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

[Leontis Antalis]

LEONTIS ANTALIS

For the first time since approaching her, Leontis seriously considered conceding the conversation. Not openly, of course. He would excuse himself with a practiced smile, offer some polished observation about the coronation, and depart with his dignity intact. Later, he could tell himself that the young woman was simply too thoroughly Sith to understand power that did not announce itself through lightning, blades, or conquest. It would be a comforting explanation. It would also be defeat.

Leontis remained where he was. He lifted one hand and wagged a finger gently between them, more amused than admonishing. “In every good lie, there is a measure of truth.” His tone remained light, though the argument beneath it was not. “A lie without truth is crude. Fragile. It collapses under the smallest scrutiny.” His hand lowered, fingers curling loosely around the stem of his glass. “The finest deceptions are built from facts arranged with purpose.”

A reluctant pause followed. “Though I will concede that there are those so certain in their convictions—or so indifferent to the judgment of others—that they will reveal the whole truth. There are also those who feel they have nothing to lose by revealing the truth.” He inclined his head slightly toward her. “That is a rarity.” A faint smile returned. “One I would welcome experiencing.”

Her accusation that he was privileged and out of touch drew a quiet chuckle rather than embarrassment. “I am privileged.” He saw no reason to deny what was obvious. “As for being in tandem with the populace, that has not historically been the preferred method by which the Sith rule.” His gaze moved briefly across the chamber, taking in Covenant dignitaries and armored Mandalorians gathered beneath Hapan banners. “On that matter, I find myself in agreement with them.”

His dark eyes returned to Eira. “I am above the populace. I was born above them, raised above them, and I expect to remain above them.” There was no cruelty in the admission. Only certainty.

When she suggested he intended to plead with the Sith for power, however, Leontis slowly shook his head. “No.” The single word carried more firmness than anything he had said thus far. “I will prove my worth to the Sith. I will not beg them to recognize it.”

His thumb passed idly over the edge of a signet ring. “Personal might has many definitions. Mine may not resemble the traditional Sith expression of it, but I will display it over time.” He possessed no lightsaber. No command of storms. No ability to crush an enemy's throat from across a room. He had names. Debts. Votes. Trade routes. And people who believed their decisions were their own.

“What I offer Chandrila is strength and prosperity, provided its people follow my lead.” His voice softened, becoming almost conversational again. “I offer them a voice among the Sith.” A slight smile touched his lips. “That voice will choose for them, naturally. But it will be Chandrilan. It will come from Chandrila, and it will act for Chandrila.” Or, more accurately, for the House that best embodied it.

At her correction concerning the Force, Leontis offered a small bow of his head. “Then forgive my ignorance.” The apology sounded sincere enough, though not submissive. “I grew up surrounded by the corruption of the Jedi and their admirers. Their insistence that the Force binds and defines all things has infected much of Chandrilan thought.” He raised his eyes again. “I am willing to accept that I have misunderstood it.”

The question of what protected him finally earned a genuine smile. He glanced toward the chandeliers, then back to her, before shaking his head once more. “Not those.” His smile widened slightly. “From you, I suspect what protects me is that you have likely never heard my name.” He allowed the implication to settle. “And the hope that a disagreement in philosophy is not sufficient cause for you to end me.”

There were political assassinations on Chandrila, certainly. They were merely conducted with more respectable instruments. A ruined career. A poisoned reputation. A convenient accident discussed over breakfast. Physical death was often needlessly final.

Her sharpened question about station made his expression more thoughtful. “To some, any Sith would be beyond my station.” He did not retreat from the admission. “You are correct. I made assumptions.” His eyes remained upon hers. “And that game can be dangerous.” The smallest trace of satisfaction entered his expression. “But power cannot be attained without risk. Nor can it be acquired without playing games.”

Then she explained that a simpler compliment might have carried him further than laying bare his intentions. Leontis released a quiet sigh. That, more than any threat she had implied, seemed to wound him. It proved that the being who revealed their whole truth for not fearing there was something to lose, who he spoke of before, was a fool. There is always something to lose if you aren’t careful.

He glanced aside for a moment, as though contemplating the tragedy of honesty being punished after she had objected to his suspicion of lies. When he looked back, the smirk had returned. “I am here to network with Sith.” His words were direct now, stripped of ornament. “I will not apologize for judging you approachable by someone of my station.”

The smirk widened. “I am standing in a room filled with Mandalorians, Hapans, and Sith.” His gaze swept across the coronation gathering. “Some might call it a room full of vipers.” He lifted his glass toward her in a small toast. “I would not argue vehemently against the description.”

His attention settled fully upon Eira again. “You, my lady…” There was challenge in his smile now, but no mockery. “…are someone I would welcome a bite from.”

Eira Dyn

​

​

 

[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

"While your support is appreciated, ad'ika," she began softly "your timing is not. I have this, go."

Kael waited long enough to not directly be in the Warmaster's hearing to sigh. He was tired of being in the wrong. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong uniform, wrong wrong wrong wrong. What was he even doing here? He had come to see his mother, but she had other plans. He had come to pay respects to the empire's new ally, but without his mother, he was nothing in the empire. He had hoped to support the Warmaster, but had only made her appear weak in front of the enemy. Above all, in this place where the dark side swam with so many Sith, he was having a crisis of purpose, thereby making himself weak. All this ran through his mind like a swoop bike race, yet his face kept his mask of indifference. He calmly stepped back and started to make his way towards the outskirts of the assembly, knowing that at least in the Force he probably looked like a pale imitation of his normal light. Once again he felt alone, once again he felt isolated, once again... Rage started to flare in his chest. Rage at himself, at being himself. He was raging against the one person he could rage at and hurt no one but himself. He quietly made his way to an abandoned balcony, and for a moment, he was grateful for not wearing his armor, lest he denegrate the image of a mandalorian, of an iron wolf, of the adopted son of Adelle.


