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

[Jaikell Wyrvhor]

Jaikell does not wait in the grand halls or linger near the delegation's ceremonial escort.


He's already in the streets.

While Aether Verd meets chancellors and Jedi in the halls of Mandalore, Jaikell walks the streets of Taris where Alliance shuttles have already unload crates of aid. With more on the way, but before, he hears a message.

"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."

"Well maybe more aren't coming"
He moves in full armor, visor dark, cloak trailing soot. Hand on his blaster The HG-88 "Big Iron" Hand Cannon Not as a guard. Not as a diplomat. But as something harder to define.
A Mandalorian, Ready to show them what a follower of "The Way" looks like, What a Member of the "Black Watch" looks like.

He doesn't speak to the relief workers at first. He watches. He marks how they move — who steps lightly, and who walks like they don't know where they are. He notes the workers who treat the villagers with kindness, the medics who ask permission before entering homes, the ones who assume Mandalorians need saving.

He stops walking when he sees a member of the relief workers, a Jedi he assumes drops one of the boxes 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."

before walking away. Reina Daival

"So much for the Jedi being kind" he says out loud to himself,
"What the plan" he asks to Jonah over the Communicator
Maybe the stories he grew up on of the Jedi, and the Sith in that matter too were true. But at least the Sith didnt have some Hollier then thou attitude when it comes to the way they carry themselves.

 

[Aether Verd]

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

COURT OF IRON

Aether did not rise.

He simply pointed to the door.

“I do not know your name. You wear no seal of office. You carry no banner. You are not the Chancellor. You are not the Grandmaster.”

His gaze shifted to Valery Noble , steady and sharp.

“Is this who speaks for you? For the Galactic Alliance? Because what he says does not match the spirit you brought to Mandalore days prior. If this is your envoy, then speak it plain. If not, remove your pet from the table.”

The Court of Iron remained silent. But the line was now drawn in stone.​

Wedge Draav + Galactic Alliance

 

[Nos Voros]

Objective: PUT OBJECTIVE HERE
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.

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.

​

Nos didn’t move at first. He let the outburst hang in the air — a tactical pause, long enough to verify no threats followed the rhetoric, and that all present had heard clearly for the sake of future court martial. It wasn’t just words. It was disrespect. Loud. Undiplomatic. Off protocol. And above all, dangerous.

The kind of spark that lit powder in rooms like this. Without a word, Nos shifted forward one step and raised his left hand — two fingers, a silent command.

Karis and Jil flanked Draav immediately. Not rough. Not panicked. Just clean. Methodical. Military.

Nos's voice followed — quiet, level, final:

“Captain Draav. You’re out of line.”​

He approached now, slow and deliberate. Every step of his armored boots sounded heavier than the last.

“This chamber is under diplomatic charter. You’ve breached protocol, disrupted a sensitive negotiation, and jeopardized the safety of this delegation.”​

A half-second pause. No venom in his tone — just execution of duty.

“You are hereby relieved of duty until further notice. Rubrus will escort you offsite,”​

A nod. Karis tapped Draav’s shoulder gently — a silent invitation to move without incident.

Nos didn’t wait to see if the man complied willingly. He didn't need to, Karis would have him removed with cooperation or unconscious, but it would happen away from the scene of the petulant outburst. He simply stepped back to position, his helmet returning forward, and murmured across the squad channel:

“Secure the exit. Re-anchor the formation. Eyes forward. Karis, document the full process for holocam review.”​

The chamber breathed again.

@Objective 1 Security.​

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

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

Over a month ago, the ecumenopolis known as Taris had possessed a population of over a billion inhabitants, with countless more visitors from local trade routes streaming in daily.

Harrow and his ensemble of fractured beings had changed that number drastically; a melody laced with the terrible tremble of disaster had torn sanity from the mind, twisting the very meaning of death until corpses had risen in hordes from their disturbed slumber to drag those few still clinging to mortality down into the dirt.

Nowadays, Itzhal would be pleasantly surprised to hear those original numbers had only been halved. In truth, even with the support of the Mandalorian Empire and what supplies they could provide to the planet, he feared a fate much worse than that. He was not the only one, bitterly aware of the dwindling hope buried amongst the dead.

Over the last few days, he'd spent hours digging through dirt and rubble as excavation efforts into the lower levels continued, a dwindling timer passing by as each moment wasted reaching those below brought those trapped beneath closer to death.

It never felt enough.

As if he were abandoning those below with every pause he took, strained muscles pushed to the edge, barely constrained by mortal limits that his own mind had come to despise in the passing days. It was those same limitations that forced him to the surface, even now, his armour layered in grime and dirt from the work beneath.

