Junction Old Scars, New Steel — GA and ME Junction of Petrusia and Felucia

[Aselia Verd]

Objective: I

The Court of Iron breathed flame and silence in equal measure.

Aselia Verd remained exactly as she had been when the doors first opened anchored beside the throne, unmoved by the drama that had since unfolded. She hadn't spoken. Hadn't turned. Not even when Draav spat his grief into the chamber like a wound ripped open mid-healing. Not when Nos Voros moved swiftly removing the very same from the hall.

Her silence had not changed.

But it had deepened.

The torchlight caught the red trim of her armor again as shadows shifted with the motion of diplomats and Jedi, senators and soldiers. The crimson and black beskar gleamed, each plate a reminder of what had been lost and what had been built in its wake.

She was no ornament.

She was the blade beside the will.

The readings on her HUD adjusted as more variables entered the room. Respiration spikes. Cortisol upticks. Some in the Alliance delegation wore calm like armor, practiced and calculated. Others were less composed. She watched them all. Tracked heartbeat rhythms, shallow shifts in posture. Lander's honesty didn't surprise her. But it did shift the undercurrent. A subtle pivot. It registered in the way others around him adjusted their weight, eyes flicking toward the throne before quickly away again.

She saw it.

Her sensors continued their quiet audit. The Jedi were a priority. Not for threat assessment alone, for positioning. Distance. Reach. She marked where Valery Noble's center of gravity tilted during the Chancellor's speech. Not a judgment. A safeguard. It was her task to anticipate what others refused to say out loud.

She didn't expect peace to fall from their lips. She didn't expect sincerity. But she did expect consequences.

Mandalore had opened its gates. That act alone had cost more than most would ever know.

Her fingers flexed once, subtle in the black padding of her gloves. Not from discomfort. Not from nerves. From readiness. A motion so faint it would have vanished to the untrained eye.

The Mand'alor had spoken his truth. The Chancellor had replied in kind. The bridge had been set. Now the weight of legacy and expectation would test it.

Aselia remained still red cape brushing the edge of the throne's base like a war banner at rest, her helm fixed forward, unreadable and unshaken. Every word spoken around her was filed, measured, understood. She didn't interrupt. Not yet.

TAG: Nos Voros , Alicio Organa , Valery Noble , Lucas Gracin , Lander Stalwart , Thexann Pehnataur , Aselia Verd , Runi Kuryida , Conrad , Siv Kryze , Zark San Tekka
​

 

[Thexann Pehnataur]

Double post

 

[Thexann Pehnataur]

.

The silence was iron-thick, layered by years of blood and memory.

Captain Draav had been removed. The Chancellor had spoken. The Grandmaster had already extended her trust—wordlessly, powerfully.

And now Mand'alor the Iron had spoken not just to reply—but to measure.

From the edge of the delegation, Thexann Pehnataur stepped forward. No fanfare. No ceremony. Just a single man carved in quiet composure.nHe said nothing at first. His presence alone was a kind of pressure—not from status, but from precision. And when he did speak, it was in measured, unadorned tones, clear enough to carry, low enough to make others lean in. "If I may... I carry no banner," he began, echoing the words Aether had spoken earlier. "I wear no seal of office other than the people's seat of Belazura. I carry none, not because I lack them. But because titles do not earn trust. Actions do."

A pause. No one dared interrupt.

"The man who spoke out—Captain Draav—is not a politician. He is not a Jedi. He is what war creates when it lingers too long. I don't ask that you forgive his tone. I ask that you understand its source. I do, because I was once, him. I lived the life, I served with honor and distinction, then I began to see the costs I did not understand. I am not defending the Captain, or his actions, but I understand them. He may be explosive, but he cares about his people, as do you, I am sure."

He looked directly at Mand'alor the Iron, not challenging him—but refusing to shrink from him. "You say war is your way. That you will not apologize for it. That is honorable. That is understood. But even ways… evolve."

Another pause.

"The Galactic Alliance is not here to teach Mandalore its own history. We are not here to change your way of life. We are here to ask—if a better future is possible, do you require someone else to build it? Or will you do it with us?" He turned slightly, looking out across the Court.

"We've both built over ashes. We've both buried names and ideals. So let us now build deliberately. Brick by brick. Clause by clause. Honor for honor. Not for peace that fades with signatures, but for something better: an uneasy, imperfect coexistence that just might last long enough to matter." He let the words settle. Then, ever the quiet hammer, he offered the most profound thing in that room of warriors and symbols:

"No one wins the first hour of a truce. You win it by coming back the next day. And the one after that. That's what the Alliance is here to do. I thank you for showing the faith in that by offering your honorable act in return. Thank you for your attention, and forgive my interruption."

He gave a slight nod—not in deference, but in discipline. Then he stepped back. And like a scalpel drawn clean through tension, the room felt… different.

Not resolved.

But centered.



|| Valery Noble | Lucas Gracin | Lander Stalwart | Nos Voros | Runi Kuryida | Wedge Draav | Aether Verd | Aselia Verd | Conrad | Siv Kryze | Alicio Organa | Zark San Tekka ||

 

[Jaikell Wyrvhor]

Jaikell's gaze assessed the Jedi as she approached, his his gaze meeting her through the reflective visor of his helmet. He listened intently to her words, acknowledging her offer of assistance with a nod of his head.
he observed Cora's Respect to mandalorian sovereignty, and willingness helping the people of Taris knowing even though it would be against what Jonah said a flicker of respect stirred within Jaikell.