Tag/ mentioned: Mia Monroe @open

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

​

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

A swell of applause rippled down the aisle, a chorus of congratulations that mingled sincerity with a hint of artifice, spreading outwards with every patron that stood witness to the Queen Mother's coronation. His back protected by the comforting presence of solid marble, Itzhal felt the surge of emotions displayed before him, with joyful cheers and a wave of clapping that grew muffled underneath the assortment of protective filters that reduced the thrum to a sensation in his chest, rather than an echoing rattle in his often abused ears.

In turn, as the celebrations travelled, he forced his hands to join the collective, the sound of impact between his own palms ringing hollow against the backdrop of genuine cheer.

He could not find it in himself to care—let those who had reason to celebrate bask in their elations; in the meantime, he would tally the cost of this new allegiance. At the end of the day, it was just another piece of a border that seemed to grow and grow, leaving his protectors to scramble further and further from the worlds that they once called home. In time, it might lead to the expansion of their culture, whether people stepped forward as true Mandalorians or as those who claimed the Cabur Creed, though that was a project to be measured in years and decades rather than weeks and months; he found himself contemplative all the same.

What would the people of Hapes bring to the Mandalorian culture?

Before he could continue to consider further, the initial fervour of the celebrations began to wane, and the applause softened until, in turn, it was replaced by murmured conversations that allowed Itzhal's hands to rest. Slowly, allowing the heat to seep out of his abused palms, the back of his hand shifted to brush against the newcomer that slotted into place beside him, their union as simple as breathing.

His chest rose with the snort that escaped him, concealed beneath his buy'ce, "I fear that would count as an orbital strike."

Then, without a further word on the matter, his attention shifted deliberately towards the outskirts of the gathering. His focus narrowed on the doorway from which Kael Bastiel had recently departed. When finally he spoke, his voice was transmitted over tight-beam communications, rather than risking it carrying in a place like this, "I can't decide if I'm more concerned about the fact that kid decided to forsake his beskar on an occasion like this or that he's far too harsh on himself."

Direct: Mia Monroe
Referenced: Mercy Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata​

 

[Nyra Kairo]

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

Nyra's laughter came easily. "Oh, I'm not trying to separate a Mandalorian from her helmet." She paused just long enough for the denial to become suspicious. "I'm simply answering the challenge." A playful innocence spread across her face that fooled absolutely no one.

"You said I wasn't sure what happened once Mandalorians put their helmets down." She shrugged as if it were the most logical thing in the galaxy. "Now I'm curious."

Her brown eyes sparkled. "I've seen Hapans celebrate all my life. It only seems fair that I get to see whether Mandalorians can keep up with us." The grin tugging at her lips made it abundantly clear she was enjoying the banter as much as the festivities themselves.

"And if people start talking..." she added with an exaggerated whisper, "they'll probably just assume I'm filming another collaboration." She gave Veyla an innocent smile. "It wouldn't even crack the top ten strangest things my followers have seen."

With that, Nyra pivoted toward the growing crowd surrounding the balancing course. "Come on!" She slipped through the gathering with practiced ease, offering apologetic smiles whenever she squeezed between groups of spectators. A few people recognized her immediately, waving enthusiastically.

"Nyra! You're doing the course?"

"Looks that way!" she called back. "Try not to laugh too hard when I fall."

"Oh, we're definitely laughing!"

"Fair."

The attendant at the starting platform handed her a broad serving tray already loaded with colorful glasses filled nearly to the brim. Nyra accepted it carefully, extending both hands to test the weight before shifting her footing experimentally on the first platform. She glanced over one shoulder toward Veyla. "Looks like we're carrying drinks to some very impatient guests." Her smile softened into something warmly competitive.

"You know..." She rocked gently on her heels as another contestant finished to a chorus of cheers. "I don't think life's ever really runs out of challenges." Her gaze drifted briefly toward the bustling streets beyond the game. "Or adventures."

There was no melancholy in the observation. If anything, it sounded hopeful. "The trick is deciding which ones are worth chasing." She adjusted her grip on the tray before looking back to the Mandalorian. "But don't worry." A mischievous glint returned to her eyes. "I promised I'd go easy on you." She flashed a grin. "I'm not here to win some great Hapan versus Mandalorian rivalry." A beat. "I'm here to have fun."

The starting bell chimed. Nyra inhaled once, centered the tray against her palms, and stepped onto the first swaying platform with an excited laugh that suggested she might have been looking forward to this challenge just a little more than she had let on.

 

[Veyla Krinn]

Veyla watched Nyra with an expression that hovered somewhere between amusement and admiration. The woman moved through the crowd as though she had been born among festivals, greeting strangers with the same effortless warmth she had shown her only moments before.

"So that's your plan," Veyla called after her with a laugh. "Distract me until the competition starts."

She accepted the attendant's tray, instinctively testing its balance before settling both hands beneath it. It wasn't terribly heavy, but the glasses sloshed with every subtle shift of weight. Already she could tell this wasn't going to be about strength.

Her emerald eyes drifted back to Nyra.

"You know," she said, her smile softening, "I think you've got the right idea."

The crowds cheered as another contestant barely managed to save a glass from tipping over.

"I've spent most of my life treating every challenge like it had something to prove." She looked down at the tray before meeting Nyra's eyes again. "Maybe it's enough for this one to simply be fun."

The starting bell rang.

Veyla inhaled slowly, settling herself the same way she would before stepping into a sparring ring. Not with tension, but with focus. Her feet found a comfortable stance beneath her, shoulders relaxed, breathing steady.

"We'll see about this 'going easy' business," she replied with a grin. "I'm not promising a Mandalorian victory."

A beat passed.

"But I am going to make you earn yours."

With that, she stepped onto the first swaying platform, her movements measured and deliberate. Years spent balancing atop moving transports, navigating uneven terrain in armor, and fighting with a pike translated naturally into careful footwork. The tray remained steady in her hands as she focused less on the finish line and more on each individual step, letting the laughter and cheering around them become part of the festival rather than a distraction.

Nyra Kairo

 

[Tessa Monroe]

Tags: Muad Dib Perseus Mig Gred Arris Windrun​

“If what I’m feeling is right, it may as well be ad (kid).”

