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

[Valery Noble]

The Neo-Crusaders are gone — but the scars remain.

For years, their warbands carved a path of violence through the Outer Rim, clashing with Alliance forces and devastating border worlds. Now, their banners have fallen. Their strongholds lie quiet. And from the ashes, something new rises: The Mandalorian Empire — unified, armored, and watching.

In the wake of this collapse, the Galactic Alliance extended its reach into the battered region, offering humanitarian aid to planets once conquered or ravaged by the Crusaders. But now, those efforts are about to be tested. With the Empire asserting control over the territory once held by its predecessors, Alliance forces and Jedi relief workers are suddenly no longer alone.

Amidst the fractured remains of ancient Mandalorian space, the galaxy itself shifts. Hyperlanes crack and collapse, forcing both the Mandalorians and the Alliance to forge new routes — paths that risk crossing at any moment.

To prevent war — or to brace for it — the Alliance dispatches a high-level delegation to Mandalore itself, led by Chancellor Alicio Organa and Grandmaster Valery Noble , and other key figures. Their mission: to open dialogue. To weigh strength against intent. To find peace, if peace can be found.

But the Mandalorians are not a people easily read. And the galaxy is not easily calmed.

Objective I — Intent and Iron​

A delegation of high-ranking Alliance figures — including the Chancellor, planetary representatives, Jedi leadership, and military envoys — travels to Mandalore to meet the newly formed Mandalorian Empire and its Mand'alor, Aether Verd . Talks are cautious, surrounded by ceremony, honor, and hidden tension. Both sides seek clarity… but there is no certainty about where it will go.

• GA: Alliance Senators may join the Chancellor on this delegation to seek a better relationship with the Mandalorians. The purpose of this meeting is to avoid further conflict.
• ME: The Alliance has sent word that a delegation is coming. Join the diplomatic meeting to discuss the future.

Objective II — A New Empire​

On war-torn worlds once held by the Neo-Crusaders, Alliance humanitarian teams distribute aid, rebuild infrastructure, and assist displaced civilians. But with the rise of the Mandalorian Empire, armored figures begin appearing in villages and ruins — claiming ancestral lands, enforcing order, or simply watching. Relief workers and Jedi must decide how to respond.

• GA: Offer humanitarian aid to people on former Crusader worlds. But be cautious — a new Empire has risen.
  • Contruum
  • Taris
  • Wayland
• ME: Alliance military personnel and humanitarian organizations are present in Mandalorian Empire territory. Address them, knowing a delegations has also been sent to formally discuss the future.

Objective III — Charting the Unknown​

With old hyperlanes shattered, both factions deploy navigators, scouts, and fleet elements to chart new routes through the Manda sector. But the void is vast and unstable — and it's only a matter of time before Mandalorian and Alliance vessels cross paths in the dark. Will it be a stand-off… or something worse?

BYOO
Do you have a different story to tell? Bring your own objective!

​

 

[Valery Noble]

​

Outfit: Combat Jumpsuit
Weapons: Lightsabers

Valery stood just behind and to the left of the Chancellor, her posture straight, hands loosely folded in front of her as the heavy doors loomed ahead. Her amber eyes scanned the hall slowly, lingering on the massive ironworks that framed the chamber. The banners. The scars. Everything here spoke of endurance. Of pride. And now, of change.

She had been here days already — alone, by choice — to walk among the people, to see the streets and hear their voices without the noise of politics. She had met the Mand'alor, spoken not just as Grandmaster but as someone who understood what it meant to rebuild after fire. And now, that conversation would echo here. In this room. Between governments.

"I hope everybody is ready for this," she murmured, voice pitched just enough for Alicio to hear — not doubt in her tone, but calm expectation. A Jedi's readiness. "It's not just about the terms on the table. It's trust. Respect. Hard-earned and easy to lose."

She glanced sideways at him, a subtle smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"You're not the only one making a first impression today, Chancellor. Let's make it count."

Then she looked forward again, calm settling over her like a cloak as the chamber doors began to open.

The meeting was about to begin.

Aether Verd Alicio Organa | Delegation​

 

[Lucas Gracin]

Location: Mandalore
Objective: (1) Forge trust and peace

Standing just a bit behind the chancellor, Lucas' eyes shifted between the jedi and the coming delegation of mandalorians. He'd heard many tales of the warrior culture's escapades. Indeed, his Valde had spoken many times of how he somehow managed to fight them just as much as he seemed to fight the sith. Yet, there was no ill will between Veradune and Mandalore. The crusaders had never attacked the home of the Zorrens and as much as their kind might have gone to war against them, the mandalorians had never garnered the reputation of paragons of evil that the sith currently enjoyed. Looking at history, maybe they should have. But when peace was a possibility, especially peace with people who fought for a living, it was always to be pursued.

"Last time I met with a delegation from Mandalore, it didn't end well. I hope that we have far more success today." Bickering and stereotypical prejudice. It had killed any chance of diplomacy in the past. But now, with a new chancellor at the head and no war to increase tensions, Lucas had faith that friendship, or at least tolerance, would prevail. All they had to do was follow the Grand Master's advice. Trust and respect. But weren't such virtues the basis of all such dialogues?