With a frustrated exhaled that punched the air from his lungs, Itzhal surfaced into the light, the glare of the real sun covered by the protective screen of his visor, another layer between himself and the hostile world tainted by madness. On the inhale, soothing oxygen slipped into his lungs, delivered from filtration systems designed to work in hellscapes such as the nightmares that still lurked beneath the surface.

He did not remove his helmet instantly, aware of the refuse that clung to his bodyglove with every minute movement of his fingers and the dreadful smell that must have lingered in the air around him at least until he stepped into one of the nearby decontamination units. The nearest of its kind was a small structure, little more than a box with a motion-activated door and a drain placed below the chamber where a dozen nozzles loomed over the unfortunate individual that required their assistance.

It was only as he stepped out of the chamber with a slight hitch to his step that Itzhal received the warning of incoming Alliance ships and the claim of Humantarian Aid. His visor tilted towards the sky, he followed their descent as he strode through the upper city blocks, closer to the garden where Mandalorian forces had first arrived, and had held back the horde.

He was not the only protector here, but with a glance at his visor and the position of allies displayed upon his HuD, Itzhal acknowledged that he was one of the closest.

Throwing himself into the nearest available speeder, the Morellian pushed down on the accelerator, hurling through the streets as moments passed and in what felt like seconds, Itzhal just as quickly came to a stop only a block away from the tense showdown, aware it was probably not a good idea to stumble into the situation at full speed. One only had to make that mistake once.

Careful not to storm into the mess, the ancient Mandalorian stepped into the clearing; thick layers of beskar that wrapped around his torso and limbs in an encompassing embrace, gleamed in the glorious sun, recently discarded of the grime and muck that clung to Taris.

"It appears that we have something of a situation on our hands," Itzhal's voice carried across the open space, faint amusement audible even under the slight metallic tinge of his vocaliser before it grew harsher, focused on the task at hand. "But this world has suffered enough bloodshed recently; let us not burden those who suffer in the wake of crimson rivers. State your intentions, whether they be noble or opportunistic, they will be judged."

Tags: Jonah Zlova Rue Caltin Vanagor Makko Vyres Reina Daival Adonis Angelis IV Kuben Woods Jaikell Wyrvhor + Open​

 

[Vaegon Dolmyrian]

Objective 2
Taris

The sun burned low over Taris, casting long shadows through the skeletons of bombed-out buildings and half-buried basilicas. Wind dragged ash across the old duracrete roads where small fires still burned. Now, only Alliance relief transports sat in the dust, their hulls scorched from past strikes, their crews moving among the tents unloading relief supplies. Children watched with hollow eyes as Jedi healers tended the wounded, and engineers strung power lines between broken walls. Beneath one collapsed dome, a food line stretched into the ruins with hungry people waiting for food.

Mandalorian armor had been spotted. Not in force, not yet, but in pairs. Lone silhouettes on hills, or standing still at the edge of villages, weapons holstered, visors locked onto the back of aid workers. There was no escalation yet. Near the makeshift clinic, Vaegon Dolmyrian moved like a whisper among the Jedi. He wore simple robes the color of burnt silver and soil, and spoke only when spoken to, never out of turn, never too loudly. To the relief crews, he was the scholar assigned by the council to observe and advise. To the local Jedi, he was an enigma, helpful but distant. Always watching.

Mandalorian figures grew closer.

One arrived via speeder and then moved into a clearing. His beskar armor gleaming in the sun.

Vaegon Dolmyrian, stepped forward. He moved without haste, the folds of his pale silver and black robe trailing like fog through the dust. His hands were folded calmly within his sleeves. His gaze, unreadable.

His gaze met Itzhal Volkihar 's.

"You speak of judgment, Mandalorian. Of burden and blood. Of crimson rivers."

He stepped forward, just enough.

"So let us begin, not with judgment… but with truth. You return to a world you once ruled by conquest. I ask only this. Do you come now as steward, or oppressor?"

His voice dropped, barely above a whisper, so only Itzhal could hear.

"Because if you come as the latter… then know this: we've buried enough in these hills to feed the roots of war a hundred more years."

 

[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 -
​

A hand extended was a small, quiet thing.

Not like a fist. In a fist, your fingers clenched, nails dug into the palm, holding energy. A fist showed strength, resolve, a threat to fight, to protect. The fist made people feel safe. The fist promised retribution. The fist won elections.

An open palm was weak. The tiny motion, raising the elbow, hand empty and naked, required reciprocation. Trust that mutual weakness would build mutual strength. Without trust, if their hand was slapped away again...

"I hope everybody is ready for this."