"We appreciate the aid you bring to Taris. But we wont take Jedi pitty" Jaikell replied to Corazona von Ascania
His tone was firm yet not hostile. "I will gladly help in the work, But know this, we are keeping watch over everything that comes through.
"The Mandalorian way may values strength, but also honor and compassion to their family" He says while walking towards where all the supplies are.

Then he keyed into his comm and spoke across the open channel so all could hear:

"Contact has been made. Alliance personnel, you are clear to land. Vode, form two squads at every drop point. Intake and Distribution. Intake scans what they brought in. Be quick. No excuses. Distribution links up with the Alliance crews. Get our people what they need and show our guests where to go."​

"that's that then." he says in a calm voice, Knowing that that at least the GA workers will start back up their work again.
"If we are working together, I might at well know your name, I am Jaikell" he says, While still keeping some sense of formality and coldness with her, she's an outsider but not only that, this is also his first time actually talking to a Jedi, and after seeing what happened earlier,
she at least seems calmer. he thinks,
while looking out at the other Jedi he says, Caltin Vanagor and Tyron Khan "There sure are a lot of you guys here now"
while remembering the stories of what happened between the Jedi and his groups predecessor the Death watch.

 

[Zlova Rue]

OBJECTIVE II​

"Leaving alive, if they're lucky," Zlova replied to Kuben Woods before she set off in the direction of the meet. Orders? She wasn't the type of person that took orders. She'd listen to them. She might even do as they asked, but only if she felt like it. Duty. Honor. A Warrior's spirit. All these were excellent aspects of Mandalorians Zlova enjoyed. Especially the ones that didn't mind getting their hands "dirty." But orders? The Twi'lek had clawed her way to being recognized as a Sith Lord long hence; no one ordered her to do anything. There was no government left she recognized with that authority. Even the Mandalorians only got begrudging acknowledgement because of the Cat, Talohn.

"No one cares," the Twi'lek called out as she approached. Her golden eyes fell to Dillon Kai'el in particular. "I'd draw you a map, but you already know which side of the border this planet is on. Any of you going to bowing with a flourish and welcome Mandalorian Humanitarian Aid without first notifying the Alliance? Say yes and I'll know you either have no honor, or are looking for a war."

Her attention swung to Reina Daival when the woman passionately seethed and looked in askance of those nearby. Zlova grunted as she listened. There was someone that knew how the cards could fall. All it'd take was a small push. Zlova didn't need Shatterpoint to see just what she could do to send the Empire and the Alliance spiraling into all out war. Dillion might not like the bureaucracy -- she didn't either -- but sometimes those processes were the only thing separating peace from calamity. Just a tenuous peace everyone clung to.

Caltin Vanagor 's lack of adherence to lines on a map was commendable. Foolish, in her eyes, for risking war just to deliver supplies they could have easily handed off to the Mandalorians or coordinated in its arrival. But commendable. Sadly, Zlova didn't really care so there'd be no accolades from her. If the people of Taris died it was because they were too weak to live. Simple as. She wasn't just red and black on the outside.

Jonah , on the other hand, was more accomodating. Zlova frowned slightly in disapproval. It wasn't shocking the man wouldn't light the flame of war for no reason, but a simple, verbal admonishment? These self-absorbed, Jedi-hungry people would use ask-for-forgiveness every time until you showed them forgiveness came at the end of a lightsaber -- or in most Mandalorians' cases, a disruptor.

So, Jonah was the type that cared for The People. She'd remember that.

Despite the order to divide into groups, the crimson woman would stand for a moment to guage the reaction of these "Delegates" (and that word was carrying a lot of purported weight seeing how they weren't authorized) before she'd contemplate her next move.

Montello Deshra | Tyron Khan | Corazona von Ascania | Athena Faar | Jaikell Wyrvhor​

 

[Alek Thorne]

Objective I
​

Tags: Alicio Organa Valery Noble Nos Voros Thexann Pehnataur Aselia Verd Aether Verd Lander Stalwart Runi Kuryida Lucas Gracin Conrad Siv Kryze Zark San Tekka Open ||
Appearance
Equipment: DL-44 Blaster, two vibro daggers.

Alek stood behind the majority of the delegation before they entered the hall. He could hear the grandmaster's words before they entered. While Alek understood the importance of such a meeting, he had no personal issues with the mandalorians. As a new agent he hadn't been around to experience the conflicts between the two factions and therefore had no personal grudge. He was here simply to maintain the safety of the senators in the delegation from the shadows. He had been assigned to shadow Thexann Pehnataur and was posing as an adviser. It wasn't the type of mission he was used to. He was used to bumping shoulders with criminals and bounty hunters, not politicians.

He passively listened to the speech given by the Chancellor as he observed the others in the delegation. There was a good mix of people and he noted the added security made up of jedi and a squad of commandos. With the speeches out of the way he followed the delegation into the large hall where the Mand'alor greeted them.

He looked to his left and right noting the Mandalorian Supercommandos in ceremonial dress that anchored either side of the hall as they approached. The Mand'alor's voice boomed around the hall as he welcomed them. He took note the woman in the red and black armour that stood next to the Mand'alor and he couldn't help but feel like she was observing everyone in the room.

Alek took a slight step to the right at the back of the delegation so he could get a good view on the interaction between the Chancellor and the Mand'alor. He was surprised to hear the first person reply to the Mand'alor's greeting was a pilot who he had not met yet. Alek looked over at him, brow furrowedm slightly confused at the outburst.