Valery Noble
Alicio Organa
Aether Verd

 

[Caltin Vanagor]

TITLE
TARIS
Objective II — A New Empire

The last time he was on the planet Taris, there were still loads of Rak Ghouls. That was a long time ago and a freak accident. It is what it is. Now, things are different, and they needed to stay that way. So that meant the humanitarian thing. That meant several Shepherd Class Transports full of supplies and makeshift shelters, all sorts of things needed to help rebuild, to help heal. This was normally Chrysa’s show, but Caltin would not be Caltin if he was not ridiculously overprotective so she was not here, she was coordinating from their home.

As the ships set down, there was security details, yes, but they were few and far between. There were Padawans assisting in bringing out supplies, setting up food stations. There were several things he learned from his short time around those in the Foundation, how to set up properly and to bring out the most of what he could give.

This was going to work.

TAGS • ARE • OPEN • TO • ALL
[Text in Brackets is spoken on Comm-link] ~Like this is through the Force~​

 

[Lander Stalwart]

Mandalore, Objective 1
Tags: Aether Verd , Alicio Organa , Valery Noble , Lucas Gracin

Lander's Blaster Pistol, Lander's Prosthetic Arm
​

Before departure...

"Are you certain this is wise, Lander? Surely your own personal history is a conflict of interest."

Lander stood in his office, his old Duros aid Pax Umoth making reference to his military service. The young senator sighed, flexing his prosthetic fingers for a moment before speaking.

"The landscape of Mandalorian culture is volatile," Lander stated to his aid. "It changes with the tides. They're not the Enclave nor the Crusaders, and I would prefer to be present to assist in ensuring that they do not become that. I served and fought the Enclave. There is nothing more to complicate the matter. If nothing else, it's more incentive to desire peace..."

---

When it came to assisting in assuring peace, did such a thing even truly matter? Lander stood amongst his colleagues as a freshmen senator, only just elected. Amidst the Chancellor of the Galactic Alliance and the New Jedi Order's Grand Master, who was he? A farm boy? A man left damaged by a war from five years ago? Sacorria was lumped in with the Corellian Sector in most matters anyways. Some were sure to already see him as playing second fiddle. Yet here he stood, the rare honor of traveling for diplomacy abroad but seeming like a background character all the same.

Lander wasn't afraid of Mandalorians. He was proud of his service when the Enclave invaded, but that hadn't been personal. It was just war, an inevitability in the grand scheme of things. What he was truly worried about was being the reason negotiations fell through. Was it better to stay quiet?

No. He couldn't remain silent. He was the representative of a planet, not the underling of Corellia. Lander Stalwart would see that his voice was heard.

If only a little bit.

Not that he couldn't take the time to admire the architecture while he was here. There certainly was something striking about the complex metalwork and the flowing banners. If anything could be said, they certainly understood how to choose an aesthetic.

"Last time I met with a delegation from Mandalore, it didn't end well. I hope that we have far more success today."

A subtle frown formed on Lander's face at that. That was most certainly the Mandalorian Protectors. The handling of that session had gone on to define the political landscape over the last few years. It was one of the first things he had seen the holo-recordings of to learn what not to do.

"That was on our soil," the Senator of Sacorria noted. "We're now on theirs. This will be a very different dynamic."

Or at least it should.

 

[Nos Voros]

Objective: Security Detail - objective 1
Outfit: Senate Commando Armor [X]
Full Kit Deployment:

Spoiler: Full Kit

• Legion Combat Engineer Multi-Tool
• 4 X Combat/Utility Knife-Model 01
• 2 X Vibroblade-Model 01
• Cortosis Vibroblade
• Legion Combat Pistol Mark I with Whisper-class Suppressor Series
• Legion Crew Personal Protection Weapon Mark I
• Combat Scattergun-Model 01
• 3 X Modular Hand Grenade-Model 01
• 3 X Anti-Armor Grenade-Model 01

* GAHA-32 Lionheart Commando Armor

• Combat Blaster Rifle-Model 01 with Tactical Accessories Series and Underbarrel Grenade Launcher-Model 01 (20 X Launchable Grenade Series)
• 4x blaster cartridges
• 2x stun grenades
• Ascension Pistol
• Fusion Lantern
• Datapad
• Garrote
• 3x stimpacks
• 3x bland survival bars
• 128oz Canteen of water.

Spoiler: Rubrus Squad

Squad Leader: Captain Nos Voros (Zeltron male)
Fire Team Alpha — GAHA-32 Lionheart Commando Armor
Team Leader: Lieutenant Karis Vonn (Human female, Corellian)

• AT-FL9 Flechette Launcher
• A sharp tactician with experience in counter-assassination operations.

Medic: Sergeant Lorne Vesik (Mirialan male)

• Former Judicial Forces combat medic,
• GAGL 56 Snarl Grenade Launcher
• specializing in battlefield triage and trauma care.