For not the first time in their storied history, Valery dislodged Alicio from his deluge of private thoughts. He blinked, and after a moment of introspection, returned her smirk with a shadow of his own, murmuring back in a barely-heard timbre. "We won't earn their trust today, and I'm not convinced they'll earn ours. But starting on that path, laying the first brick... That, we can try."

Most of his delegation, he only knew from senate reports. Lucas Gracin was the exception, and he earned a grim nod from the Chancellor. He had always been a reasonable man, Alicio had thought. He didn't know how Thexann Pehnataur and Lander Stalwart would operate, but he flashed them, and the others in his delegation, his shadowed, watery grin. They could succeed. Alicio wanted them to know he believed that.

He barely glanced at Nos Voros , but his jaw set with bad memories as his eyes passed over the guard. He spared a curious glance at Wedge Draav - that man was famous for the stunt he pulled in the Senate Halls, back when Organa was still the Senator of Alderaan. Alicio figured he and his fellow politicians could use a good beratement every once in a while, but he had his concerns. Still, he forged on, composing his face into sharp, intelligent passivity.

"Stay close, Val."

His grey eyes narrowed in thought, one last time, before entering the room.

“Welcome to Mandalore.”

Chancellor Alicio Organa let his steel-grey eyes rest on Mand'alor the Iron, his head tilting in curiosity as he surveyed the room, drinking in every word the Mandalorian spoke. He took a good long time, memorizing armors, scanning faces, stopping just a bit longer as he studied the armor designs on Siv Kryze , but his attention was quickly drawn to Runi Kuryida . He stared at her a moment, pursing his lips as if he tasted something perplexing on the air. But then, he returned his eyes to Alor Verd, considering his response.

He apparently considered too long, as Captain Draav decided he would have the first word. Alicio closed his eyes, and quietly sighed at the enflamed opening. For a moment, the Chancellor feared his hopes were dead on arrival. But he found he couldn't blame the pilot. He wasn't the only one in the Alliance wounded by the warriors before them.

Thankfully, Nos was the first one to act, allowing Alicio to focus on what truly mattered- salvaging their talks before he could utter a single word. His eyes opened, and he stepped up, crossing half the distance to the throne. Then, he took a few steps further. He was fearless.

"The Captain speaks his truth. His is an opinion shared among many of the Alliance." His voice was silk-wrapped stone, gentle and firm. "We all have scars. Generations of dead, stacked too high to overlook. So let's not pretend to ignore them."

"We have a chance here, to set a new cornerstone, to build something higher than the bodies." His mouth set in a firm line. His eyes roared a challenge, though perhaps not the kind the Mand'alor was used to. "Not to erase or forgive our pasts, but to rise above. For all our sakes."

"The Alliance is willing to try. Is Mandalore?"

 

[Zark San Tekka]

COURT OF IRON
ALLIANCE DELEGATION

"I think this is going well so far."

Master Zark San Tekka murmured just loud enough for Valery Noble and Chancellor Alicio Organa to hear as the captain was escorted away. The solemn old Jedi was not known for his sense of humor and the ceremonial mask he wore muted a deadpan cadence leaving some question whether it was a joke or if this tense exchange really exceeded his expectations.

His duties to the Temple Guard rarely afforded him a chance to leave Tython but Master Zark had studied the mandalorian creed and gained a respect for their people while others on the Council might rush to condemn. He was also good at fighting and the mandalorians respected warriors.

When Chancellor Organa began to approach Aether Verd on the throne Zark's mask shifted towards Valery looking for her signal to intervene, but it was already too late. All he could do was watch in grim silence as the King of Alderaan risked another potential honor duel with the sovereign of an entire multiplanetary kingdom with his bold address.

 

[Lander Stalwart]

Mandalore
Tags: Alicio Organa , Nos Voros , Aether Verd , Zark San Tekka , Valery Noble , Siv Kryze , Runi Kuryida , Thexann Pehnataur , Lucas Gracin , Conrad

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

"Not to erase or forgive our pasts, but to rise above. For all our sakes."

"If... I may, Chancellor," Lander chimed in. "Not to... speak out of turn..."

What the hell was he doing now? Well, it seemed that the freshmen senator seemed to be speaking. In fact, he seemed to be chiming in following what was the worst entrance to a diplomatic meeting. Yet, it had happened, and he was speaking. Lander was not a very boisterous personality. He was not here to look for conflict.

He had seen enough of that to last a lifetime.

"Lander Stalwart," he introduced. "Retired Defense Force, Sergeant. My service was during the invasion launched by the Mandalorian Enclave. I... don't say this to express hatred, just to be honest. Perhaps it did not matter to me when I was bleeding out on some dusty battlefield, but the Enclave became what it was because they were misplaced. We've all been dragged down by the generation before us. Maybe fiery egos want more conflict, but they don't realize what it will bring them. I believe that losing everything over and over again surely must be growing tiresome on both sides."