"That's a good start to negotiations" He muttered to himself under his breath as he watched the commandos remove the upstart pilot and heard the Chancellor attempting to smooth over the rather rough start to such a meeting. He let his hand rest on the holster of his blaster as the Chancellor approached the throne.

It was then that two of the senators took turns to say their piece to the Mand'alor. Including the man that he had been assigned to protect. While Thexann Pehnataur took a step out from the delegation to speak Alek stayed in the group but very much ready to jump in front of any danger. However, despite the rocky start to negotiations Alek's gut told him that things were going well.

Or so he hoped.

​

 

[Runi Kuryida]

OBJECTIVE I​

The Shaman's hazel eyes met those of Alicio Organa as he gave her a moment's consideration. She inclined her head as an equally silent partner in the exchange. It was a curious thing to find the head of state of the Alliance had a strong presence in the Manda. She could see his sight was not that of most.

Fortunate that the Empire was not as hostile toward 'Force' Users as others had been. Not that Runi would call attention to the man's capabilities needlessly. If they turned hostile, she would be there to support her brothers and sisters. Besides, it might not be necessary to even mention it as Aether was not as blind to such things as many others that had led past Mandalorian enclaves.

Even as the Mand'alor spoke, Runi kept her gaze on their Alliance guests. She did not need to see him to hear his words. Words that the Speaker of the Mandokarla continued to find exposed ideals she expoused. There was no point dwelling on the past. Acknowledge it. Learn from it. Pay a penance, if necessary. Move forward.

While others of the Alliance sought to bolster a collective opinion, however, Runi remain silent. Aether sat in the throne and this was a conversation between leaders of factions. She would offer her thoughts in private later so that he knew there were those that found him a champion of their people -- and some would be inclined to disagree and would favor open warfare. The Shaman did not hate war, it was often a part of their Way, but even a whetstone used too often may damage the blade rather than sharpen it.

Aether Verd | Aselia Verd | Conrad | Siv Kryze
Alicio Organa | Valery Noble | Nos Voros | Lucas Gracin | Lander Stalwart | Thexann Pehnataur | Zark San Tekka | Alek Thorne​

 

[Adonis Angelis IV]

Objective II
Tag: Athena Faar

The situation had stabilized. At least for now.

Adonis didn't need Jonah to say anything. He could feel it- the balance had tipped back into control. There were still Jedi watching too closely, still Sith lurking at the edges with sharp grins and sharper thoughts, but the line had held. No shots fired. No blood spilled. The tension hadn't broken so much as it had settled into a manageable weight. Jonah had it now. He always did.

So Adonis shifted.

Not with words. Just movement. A slight turn of his helmet, the barest tilt of attention as his focus scanned the field again. His stance loosened by degrees, lightsaber still hanging silent at his side, scattergun untouched beneath his robes. But anyone watching closely would notice- he'd unlocked from the formation, no longer the wall at Jonah 's back. That duty was done.

His gaze tracked upward, toward the dark shape that had hung overhead. The leathery wings had already veered off, the creature settling somewhere past the treeline near the Alliance shuttles. A rider dismounted- a woman in matte black and worn grey, a beast-pelt cape shifting over one shoulder. She moved with confidence. Protector armor, by the look of it.

Athena.

Adonis didn't know her well. Just enough to recognize her posture. She was the kind who didn't speak unless it mattered, didn't watch a standoff unless she was gauging when to act. She hadn't landed in the middle of the conflict. She'd hovered just outside it, reading the rhythm of the room like someone who knew exactly when and where to place the blade.

He respected that. So he moved.

Not with urgency, and not to intercept. He wasn't on duty anymore. Not here. Not for this. His route was casual enough not to draw attention, but purposeful enough that anyone paying attention would understand he had a destination. There were still Jedi speaking, still arguments being made and lines being drawn. But Adonis was no longer listening to them.

He was headed her way.

A conversation, maybe. A read of the room from someone who didn't posture, didn't plead. Someone who had arrived not to argue but to respond. That was rare these days.

And if she had thoughts about what just happened?
He wanted to hear them.

 

[Conrad]

Objective 1

Spoiler: Theme

(Yes he's just wearing a suit and has a cane)
​

Tag: Aether Verd , Valery Noble , Alicio Organa , Wedge Draav , Lucas Gracin , Lander Stalwart , Nos Voros , Thexann Pehnataur , Runi Kuryida , Aselia Verd , Ze'bast Verd , Drego Ruus , [OPEN]

Conrad watched the procession mill about as they went through all the pleasantries. He strolled the perimeter of the chamber, gaze drifting casually as he studied the architecture. It would be plain to anyone with rudimentary counter-surveillance training what he was doing—but in a setting like this, he didn't bother to mask it. He was more focused on the true subjects of today's session. And if they were smart, they'd be too busy watching each other.

The light tap, tap, tap of Conrad's cane echoed softly on the floor as he continued his slow circuit, glancing back and forth. His gaze fell upon the party when the outburst occurred.

The military officer spoke with such bravado. Such passion. Conrad had to stifle a sneer at the sheer arrogance and lack of discipline. One should know when to use such passion—not be a slave to it. Letting something as trifling as emotion derail the objective was a waste of time. He was poised to offer a quiet riposte—until the Senatorial Guard beat him to it.