Machine Gunner: Corporal Bex Jarn (Besalisk male)

• Heavy weapons expert.
• AT-RB07 Heavy Repeating Blaster
• Strong but surprisingly fast for his size, excels at defensive holds and breaching operations.

Rifleman: Private Tash Renn (Human male, Chandrilan)

• A precise and disciplined soldier.
• BHSR-1 Service Rifle
• Prefers coordinated maneuvers and works best in tight formations.

---

Fire Team Bravo — GAHA-32 Lionheart Commando Armor
Team Leader 2: Sergeant Jil Torvan (Togruta female)

• Former planetary security officer with expertise in urban combat.
• GARBR-5 Beak repeating blaster
• Skilled in squad coordination.

Marksman: Corporal Rann Kyber (Nautolan male)

• Expert sharpshooter.
• GABB-15 Talon II Blaster Carbine
• Specializes in eliminating priority targets at long range.

Heavy Weapons: Private Drax Molgar (Zabrak male)

• Specializes in explosives and heavy ordinance.
• ML-04E-GA Rocket Launcher
• Often deployed against armored threats or for breaching enemy positions.

Rifleman: Private Cass Deren (Duros male)

• Agile and quick-thinking.
• BHSR-1 Service Rifle
• Often acts as the squad's point man, scouting ahead for danger.

Nos Voros walked with the weight of his armor, but not its sound.

The stone beneath his boots might as well have been air for all the noise he made — one of nine dark shapes forming a cordon behind Chancellor Organa’s diplomatic crest. The blue-on-navy gleam of specialized Lionheart armor caught the torchlight in grim highlights, visor strips glowing faintly beneath the banners of Mandalore.

Each of the Rubrus squad moved with precision, disciplined and unspeaking, each wore a pauldron carved heavier on the left, its surface scarred and matte from experience.

He’d reviewed the entry hall twice already. Third time now. Choke points, fallback zones, angles. There was nothing in the air that smelled of violence — Mandalorian guards seemed calm, no shift in Valery Noble’s stance, no change in the Chancellor’s tone.

He’d survived too many broken to trust any neutral meeting. He took his place half a step off the Chancellor’s right flank, his stance squared, hands at rest. Not hovering over his weapons. Not yet. The message wasn’t “ready to strike.” It was “not worth testing.”

His voice murmured on the squad channel — subvocal, secure.

“Rubrus. Standard posture. Eyes wide. Watch for ceremonial cues.”​

Nos fell silent again.

And the doors began to open.

@Objective 1 security.​

 

[Makko Vyres]

Objective II — A New Empire: Taris

Caltin Vanagor

Makko came from an urban world. He hadn't seen one quite like Taris. There were entire towns living in the hollowed out shells of bulk freighter.

He didn't stand beside a pallet of food. He came with a delegation bringing engineering supplies. They were apparently short of the goods required to break down scrapped starships.

He could feel tension. It wasn't anything he could see, even though he had become a particularly observant jedi shadow. It was subtle. A slight murmur in the Force.

The delegation was at Mandalore. Hopefully they would receive positive news soon.

 

[Thexann Pehnataur]

.

As the great chamber doors began to rumble open, and the shadow of the Mandalorians loomed beyond, Thexann stood slightly apart from the others. Not withdrawn—anchored. He had watched Valery as she spoke—not to interject, not even to answer immediately, but because he listened like a scholar gathering wisdom, weighing every word before offering one of his own.

His eyes didn’t turn to her. Instead, they stayed forward—on the scarred chamber ahead.

“Trust and respect,” he echoed quietly. “They’re not just fragile... they’re volatile. Especially here. Especially now.”

A beat passed, filled by the grinding metal of ancient hinges and the gust of Mandalore wind brushing past them.

“But not because either side is weak. It’s because they’re too strong, in their identity. In their grief.”

He finally turned his head slightly toward Valery—not in full, just enough to share the moment’s gravity.

“They don’t need speeches. They need someone to listen until it hurts.”

His voice wasn’t cold. It was measured steel, honed not for comfort—but for precision.

“You walked the streets. That matters. They’ll remember that more than any clause we present today.”

Then, as the doors finished opening and the firelight of the Mandalorian hall spilled into the corridor, he added—quieter now, almost just for her:

“First impressions are fleeting. Character isn’t. Let them see both.”

He stepped forward then, not with the air of a negotiator—but of a man walking into a storm he’s not afraid of. Because storms don't shake the foundation. They test it.


Valery Noble , Alicio Organa , Aether Verd , Lucas Gracin , Lander Stalwart , Nos Voros

 

[Runi Kuryida]

Runi had arrived well in advance of the scheduled time for the Alliance's arrival. Too often had petitioners come to these halls and carried with them the weight and darkness of the galaxy with them. She could do nothing about what people brought with them to this gathering, or how it would influence the story to unfold. Strong as she was with the Manda, Runi did not believe in twisting fate to serve her own purpose. Yet, as a humble Shaman, she could at least take the time to thoroughly bless the hall and ward it from evil. From vile monsters such as Harrow, if nothing else; a thing that would take no small joy in throwing the assembly into chaos.