Mig’s response made her stomach go cold. As a rule, when Aether came to see her, she never asked about the mantle, she never pressed him for information on whatever campaign he was fighting for next or where the war was coming from next, she deliberately gave him space to speak about anything and everything but what he had to do to keep the Empire alive. That was her gift to him, the only thing she could ever do to ease the burden.

“We’re moving out! Keep the sublights warmed up.”

And now, as her eyes tracked HUD camera footage of mandalorians and Jedi fighting, she was betraying him.

No.

She set her palms against the counter and closed her eyes for a moment, and took a breath before she let herself spiral. This wasn’t betrayal, this was just another path, another option she was giving the Jedi that Aether clearly did not seem to want to. She let the breath go and rolled her shoulders, bringing her attention back to the display, pulling up the enclaves layout as markers scattered across it, Mandalorians Jedi and Sith flagging across it.

“Pick up the pace Mig, the fight is getting closer to you.”

She picked up the transmission from Perseus eyes flicking over to his location, not close enough yet to be a concern. Lights blinked out on both sides and Tessa’s feet shifted. There was no mercy. Not that she expected it from the sith, but perhaps she did from her own people.

“This is getting ugly.” she muttered before movement at the intersection Mig was heading for caught her attention.

“You’ve got vode at the intersection ahead of you, take the next left and then third door on your right, you can punch through the wall there to avoid them.”

​

 

[Mia Monroe]

Tags: Itzhal Volkihar​

Mia gave a small shrug. “Well, so long as it's not on Mandalorian soil…”

Her arms lifted to fold across her chest, neutral ground would have be ideal, somewhere with a small population or wide open spaces would lower the risk of collateral, her mind drifted running through maps and borders long committed to memory. Mercy would come. Mia could say that much about her already, she wanted the fight just as much as Mia did, she was just dangling bait in the hopes that the Warmaster would take it.

And she would, but on her own terms.

The tight beam communication drew her back, her eyes moving to the path Kael had taken and she exhaled a sigh. “He is his mothers son.” she replied, as if that was enough to answer. Adelle was just as hard on herself and children generally emulated their parents, blood or no blood. “The lack of armour will be down to ignorance, something I will correct when I get a chance.”

As if on cue a report flashed in the corner of her HUD, a rolling casualty update and she clicked her tongue, the number was already too high, the Enclave was putting up a fight. With a flick of her eyes, the report slid to Itzhal, her feet shifting her weight, the only outward sign of her agitation.

Warmaster meant sometimes staying back was better, but being here instead of there made it impossible for her to coordinate anything, she was entrusting others and she hated it. Not because she didn’t trust them, but because if she was at the helm, those casualties were on her head alone.

“They need help.”

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

​

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

"As you say," he drawled, his voice dripping with a weary form of amusement, each word steeped in a tired veil of sarcasm. He would take no pleasure in the chaos of it all, the inevitable destruction that such a brawl between titanic figures would ensue, even if it became a necessary sacrifice in the grand act of bringing the Empress of the Core down a notch.

Still, he was aware enough to recognise that the outcome would bring him a short-lived smile—before the relief efforts began and he found himself buried up to his neck in the aftermath of whatever mess remained.

That, however, was a problem for another day. In the meantime, he found himself more focused on the outskirts of the room as their conversation shifted towards their fellow Mandalorian, "Last I checked, their relationship is a little too fresh for them to be imprinting on each other, at least not to this extent." He shook his buy'ce with a measure of frustration, the motion exaggerated for the sake of his fellow Mandalorian. "It's bloody typical though; she somehow finds the one foundling capable of criticising themselves as much as she does. Manda praise, if we're fortunate, they'll both finally get a proper look into the mirror."

Unfortunately, he wasn't quite so hopeful that he was willing to bet upon it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the subtle tilt of Mia's helm—a hint that her thoughts were occupied with something beyond their immediate conversation. He instinctively followed the movement, his gaze darting upward towards the rafters, hoping to decipher what had captured her focus as they travelled over the murals and frescos embedded in the ceiling. Before long, it soon became clear that whatever had drawn her attention was likely something displayed on her HUD rather than anything tangible in the radiant citadel.

Naturally, that was the point a report slipped across his field of vision, the cascading stream of casualty updates unfurling along the edge of his visor. It wasn't a furious torrent, but it wasn't merely a trickle either; it was a steady stream of names and details that painted a stark picture of the battle occurring outside.

Beside him, Mia adjusted her posture, subtly straightening her spine beneath the plates of beskar. The shift was so slight that it might have gone unnoticed by anyone else, but in their intimate proximity, he could sense the tension in her form, as if she was bracing herself against a slugthrower that struck with every name that splattered across their shared display.

His visor roamed over the gleaming plates, a black so dark it swallowed the light and golden trim that burned bright and radiant like the grand hall that surrounded them on all sides.

"Alright." His nod was subtle, a minute movement where everything else had been telegraphed. "I'll face the hordes, keep a few of the prettied-up dolls alive and breathing as long as we need them. You can strut over there and show everyone how it's meant to be done, but don't think you can avoid the reception all night."

Direct: Mia Monroe
Referenced: Mercy Adelle Bastiel Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata​

 

[Mia Monroe]

Tags: Itzhal Volkihar

Mia merely shrugged at the information regarding how fresh their relationship was. In her experience it didn’t matter much, there was always some likeness from the get go, sometimes it was subtle and grew over time, others it was glaringly obvious they were meant to be family. Adelle was, by her own admission, stubborn and while children had a way of highlighting your own flaws, there were some habits that were impossible to lose.

She turned her helm fully to look at Itzhal, gloved fingers reaching for his, as if the tiny contact could convey every ounce of gratitude and affection she felt in that moment. She didn’t have to explain anything, he just knew. He understood the toll of asking her to stay and took what he could from her so she could go.

Her fingers tightened briefly before she released them, her helm sweeping the floor once more a small smile pulling at her lips beneath her helm, before she glanced back at him. “There was me thinking I’d escaped for the rest of this facade. For you, I’ll come back.”