The senator paused, taking a moment to adjust his tie with his prosthetic hand.

"I can't say I'm of much significance in regards to what will ultimately happen here today," the Sacorrian admitted, "but I can say that I wish to bare witness to a path forward which will spare the next generation some loss. I cannot foresee things becoming easier. At the very least making things worse can be avoided. I believe that the stance of our Chancellor is the right path. I... suppose the rest will be what you make of it, Mand'alor."

And with that he would step back. He shouldn't take up any more of time. That should be given to those who needed to be heard.

 

[Montello Deshra]

​

TAG: Jonah / Zlova Rue / Caltin Vanagor / Makko Vyres / Reina Daival / Adonis Angelis IV / Kuben Woods / Jaikell Wyrvhor / Vaegon Dolmyrian / Itzhal Volkihar

OBJECTIVE II: A NEW EMPIRE​

There seemed to be something new every day.

It was truly unexpected that the Galactic Alliance would appear so suddenly. Delegation or not, this wasn’t something he could approve of so haphazardly. Mandalorian imperial security was on the forefront of his mind. Having a foreign power unabashedly decide to give aid where none was truly needed in his eyes, felt…strange. To him, this whole thing was a liability. One wrong move and things could blow out of proportion.

Praviah arrived with the rest of the Mandalorian Fleet. He stood within the hanger of the cruiser attempting to monitor as much as he was able. Silence was his precursor. His emotions bottled up tightly as he attempted to think logically. It wasn’t his ship to command. Field Marshal or not, he would be to assist where needed. That need would find himself entering a Kom’rk class fighter transport and making his way through the atmosphere.

Jonah had been ahead of him after his declaration for the operation to cease. Saved his own breath from having to say anything. Management within the Nite Owls was more of his thing comparatively to a more hands on approach. This situation definitely needed a scalpel and if need be he would be a sword. Not to mention that they would possibly need to figure out the logistics to all the “aid” that was being brought in.

They wouldn’t need to land. His pilot passed over close to the ground as he stepped from the open drop hatch of the ship. Flowing the Force through his body, he would land while bending his knees slightly. His cowl hid his helmet only to allow his visor to be exposed. His hands were free as he only wanted to observe up close.

Moving across the clearing toward Jonah’s position, he caught sight of the Twi’lek Sith woman Zlova Rue . Familiar, but only distantly. This was the first time he’d seen her up close. Her Sith tattoos were unmistakable. Praviah had long learned to conceal his own tendencies, only revealing them when the time for violence came. She, on the other hand, wore hers like a banner.

He made a mental note of her presence. It seemed there were more like them within the Mandalorian Empire than he’d realized.

‘The more the merrier,’ he thought grimly.

Maybe he had gotten used to it having spent time around Mandalorian Knights. A line between faith, philosophy, and violence. It was almost like a light churn in one’s chest. He wasn’t sure the last time he had seen one in person.

Jedi.

“Hmmm…,” came out as a low baritone rumble within his throat.


Ruben’s question earned a faint turn of the head, but Praviah said nothing. Not yet. His attention sharpened when he heard the Jedi’s response to Itzhal.

"You speak of judgment, Mandalorian. Of burden and blood. Of crimson rivers."

He stepped forward, just enough.

"So let us begin, not with judgment… but with truth. You return to a world you once ruled by conquest. I ask only this. Do you come now as steward, or oppressor?"

His voice dropped, barely above a whisper, so only Itzhal could hear.

"Because if you come as the latter… then know this: we've buried enough in these hills to feed the roots of war a hundred more years."

He stepped forward, his presence now fully asserted.

“Don’t confuse us with the Crusaders. We bled and died to protect this world from rot. Sacrificed against the same dead that rose from the very hills you speak of. You arrive uninvited, offering ‘help’ we did not request, in foreign space you do not belong in. I suggest you hold your tongue.”

Let the Jedi make what they would of it, but Praviah was no diplomat.
​

 

[Damian du Couteau]

Damian du Couteau, Senator of Empress Teta
Objective One: Intent and Iron
Outfit

Damian enjoyed long diplomatic journeys, it gave a certain allowances of sleep and proper rest within the cabins of their ships. Before he left his room the young du Couteau stood proud at the sight of how much of his sleep deprived appearance had been relieved. Of course not all left his face, his countenance essentially screamed tiredness but Damian enjoyed whatever victory regardless of actual significance.

The rest of the delegates that had volunteered to come were quite varied, not that Damian found particular issue with the matter. If anything he was a tad thankful for the presence of the Grand Master, he realized his anxiety had lessened tremendously. With his data-slate and stylus in hand Damian began to take minutes of this meeting.