A fan of feathers had swept over every wall, and the Shaman had ceaselessly chanted as she'd made her way around the entire chamber. Her helmet was at her back over the twin, wooden swords crossed there, which left her face exposed.

As the time came, Runi had set aside the prayer fan and taken a place off to one side from Aether Verd. His was the face they sought and the voice that would proclaim the final verdict. She would stand ready to offer counsel, should they need it; or to put an end to any foolishness should it arise.

This actually reminded her of a similar gathering years ago between the Enclave and the Alliance. Circumstances conspired to set the two parties at one another's throats under the Mandokarla's watch. Shame about the table, but her impassioned demand they not break the spiritual pact they'd entered into coming in peace had demanded... weight. Parlays were serious business to a Shaman.

Valery Noble | Alicio Organa | Aether Verd | Lucas Gracin | Lander Stalwart | Nos Voros | Thexann Pehnataur | OPEN​

 

[Wedge Draav]

Objective One
Envoys and Enemies

Mandalorians.

The cruelest, most unruly, disorganized, violent, superstitious people in the galaxy.
​

In Wedge’s time alone, the Mandalorians were responsible for more atrocities than he could be expected to remember. To each other, even. Even now, they had the remnants of the Crusaders refusing to follow this new “Empire”. He heard they were supposedly altruistic, lovey dovey types. More friendly. Less murders.

But-

Wedge knew better than to trust a Mandalorian. Wait four months and there’d be another Empire, another Mandalore. Their culture was strange and alien to him, supposedly honorable but where was the honor in wanton murder?

He came as a representative of the Starfighter Corps, Commander of the Elite of the Elite of the pilots in the Alliance. With all the others in the room, the Jedi included, he felt small. He was a genuine war hero though- and the best pilot in the Alliance’s history thus far. He represented the Navy well, and by his own volition, avoided upper command or command of a fleet.

But, his presence here was not going to sway opinions. He needed to know what the Mandalorians were up to, what they wanted, and what they planned to do. So far, the Mandalorians proved a vicious foe, a violent force of nature. To themselves and to the galaxy.

He leered over at the Jedi in the room. Perhaps just the same as others. He sat at the table, leaning back in the chair. He wore his dress uniform- his ribbons perfected, shoes polished and hair impeccably combed and gelled. He had a stack of ribbons, showing a longevity of service of over 15 years. He was there to listen, and didn’t plan on airing his opinions. Yet.

He didn’t need another repetition of the Senate incident…

​

 

[Aether Verd]

INTENT AND IRON
"If there is to be peace, let it be forged without fear."​

Long before the banners. Before the armor. Before the stars knew their names, there was war.

The Mandalorians and the Jedi had never been strangers. Only ever opposites. One forged in conflict, the other sworn to peace. And yet, somehow, the paths of these ancient peoples were always drawn together like flame and wind, each one stirring the other into greater consequence.

The Galactic Alliance was only the latest in a line of governments that had clashed with Mandalore. The Enclave had waged open war against them. The Neo Crusaders had raided their worlds, defied their borders, and bled their people. One conflict after another, each more bitter than the last. It was no wonder the Alliance delegation entered with wary hearts. They had every reason to carry the weight of old scars.

But the Mandalorians had scars of their own.

They remembered the purges. The crusades of light wrapped in righteousness. They remembered how the Republic once turned its fleets on Mandalore. How the Silver Jedi brought fire in the name of order. How even the Alliance itself had hunted Mandalorians in its earliest years. Peace had never been gifted to them. Only won, and never kept for long.

So yes. The Empire had reason to look upon the Jedi and their allies with caution, with memory. With teeth just beneath the surface.

And yet… here they were.

The doors to the Court of Iron parted with the sound of ancient hinges, grinding slowly to unveil the weight of history.

Torchlight flooded through the opening, spilling across the long crimson carpet that ran from threshold to throne. Lining either side were Supercommandos, not in full war panoply, but clad in polished ceremonial cuirasses, each bearing a long spear of beskar etched with the symbols of their Clans. Behind them, the stone gaze of Mandalore's legacy stared down from their alcoves, great statues of those who had worn the helm of Sole Ruler. Neo Crusaders. Protectors. Exiles. Tyrants. Visionaries. All of them remembered here, unflinching, unhidden.

And between the first two stood the throne.

He sat still as stone upon it. No helmet. No weapon in hand. Just a man in crimson and iron, wrapped in silence and shadow.

Aether Verd. Mand’alor the Iron.

His gaze was steady, golden eyes flicking between each of the figures as they entered. Jedi. Senators. Soldiers. All of them carrying the weight of purpose. All of them here because peace was too important to ignore, and too fragile to trust.

But he spoke. Not as a politician. Not as a priest. As a warlord given voice.

“Welcome to Mandalore.”

His voice rang across the chamber, deep, clear, unwavering. It did not ask. It did not apologize. It declared.

“You come in peace. And you are not turned away.”