Then she was moving, slipping along the edge of the room towards the door, black and gold armour glinting in the light.

“Manda willing, this won’t take long.”

[Exit Obj 1, heading for 2.]

 

[Muad Dib]

Objective: 2 & 4
Tags: Perseus Mig Gred Arris Windrun Tessa Monroe Mia Monroe

His shuttles had departed for orbit, and three more were incoming to land where the others vacated. The Knights of Aegis were gone, protecting the cargo they had extracted. Soon the ships would jump to hyperspace, and it would be as though they were never there. His Dozen stood around him in a loosely arrayed perimeter. Aegis Tactical Troopers still lined the path to where they breached the temple earlier. They would hold their defensive position. Bodies and rubble were strewn across the temple grounds, and as the new shuttles lowered on repulsors, sand, smaller shattered stones, and even the occasional body moved from their arrival. Landing ramps dropped to the ground, and more of his men vacated the hold.

The men's leader approached, Sergeant Hector. "Our objective is complete. What are your orders?" Short, precise, and to the point. Hector didn't question if there would be an extension to their mission. All he asked was what it would be. Good man. Muad considered this as he secured his buy'ce once more onto his head. "Lend aid to our vode and the Jedi. And any Sith. The Jedi prisoners are to be taken to our shuttles, under our watch. Subdue them if they resist. Our vode will also find medical treatment, but in the third shuttle. Keep 'em separated."

With orders given, Hector moved out to lead the Dozen in to do exactly what their Alor had commanded. Within moments, the group disappeared within the temple. Looking around at the troopers, he sighed before selecting a squad, led by Staff Sergeant Aimes, to follow him. The nine soldiers formed up and rolled out as Muad stepped over the shattered outer wall of the temple and returned to its halls. His right hand reached over his shoulder and drew the beskad free of its sheath as they moved deeper into the temple.

Carnage lay everywhere. The bodies of Sith and Jedi slumped unmoving on the ground. They were dead and no longer any concern of his. But when they found a Mandalorian, they would pause and check vitals. If they were dead, their armor was pinged, and their location was shared with the mando'ade with a note. K.I.A. Killed in action. A better death none could hope for. Unless it was old, in their bed, surrounded by their aliit and clan, as they marched into the manda. That wouldn't be a bad way to go. But it wouldn't be his end. His death would be filled with blood.

He shook the melancholy thoughts from his mind as they reached an intersection. Straight ahead appeared clear. To the left led back to the exterior wall of the temple. So they went right, deeper into the structure. More death met them. Blood drenched the floor where people tried to drag their broken bodies, to what end he couldn't tell. None made it far. As the troopers checked vitals and pinged mandos, the sound of blaster fire combined with the hum of lightsaber blades. "Finish here, then catch up." Muad didn't wait for a response as his legs carried him forward in a light jog. Ahead, the corridor began to curve inward, and he accelerated, his armored boots booming an echo that announced his imminent arrival.

Before him, the fight came into view. A pair of mandos were down. Around them lay three Jedi and a Sith. From the looks of the bodies, the glow stick jockeys were D.O.A. One Sith still stood, dual lightsaber blades dancing as she carried a blow from a Jedi Knight and thrust at the second. She was outmatched and wounded. Before he was able to close the distance, one of the Jedi skewered her through the chest. The Sith fell, landing on her knees as both lightsaber hilts dropped from her hands. The Jedi who struck the blow prepared a final strike, aiming to remove the Sith's head from her shoulder. With a final burst of speed Muad leapt over the Sith, his leading leg extended in a flying kick that connected with the Jedi. Muad activated the thrusters in his boot at the impact, launching the Jedi into a wall where he crumpled while simultaneously pushing him back from the sweeping arc of the green saber held by the second Jedi.

Muad landed nimbly and slid forward, right foot forward with the beskad held between himself and his new opponent. "Surrender, and you and your friend will be spared." The Jedi woman stared at him with wide eyes, her nostrils flaring from the deep breaths she drew raggedly into her lungs. "Don't." One word. A plea to reconsider. But adrenaline mixed with her scattered emotions from watching those of her order fall. Some probably friends. Maybe even family. A small part of himself empathized with her. In her place, he probably would choose death too. And so she did as she attacked with a sweeping strike. He effortlessly batted the blade aside before leaping forward to drive the pommel of the beskad into her solar plexus.

She dropped to her knees, the silver cylinder of her lightsaber fallen to the ground as she reached, vomit streaming down the front of her robes. His armored clenched fist cuffed her along the side of her head to drop her unconscious to the ground. The Sith woman had regained her feet and her lightsabers as she limped forward, favoring the left side of her chest, which still smoked from the blade thrust into her flesh. "Time to die, Jedi." Her arm raised as she prepared for a downward strike. Her body suddenly stiffened before she collapsed to the crowded ground. Muad lowered the beskad where he had rapped her upside the temple. She'd live, but when she woke she would have one hell of a headache.

The troopers finally arrived and looked at the bodies. "Ping the one vod who is no more. Then get the other to medical. Bring the two unconscious Jedi back. And … drag the Sith woman out of here. She'll live." Aimes nodded before he began shouting orders to his men. Muad continued his trek deeper into the temple. Further he walked until he came upon a pile of dead Sith. He nudged their bodies with the toe of his boot, confirming there was no life left in their forms. A blood trail ran along one wall where someone had survived a battle of seven versus one.

Impressive.

His boots carried him forward as he followed the trail, the beskad rip clacking on the floor with each step. It wasn't far. About fifty meters down the curving hall, he found the Jedi slumped against the wall. Whatever color once existed in his face had drained until his features were pale and moist. Horizontal yellow stripes marred his face. The thin black goatee was coated with sweat, and a long ponytail pulled the black hair from a severe widow's peak. His left shoulder hung from a long cauterized slash in his flesh. The motion of getting away had opened the wound, causing it to pour blood. Weakly, the Jedi raised his right arm; the unignited lightsaber shook in his unsteady hand.