Quite a useful distraction for my over-eager mind.

Though there was hardly much to write about, the usual hope and aspirations of a peaceful future mired with the cold reality of eons of war and strife. Honestly Damian understood why so many find ancient Noble traditions a chore when such simplicity can expedite the exact same sentiment. The same could be said for diplomacy among fractured factions that rub together like two pieces of sandpaper.

No war or yes to war?

Damian rolled his lone scarlet eye as he stared down at his data-slate and scribbled a few more notes of particular interest. The representative of the Fleet certainly had a deft hand diplomacy but compared to the Sith meeting Damian attended, he wondered about the application of brutal honesty among non-friends or near-enemies. Regardless when the Senate Guard Captain Voros escorted Captain Draav out Damian began to add a few notes to plan out a proper media response.

Outbursts and forced removal during a delegation of peace summit? How quaint.

He nearly sighed but calmly stifled the effort with a short intake of air to clear the mind quickly. Damian listened intently as his Chancellor began to clear the damage and start again at bridge crafting with the Manda’lor. Then when the new freshman Senator Stalwart added his own piece, another stone unto the formation of a bridge, Damian admired the courage to speak out so soon after the Chancellor in this sort of situation.

If only bravery counted for more in this galaxy.
​

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

 

[Dillon Kai'el]

Taris
Tags: Vaegon Dolmyrian , Montello Deshra , Zlova Rue , Jonah , Reina Daival , Others... (Phone Post, tags hard)

​

"Because if you come as the latter… then know this: we've buried enough in these hills to feed the roots of war a hundred more years."

“Don’t confuse us with the Crusaders. We bled and died to protect this world from rot. Sacrificed against the same dead that rose from the very hills you speak of. You arrive uninvited, offering ‘help’ we did not request, in foreign space you do not belong in. I suggest you hold your tongue.”

"Oh, come now, must we be so dramatic?"

Dillon Kai'el approached with a gentle smile and a pep in his step. After all, he had seen this play out over and over again. Things seemed to not be so big of a deal after thousands of years. He was here simply enjoying Taris, the memories of a past life it brought with it. Oh, those were the days. Back before it all became so messy.

Those were real the Mandalorian Wars.

The ancient Jedi Master gave Vaegon Dolmyrian a pat on the shoulder.

"I find very little aid occurs by saying you can 'feed the roots of war' or whatever," he noted with a shrug. "But hey, I dig the comittment to the one-liners."

And then his attention was on the Mandalorians.

"And you are correct. It seems this venture was unsanctioned," the elder Kai'el noted. "But, I will also remind everyone that Taris has moved in space. She did lie within the Alliance's boarders before things got all funky. So there is still a desire to aid her people, even if this should have been cleared before hand."

The gentle smile remained on his face all the same. Dillon Kai'el simply picked up a box of supplies and placed it in the hands of Montello Deshra .

"So, let's leave the bureaucracy for later and make the best of a bad situation, yeah?" he suggested. "No sense waisting good materials. Frankly, I'm a bit too old for politics and what not."

 

[Tyron Khan]

Objective II: New Empire | Taris

Arriving in one of the supply transport shuttles alongside other Padawan Learners, with Jedi Master Caltin Vanagor and Padawan Learner Reina Daival but when the comm call came through there was a shift. Tyron didn't halt his efforts in rendering aid to the Tarisians, the people who suffered, the Jedi way is something the young Padawan Learner aspires to fulfil. No matter the cost upon himself he was compassionate. A debacle came forth as he paused loading a few supplies and handing them out.

"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."

Tyron walked over toward Reina Daival and being within the distance, scope of Jaikell Wyrvhor where the 8 foot tall, towering and muscular athletic built Besalisk stood beside Reina. He was different. An aura of selflessness emitted from him. He cared about the Tarisians and although orders from Jonah were to stand down in their activities. Tyron wouldn't refuse aid. He is a Jedi and represents both the Galactic Alliance and New Jedi Order.

"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."

Patience was the key here. Judgement from the Mandalorians and Tarisians would come forth.

Dedicated and determined, Tyron placed a gentle and friendly hand on Reina's left shoulder while stood beside her.

"Hey, c'mon we're helping the people who've lost anything and everything. The Masters and Senate are no doubt negotiating with Mand'alor and such. Come help me over here."

Tyron motioned for Reina Daival to fall back to one of the Galactic Alliance shuttles that had a deposition camp set-up for the food stations arranged. Sometimes being there to support a fellow Jedi would perhaps be a little nudge in the right path. Whether it was judged or not Tyron would rather let his actions do the works rather than speak where it can fall on deaf ears.