A beat. His jaw tightened. But his tone remained level, cool as hammered steel.

“The Empire you meet today is not the Crusade that scarred your worlds. But We are Mandalorian nonetheless.”

He leaned forward slightly, just enough to let the weight of his next words reach them without force.

“Your Grandmaster came to me once. Alone. She asked not for alliance, but for understanding. We spoke. And for the first time in a long time, no blades were drawn.”

A pause.

“That does not make us allies. It does not make us friends. It means I will listen.”

He stood now, rising from the throne like a mountain given motion. Tall. Broad. Still unarmed, save for the voice that carried.

“We will not serve. We will not kneel. But we will speak. We will hear you. And we will decide what is best for our people, as we always have. Thus, let your words be true. Let your intent be clear. And leave the ghosts of old wars at the door.”

Then, with a slow incline of his head, not low, but present, the Mand’alor gave his invitation.

“The Court of Iron is open.”​

Valery Noble | Alicio Organa | Lucas Gracin | Lander Stalwart | Nos Voros | Thexann Pehnataur | Runi Kuryida | Aselia Verd | Ze'bast Verd | Drego Ruus + Open

 

[Jonah]

A NEW EMPIRE​

It was one thing to speak of peace. It was another to act like the rules no longer applied.

Everyone in the Mandalorian Empire knew the Galactic Alliance was on Mandalore. The Chancellor, the Jedi Grandmaster, half a dozen senators and military brass. Fine. They had come with words, with intentions, with enough ceremony to justify entry. That was how diplomacy worked.

But humanitarian ships showing up in Mandalorian space without notice, without permission? That was something else entirely.

Taris was not some open yard for foreign powers to plant their flag under the excuse of compassion. It was Mandalorian land. Planeshift or not. Gravesong or not. The wounded still had a nation. And that nation had teeth.

So while the Mand'alor and his War Council received their guests in Sundari, Jonah mounted up.

When the first Shepherd-class transports slipped through orbit, they were met by a sudden emergence of Mandalorian vessels. Kom'rk-class fighter transports. Fang-type starfighters. Gozanti cruisers bristling with signal strength. No weapons fired. No threats made. But a message echoed through open comms, carried in crisp Mando'a-accented Basic.

"Alliance vessels, you are entering sovereign Mandalorian territory without clearance. Power down your drives and hold position in orbit. Ground operations are to cease immediately until contact is made."​

Jonah descended hard and fast.

His Basilisk war droid cut through the clouds like a forged spear. Reentry plasma rippled across its hull as he guided it toward one of the surface scan's flagged hot zones. There were Jedi down there. Workers. Padawans. Supplies already unloading onto Taris soil. He headed for the largest of several dropsites. The rest were being intercepted by other teams.

The droid touched down with the weight of history, retrothrusters hissing as Jonah dismounted.

His armor bore only a midnight cape. No additional flourish. Just matte black plates worn from campaigns past, and the sigil of Clan Verd painted clean across the chest. He stood tall, visor reflecting the flicker of Alliance workers moving about their task like nothing had happened.

He keyed his comm again. This time, directed to everyone on the surface.

"Alliance personnel. You are operating without sanction inside the territory of the Mandalorian Empire. You will cease all activity immediately."​

A pause. Long enough for silence to settle over the landing zone. Long enough to let them feel it.

"Whoever is in charge of this operation will meet me at my coordinates at once. If you intend to help, you will do it the right way. Through us."​

No saber was drawn. No rifle was raised.

But the line had been drawn all the same.

Tag: Makko Vyres , Caltin Vanagor + Open

 

[Aselia Verd]

Objective: I

As the ancient doors parted and the flame cast shadows spilled forward, Aselia Verd stood beside the throne of Mandalore.

Not on it. Never above it. But beside it right hand of the warlord, shoulder to shoulder with the iron, her brother that held their people together.

She was silent, motionless in the way a storm holds its breath.

The red and black of her armor gleamed under the flickering torchlight, a seamless fusion of tradition and innovation. black beskar trimmed in crimson, carried the unmistakable stamp of her lineage, the sigil of House Verd adorned the left pauldron,. A crimson cape hungfrom her shoulders, her helm was sealed, concealing her face for now, black underlays broke the uniformity of red with tactical padding and segmented joints.

Aselia was made for war. That much was plain.

But she wasn't posturing. She didn't need to. Her presence was declaration enough.

Her sensors tracked everything. biosigns, temperature fluctuations, slight variations in muscle tension. Every Alliance face was tagged with a name and file: Organa, Noble, Gracin, Stalwart, Voros. Some from public data, others would be assigned as they were introduced. She tracked micro expressions. potential concealed weapons. The Jedi's centers of gravity. The slight shift in a soldier's boot as he favored a blaster hip.

She wasn't tense. She was aware.

The Force hummed quietly at the edge of her senses, not intrusive. Just there. She felt it move through the chamber, carried in the quiet heartbeat of stone and firelit steel.

Her hands remained at her sides, armored fingers resting near her hips. Her lightsaber was mag-locked to her thigh, it was there if needed. She was dressed for battle, but wore it like a second skin.