"You could do that, Jedi. Or, you can allow me to patch you up and get you out of here. Your choice." Muad sheathed his beskad and squatted before removing his buy'ce and slipping it into the netting at his waist. He was in no hurry. After all, it wasn't him bleeding profusely while enemies assaulted his home. Slowly, the Jedi's arm lowered, and his black eyes blinked. "I am Master Tito of Kiffex, a Guardian." Muad moved closer and knelt on one knee, his hands pulling a bacta patch from the pouches on his kami and pressing them against the Jedi's wounds. A painkiller was then injected into the side of his throat.

"Well, Master Tito of Kiffex. It appears we are kinsmen. My mother was of Kifu. Call me Muad. Now give me your good arm, and I'll get you out of here." Muad ducked his head under the Jedi's arm and pulled the man to his feet. Between the pale face and the panting, Muad figured the Jedi was close to going into shock. "Focus on the Force and control yourself. I'm not going to carry back an unconscious body." A low moan escaped Tito, but he nodded all the same. "Good, now get your feet under you and let's go."

It was slow going. Muad paused several times so the Jedi master could rest and regain a semblance of strength. But they were making progress. Until a quartet of Sith stumbled upon them, their leader pointed his crimson lightsaber at Muad and spoke. "Surrender your prisoner to us, Mando. We'll take care of him from here." Muad's glowing eyes took in the four Sith. They were covered with proper armor and robes. Black on black. And Muad didn't smell any fear or trepidation from them. Great, experienced Sithies, probably Knights. Where's help when you need it? Tito nodded limply at Muad as if to say, you tried. With his right arm around the waist of the Jedi master, Muad used his left hand to slip an old, pitted, silver cylinder from his belt. He spoke a single word.

"No."

 

[Quinn Varanin]

Interacting
//: Adelle Bastiel //: Aselia Verd //:
Mentions
//: Mercy //: Sabine Delacroix //: Mia Monroe //:

Quinn quietly watched the exchange between the two warmasters. She could read Mercy far more easily than she could read Mia Monroe, but that was because of Beskar and armoring. As much as she wanted to be able to see through it, she thanked the Force for that lack of power.

She kept the corner of her eye on Adelle, watching the woman and hoping that she could continue to keep her composure. Thankfully, Aselia had shown up right on queue. This meant that Quinn was now no longer responsible and was now the third wheel. She chewed on the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from groaning from the lack of personal entertainment. Everyone had decided to go fight, while she had to play politician.

But that was her fault, for being both a Dark Councilor, Sith Princess, and Queen of Eshan.

Quinn allowed her cousin to comfort the woman she was dating, which allowed the Queen to watch the show unfold between Mercy and Mia. As they stood, Quinn's eyebrows rose slightly. Mercy's shoulders were tense in a way that spoke volumes of what she wanted and was capable of doing. Quinn found this more interesting than the coronation, and she let her gaze drift to the Mandalorian Warmaster.

Unfortunately, Quinn would remain bored as the woman known as the Liberator chickened out and left the building.

"Ugh." Quinn finally spoke as the ceremony died down and the reception provided a moment to socialize.

Her eyes drifted to Mercy, who was now engaged with another Echani. Annoyance peaked as she pouted and then turned her attention back to the pair who were frequently on her 'unliked' list. Today though, they could be off of it.

She wanted to ask Adelle if she was okay. The woman was quite older than her; she would have figured with how proficient she was in certain force powers that she'd be able to block the sounds and feelings of the dead and dying. Maybe this was something new for her?

Unlike Quinn, the dead and the dying often cried out to her, even if they were lightyears away. Her mind and her anchor were often beacons for these lost souls. This had often tormented her when she was younger; thankfully, she had Tenebris, who was able to stave off, or be a new focus for, these beings.

As she thought quietly about the little black cat, he slowly emerged, manifesting at the base of Adelle's feet. He purred and looped his tail carefully around the woman's calf. She wondered if the others could see it; small flickering orbs began to surround the cat, and with a few swipes, he consumed them.

Recently, Quinn understood both the origin of Tenebris and why he was able to quiet the noise around her.

This was something she'd keep to herself.

Looking up from the cat as he continued to hunt the small luminescent orbs, Quinn studied the pair. She wondered a few things, and with how tense both were — she figured it was still early. Shrugging, she decided to ask something safer.

"Adelle, are you acclimating alright to being off Naboo?"

It was a safe question, right?

 

[Lily Rhodes]

Tags: Arris Windrun Nilira Vornix​

It seemed like a reasonable path, test them, give them a choice, let them walk away if they wanted, and it was so simple it was easy for Lily to accept. She had no experience with the Covenant’s tests, she hadn’t set foot inside the Academy and force willing, she never would. She had only face value to go at and she trusted Arris.

“Yeah.” she echoed softly, peering over her shoulder as cuffs were placed over their wrists and they were led between the bodies of those who had died defending the temple. They were being given a chance to survive.

A sudden screaming of metal above them made Lily’s head snap back around as the vents in the ceiling above split, depositing a girl with dark hair on the ground in front of them. She was Lily’s age, straightening and dusting herself, speaking with familiarity to Arris. She connected the dots quickly, this must have been Nilira.

The slight smirk faded as she glimpsed the padawans being escorted away behind them and Lily found an uneasy knot twisting her stomach at her comment. It sounded insincere and Lily found her eyes moving back to Arris studying the eyeless mess for a moment before deciding that she had chosen trust and she intended to stick with it.

“Given the choice, I know I’d pick survival.” she said simply with a shrug before nodding up the corridor where the sounds of the fight echoed towards them.

“Can we get this over with?”

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

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

"I'll hold you to that promise," he intoned, threading a single strand of unwavering certainty into the very fabric of their reality. She had vowed to return; he would not let her forget it. Whether her absence lasted mere hours or stretched into what felt like an eternity—surrounded by glittering gems and lascivious folds of silk—he would be waiting for her, until the moment she returned. And she would; otherwise, he was going to be very disappointed when he found himself having to drag her back into the same slice of hell that she'd vacated to join the butcher's call.

