely. Every doorway. Every intersection. Every corner. My breathing gradually slowed as the corridor remained quiet. No movement. No advancing enemy. Only then did the warnings begin to creep across the edges of my visor. Integrity alerts blinked amber beside my left vambrace where the beskar still glowed faintly from the lightsaber strike. My right side pulsed with every heartbeat beneath the ruined section of armor where the blade had cut into me. Somewhere behind me, my rifle lay where I had dropped it. I crossed the short distance and knelt beside it.

The barrel was gone. A clean, molten cut separated what remained of the weapon from the front assembly. I turned it over once in my hands, running my thumb across the ruined metal where only moments ago it had still been whole. The Ripper had done everything I had asked of it. It had bought me time. It had forced the Jedi to move. It had carried me through the fight until it physically couldn't anymore. That was enough. Slinging the ruined rifle across my back, I secured it where it belonged before finally looking beyond myself.

There were vode still breathing. The first sat slumped against the wall, one hand clamped beneath his arm where blood steadily leaked through the seam between chest plate and shoulder. His breathing was shallow, uneven, but his visor turned toward me as I approached. I crouched beside him, placing a hand firmly against his shoulder. His helmet gave a slow nod in return. Conscious. Responsive. He would live if someone reached him soon.

A few meters farther down the corridor another Mandalorian lay face down across broken stone. For a brief moment I thought he was gone until I noticed the slow rise of his back plate. Kneeling beside him, I rolled him carefully enough to avoid worsening whatever injury had brought him down. A deep scoring mark stretched across the outside of his thigh where a lightsaber had carved through armor before stopping short of taking the leg completely. The wound wasn't clean. Melted plating had fused against the undersuit. He grunted as I shifted him, one gauntleted hand immediately reaching for mine before relaxing once he realized who I was. Alive. Barely.

The third was younger.

At least, I thought he was. His armor carried fewer repairs than most, the paint across his chest scarcely worn compared to everyone else I'd fought beside today. He had managed to drag himself behind a collapsed section of stone, though blood pooling beneath his lower back told me he hadn't made it much farther afterward. His helmet remained still until I touched the side of it. The quiet groan answered. Relief settled somewhere deep inside me before I realized it had. It was rough for him. Bleeding badly, but I had not thought of bringing any medical equipment.

That thought... I hadn't been prepared enough. I came for a fight, not thinking about possible injured allies. It stung my chest more than the pain in my gut. My visor turned down the hall. Hearing the sounds of further fighting. Farther down the way, it was clear there was still quite the battle going on. Standing up from the crouched position, I reached to the side of my helmet and keyed the comm.

"Perseus reporting."

My breathing had steadied enough that my own voice surprised me. It sounded calmer than I felt.

"One Jedi neutralized. Three wounded vode located."

My visor highlighted the corridor designation before I continued.

"Uploading position now. They require immediate medical extraction."

The transmission paused only long enough for the location to leave my visor. Eyes looking back to the soldiers, allies. Vode. I couldn't stay here. I would be a sitting duck, and the fighting was far enough ahead that I was sure they would be safe enough for an extraction. The soldiers knew I had called for aid. They could hear it. As I started to walk away, the younger one laying on his back reached out to grab my ankle. His voice hard and barely there.

"Take the trophy."

I was confused for a moment. Unsure what he meant. Then it hit. Hunting philosophy. When a hunter took down a great beast, you always took a trophy to show what you did. To bring home and prove that what you did was true. A nod to him. As a foundling, it would be good for me to bring proof of a Jedi kill. A quick step over to the Jedi, Eyes looking down at the headless corpse. I looked down at the headless body longer than I expected to. Something sat heavy in my chest. Not guilt. Not satisfaction. Something else. I didn't have a name for it. I found myself standing there longer than necessary. I wasn't sure why. Slowly crouching down to pick up the lightsaber and attach it to my belt. Securing it in one of the pouches to hide it. I didn't want the Jedi to use their tricks to grab the weapon from me.

Once done, I keyed the comm again.

"I require additional personnel to recover our wounded."

A beat passed.

"I'm continuing the advance."