Their precision was almost mechanical, matter-of-fact, and wrapped in the proper etiquette befitting a place like this. Conrad let a smile briefly flash before taking another sip. At least he didn't have to worry about their intentions.

"It would seem at least someone has a sense of decorum. A shame—I would've enjoyed toying with him," he whispered to himself.

Finally, he took a position on the perimeter and watched the Alliance's speakers posture and prose their way into smoothing over the previous offense. He noted that while they offered regret in tone, none denied the Captain's words.

The gall.

Each spoke as though the Alliance—and those that came before—were innocent of such accusations. As though their hands were clean, their history spotless. A familiar mindset of the Jedi, no doubt—hiding behind the feeble justification of "the greater good." He couldn't help but smile at the Temple Guardian in particular as the thought crossed his mind. The forbidden histories of the Temple Guard came to him—orders followed, lines crossed, truths buried for righteousness.

No matter, Conrad told himself. Best to focus on the here and now.

Organa's words caught his attention. Conrad tilted his head ever so slightly and studied him intently. The man's offer seemed genuine. He spoke of history—and the desire to move past it. Toward something better. More sustainable.

He watched the others as well—both former soldiers, both far more useful than the braggart who'd just been thrown out. They spoke with quiet confidence. The last even suggested that such peace—if it was to last—must be returned to every day. One could assume he even wished for peace.

Each of them spoke truthfully, it seemed. But though they downplayed the earlier outburst, Conrad could feel it—the quiet resonance of agreement within the delegation. A nod here. A silence there. Not spoken, but known. They sympathized with the man they'd just cast aside.

Could peace truly be forged with those so convinced it cannot exist?

Conrad smiled gently to himself.

One can only wonder what they plan to sacrifice for peace. Or rather—whom, in this case.

He returned his attention to Aether's words. A grand gesture. A unified vision. The Mand'alor did not beg or plead. He simply spoke. As a leader. As one who knew his history—and more importantly, accepted it.

The Mandalorians showed restraint. Not stiff protocol, but something deeper. Measured. Disciplinary. Subtle shifts here and there—but none had moved during the outburst. None had postured. None had drawn lines.

Well, except for Conrad, of course.

The message was clear. They believed in their Mand'alor. They would follow his vision. Whatever came before, whatever ashes still clung to their armor—they would see this through.

Conrad couldn't help but think: perhaps this assignment might yet bear fruit. At the very least, it would make a hell of a story.

He took another sip, letting the silence curl around the edges of the court like smoke.

So many here speak of peace like a summit already scaled

His eyes wandered—not to the Chancellor, nor the Mand'alor, but to those seated between. The ones who nodded in quiet agreement with Captain Draav, even as their mouths swore civility.

But peace isn't gifted. It's survived. And never without cost.

The smile again. No warmth. No malice. Only interest.

I wonder who they'll sacrifice for it.

The cane tapped once—deliberate. Final.

Then silence reclaimed him.

 

[Valery Noble]

​

Outfit: Combat Jumpsuit
Weapons: Lightsabers

Valery said nothing at first. The tension was still raw in the air — sharp like a saber's edge — but she didn't flinch. She didn't rise to meet it with fire or force. Instead, she met it with calm. Her gaze shifted subtly to Alicio, her expression steady. One small nod — silent, precise — passed between them. A message, clear without words: we've got this.

Then her eyes turned to Zark, the barest flicker of acknowledgment at his dry remark. Another nod. A pulse of agreement beneath the surface. And finally, to Nos, who was already restoring order in clean, decisive strokes. She did not interfere. She didn't need to. Captain Draav had made himself loud — but he had not spoken for the Alliance.

Valery stepped forward. Not past Alicio. Not in front. Just alongside him. Her voice, when it came, was calm steel — shaped by fire, tempered by trust.

"Mand'alor," she said, meeting Aether's gaze without hesitation, "I do not forget what has come before. I do not ask that you forget either. The past shaped us both. But it is not the only thing that defines us."

She paused.

"I came here alone ahead of the delegation because I needed to see it for myself — this Empire that chooses a different way. And I believe in what I saw. In what I felt when our blades crossed not as foes, but as leaders trying to understand each other." A beat passed. A quiet certainty settled over her words.

"If you are willing to build something new… then let this be the foundation: truth, memory, and a choice to be different." Another nod — this time to Aether directly. A sign not of submission, but of respect.

"We are not your enemies." And with that, she stepped back into line beside the Chancellor.

She had said her piece.

Alicio could handle the politics.

Aether Verd Alicio Organa Lander Stalwart Nos Voros Thexann Pehnataur Aselia Verd Runi Kuryida Siv Kryze Zark San Tekka Lucas Gracin | Delegation​

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Tension coiled tightly above, and around them. The question was: would it snap, or would it ease?

More faces and visored helms appeared. Many more watched unseen as Caltin and Jonah exchanged words. An uninvited guest - especially one you had a rocky history with - was a worthy cause for suspicion. Wires had been crossed, but not swords.

"Understood," Cora dipped her head to Jonah. "We appreciate your grace."

When she next raised her gaze, it would drift over the crowd that had gathered. How many of them had descended upon her home, wielding fire and death in the name of their doctrine of war?

She'd been angry at them for a long time, but there were lessons to be learned from ire without holding onto it like a hot brand. That rage had tempered itself into wariness.