Any further words he might have said evaporated with her swift departure, leaving behind only the vivid memory of her prowling strut. Beskar plates clung to her form like a second skin, the golden trim accentuating the sharp angles with each moment the gleaming glow of the sun graced her presence, before she faded into the crowd. Haunted by the radiant light of a beautiful lie—and the smiles they demanded of her—Mia disappeared like a spectre, returning once more to the familiar realm of death that had claimed her time and again, draped in blood and crowned with the burdens of her past.

In retrospect, it was painfully clear that the Bastiels were not the only ones capable of indulging in their own forms of self-inflicted suffering.

His arms lifted to fold across his chest, settling over the harsh plates of beskar that covered his frame, his hands knuckled into fists that found their perch against the nook of his opposite elbows—all the better to shelter the fading heat of her touch.

In the absence of Mia Monroe's presence, he did not rush to discover further companionship within the confines of the hall; instead, his eyes lingered upon the corners of his HuD where updates of their security precautions filled the visor, a wall of information against those who would otherwise deem to bother him so.

Mentioned: Mia Monroe​

 

[Arris Windrun]

Lily Rhodes | Nilira Vornix
Down & Out​

If only Arris had eyes, she might've enjoyed watching Nilira fall from the ceiling and proceed to clean up all that phony scuff. But Arris didn't have her eyes anymore, and unfortunately, her mood came from a sicker, heavier-hearted place.

"Nilira... Nice of you to drop in," she still managed to remark dryly. "This is Lily," she introduced.

Lily wasn't having the pleasantries, however. After asking if they could get it over with, Arris nodded in no one's direction, but her eyeless gaze lingered on the sound of fighting ahead.

But with Nilira present, Windrun's cold commitment suddenly wavered. Part of her considered ending things here... but Arris didn't want to lie about shit anymore, either.

"Leave if you don't want any part in this." Arris offered them both - a way out.

She drew her revolver and continued forward, crossing the threshold into battle once more. They entered a room where a group of Jedi had cornered themselves, valiantly thwarting the combined Sith trooper and Mandalorian assault.

With just technopathy and her co-processor's telemetry to rely on, the cyborg entered a strange world of echoes. A Jedi had just struck down a soldier, separating the head from his body, before turning to swing at Arris next. She had only the sense of his lightsaber to go off of, ducking at the last second to avoid her own head getting removed. At a guess, Arris threw herself forward until she felt the barrel of her gun pressed against something and fired. The slug ripped through his chest, exiting the other side and luckily blowing the hand off another Jedi.

 

[Eira Dyn]

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

"Then when does it stray from truth to lie, what about when lies become truth?" Eira questioned, she was shrugged, "I am sure you do, but I suspect that even the most earnest of person would still garner suspicion from you." She teased, it was not a bad thing to be suspicious even in the face of someone who was attempting to be as earnest as possible. There was always a motive behind things, a reasoning behind the way that someone acted. Eira was no different in that regard.

She tilted her head at Leontis, "and you are Sith?" She questioned, "our methods are our own. We do not try to appease or appeal to the populace because we conquer. We demonstrate power and authority. We are strong. You did not conquer Chandrila, nor did your family. You do not command the Force, nor do you wield a Lightsaber. You are not a warrior like the Mandalorians. You have a voice and you talk well." Her red eyes were attempting to burn into his soul. Understand him more. "You wish to rule, you need to surrender that privilege and understand the people, become beloved. If not, when they rebel your rule, you will lose and you will die."

"Become beloved, a man of the people, then Sith, Jedi, Mandalorian, Imperial. Does not matter who attempts to claim ownership of the world, you will always rule it. Our enemies desire to utilise rebellions, discontent for Sith appointed rulers and class warfare. One such as yourself needs to counter that, prove that you can combat that and maintain rulership." Eira pointed out, it was disappointing to Eira that she was having to point out the reasoning that the methods of the Sith were not the ones that a lowly politician should take. "Were you a militant warrior with veteran experience, then I might have believed that the Sith method of ruling would befit you, but that is not you and probably never will be."

There was no mockery or disdain for that, not all were built for that way. She was more unimpressed that he did not seem to be as smart politically as the Sith would need him to be in order for his rule to be successful.

Shaking her head, "you beg already, you are just too proud to realise it. Were the empress of the core to walk over, tell you to kneel and plead to her in order to rule Chandrila, would you tell her no?" Eira studied Leontis, arms crossed her chest as she was curious if he would attempt to deny that temptation. "And what shall you do if they do not follow your lead? You offer them nothing that others could promise, at least from my perspective, I am not sold that you would be any better than any other politician there. So tell me, what would you do if they do not follow? What has you standing out from the others?" Eira was challenging him but she believed that the challenges that she was setting were things he needed to answer.

If this was the person to rule Chandrila then he must be the most competent. She accepted the apology, it was not the best but she did not care to drag him for a better one. Instead she sighed and shook her head, "I have killed plenty I do not know their name. Even now, forgettable. What saves you is the desire to not kill, to understand who you are and not wishing to make a scene. I doubt the Hapan queen would accept my argument that death at a coronation brings good fortune in some cultures."

Whether or not that was true, Eira had no clue, but it would be a defence she would attempt to use in order to get away with killing someone at the event if she absolutely had to.

She listened to his description of the room, how he would not perceive it in that manner and then he finished with a flirtatious comment. Eira did not sigh or groan at it. She gave no reaction as the Sith studied him in detail. "No... I doubt you could handle a bite from me." Was all she said at first, "but I am in need of a drink so I will not deny you privilege of fetching us more refreshments."

 

[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 wrestled his emotions back under control. It was difficult with so much of the dark side that fed on those same emotions here. After a while, Kael slowly made his way back and took stock of the changes.