The channel closed.

I looked back toward the three Mandalorians one final time, committing each of their positions to memory. Help was coming. They weren't alone anymore. That knowledge settled whatever hesitation still lingered inside me. My right hand dropped naturally toward the Dral Gaan resting at my hip while my left flexed once inside its gauntlet. The ruined rifle remained secured across my back. There would be time to mourn it later.

For now...

There were still vode farther ahead who needed another warrior beside them.

And I started walking deeper into the temple.

 

[Sabine Delacroix]

The final vow faded into the vaulted heights of the Fountain Palace, lingering only for a heartbeat before silence reclaimed it. A moment later, the crown settled upon Astraea's brow, and with it came the quiet shift. She was no longer the Queen Mother-to-be. The weight belonged to her now.

Around the hall, those gathered rose almost as one. Polite applause followed, befitting both the dignity of the occasion and the traditions that had carried Hapes through generations. Smiles were exchanged, heads inclined, congratulations already beginning to ripple through the gathered nobility as though they had been rehearsed long before anyone had entered the palace.

Sabine remained still. Her amber eyes rested upon the newly crowned Queen for a few moments longer, studying the woman rather than the crown itself. Jewels and precious metals had never revealed the measure of a ruler; the burdens that followed would do that. Today simply marked the beginning. There was confidence in Astraea's bearing, and warmth; neither had faltered beneath the weight now resting upon her head. Whether either endured was a question only the years could answer.

Her attention drifted from the throne, following the changing rhythm of the hall instead. Formality softened almost imperceptibly as conversations resumed, noble houses reforming into familiar circles while diplomats quietly sought out the discussions interrupted by ceremony. Courts always returned quickly to politics.

The Mandalorians remained much as they always did: disciplined, measured, carrying themselves like warriors even surrounded by polished marble and jeweled royalty. Brief gestures passed between them almost unnoticed by those unfamiliar with such things: a hand resting against a backplate, a nod beneath a buy'ce, quiet reassurances exchanged without the need for words. Some languages required neither voice nor translation. For the briefest of moments her gaze met that of a young Togruta among them. ( Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata ) The exchange lasted scarcely longer than a breath. Most Force sensitives sought to measure others by what they perceived through the currents of the Force. Few remembered to simply observe.

Still, her attention moved. The Empress of the Core had separated herself from the gathering surrounding the Warmaster, making her way toward the refreshments with deliberate purpose. Sabine had heard the stories, as most people of consequence had; Mercy's reputation had spread far beyond the territories she ruled, a conqueror, a warlord, a woman whose strength had become the foundation of an empire. Even at a distance, the description had not been exaggerated. She possessed the sort of physical presence that made comparison feel unnecessary. There were many dangerous people in the galaxy. Very few looked capable of tearing another person apart with their bare hands. Sabine regarded that fact with quiet respect. Strength wore many forms. Wisdom lay in recognizing which form stood before you.

Sabine remained where she was for another few moments, allowing the hall to settle into its new rhythm. Mercy reached the refreshment table and poured herself a drink. Courtiers drifted elsewhere, drawn toward newly opened conversations and fresh opportunities to place themselves within the orbit of Hapes' new Queen.

Only then did Sabine begin to move. Matte black robes drifted quietly across the polished marble, their deep crimson lining visible only in fleeting glimpses with each measured step. She neither expected the crowd to part nor asked it to; people simply found themselves making room, conversations pausing for no more than a heartbeat before continuing behind her.

She came to rest at the refreshment table without entering the Empress's space, her attention settling first upon the crystal decanters arranged before them. Selecting one with unhurried precision, she poured herself a modest measure before lifting the glass briefly to inspect the amber liquid catching the palace lights. Only then did she acknowledge the woman beside her. A slight inclination of her head. "Empress." Nothing more followed immediately. She took a small sip from her glass, allowing the silence to remain entirely comfortable.

After a moment, her eyes drifted back toward the hall, where congratulations continued to flow toward Astraea from every direction. She said, her tone as composed as ever, "There are few rulers I'd have crossed a room to meet." She allowed a brief pause before continuing. "I've heard enough stories to know not to trust them. I chose to meet the woman instead."