Her chin lifted slightly as Aether spoke, and though her helm gave no expression, her stance said everything. She did not flinch. She did not sway. She stood unshaken at his side while the echoes of his words filled the Court of Iron.

This was Mandalore.

And these were their guests.

Her silence held. Her judgment waited.

Let them speak.

TAG: Valery Noble | Alicio Organa | Lucas Gracin | Lander Stalwart | Nos Voros | Thexann Pehnataur | Runi Kuryida
​

 

[Zlova Rue]

OBJECTIVE II​

Why was Zlova Rue on Taris? Simple, that damn Shaman had asked for a favor. They knew one another from the Enclave when they'd had lively philosophical discussions to pass the time. Being the only 'tolerated' Sith among so many Mandalorians, Zlova had a unique perspective on things; and Runi wasn't half the pacifist some people believed. She was a ruthless debater and zealous advocate for her precious Manda. Well, Zlova liked her. So, the woman asked for Zlova to be on Taris in the wake of the Undead horde running rampant while she was back on Mandalore.

Why didn't she harass that pale witch that'd been here to clean up after herself? Sith spit.

Zlova was not a counselor for the suffering unlike that Shaman, however. She didn't wander around asking if people were okay; and if they came up to her talking about their life story they'd find those golden eyes staring at them a little more intensely by the word.

Drink in her hand, the crimson Twi'lek strode near the Central Park where camps still lingered for those without homes to return to. A few brawls here or there from the frustrated, but nothing major had happened since she'd set down a day ago. In a word, Taris was boring. The place didn't need a Sith Lord keeping the peace -- as if that weren't the dumbest thing anyone had ever heard.

Then the ships started to draw down toward the city. Zlova took a hearty drink before she tossed the nearly finished glass aside.

She started to cross toward the landing area the ships had chosen just in time for Jonah to start his broadcast. Zlova didn't bother to look up at the Mandalorian presence enforcing the perimeter. Should have just blown the intruders out of the sky.

'But, Zlova, the wreckage might fall to the ground and hurt someone.' Aw, that'd make the Twi'lek shed real tears. Honest.

It'd be really great if these 'intruders' didn't listen to that voice. Zlova hoped they'd still be standing there looking for a fight, because she was itching for one. They weren't Jedi were they? Red woman with Sith tattoos should go over so well with them. And this was how a Sith Lord got a reputation for helping people... by wanting to kick someone's ass that just happened to be on the wrong side of the line in the sand.

Jonah | Caltin Vanagor | Makko Vyres | OPEN​

 

[Reina Daival]

Location: Taris
Tags: Caltin Vanagor Makko Vyres Zlova Rue Jonah

Reina grumbled to herself as she had been handing out supplies on Taris. The place looked like it had been through hell and had seen plenty of trouble in recent times. She was surprised that anyone would even want to stay here, from the amount of stuff she had heard people going against. She knew she should have been more caring, more understanding of the people on Taris...but she just thought this was all pointless. Taris was already been looked after by those Mandalorians or whatever right?

That thought caused Reina to just grimace to herself, glancing down towards her hand as she had a flashback to the moment on Keshi. Where she had been defenseless. Not even a Padawan, and running from a Mandalorian that wanted to slaughter her for...no reason. The blaster shot she took to the shoulder. Her knife she had broken in the Mandalorian's neck. The old man she had saved...None of those were memories she wanted to look back on. But here she was, thinking back to all of it.
​

"Alliance personnel. You are operating without sanction inside the territory of the Mandalorian Empire. You will cease all activity immediately."

That was when she heard the message over her comms. Letting out the longest sigh she had been holding it as she ran her hand down her face. See. She was right. They didn't need the Alliance's help. So why in the Spirit's name were they even here? Reina took a glance towards the people she had been handing the supplies out to, before dropping the box on the floor out of nowhere.

"Hand it out amongst yourselves. It isn't my job anymore. You need someone to carry it? Ask your mandolorian leaders or whatever they are."

And with that, Reina raised her hands up in the air as if her hands were tied, before she made her way back towards the ships that had came here with the supplies. Whoever was in charge was going to need to talk to the Mandalorian on the comms and it wasn't her. She just stretched her arms out a little bit, giving her leg a few hard knocks to make sure the prosthesis wasn't going to start acting up whilst she was here. There was a small part of her pleased that this relief mission was being halted. It wasn't what she enjoyed. She knew it was important, but it wasn't what she excelled at. She did want to be a saviour, a rescuer. But deep down inside of her, she was a fighter.​

 

[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 put on his best smile for this show, walking about the room with a glass in his hand that had ice among other contents as he sipped a drink. He wouldn't be caught dead at one of these functions without his drink in one hand, and the gentle thud of his cane hitting the ground next to him. His introduction with the new Mandalore had gone.... passably. Not his best performance, but meeting one in the middle of an active battlefield usually didn't play into Conrad's fortes. No he was much more comfortable in settings like this, schmoozing up nobles and the like, and listening in as they idly chattered amongst themselves.