People were stopping by to make their acquaintance with the new Queen. Mand'alore the Iron was near her, looking, by his body language, like he wanted to be in other places, but politics be politics. Warmaster Mia was now gone, and the large golden-skinned Sith woman was talking to a woman who, to Kael, seemed to be the deep well of darkside power that appeared, to him, like a calm pool, and both were looking to the Eshan Queen, who was standing by his mother and her partner. His mother's partner was someone he had heard snippets about but still had not been formally introduced to. Then there was Oath Actual. Given the options between all of them, he seemed like the safest place to be in this maelstrom of politics, so he slowly made his way near the Protector warrior.

"Apologies for my intrusion into your contemplation, Alor, but I don't think I've ever seen you standing still," Kael said as a soft introduction.

Tag: Itzhal Volkihar @open
Mentioned: Mia Monroe Mercy Sabine Delacroix Adelle Bastiel Aselia Verd Quinn Varanin

 

[Nilira Vornix]

Tag: Arris Windrun Lily Rhodes

"Survival, huh? I wonder who's survival you'd be deciding."

That simple statement had already caused Nilira to firmly place Lily amongst Arris' "lot" of Sith. Perhaps better than Anet, but all the same not worth her time at the end of the day. A small shake of her head in disappointment. Of course there was going to be more of them. Very few people seemed to be tolerable for her nowadays. Veyla Tass had perhaps been different but alas this was neither the time nor the place to focus on that thought.

"If you think simply walking out the door will simply cause us to not to have any responsibility for this, you'd be sorely mistaken Arris."

She didn't question anything about how the pair looked in the moment, only following the pair onwards as they came across the group of Jedi. It didn't take long for Nilira to leap herself into the fray, even without a Lightsaber. Using the Mandalorian and Sith troopers for cover, she threw herself ahead...and also literally threw a head using the Force, right in front of one of the Jedi who for a moment raised their arms to protect their face before slashing their lightsaber forward, only to be met with...nothing in front of them.

"You should be more cautious of the living than the dead."

The Acolyte's voice came from behind before the Jedi felt a firm grip on their head and with a sudden snap, they felt nothing as their corpse tumbled down to the ground and Nilira kicked their fallen lightsaber up into her hand, letting the green blade illuminate her face as a rather twisted smile came to her face.

"Huh. Just like old times."

​

 

[Nyra Kairo]

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

Nyra glanced sideways at Veyla as they settled at the starting line, unable to suppress another grin. "Oh, that's absolutely my plan." She adjusted the tray in her hands with exaggerated innocence. "If I can make a Mandalorian laugh before the race even starts, I figure I've already accomplished something."

The starting bell rang. Nyra bounced lightly onto the first platform, calling back over her shoulder. "And don't worry! If you fall, I'll only tease you a little!" She punctuated the promise with a wink before her attention shifted fully to the course.

Unlike Veyla, Nyra had no formal training to fall back on. No military drills. No hours spent sparring in armor. Her balance came from entirely different adventures—climbing rocky cliffs on Gallinore, leaping across streams during hikes, surfing waves on tropical worlds, threading swoops through winding canyon passes, and more recently, simply refusing to back away from anything that looked remotely entertaining.

She wasn't especially concerned with winning. If she crossed the finish line laughing, that counted as success. The first platform rocked beneath her boots, and she instinctively shifted her weight with it instead of fighting against the movement. She'd watched this particular game enough times over the years to know that rushing usually ended with fruit juice all over one's clothes.

That didn't stop her from moving quickly. She flowed from one platform to the next with an athletic confidence born less from competition than from trusting her own body. Every now and then the colorful liquid in the glasses sloshed dangerously close to the rim, drawing an exaggerated "Oooh!" from the gathered spectators.

Nyra answered with a laugh of her own. "So dramatic!" She stole a quick glance toward Veyla. The Mandalorian's approach couldn't have been more different. Measured. Disciplined. Every step looked deliberate, as though she'd already calculated where each platform intended to move before setting foot upon it. Nyra smiled. Yep... definitely soldier.

"Looking good over there!" she called across the course. "I was hoping all that armor would make this harder!"

A shifting platform interrupted her teasing, forcing her to throw out a foot to catch her balance. One of the glasses tilted alarmingly before settling back into place. She laughed at herself. "Okay, maybe I shouldn't tempt fate." Another quick hop carried her forward.

Perhaps seeing the course before gave her a slight advantage. She already knew which sections tended to wobble the most and where contestants often became overconfident. Then again...

She suspected Veyla had advantages of her own. Years of training, balance under pressure, and the calm focus of someone accustomed to much greater stakes than a tray of colorful drinks. That only made the race more enjoyable. Neither of them had anything to prove.

They were simply two women from very different walks of life sharing a challenge beneath bright Hapan banners while the city celebrated around them, each determined to reach the other side with as many full glasses—and as many smiles—as possible.

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

​

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

Far from the tranquil oasis that the Mandalorian Protector had claimed as his sanctuary, the grand hall buzzed with soft murmurs and whispers, ignored for all that they failed to slip beneath the reach of his buy'ce's sensors. Courtiers, clad in fine silks and adorned with an assortment of dazzling jewels, wore expressions of feigned camaraderie while their sharp tongues cut for the taste of blood like well-honed blades, expertly crafted on a banquet overflowing with biting insults and enticing rumours. A viper's pit—where treachery lurked beneath painted-on masks and every step was part of an intricate dance in the acquisition of power.

He wanted no part of it; a shame then that duty made it his business.

Outside the isolation of his own design, the harsh clack of boots echoed sharply against the stonework, the sound growing louder and more insistent even as the remnants of the strike fluttered off into the incessant haze of voices and flowing movements. Itzhal did not move to greet them, not even as they parted the crowds, revealing the boy draped in gentle fabrics and the fur of a dead creature—he wondered then if it was intended to be an armour of a sort, a warning of where violence would lead or if instead, it was just another way of fitting in amongst the ghouls.

As seconds stretched between the initial volley of words and Itzhal's response, he tilted his buy'ce ever so slightly, his gaze sweeping over the child of Adelle who had dared to approach him in this den of politicking and peril. Did he believe they were kindred spirits? Mayhaps they were; he could not say; he had not spoken to them before. He had not weighed the soul.