​

TAG: Mercy | OPEN

 

[Adonis Angelis IV]

​

The celebration of the coronation filled the palace with quiet jubilation. Respectful applause replaced the victorious battle songs Adonis had grown accustomed to, but celebration was celebration all the same. The feeling was tangible throughout the hall. Hapes finally felt like it was in the possession of its people. The guiding hand of Mandalore was more forgiving than that of the Black Sun or the Sith. Still, through the celebration, Adonis stayed on Avela and her words.

Through his helm, he watched as she pushed back a lock of obsidian hair, the slight hesitation of a warrior unaccustomed to standing without her buy'ce. He had wondered why she had chosen to leave it behind, though he had long since learned not to question another Mandalorian's relationship with their helmet.

Instead, he found his attention drawn to the details beneath the beskar. Freckles scattered lightly across the bridge of her nose. The warmth the palace light lent to her cheeks. It was... refreshing. A quiet reminder that beneath every buy'ce was a person, not simply another warrior. There were vode he had fought beside for years whose faces remained a mystery to him.

"You are kind to carry them with you, next to your kar'ta." He paused, "May their strength give you strength." Adonis formed a fist and patted it against his chest lightly. The thud of beskar not carrying far over the ramblings of Hapan nobility.

He found a smile inching across his features as she spoke of protection, how quickly leadership had soured him to the message behind Mandalore. Leadership had a way of sanding away the ideals that brought someone to take up arms in the first place. Adonis found it refreshing to be honest, "Duty and honor." He repeated softly, Avela Wren could almost hear the smile if she were listening.

Before he could dwell on the thought, a soft buzz echoed inside his buy'ce, then a notification bloomed in the corner of his HUD.

PRIORITY TRAFFIC - PERSEUS

The tactical display expanded for only a heartbeat. A drone feed highlighted a corridor deep within the fighting before the image gave way to a live transmission.

"One Jedi neutralized. Three wounded vode located."

His report was brief and professional. Medical extraction requested, then continuing the advance.

It was an odd thing. Most of the warriors fighting below still existed somewhere at the edge of his awareness. The Force offered no certainty, but it provided reassurance enough that they still endured. Perseus never did. The foundling remained absent from the Force as completely as the day they had first met. No instinctive awareness, no quiet certainty that he still lived. Only reports carried across encrypted comm channels.

He was alive...and thinking first of his wounded vode.

Duty, and honor.

Adonis found himself exhaling quietly through the filters of his helmet before he realized he had been holding his breath. As quickly as Adonis's attention shifted away, it came back to Avela.

"Don't think I haven't considered it." He turned his head both ways before continuing, "Think they'd even notice?" He asked half joking.

"But Mand'alor placed us here." The mischief in his voice gone for a moment, replaced with the same pragmatism that got him here in the first place.

"I'd rater be where the fighting is." The admission came easily.

"And I'd be lying if I said I knew where I was needed more."

He looked toward the newly crowned Queen Mother. The crown rested lightly today- tomorrow would be another matter. Then he looked back to Avela, wondering if she was serious about leaving.

"I suppose we've managed to discuss philosophy, duty, and abandoning our post without ever exchanging names."

The corner of his mouth tugged into a faint smile beneath the buy'ce.

"Adonis."

​

 

[Kurayami Bloodborn]

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

The next few moments stretched into an eternity. Apparently there was some hesitation on the Jedi's part, behind the helmet of the armor, Kurayami's one organic eye narrowed in assessment. Unaware of the evacuation taking place near the back of the Temple, and yet the Jedi somehow seemed aware and teetering on the edge of the decision. In a flash, the Jedi turned and tried to make a dash only to find themself rooted in place, the Force still screaming at them to run. "Oh no. You don't get to leave this time. You failed me once already...and worse even, you failed her." An emotionless declaration and flare of the Force, the first true hint of anger from the Corellian as Kurayami stepped forward, a quick feint, designed to draw a strike to the right. "Then I was but a lowly soldier, a CDF pilot, she a Jedi Knight and part of your strike team. Jennifer San'ire. I know you recognize-" A sudden enraged scream and slash at the neck, from left to right, the blade stopped inches from a gloved hand.