He was near Caltin Vanagor and if further guidance was required Tyron knew who to ask and approach. Together, the Jedi and the Alliance stand united, divided they sure would falter. The Besalisk didn't want any negativity to seep around so many innocents that had gathered here already. The tension needed to be relieved not by violent actions. No. In calm mannerisms and being cooperative in the best forms possible.

"Master Vanagor, we've heard the comms. I do want to continue distribution of supplies for those in need. What is your advise master?"

Outfit: Clothes
Weapons: Double-Bladed Lightsabers
Saber Hilts: Guardian Hilt | Vanquisher Hilt
Master: Kaeleon Seleare | Kei Raxis
TAGS: Jonah | Caltin Vanagor | Makko Vyres | Zlova Rue | Reina Daival | Adonis Angelis IV | Kuben Woods | Jaikell Wyrvhor | Vaegon Dolmyrian | Montello Deshra | Dillon Kai'el

 

[Reina Daival]

Location: Taris
Tags: Tyron Khan Only doing who Reina is directly interacting with, because there's too many of y'all to tag

At the sudden unprompted touch on her shoulder, Reina tensed up. Her hands clenched into tightly balled fists as she tried to keep herself cool. This wasn't the kind of place she wanted to have an outburst in. A strong breeze blew past the redhead as she tried to steady herself. Breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth. That's however when she noted Tyron speaking on the comms, and whilst she might not have snapped physically, she did verbally.

"Are you kidding me? I don't know how you were raised, but I know even after being raised by a bunch of drunk fishermen, if you go into someone's home, and they tell you not to do something, you LISTEN to them and don't do it."

Reina waved her hand off in the direction of the Mandalorians she knew were watching them. She didn't care if her outburst made her seem un-Jedi-like. Her golden eyes narrowing for a moment as she tried to stop herself from screaming at the top of her lungs. This was just not a good situation for her whatsoever. Too many bad memories with Mandalorians. She just kept flashing back to that first time she killed someone. Back on Keshi. It felt like every time she looked down at her hands, they were just covered in blood that wasn't there.

"It doesn't matter what you want, or I want, or what Master Vanagor wants. Whether we like it or not, this is the Mandalorians world. We don't do anything, unless they give us their say so. You might not have seen how they fight, or how bloodthirsty they are, but I have and I carry the scars for it. If they want us to sit on our karking arse, then we do that."

In a way, Reina was being more responsible than she'd been before. In the past, she'd have no problem picking a fight with the Mandalorians. With anyone really. If anything, this little outburst was her way of trying not to pick a fight, or cause one to get started. Either way, Reina just threw her hands up into the air in frustration.

"And one last thing. Don't touch people without asking first. I don't do physical contact."

With that final little comment hissed out from her clenched teeth, Reina stormed off back towards one of the shuttles. Her skin was crawling. It felt like dozens upon dozens of tiny little insects were crawling beneath the surface. It reminded her of when Serina got close to her. When the Temptress had tried many times already to get Reina to kneel to her. The woman just scratched furiously at her shoulder, trying to get the feeling away. This. This is why she didn't do physical contact from people she didn't trust.​

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Interacting: Jaikell Wyrvhor
Mentions: Reina Daival Tyron Khan Jonah

A firm, unfamiliar voice crackled over the commlink in her ear. Cease all ground operations.

Cora took heart in the fact that the Mandalorians had not immediately retorted with a salvo of blaster fire and wrist rockets upon the Alliance relief teams. If rumor were to be believed, then this iteration of their empire was more diplomatic than the last.

They'd welcomed an Alliance delegation to Mandalore, after all.

Tapping into the ground relief channel, she relayed a simple message:

"Pause all ground operations until further notice. We've come as uninvited guests; let us be gracious to our hosts."

One Padawan seemed more eager to pause her ground operation than most, earning a sarcastic remark from a passing supercommando. As Reina stalked off, Cora suppressed a sigh and tucked her datapad - shipping manifests and all - beneath her arm.

The Alliance had a checkered history with Mandalorians. Cora's own disposition on them and their doctrine of war had been entirely soured after the Enclave laid siege to Ukatis. Many of her people still flinched at the sight of a T-visored helm. It had taken her slow growing friendship with the Alor of clan Kryze for her opinion to remain wary, but hopeful.

A half-step to the side had her turning toward the helmeted warrior. He was tall. Strong, like many of their people were.

"We’ve come to help the people of Taris, in whatever form that may take. Should we be asked to withdraw, we will leave the supplies for your distribution. Perhaps, while we wait for clearance, you could help us unload medical supplies?"

Her words were firm, but not unkind. They had not come here to fight, and despite Reina’s frustration, she knew when to remove herself from the situation. That, in itself, was a skill.