"Gar akutudir cuyir abiva, Kael be Ha'yr Skirata," he said, his visor settled on their face in a way that made every expression magnified—a mirror in one way, a magnifying glass in another. "Ni mar'eyir nii tgiase, meg athu'neha gar olar?"

Tags: Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata​

 

[Leontis Antalis]

LEONTIS ANTALIS

Somewhere between truth becoming lies and lies becoming truth, Leontis realized that he had begun to lose track of which side of the argument he was defending. It was an unfamiliar sensation. He was accustomed to conversations in which the meaning of words could be bent until they served him. Eira seemed intent on seizing those words, examining them from every angle, and then sharpening them into something she could press against his throat.

Their approaches to life were simply too different. She was Sith. Power, to her, appeared tangible. Something seized by strength, proven through conflict, and defended by the willingness to kill. Leontis was a wealthy, attractive young noble who because of the charm hanging around his neck could not even touch the Force he had spent his life surrounded by. There was likely no version of this argument he could win. Still, admitting that aloud would be intolerable.

“Suspicion is not quite the word I would use.” His brow furrowed briefly, as though he were now reconsidering his own position. “I did not view you with suspicion.” Leontis lifted his glass slightly toward her. “Caution, perhaps.” His smile thinned. “A caution which your sharp tongue and remarkably credible threats have thoroughly validated.” At least she had not proven him foolish for approaching her. Merely reckless.

Her advice about becoming beloved produced a more complicated response. The amusement faded from his features, replaced by a brief silence as he regarded the newly crowned Queen Mother and the nobles gathered beneath her. “To be beloved.” He released the word with a sigh. “That is something I do not understand.”

There was no theatrical melancholy in the admission. Only faint irritation with himself. “I am not certain I was built to.” His upbringing had taught him to recognize obedience, fear, dependency, ambition, and gratitude. Love was less reliable than all of them.

“I want.” His eyes returned to Eira. “And I take.” The honesty came more easily now that she had already dismantled most of his ornamentation. “I may not be Sith, but in that respect our methods are not entirely foreign to one another.” He could earn affection if required. He could distribute wealth, commission hospitals, provide work, forgive debts, and ensure every public success carried the Antalis crest. Whether the people loved him or merely loved what his rule gave them seemed a distinction better suited to poets.

Her hypothetical concerning the Empress of the Core caused him to shake his head. “No. I would not refuse.” There was not even a moment of uncertainty. “The Empress possesses the power.” If Mercy chose to single him out before the gathered court and demand that he kneel, Leontis would do so without hesitation.

“If she selected me as an extension of her will, and kneeling was the price of that distinction, I would gladly pay it.” His lips curved faintly. “It is a small price.” Entirely ceremonial. “And I doubt very much that the Empress would be naïve enough to interpret the bending of one knee as proof of genuine loyalty.” Mercy would expect results. That was an expectation Leontis understood.

Eira’s more serious challenge remained. Why him? Why should the Sith permit House Antalis to rule Chandrila, and why would Chandrila accept it? Leontis looked down into his glass for a moment, gathering thoughts that had existed for years but rarely required explanation. “What makes me useful to the Sith is that I can accomplish what occupation alone cannot.”

His voice lost some of its flirtatious ease. “The Covenant has conquered Chandrila. It can destroy resistance, remove officials, and place soldiers in every major city.” His gaze moved toward the Mandalorians in the chamber. “But soldiers are expensive. Fear requires constant maintenance. Every public execution creates another family with reason to rebel.” He looked back at Eira. “I offer permanence.” Not through overwhelming strength. Through normalization.

“I know which families control Chandrila’s industries. Which civic leaders command loyalty beyond their offices. Which charities are political machines wearing gentler names. Which old grudges can divide opposition before it becomes organized.” His fingers tightened slightly around the empty glass.

“I know what Chandrilans need to hear in order to accept Sith authority while continuing to tell themselves that they remain Chandrilan.” That was his strength. Not commanding the Force. Managing perception. “The Sith gain a world that governs itself on their behalf. One that produces wealth, remains stable, and does not require constant military attention.”

Then came the second half. Why would the people follow him? “Because I will make their lives better.” The answer was simple. “I will create prosperity where democratic hesitation created stagnation. I will reward loyalty publicly. I will punish corruption selectively enough that people believe I am cleaning the system rather than claiming it.”

His smile returned, though there was little warmth in it. “I will ensure Chandrilans see their traditions preserved, their businesses protected, and their children offered opportunities that did not exist before my ascent.” Then, softer: “And every improvement will carry my name.”

By the time anyone recognized the depth of House Antalis’ control, removing it would mean dismantling the systems upon which their comfort depended. “They will follow because following me will be easier than opposing me.” That, Leontis thought, was as close to love as political rule required.

Eira’s claim concerning death at coronations brought a smirk back to his face. He managed to suppress the first impulse to laugh, mostly because he could not determine whether she was joking. “The Queen Mother seems unlikely to consider that a blessing.” His gaze flicked toward the throne. “Though the Mandalorians may possess a broader appreciation for ceremonial bloodshed. And the Sith will certainly back your claim.”

The comment about his inability to survive her bite finally broke his composure. A quiet chuckle escaped him before he could prevent it. She was probably correct. A sensible man would have treated that as warning enough. A considerably larger portion of Leontis wanted to test the assertion.

Then Eira instructed him to fetch refreshments. He studied her for a heartbeat, uncertain whether she expected him to obediently depart through the crowd like a favored servant. That would not happen. A palace attendant passed nearby carrying a silver tray laden with crystal glasses. Leontis raised one finger. The attendant noticed immediately and altered course.

Leontis waited until the tray was presented, then took one glass in each hand. He offered the second to Eira with a small, satisfied smile. “Fortunately, my lady, influence is often more efficient than labor.” He held the glass patiently within her reach. “And I would hate to deprive you of my company for even the brief journey to the refreshments.”

Eira Dyn

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