"You ran when the ambush came, taking only a glancing blow to the arm as you left." Viridian blade brought casually to rest against blue, grip adjusted to support the saber lock. "She was barely conscious when we left, the only other survivor that day." A quick spinning slash catching the Jedi almost in the waist, grazing the cloak. The Jedi broke the lock as soon as he felt the grip on his body loosen, dashing back before rushing forward with a flurry of blows, pushing Kurayami backwards with a fury that had been boiling beneath the surface. A block that was a moment too slow from the Corellian, and the saber of his opponent found purchase. Seeming to sink deep into the breastplate of the armor. Still there was no blade tip lancing out his back, no discoloration of metal heating from the blade, something was wrong, but the realization was milliseconds too late as the viridian blade sprang back into life from the Drunken Savant's hilt and a monstrously powerful Force Repulse buried the Jedi in the far wall before Kurayami yanked him free with the Force and sent his saber lancing into the Jedi's chest. Dropping the corpse he clipped the saber back to his belt for the time being. The Force calming around him slowly as he drew the rifle from it's place on his back. A deep breath as he prepared himself to hunt now. The modified TL-50 would make him seem outwardly a normal soldier, but the tempest of Force energies that swirled around him marked him as something else, he could not keep the presence of the armor nullified or lessened, he had tried before. It had forced a change in his doctrine, yet it was one that proved useful in these situations.

As he rounded the corner there was a battle of Jedi, Sith, and Mandalorians already in progress. Without stopping, he would send chunks of debris flying towards where the Jedi were headed, not where they stood. The rifle fired precision bursts towards the conflict, even the attempt to deflect would be met with an explosion and concussive force, if they got the chance. some were less fortunate, taking a full powered blast to the back before, Kurayami's presence had been accounted for, Those ended up as ash, the disruptor portion of the bolt doing its job incredibly efficiently. There were those who would rush him, while others froze, caught between a one man army and the crushing onslaught of the combined Mandalorian and Sith Covenant forces. One who rushed forward found himself no longer in this reality, but in the Netherworld, fighting who knew what sorts of monstrosities of his own making. Along with many that were not. Another Padawan that froze too long found himself used to block a charging Knight's saber, Force pulled in front just enough to take the brunt of the attack, the xythan shielding flaring under the strain of a saber blade before the TL-50 made quick work of the issue. After taking a shot a nearby explosion sent the message that while range was working it was just as likely to get him killed. With a slightly upset huff, Kurayami holstered the rifle once more.

 

[Eira Dyn]

​

Objective: 1 - Observe and Enjoy
Outfit: Dress
Tag: Leontis Antalis

Eira watched as the new Hapan Queen was crowned, it was a moment, one that Eira was interested to see. It had the Sith apprentice reflective on things, curious about whether she would claim a world for herself. Dantooine would be what most consider an obvious choice for Eira, it was technically where she was born but the world was not one that Eira wished to claim. It was not a home that Eira craved to be at. No, there had to be better choices for her, ones within the Sith Order's territory or close to it. One that would demonstrate the power and authority that she aspired to have. Her mind was mulling the thoughts over during the coronation. Eira hadn't thought about finding such a goal currently since she was still an apprentice but she was craving more power. Failures lingered in the back of her mind, driving her to do better.

A man approached her, one that she could not detect holding any presence in the Force. Though there was some wealthy superiority that flowed from him, Eira was never really one to consider wealth a power to wield. It was too indecipherable for her. Easily stolen, made to be worthless or wasted away never to be touched. The only reason she had the expensive items she wore to this coronation was because Quinn held a great deal of wealth and Eira was able to get some allowance to ensure she looked decent. There had been times early on in Eira's training where she looked more feral than beauty. Beastly woman who did not care about grooming herself.

Now she was being called lady in non-ironic tones.