Taris, torn as it was, did not deserve their ancient feud. The Jedi met Jonah's gaze - behind the glint of a shaded visor - with something firm, yet earnest. She returned his nod, then turned to the commando she'd spoken with earlier. He was quick to lend a hand, but quicker to let his thoughts be known.

"Then we will not offer pity, but compassion. Feel free to inspect the cargo as you see fit. We've nothing to hide."

Ramps now lowered from transports, resuming their work, albeit cautiously. "This one is carrying medical supplies. Bacta, antibiotics, bandages and the like." She pried open a crate, displaying the neatly stacked containers of blue gel. "That ship is carrying rations and cookware," she waved a hand toward the adjacent vessel. "There are teams of engineers ready to help restore telecommunications and power, and carpenters to erect temporary housing. You'll have a better handle on where they'll be needed the most."

The warrior offered his name, which she repeated. "Jaikell. Corazona von Ascania, Jedi Knight." Hand over her heart, and a slight bend at the waist. A holdover from her aristocratic upbringing.

Sith leered in the periphery, and she glanced to Vanagor. He'd done well to smooth things over and keep the peace, but there was a fragility to it. Cora turned back to Jaikell as they began unloading supplies.

"You and your brethren know better than most what Taris has been through in the recent months. The galactic shift took us all by surprise, but it's what we can do to help those who've suffered its consequences.”

Jaikell Wyrvhor Caltin Vanagor Jonah Reina Daival Tyron Khan Dillon Kai'el Athena Faar Montello Deshra Zlova Rue Vaegon Dolmyrian Itzhal Volkihar Kuben Woods Adonis Angelis IV

 

[Caltin Vanagor]

TITLE
TARIS
Objective II — A New Empire

I’ll remember that, Jonah. No habit. No assumptions. Just help — with your blessing next time.

He let that settle, then glanced toward the first aid team already moving again, guided now by both Jedi and armored Mandalorians. Tension hadn’t vanished, but something stronger had begun to take root: shared purpose.

I’ve served long enough to know that sovereignty and compassion don’t need to be enemies. And I’m not here to blur lines. I’m here to keep people from bleeding out between them. His gaze followed Jonah’s toward the broken skyline, toward Taris — cracked, scorched, stubbornly standing.

We’ll work with your squads. Padawans and crew’ll follow Mandalorian lead at every drop point. You’ll get our full cargo manifests by cycle’s end. You see something out of place, say it. No secrets.

He then turned toward the woman beside him — likely a medic or Alliance coordinator — and gave a quiet nod. She moved off, signaling others into motion.

Caltin looked back at Jonah.

You’ll find I’m not here to change your ways, Verd. Just to make sure the wounded live long enough to remember them.

A beat.

If we do our jobs right, today won't be remembered for who landed first — but for who stood together after. And with that, the Jedi Master stepped aside — allowing Jonah to lead if he chose, or to walk beside him if he would.

Because that’s how bridges are built. Not with sermons. But with steps.

Corazona von Ascania • Jonah • Jaikell Wyrvhor • Tyron Khan • Reina Daival • Dillon Kai'el • Athena Faar • Montello Deshra • @Zlova Rue • Vaegon Dolmyrian • Itzhal Volkihar • Kuben Woods • Adonis Angelis IV
[Text in Brackets is spoken on Comm-link] ~Like this is through the Force~​

 

[Siv Kryze]

.​

O B J E C T I V E 1​

Tag: Aether Verd Alicio Organa Lander Stalwart Nos Voros Thexann Pehnataur Aselia Verd Zark San Tekka Lucas Gracin Valery Noble + Open​

​

Siv Kryze stood still. Still, but never idle.

His eyes, sharp and unblinking beneath the shadow of the Nite Owl helm cradled in his hand, tracked the words exchanged between powers. Jedi. Senators. A Chancellor bearing the weight of stars. And the Mand'alor — the only voice that truly mattered here.

The others were guests.

When silence came again, Siv finally moved. One step forward. Not for spectacle — but precision. Presence. The kind that comes before a blade is drawn, or a judgment passed.

His voice was quiet, but carried.


"You come to Mandalore seeking trust."


He let that hang, just long enough.


"You speak of scars. Of unity. Of futures built on old bones. These are noble things, Chancellor. Jedi. And I do not doubt the sincerity in your tone."


A slow tilt of the head. A soldier measuring the angles of an unseen strike.


"But why now?"


His eyes narrowed, not in accusation — but in the way a tactician narrows on patterns. On motive. On threat.


"Mandalore does not forget. We have stood alone through siege and civil war. Through Republics and Empires. We have clawed our future from ash without Core support, without your votes or sympathies."


He stepped forward again — closer to the throne. Not posturing. Not political. Just present.


"We did not change for your comfort. We changed because we had to. Because Mandalore grows tired of rebuilding from other people's wars."


Then, sharper — not louder, but weighted.


"We are not here to prove ourselves. Not to the Core. Not to the Senate. Not even to your Jedi."


A glance — fleeting — toward Valery Noble. Not disrespectful. But not deferent, either.


"The only ones we answer to are our people. The clans. The Creed. The fallen who built the ground we stand on."


His voice cooled again, steel sliding back into its sheath.


"That said — you're here. You crossed half the galaxy to stand before us, to ask the question: Can this work?"


A long pause. He looked to Aether.


"That's not for them to answer alone."


And finally, to the delegation once more:


"We are willing to speak. To build. But understand—Mandalore is not a vassal state. We do not bend to galactic tides. We rise on our own terms."