 

[Caltin Vanagor]

TITLE
TARIS
Objective II — A New Empire

Caltin Vanagor would not be surprised by the response. He respects sovereignty, hierarchy, and the warriors who defend their people — because he is one of them. But he is also massive, immovable, and rooted in a deeper code. He wouldn’t posture. He wouldn’t provoke. He would respond with presence. Clapping Tyron Khan on the shoulder as he looked around emanating an aura of calm, he smirked. Relax my friends, this was expected.

Tapping his comm-link , having heard everything, he just smiled. [This is Vanagor… you heard him… hold position… they won’t show aggression if you do this but if they do, leave.]

The rumble of the Basilisk’s landing had stilled the aid crews like a thunderclap in a sanctuary. Workers froze mid-crate. A Padawan halted in the middle of handing out ration packs. Caltin Vanagor stood at the center of it all, towering even without drawing upon the Force, his long shadow cast by the low-burning relief fires and flickering power pylons.

He exhaled through his nose. Calm. Controlled. And without raising his voice, keyed his comm to reply to the Mandalorian warrior’s demand. He held up a reassuring hand when Makko Vyres would look, and gave Reina Daival a look after she dropped everything the way that she did as if to say “That does not help.” He did this as he walked alone, in full view of Jaikell Wyrvhor , showing no aggression, he was merely making way towards the meeting point. I overstepped, not everyone. This is on me.[/B]

[This is Jedi Master Caltin Vanagor, Galactic Alliance Special Envoy. I acknowledge your message and am enroute.]

He motioned gently for the aid crews to pause operations and stepped forward, hands empty, his long black-and-silver cloak fluttering behind him. He walked alone if only for a moment as he met stride with Corazona von Ascania — slow, deliberate — toward the massive figure of Jonah and the seething breath of the Basilisk behind him. Not knowing where the likes of Itzhal Volkihar , Montello Deshra or others might be hiding, but smart enough to know that they were watching. He did not know the positions, because he knew the likes of Vaegon Dolmyrian and other Jedi were in the area, not to wage a fight, but to protect those who wish to help.


Face uncovered. No mast to clip at his side(he was not wearing his armor). The lines in his expression were not those of a soldier prepared for a fight. They were those of a man who had seen too many already.

When he reached speaking range, Caltin didn’t posture or challenge. He simply stood there — unshaken granite.

Forgive the intrusion. I don’t ignore lines, Jonah of Clan Verd. I just don’t let them stop me from lifting people out of rubble. A beat. We didn’t come to plant flags. We came to clean blood off the streets and make sure the children down there don’t spend one more night without medicine or shelter. With respect, that’s not politics. That’s duty.

He let the silence carry. Let Jonah see it wasn’t defiance in his eyes — but clarity. Steel forged from loss.

You want to talk? Good. I came to listen, too. But we do this now. Together. Not after another council meeting. Not after another week of protocol.

He pointed subtly behind him, where a small line of survivors — sick, limping, lost — were being led to shelter. You’re not wrong to be here. You're doing your job. So am I. The only question is whether we do it side by side, or slow each other down while people die.

Then finally — he extended a hand. Open. Direct. Callused. Fully aware of the types looking for a fight like Kuben Woods , Zlova Rue , and Adonis Angelis IV who were watchingYou said we’d do it the right way. So let’s start now. Through you.

TAGS • ARE • OPEN • TO • ALL

[Text in Brackets is spoken on Comm-link] ~Like this is through the Force~​

 

[Feridade Parthi]

| Location | Mandalore
| Objective | To be determined

Being the representative of Eshan, a member of the Defense Committee, and practically right at the doorstep of the Mandalorians, it was prudent that Parthi arrived with the rest of the delegation of the Galactic Alliance. Years of antagonistic Mandalorian presence on the borders of the Galactic Alliance had placed a considerable amount of stress upon the senator, and having to speak with the Mandalorians on their territory for a diplomatic mission did not sit well with him. Yet here he was, eyes drifting from one armored visage to the next as what amounted to empty pleasantries were exchanged. ​

​

Mandalorians were neither a political nor peaceful people, and if history were to be paid any attention to, not to be trusted. They are a people of violence and brutality, and any reasonable person of logic would give fair pause when considering any sort of relations with them. The captain, Wedge Draav spoke and was correct in his statement; a shared sentiment from one former soldier to another, followed closely by a remark from Aether Verd . ​

​

The Echani senator found it rather ironic that an individual who claimed authority over his people, built upon a culture and history of martial prowess would take the words of a soldier with such disregard; if any had the right to speak as to the relations between the Alliance and the Mandalorians, it was certainly that of those who had lived through its bloodshed firsthand. ​