"Bold to claim the Mandalorians and the Sith here to be liars." Eira sharply commented as she studied him. Nothing seemed impressive in terms of power or physical fighting capabilities. The mention of his name and the world, Chandrila, that was not a world Eira found to be particularly concerned about. But it was clearly that she was talking with someone who was either a politician or desiring to be one. She was not a fan of politics and those that partook in them. One merely had to wave their hand at how useless the Galactic Alliance's senate was or how useless the current High Republic senate is to know that politicians cause far more harm than a Sith could. Even within their own faction.

Turning to face the man, "I tend not to hang around and deal with politicians, especially those not connected to the Force." There was a bluntness to her tone, that she saw those without Force powers as lesser beings. "Also be glad to not see me before today, I tend to operate in more lethal ways. Cutting the weakness out." A hint of her assassin ways of dealing with matters. "Tell me, Antalis, why approach me? What drew your body to this Sith out of the all the Sith around here?"

While she was not interested in politics, she was intrigued in that he boldly approached her and she was curious to learn why.

 

[Sylor]

​

The resistance did not last much longer.

As their formations collapsed beneath the Mandalorian advance, those who still had the will to fight found themselves isolated, surrounded, and steadily overwhelmed. A handful attempted to flee into the surrounding terrain, but pursuit teams intercepted them before they could disappear. Others, seeing the battle lost, slowly laid their weapons at their feet and raised their hands in surrender.

Sylor gave a single nod.

"Take them alive."

The order spread through the ranks. Weapons were secured, binders were fastened, and prisoners were separated before being escorted to a temporary holding area under heavy guard. The wounded, friend and foe alike, were gathered for treatment. Fallen warriors were identified and carried with the respect they had earned, while engineers and technicians began inspecting the battlefield for damaged equipment, unexploded ordnance, and anything of intelligence value.

What had been a battlefield only minutes before slowly transformed into an organized cleanup operation. Smoke still drifted through the air, and the scent of scorched earth lingered, but the gunfire had given way to the measured voices of soldiers carrying out their duties. Reports were exchanged, ammunition redistributed, defensive positions established, and the area secured.

Sylor stood quietly for a moment, his helmet sweeping across the field. Victory was never measured by the enemies defeated, but by the lives his warriors had brought home. Satisfied that the situation was under control, he turned toward the command element to receive the first wave of casualty and intelligence reports.


exit thread

 

[Leontis Antalis]

LEONTIS ANTALIS

The final echoes of the coronation still lingered beneath the palace's vaulted ceilings. Applause spread through the assembled nobles in measured waves, followed by the familiar hum of conversations reigniting as history immediately gave way to politics. Leontis had expected as much. Crowns were placed upon heads in moments. Power settled far more slowly.

His attention remained fixed upon the woman beside him. When she answered, the corners of his mouth rose ever so slightly. There it is. The observation about liars drew not offense, but quiet amusement. "Everyone lies." The words came calmly, without apology. "Truth is power. To tell it in full is to give that power away." His gaze briefly drifted across the nobles now congratulating one another with practiced smiles. "Some merely become better at convincing themselves otherwise."

Her assessment of politicians earned another faint smirk. She was exactly what he'd suspected. No. More. His first impression had been of an attractive Sith apprentice with enough confidence to wear a dress that announced her presence before she spoke. That assumption had lasted perhaps thirty seconds.

Now he recognized discipline beneath the confidence. Violence beneath the elegance. The bluntness of someone who had little patience for social performances. Refreshing. Most nobles wrapped every insult in six compliments before delivering it. She simply unsheathed the blade.

She'll be a challenge. Leontis enjoyed a challenge.

"I assure you," he replied evenly, "my family has been woven into the fabric of Chandrila for centuries." His fingers idly adjusted one of the rings adorning his hand. "Now that the Sith Covenant governs my home, House Antalis stands to grow stronger by leaps and bounds." There was no embarrassment in admitting it. Opportunity denied was simply foolishness.

"That requires political games, certainly." A pause. "But I am by no means merely a politician." There were countless ways to remove obstacles. Legislation was only one of them.