He nodded once. Sharp. Final.

Then stepped back into the shadows beside the throne — watchful again.

The Warden had spoken. The Court would remember.

​

 

[Jaikell Wyrvhor]

Jaikell's expression beneath the T-shaped visor remained cryptic as he absorbed Cora's words, a subtle shift in perception that hinted at the possibility of mutual understanding.


"We appreciate your transparency, Corazona von Ascania, Jedi Knight," he says, awkwardly bending too, not just that he wasnt used to it, but his armor also doesnt allow it so it just looks "Wrong.." Jaikell's voice carried a note of acknowledgment. "The people of Taris have endured much, and any aid we can provide to alleviate their suffering is welcomed."


As the unloading of supplies continued, Jaikell's movements were purposeful and efficient, his actions a reflection of his dedication to the well-being of his people, Standing amidst the crates of medical supplies and provisions, he regarded Cora with a newfound sense of respect for her commitment to aiding those in need, despite the historical tensions that lingered between their respective factions.


"There is strength in unity, even amidst past grievances," Jaikell remarked, his tone measured yet open.

 

[Alicio Organa]

Mandalore
Objective 1: Intent and Iron
- Valery Noble - Lucas Gracin - Lander Stalwart - Thexann Pehnataur - Nos Voros - Wedge Draav - Aether Verd - Aselia Verd - Runi Kuryida - Conrad - Siv Kryze - Damian du Couteau - Feridade Parthi - Alek Thorne -
​

Alicio, despite himself, let a small smile tug the serious line of his mouth as Lander Stalwart took permission to speak, and as Valery Noble found her way beside him. Alicio didn't know Senator Stalwart beyond the missives on his desk, but he held himself well.

All that, however, was whittled away by focus as the Mand'alor spoke.

We choose to move forward. If we do not, the blood feud between our peoples will be everlasting.

Alicio thought about those words long after Aether Verd uttered them. The king on his iron throne became the object of the Chancellor's undivided attention. His eyes narrowed in focus, and his head tilted ever so slightly to the side, as he tried to understand the Mandalorian. Beyond the history. Beyond the words. And he saw... something. A glimmer of familiarity.

Thexann Pehnataur spoke after, and Alicio interrupted his analysis of Mand'alor the Iron to offer a brief nod of approval. That was the heart of their discussion today, he figured. To plant something small and ugly, in the hopes it could grow in time. Even Valery spoke after, affirming their position. It was important she did- the Chancellor and the Grandmaster being of one mind on an issue held a lot of weight.

"But why now?"

Now that was an important question. One that deserved answering.

"Speaking... personally, I'm not looking for trust today. I'm not giving it, either." Alicio returned his attention to the throne. "Leave the hatchet where it is, as a reminder of what happens if we fail."

"Mandalorians have worked with the Alliance, the Jedi, before. Pushed together by outside evils." Alicio's tone softened. He thought briefly of another Kryze. "But the treaties rarely last. Because the deals we make, time and time again, revolve around a war. And once the war is over, the Alliance doesn't need warriors, and Mandalore is tired of being used. We resent each other, all over again."

"That's why we're here now. If what Master Noble says is correct, and the foundation can be changed, if the basis of our relationship can be building each other up, rather than tearing someone else down... there's a chance something more concrete will work." The Chancellor let his hands fold behind his back, his subtle, shadowed smirk returning as he addressed Aether. "Usually, Mand'alor, the Alliance would offer to give you something to begin with, to sweeten the deal, but I know better than to offer the mando'ade a gift unearned."

"We can certainly discuss trade deals and defense pacts, if you wish, but... You're building something here. We're builders. How can we help?"

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Taris, Outer Rim Territories
| Objective | II - A New Empire

Silhouetted against the fading glow of the sun, which stretched lazily along the crumbling skyline of Taris, Itzhal Volkihar stood with a heavy heart burdened with duty. His infamous T-Visor gazed down at the relentless tide of Alliance staff moving purposefully, their hands laden with vital supplies and precious resources, all desperately needed by the weary inhabitants of Taris.

Yet, he could not simply allow them access.

Underneath his visor, steel-blue eyes tracked the approaching form of a figure garbed in layers of a pale silver robe, tarnished with dust and debris that fluttered with every step, a soft breeze revealing a glimpse of a silver hilt. The Jedi's steps were hurried with intent, softened as they were by the gentle crossing of his arms, protected beneath the flowing folds of his attire.

There was nothing gentle about the questions that followed a moment later, loud enough for those nearby to hear, but not enough to carry across the entire field—a challenge, but not one designed to raise the tensions between both sides, at least not entirely. One could accomplish more than one objective with a proper challenge. It was only a shame they held the confidence to barge into someone else's home and start throwing pointed questions, over a thousand years, and still the Jedi found a way to search for gaps in the armour while offering peace.

His tongue, sharpened with time, was held only with a glance towards those who needed their help. However, he was not the only one here who would speak for Mandalore.

Advancing with the unwavering presence of an indomitable mountain, Montello Deshar stood resolute, a figure carved from the very bedrock of convictions. Politics and the shifting tides of allegiances were not his domain; the art of persuasion, where a gentle word could be wielded like a blade, held no allure for him. This was not his way, nor did it need to be. The words he spoke resonated with truth, each syllable steeped in the pride that had forged a steadfast shield, a bastion for the weak. Just as that same resolve now lashed out fiercely at those who threatened to unravel it all with reckless actions.