The aura in the room at the very least was quite tense. Nothing to be surprised about, what with the history between Mandalore and various iterations of the Republic. Conrad didn't bother to try and reason which side had done more. He didn't care.

He was here to do his job, not only for the new Mandalore, but also for Mother. She'd be very keen to see how this Alliance and Mandalorian group got along. If at all.

Conrad eyed the delegation entering the room with the practiced view of someone used to sizing up people from afar. Getting their measure and mark by how they carried themselves, how they dressed, their every move and even them whispering amongst each other a tell of its own. A few senators, Jedi, and even a few military types and of course, the Senate Guard. Their uniforms were immaculate, one could almost say pristine. And while Conrad knew the old saying about the dress versus the performance of most people armed with blasters, he knew this to be the exception. The Alliance wouldn't send their most important or so many important figures into the lion's den without a guarantee that they'd be safe returning. Conrad smiled at the guards in particular flashing one of them a knowing wink as he leaned on his cane. He'd do his level best to help their cause of keeping the peace, after all it was his entire reason for being put on this assignment. Regardless of whoever decided to spill drinks first.

He waited for the entrance of the Mandalore as he introduced himself to the group, for some the second time apparently. His posture was relaxed, but showed strength. His voice, commanding, but not demanding. Conrad sipped on his drink as head of the Empire made a good showing in court, playing to and accentuating the strengths of his people. These were two very strong and charismatic characters in this galaxy of players, the new Mandalorian Empire attempting a peace through strength and forthright invitation, and an Alliance willing engage with such an offer. Conrad knew better than to trust in the goodwill of others though. His entire life had been spent learning the ins and outs of such things. The ball was in the Alliance's court. The question was now, do they attempt to turn over a new leaf or rather....

-let old habits die hard?

 

[Adonis Angelis IV]

Objective II- A New Empire- Bulwark
Tags: Jonah Zlova Rue Makko Vyres Caltin Vanagor
​

The fires of Taris might've gone out, but the smoke still hung in the air. This time, it wasn't from battlefields or burning buildings, it drifted from the underbellies of Alliance ships settling into the dirt, exhaling their purpose like they owned the place. Humanitarian relief, they called it. Offering aid that hadn't been requested, touching down on Mandalorian territory under the polished pretense of galactic goodwill. Maybe they believed they were doing the right thing. Maybe they really were. But that didn't change the fact that they were out of line. To Adonis, it was just another reminder that the Alliance had never really learned the difference between help and control.

If the Mandalorians turned the aid away, it would look like pride- another empire too wrapped up in its own image to accept a handout. But if they let the Jedi work freely, no resistance, no process, then they looked toothless. Already there were whispers in the Outer Rim, accusations that the new Mandalorian Empire was too soft, too diplomatic, too dependent. Adonis had no intention of feeding that narrative. This moment, like so many others lately, was a tightrope- pull too hard in either direction, and the whole thing collapsed.

The comms had been buzzing all morning. Reports came in one after another, padawans dispersing crates, relief workers setting up shelters, refugees being processed by off-worlders. It wasn't chaos. That was the problem. It was orderly, efficient, and completely unsanctioned. And it had plenty of Mandalorians on edge. Adonis was stationed near the largest of the drop sites, a makeshift outpost that had once been a field hospital, then a refugee center, and now something in between. Long enough since the last battle that search parties had stopped combing the rubble. Not long enough that the dust had settled.

Taris had always unsettled him. Maybe it was the ghosts. Maybe it was the way the ground felt like it was still waiting for something to explode. Whatever it was, it brought back too many firsts. This world had been where he learned how fast things could fall apart. Where he saw what happened when mercy came too late. Now it was happening again, only slower, and with better branding. Jedi in work robes, handing out hope like ration packs.

Then the sky split open.

Jonah descended like a thunderstrike, his Basilisk war droid punching through the clouds like a dropped hammer. Even knowing it was coming, Adonis felt the shift, people looking up, fingers twitching toward weapons, the unspoken moment before the perimeter locked. Jonah made landfall without hesitation. Armor battered but unbowed, cape trailing behind him like the last line of a warning. He didn't posture. He didn't need to. He landed, stepped forward, and started talking.

Adonis didn't need an invitation. He was already moving. A quiet nod passed between them, helmet to helmet. No words. Just the kind of silent trust that didn't require explanation. Ori'vod. That was the word. Not just brother, something more. A title earned in fire.

He planted himself behind Jonah, a few steps to the rear and just off the shoulder. A silent pillar in a storm of tension. He didn't posture or reach for his weapon, didn't speak or shift his stance. But his presence said enough. The long folds of his robe masked the scattergun across his back. His lightsaber hung at his hip, clipped, visible, but still. His visor tilted downward slightly, as if already tracking potential outcomes in the field ahead. And maybe he was. You didn't survive as long as Adonis had on Taris by standing still. You did it by watching, by calculating, by only moving when it mattered.

He wasn't here to make a speech. He didn't have a message to deliver. He was here in case things went wrong. And with the Alliance- no matter how many banners they flew, no matter how good their intentions were- they always had a way of going wrong.