Her dismissal of those outside the Force did not visibly bother him. If anything, it seemed to amuse him. "The Force is everything." He spoke it as though discussing gravity. "I may never touch it as you do." His dark eyes met hers without challenge. "But I still occupy my own place within it."

Another small smile. "And I intend to ensure that place becomes as grand as possible."

His expression softened—not weaker, merely more conversational—as she mentioned the more lethal circumstances under which she usually met new people. "I believe some matters do indeed require lethality." His eyes wandered briefly toward the palace windows overlooking the brilliant skyline of Ta'a Chume'Dan. "I am therefore quite pleased our first meeting occurred beneath chandeliers rather than across a battlefield."

His gaze returned to her. "To have competed for survival instead of conversation would have been... a tragedy. But make no mistake, I am quite willing and capable of getting my hands dirty." There was enough sincerity in the statement to make it difficult to dismiss as mere flattery.

Then came her real question. Why her? Leontis let the silence linger for only a heartbeat. "I could have approached the Empress." A small shrug followed. "But reaching beyond one's present station reeks of desperation."

His voice remained low, conspiratorial without becoming familiar. "I have ambitions for Chandrila. One day I intend to stand before the Empress and make my case that House Antalis should be entrusted with guiding my world." He did not say ruling. Not yet. "That day will come."

His smile returned, this time touched with unmistakable confidence. "It simply won't come all at once." There was a subtle shake of his head and a pause to take in a breath. "The ladder is climbed one rung at a time."

He regarded her openly now. "I recognized enough to believe you were Sith." He gave her a smile that said he knew she would not deny it. "A position only slightly beyond my own seemed a far wiser place to begin cultivating acquaintances than attempting to leap several steps upward." The honesty ended with the smallest hint of mischief. "And..."

His eyes briefly swept over the dark burgundy dress before respectfully returning to her face. "...you were simply far too striking not to take the opportunity." His grin widened by a fraction. "I reasoned that if you accepted the conversation, I might gain an interesting acquaintance." He gave her an unapologetic look over, "If you declined, provided you didn't make a public spectacle of it..."

He lifted his glass slightly. "...I would lose nothing but a few moments." His confident smirk remained. "So far," he concluded, "I'd say the gamble has been profitable."

Eira Dyn

​

​

 

[Mercy]

MERCY

EMPRESS | WARLORD | STAR-ARM

Location: HAPES | Objective: 1 - Witness the Coronation | Direct Tags: Sabine Delacroix | Mia Monroe
Other Tags: Adonis Angelis IV | Amelia von Sorenn | Aether Verd | Astraea Vega | Adelle Bastiel | Quinn Varanin | Kisrelo | Siv Kryze | Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata | Leontis Antalis | Itzhal Volkihar​

.

She came to rest at the refreshment table without entering the Empress's space, her attention settling first upon the crystal decanters arranged before them. Selecting one with unhurried precision, she poured herself a modest measure before lifting the glass briefly to inspect the amber liquid catching the palace lights. Only then did she acknowledge the woman beside her. A slight inclination of her head. "Empress." Nothing more followed immediately. She took a small sip from her glass, allowing the silence to remain entirely comfortable.

After a moment, her eyes drifted back toward the hall, where congratulations continued to flow toward Astraea from every direction. She said, her tone as composed as ever, "There are few rulers I'd have crossed a room to meet." She allowed a brief pause before continuing. "I've heard enough stories to know not to trust them. I chose to meet the woman instead."

Intent could be read like a book if you were familiar with kinetic language as well as Mercy was. The same reason why she could hold a whole conversation with Mia Monroe without saying one single word, was the same reason why the Empress of the Core saw Sabina coming and by the time she had arrived proper? Mercy had already shifted her body, facing the Sith.

"A fellow Lord of the Sith here among the Mandalorians..." Mercy murmured softly, voice low, taking in the other woman. "But not one I know... so not part of my Covenant... but I have not seen you around the Sith Order either..."

Head tilts lightly as she listened to her.

Lips curled upward at the mention of stories.

"Oh? And what stories have you heard so far, darling?" Her eyes flicked towards Quinn Varanin across the room. Mercy wondered if she was the source of them. Three Lords of the Sith in one room, if two of them didn't know each other, the other two must. Or it was a coincidence of the century, which Mercy didn't often believe in.