He was not the only one, either; just as those of Mandalore arrived, so did others from the Alliance, sharp lines drawn in the crumbling remains of a planet just barely relieved from a terrible siege.

Standing over the proceedings, Itzhal observed with a keen, cautious eye as the blonde-haired Jedi approached, his charismatic presence commanding attention. With a smile that radiated both warmth and confidence, Dillon intruded upon their conversation like a sudden gust of wind, blowing aside all those previous lines as though they were nothing more than dust to be carried off. Yet, instead of putting the Mandalorian at ease, the Jedi's boldness only deepened Itzhal's wariness, making the concessions offered feel more like a calculated gambit than a gesture of goodwill.

Unreasonable, perhaps, but still, he watched unwilling to dismiss his concerns until they were proven wrong or terribly right. The urge to draw his weapon only grew as the Jedi thrust a box into Montello's arms, although any response was interrupted by Zlova Rue's arrival, another sequence of insults and dismissals exchanged just as seemed natural for whenever Mandalorian and Jedi seemed to run into each other. He was tempted for a second to throw in a comment of his own, but as he looked over the crowds of injured, anything further just felt pitiful.

The Alliance may not have been the Republic, but he could see the shadow of it, dragging out emotions best saved in the past.

Jonah's message of acceptance was almost a relief in contrast, as Itzhal surrounded himself in the pillars of duty and honour, anchors to guide his way even when he felt the stirring embers of his worst parts.

"It appears that cooler heads have spoken upon this day," Itzhal acknowledged aloud, his words soft beneath the metallic tinge of his vocalizer that still carried far across the field. Upon the edge of his vision, he saw as others heard, and shoulders slumped with relief, wariness seeping from faces to be replaced with hope. "I am Itzhal Volkihar. Your intent has been deemed true, but many of those who suffer still remain within the greater cities rather than the outskirts. I shall guide those who are needed, if you are willing to follow."

Tags: Vaegon Dolmyrian Montello Deshra Dillon Kai'el Zlova Rue Jonah​

 

[Montello Deshra]

​

TAG: Vaegon Dolmyrian / Zlova Rue / Jonah / Caltin Vanagor / Athena Faar / Jaikell Wyrvhor / Itzhal Volkihar

OBJECTIVE II​

Praviah took a measured step back from Dillon Kai'el . It was not in retreat, but in defiance. A deliberate refusal to accept anything unearned or imposed. His posture was rigid, his presence grounded like a wall that wouldn’t bend, no matter the force.

“That’s not how things work,” he said, his voice calm but edged with disdain. “You don’t get to step into someone else’s house, ignore the boundaries, and expect no consequence. Territory means something. Your platitudes are hollow when your actions spit in the face of respect.”

His arms crossed slowly across his chest, a gesture both defensive and commanding. He tilted his head, only slightly, but it carried the weight of judgment. Beneath the helmet or hidden expression, the scowl was palpable. Disapproval was etched into every word he spoke.

“The only drama here is you and your kind dragging it into our space. This isn’t about politics. This isn’t about diplomacy. This is about disrespect. Your leadership’s blatant disregard for borders, for Mandalorian sovereignty, speaks volumes, and we’ve heard every word in silence until now. Mandalorians don’t posture. We don’t barter identity for acceptance. We act. And you’ve acted like you don’t belong.”

He let the silence hang for a beat, gaze unmoving.

“When you step into Mandalorian space, you don’t get to pretend your ideals override our culture and way of life. We may have different ways, but our resolve is plain. Aruetiise. Outsiders. Carry on as you were.”

Praviah could feel the divide widening. The two groups colliding like iron and flint. He knew this wasn’t going to be solved through endless debate, nor would he try. He wasn’t one to shy away, and this moment was no exception.

Jonah’s and Zlova’s presence was enough of a counterbalance. He didn’t need to escalate anything further. He would let them deal with their own logistics. Praviah would ensure nothing trampled Mandalorian honor in the process.

Let the foreigners leave. Quickly, if they had any sense left.

The people? They would be fine. The Mandalorians Empire knew how to handle those within their jurisdiction.
​

 

[Dillon Kai'el]

Taris
Tags: Zlova Rue , Montello Deshra , Itzhal Volkihar , Jonah , Others...

​

"I'd draw you a map, but you already know which side of the border this planet is on. Any of you going to bowing with a flourish and welcome Mandalorian Humanitarian Aid without first notifying the Alliance? Say yes and I'll know you either have no honor, or are looking for a war."

“When you step into Mandalorian space, you don’t get to pretend your ideals override our culture and way of life. We may have different ways, but our resolve is plain. Aruetiise. Outsiders. Carry on as you were.”

Dillon sighed. Mandalorians. They wore their culture and independence on their sleeves, but they wore tinted lenses that always lead to misunderstanding. He spoke a different tongue then they did. In his 'going through the motions' he had forgotten how to communicate with their kind for a moment. A soft smile came to the old Jedi's face as he set the box he had offered to Montello down.

"Nothing can override your culture," Dillon noted, his tone less playful and more reserved. A sort of reverence had come up now. "Apologies, I do believe my tone was a bit too light. I'm afraid I can be a bit of an airhead in my old age. Rest assured, there will be consequences. Just not while there are bellies to feed. That is a matter best left for another time."

He did respect Mandalorian culture. One only had to experience the old times to gain such a view on their will to survive.