 

[Wedge Draav]

Wedge couldn’t help himself but sneer. “Let the ghosts of old wars” lie? Captain Draav looked around, noting many of the delegation had not yet spoken.

So he stared for a while, thought, then-

“You speak as those the atrocities committed by the Mandalorians were far away in the past, ages. But it’s only been weeks, months.” He said, stiffening up and then sitting forward.

“The Mandalorians stand on the ghosts of thousands of Alliance soldiers, thousands upon thousands of innocents, in the last few months alone.” He sneered, staring at this Mandalore of Iron.

“So tell me why we should leave the past in the past when our families mourn still, our Marines, soldiers and sailors lie dead at the feet of your kin.”

Captain Draav had a soft spot for the little guy, his men, the soldiers and the bravest of the Alliance. Facing horrors beyond comprehension- like the onslaught of the galaxy’s most notorious and violent culture.

​

 

[Kuben Woods]

Objective 2

Spoiler: Theme

​

Tag: Jonah , Zlova Rue , Caltin Vanagor , Makko Vyres , Reina Daival , Adonis Angelis IV , [OPEN]

Kuben had just gotten his regular set of armor on as he'd gotten off patrol. Their recent battle here to liberate the planet and remove the taint of the evil that had enveloped it had taken a toll on the man. When Aether Verd had asked for volunteers to stay behind to help rebuild, Kuben didn't hesitate or even bother to ask. He simply got up, and got to work. These were their people now, their charges, their wards to take care of. The Mandalorians hadn't been idle either. Teams had been working around the clock to get rubble cleared, wounded seen, dead buried. This was looking to be Kuben's first break he'd allowed himself in a little while. It kept his mind focused, more importantly it gave him a distraction from the constant voice nagging in his skull.

Which is why he was a little irritated when he heard warning klaxons about approaching vessels that had just appeared unannounced.

Kuben put his helmet on, the red circle shining brightly in the day as he looked about and saw Zlova Rue standing nearby peering up at the ships. Kuben looked up along with her, squinting as his helmet's built in rangefinder started zooming onto the ships as they were coming down, and Jonah quickly catching up to them as they were coming down. Alliance.

Jedi

Kuben subconsciously clenched his fist as he remembered his time in the Sith Empire, and the various encounters he'd had with the members of the Alliance. And more specifically Jedi.

"The bloody hell they doing here?" He muttered aloud to Zlova.

They'd just fought hard, shedding blood, sweat, and lives to vanquish the foe that had beset this planet with horrors beyond most people's dreams. And now ships were dropping out of orbit to land on the planet without so much as a "Hello,". Probably coming to give themselves a pat on the back and grab some glory after someone else did all the dying. Kuben picked up a nearby blaster rifle, and waved over at the Twi'lek in a manner that they should probably get a move on as he radioed Jonah.

"Orders?"

 

[Siv Kryze]

O B J E C T I V E 1​

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 , Conrad + Open​

​

The Nite Owl helmet remained motionless as Siv took his place among the delegates, the blue-and-silver sigil of Clan Kryze catching the torchlight. As Warden of Concordia, his presence carried the quiet authority of a man who governed Mandalore's industrial heart - his armor still bearing the faint scent of lubricant and smelted ore from the moon's relentless forges.

Through the Force, the Grandmaster's presence registered like a ship's engine humming at battle readiness - not threatening, but impossible to ignore. It set his teeth on edge in the same way an unstable power core would. The Jedi moved through the Force like water; Siv's connection was more like a pressure gauge - monitoring, measuring, another diagnostic tool among many.

His HUD flickered as it cross-referenced the diplomatic proceedings with Concordia's interests. Trade routes. Resource allocations. Security implications for the mining colonies. Every word was being analyzed both by his armor's systems and through the prickling awareness the Force provided.

<<Flag clause seven for guild review,>> he subvocalized. The ore processors would want guarantees about export restrictions. The shipwrights needed assurances about tech transfers.

When the Mand'alor spoke, Siv felt the familiar tension through the Force - Aether's warrior instincts restrained but present, like a reactor running at 95% capacity. The words spoke of peace; the undercurrents spoke of vigilance.

A shift among the Jedi aides. His HUD tracked their movement while the Force whispered of... something. Not danger. Not yet. But something that made the fine hairs on his neck prickle beneath his helmet.

<<Update sector defense protocols,>> he murmured over the Warden's private channel. The orbital docks would need this intel regardless of how the talks concluded.

The past hung between them all. Through the Force, Siv could almost see the ghostly schematics of burned-out refineries, the casualty reports from Enclave raids that still haunted Concordia's older miners. The Grandmaster's calm demeanor did nothing to erase those memories.

He remained still, his visor giving nothing away. The Force was another sensor input, like the pressure gauges in Concordia's deep-core mines. Another way to monitor. To protect.

Warden. Warrior. Knight.

Three roles that all served one purpose:

To ensure Concordia's forges kept burning, no matter what ghosts from the past came calling.