"Then we can compare reality to fiction."

.

ERASE THE PAST

 

[Veyla Krinn]

A warm laugh escaped Veyla before she could stop it. Nyra's theatrical offense, complete with the hand to her chest, earned an unmistakable smile from the Mandalorian. There was something refreshing about someone who could so easily laugh at herself while still taking pride in where she came from.

"Then I should consider myself fortunate to have met Nyra Kairo herself." The corners of her mouth lifted another fraction. "I'd hate to tarnish such a distinguished reputation."

Her gaze followed the direction Nyra pointed. Cheers rose from the growing crowd as another contestant misjudged the shifting course and sent colorful drinks splashing harmlessly into the air. Rather than jeers, laughter met the mistake, followed by applause as the unfortunate participant took an exaggerated bow.

Veyla watched for a few quiet moments, studying the rhythm of the course as naturally as she would have studied a sparring partner. The platforms shifted unpredictably beneath each person's feet, rewarding balance as much as speed. It looked...fun. Not a word she often applied to competition, but an honest one all the same.

She caught Nyra's playful once-over and shook her head with another quiet chuckle.

"You seem remarkably determined to separate a Mandalorian from her helmet." There wasn't the slightest hint of accusation in her tone, only amusement. "Careful. At this rate people might start talking."

Her eyes drifted back toward the course before settling on Nyra again.

"As for your challenge..." She rolled one shoulder beneath the weight of her armor. "I think you're right." The admission came easily. "Agility and confidence I can manage. Laughing at myself..." She considered it for a heartbeat before smiling again. "I'm getting better at that."

A playful glint appeared in her emerald eyes.

"Very well, Nyra Kairo." She gestured toward the course with an open hand. "Lead the way." Her smile broadened just enough to betray that she was beginning to enjoy herself. "Though if I make it across without spilling a drop, I expect you'll have another challenge waiting for me."

Nyra Kairo

 

[Eira Dyn]

​

Objective: 1 - Observe and Enjoy
Outfit: Dress
Tag: Leontis Antalis

The art of deception and twisting of truths was something that Eira was well versed in as she looked around the throne room, noting the different faces and masks that people wore. Of course, there were going to be some that did not wish to be completely honest or felt seen but Eira was not sure she felt the same sentiment as Leontis on this. "While no one is ever completely honest all the time, does not mean every word or thought they utter is a lie. It can take a practiced eye to discern when someone is offering their honest thoughts. Rather than just blanketing all in this chamber as liars and deceivers." Some would take offense to that accusation while others might utilise it. Offer truth and honest information knowing it would not be believed and turn that against you.

"Ah, so you confess to be privileged and out of touch with the populace that you seek to hold authority over?" Eira raised an eyebrow, her natural red eyes lingering on him, "and you seek to garner titles and relevancy not through personal might or political manoeuvring that you do but pleading with the Sith to ensure your loyalty to them is rewarded?" That was another move that Eira was not pleased with, too many assumed that brown nosing the Sith was exactly what they desired. Sith creed and the way they should approach matters did not favour that, egos of many allowed it but there was always a level of discontent and disgust towards the people.

Her head tilted, "what do you offer the people of Chandrila? The Force is not everything, that is something the Jedi wish the weak to believe. If all that mattered was the Force then anyone without it are meaningless beings. Those Force Dead would not exist, or they would die. No, the Force is not everything, it is merely a power that one strong enough can wield to enact powerful change in the galaxy." That was the core belief in why she felt a failure, Eira had not demonstrated the level of power she felt necessary to become a Sith that could enact the change and strength of leadership that the apprentice had long craved.

Looking at the chandeliers, "do you truly think they are what protect you? Is it that no political assassinations happen on Chandrila?" Eira was curious, she knew little of that world and its people, perhaps they did not descend into assassinations and deadly political machinations.