"I am Itzhal Volkihar. Your intent has been deemed true, but many of those who suffer still remain within the greater cities rather than the outskirts. I shall guide those who are needed, if you are willing to follow."

"That's mighty kind of you," the Jedi Master responded. "Dillon Kai'el. I'm afraid I was rather unaware that this excursion was not sanctioned. That fellow who gave clearance seems a wise man. If it would be satisfactory, I would be willing to offer myself to pay penance before your courts should that sooth some of the troubles the young'ns have brought to Taris. Your Sith friend has spoken truly. It would be wrong for this to pass by with only a slap on the wrist. You may run that by your leadership if you wish."

It wasn't the first time that Dillon had wandered onto a shuttle that took him somewhere he didn't expect. He lived in the moment, and thusly felt he should face consequences in the moment. Time would march on, as would the ebb and flow of life and death. Little things like these should simply be handled with and then forgotten.

It wasn't worth war.

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

MANDALORE

The throne did not shift. But his attention did.

Aether Verd watched as Valery Noble stepped forward. Not ahead of the Chancellor. Not behind. Beside him. Together they stood as one voice, one force, the Grandmaster and the Chancellor. The full weight of the Alliance embodied in a single moment.

And yet, she said they were not enemies.

He believed her.

"I have walked enough battlefields to know the sound of a lie." Aether said, voice level. "And that was not one. You speak truly, Grandmaster. We are not enemies."

His helm tilted slightly, a gesture of affirmation. Not deference. Respect.

To his side, the Warden had already spoken. Siv Kryze gave voice to a truth many Clans carried in silence. Aether offered him a nod. Not for agreement alone, but for the courage to speak plainly. As it should be.

Runi stood nearby, a quiet pillar of faith. Her silence spoke louder than many voices in the room. He felt her support. Trusted it. And at the perimeter, Conrad remained still, eyes sharp. Domarian. His presence, too, mattered.

Mandalore had always been many. Now, it was whole.

From Kryze to Cabur. From Creed to contract. The people stood together.

Which brought him to the heart of the matter.

The Chancellor had asked how. How to build. How to move forward.

Aether remained seated. One hand rested on the throne’s arm. The other slowly curled into a fist before unfurling again. His voice came steady and low, filling the chamber without strain.

"What is sought is peace." he said, gaze moving over the gathered delegation. "But peace built on need is fragile. It snaps when the storm comes, such as peace time as you've described. Mandalore has no need. We have our people. Our strength. Our future. What we offer is not out of desperation."

He did not rise. He did not have to.

"So we do not offer treaties. We do not ask for alliances that fade when leadership changes. We offer something better. Something older. A contract."

There was a murmur in the room, but his tone remained unchanged.

"Across our Empire, from the young warriors proving their name to the elders guiding them, we earn our living through battle. This is no secret. The mercenary path is one many Mandalorians walk. But for too long, these wars have been fought with no return. Foreign conflicts. Empty promises. Corpses traded for vague goodwill."

His voice sharpened. Not with anger. With clarity.

"No more."

He looked to the Chancellor now. Not as an adversary. As a partner.

"The Mandalorian Empire offers its retainer services to the Galactic Alliance. You may call upon our strength. When conflict arises and warriors are needed, we will fight under contract. You will pay fairly. And we will fight fiercely. That is our Way."

A brief pause followed. Measured. Intentional.

"The scale of engagement will determine the cost. A single uprising is one thing. A galaxy-spanning war is another. If the price no longer matches the conflict, the terms will be renegotiated. Payment will precede deployment. Honor for honor."

His helm shifted slightly again, scanning the room.

"And let us be honest with each other. Not every Mandalorian answers to me. Not every Jedi or Alliance citizen answers to you. There will be contractors. Independents. Their actions will be their own. If they clash, it will not break what we build here. Let this contract stand for nations. Not for shadows."

He allowed his words to linger for just a moment.

"This is our offer. A bond not made of borrowed trust, but of earned respect. You will not find Mandalore kneeling. But you will find us standing. Willing. Ready to build."

Let them speak.

Let them weigh the iron of his words.​

Alicio Organa , Valery Noble , Lucas Gracin , Lander Stalwart , Thexann Pehnataur , Nos Voros , Aselia Verd , Runi Kuryida , Siv Kryze , Damian du Couteau , Feridade Parthi , Alek Thorne

 

[Vaegon Dolmyrian]

Objective 2
Taris

The situation escalated quickly, and the words grew more aggressive. Dillon Kai'el appeared suddenly, as if tailing him the whole time, and gave him an annoying pat on the shoulder. He broke his gaze on Itzhal Volkihar , only to watch the Mandalorians and wait for one to go for their weapons. More Jedi and Mandalorians arrived, and soon verbal sparring broke out between them. The situation seemed to defuse itself when one Jonah arrived and authorized their access.

"You know they never answered my question. Such insults. We come with food, medical supplies, and aid. You come in beskar, steel, and worst of all Sith." The Jedi said in disgust.

Vaegon gestured to Montello Deshra and Zlova Rue . He looked at Master Kai'el for a moment.

"We waited when the Sith rose. We waited for the last several times Mandalorians conquered sector after sector. We always believed inaction would buy us time and peace. All it ever bought us was blood, paid late and at greater cost."

Vaegon shook his head.

"You offer yourself as penance. Those Sith can't help their nature. They will kill you regardless and enjoy it. If they spared your life, it's only to enjoy a fleetly moment of faux moral superiority."