"Oh? So, I am not beyond your station?" The sharpness in her voice cut through the silence, her eyes narrowed, "you make assumption based on no understanding of who I am... A dangerous game indeed." There was no tone of praising or interest, a coldness that hinted towards dangerous lines that he is stumbling across. Eira was never beyond pushing down those she viewed as inferior back into their place. Before, she might have been more overzealous with it, a flash of lightning crackling around her arms, a dagger in hand. Something more overtly threatening, but she was attempting to follow in her Master's footsteps. Aura, presence, tone. They could be just as striking, more so when done correctly.

She shook her head, "compliments on my appearance after attempting to place us on the same rung of the ladder is foolish. Merely stating the latter without mention of your empress would have impressed me more. Demonstrated you were a bold one, desiring to make himself seen more." Eira held back nothing in her critique. She would not be charmed so easily.

 

[Sabine Delacroix]

Sabine's gaze followed Mercy's for only a heartbeat, settling briefly on Quinn before returning. A faint smile found its way to her lips, quiet and unhurried. Every story had its author; but Quinn Varanin was not it. "The galaxy has never been particularly accommodating of neat classifications." She turned the stem of her glass idly between her fingers, watching the light catch in the amber liquid. "The Mandalorians and I have found our interests converging on more than one occasion." She paused for a moment. "Convergence should not be mistaken for allegiance." The smile lingered. "I have found independence to be remarkably refreshing"

Only then did she take a measured sip before lowering the glass once more. "As for the stories..." Her amber eyes settled comfortably on Mercy. "They came from my Keepers." The unfamiliar title was offered as though it required no explanation, and she made no effort to provide one. "They concern themselves with the movements of history. They told me of the Empress who conquered the Core. Of a ruler who gathered a younger generation of Sith from fragmentation and set them upon a common course, however... unconventional that course may be."

Her fingers drifted idly around the stem of her glass. "I have watched too many civilizations mistake stagnation for vitality." The thought lingered for a moment before she gave it voice. "Stagnation has a habit of disguising itself as order." Her gaze remained on Mercy, calm and unwavering. "Whether your course ultimately proves wise is a question history has yet to answer." A faint smile returned. "Yet it has already altered the current. My Keepers could recount campaigns, treaties, victories, and defeats with admirable precision." She tilted her head ever so slightly. "What they cannot do is tell me of the mind of a ruler."

​

TAG: Mercy | OPEN

 

[Mia Monroe]

Tags: Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata Itzhal Volkihar Mercy​

Quiet steps drew her eyes to her other side as Kael moved to step beside her, Mia gave her head a small incline in greeting, eyes flicking over his outfit beneath her visor. Where was his armour? Her gaze moved, shifting briefly to find dark armour of his mother, the blue accents catching in the light. If Adelle was armoured, why was he not? She filed the question away, it wouldn't do to call him out here.

Her attention shifted back to the proceedings, or at least it would seem she was watching them, joining in the applause that rose with the newly crowned Queen Mother, but her eyes were on Mercy as bodies began to move, nobles moving to offer congratulations and bend their knee, jovial conversations rising in stark contrast to the quiet fury burning in Mia.

The silent insult landed, and Mia's gaze flicked to Itzhal and then to young Kael and then back to Mercy. Yes, they watched, they were there to support her but that had little to do with faith in her ability. Mercy did not give her a chance to reply, rising smoothly she presented her back to Mia and walked away.

Mia was not a threat.

Being underestimated was a new experience for Mia and for a moment she could only watch Mercy go. She couldn't attack her, and Mercy knew it. Mia took a breath and rolled her shoulders, reminding herself that if she rose to the bait, the chances of securing a contract with them slimmed.

The exhale came slowly but the tension didn't quite leave her shoulders, how could it? He gaze moved to Kael. "While your support is appreciated, ad'ika," she began softly "your timing is not. I have this, go."

Mia did not wait for him to reply, moving away, not towards the throng of people seeking refreshments or those moving towards Queen.. She moved to the edge, where Itzhal rested, settling in beside him the back of her hand brushing his briefly. They stood in silence watching the proceedings, for a few moments before Mia found Mercy again, not that it was hard.

"I'm going to bring her down off her pedestal." she said quietly enough only Itzhal would hear.