​

Golden eyes drifted from the Mandalorian to the Grandmaster after the Iron spoke. The Grandmaster's sentiments and words were not shared nor fully endorsed by the Alliance as a whole, and for such an attitude to be directed at the delegation spoke volumes as to the attitude of the Mandalorians. The Alliance was not just one person, it was a massive, and conflicted entity - one whose respect and trust would have to be earned. ​

​

The way the Iron spoke left much to be desired and the Chancellor's manner of speaking since the Hapes incident, but he would reserve his thoughts for when the next Senate assembly. There was much to discuss - but not in a room full of short-tempered, beskar wearing fanatics with a non-zero chance that violence might be turned to.​

@Whoever's on OBJ1​

 

[Cassvar]

OBJECTIVE II
LIFE FOR LIGHT, ATTN: JEDI

Cassvar, self-proclaimed saint of silence, pulled a dozen refugees behind her as she approached the Jedi ships on the streets of Taris. The people were bound by steel manacles, connected by a chain which Cassvar held. She made no sound save for the scraping of stone against durasteel, but her prisoners moaned and lamented their fate. They were little more than currency to Cassvar, who meant to trade them for something equally valuable.

When they drew sufficiently close enough to the Jedi and their ships -- within sight but a leisurely stroll apart -- Cassvar took the first man in her line of prisoners and lifted him by the neck. Her gauntleted fingers wrapped around his neck, threatening to snap his fragile spine. The man whimpered uselessly. She shook him, tilting her head in displeasure.

That got the man to yelp, tears running down his pathetic visage. But he stammered Cassvar's message to the Jedi as her proxy.

"Th-the great Cassvar, Saint of Si-silence, demands an eh-ex-exchange. Our lives for your lightsabers."

Cassvar turned to the Jedi, awaiting their answer to her request for trade. What did they value more? These lives or their weapons?

 

[Athena Faar]

Objective II

Broad, powerful, leathery wings beat the temperate air, holding aloft her armored rider, iron muscle under deep bronze scales hovering above the scene. With tensions strained among those below, few noted the beasts quiet arrival. It's rider was clad in worn matte black and grey armor, the red-orange pelt of some predator serving as a cape across her shoulders. Athena had heard the missives across the comms, Alliance ships making landfall, and Jonah's firm demands. The Korun warrior and her mount had risen from one of the expansive parks nearby to respond.

Athena had arrived only days earlier. There was still chaos on Taris. The Tarisian's needed help. But they also needed a semblance of order. A Protector traveled the Empire's expanse, their purpose to ensure law is maintained in the far reaches. That usually meant remote worlds, small populations, towns and villages. Not city-worlds. But Taris was reeling. And so Athena, among others, were sent. She had walked the streets, arbitrating conflicts, putting down looters and mobs, and settling disputes, all in the name of the Madalorian Empire. And then more 'help' arrived.

The Korun watched in skeptical curiosity at the urinary competition unfolding below. Too high to hear the conversation, it was pretty easy to discern the dialogue. The jedi were surely pontificating on righteousness and noble deeds, while her vod bretheren, several of whom she knew, beat their chests as smoke blew out of their nostrils, speaking of spilled blood and oaths...the things that mattered. It was street diplomacy, and she was sure it would move faster than the talks on Mandalore.

Her gaze caught one young jedi, a fiery redhead, as she snapped at a colleague and stormed off. Now, there was something, such spit and fire from a jedi. Athena liked that one.

She sighed. She sensed Miit'ator complain through the bond, bored and growing wearing of just hanging over the stand-off. Athena guded the beast to veer off. The pair settled into a space close to the Alliance shuttles, then she slid down from her harness. Whether it be helping move boxes, or putting warheads on foreheads, Athena supposed she should be ready to aid the vod.


Tag: Open to anyone on Obj. II

 

[Jonah]

OBJECTIVE II - A NEW EMPIRE​

Jonah stood firm.

Smoke still curled in the wind. Relief crews moved like ants around broken stone, and somewhere beyond the line, children watched with hollow eyes. Taris was healing, but it was not whole. Not yet.

The comms flared.

Kuben's voice crackled through, steady but waiting. Jonah turned his head just enough to see his fellow vod, the shine of red helm catching what little light made it through the ash-hazed sky.

"Hold for now." Jonah said plainly. "If all goes well, it won't come to blood."

His voice flattened.

"But I'll be damned if Jedi piss on my front lawn."

The tension had not broken. But the edge had dulled.

More voices rose. Familiar and not. He heard Montello’s tone before the words even registered, sharp and cutting like always. That one did not posture. That one did not forget. They had fought together for Taris. Served together. Survived. So Jonah let the words ride.

The Jedi though, he did not know.

Some wrapped their questions in silk. Others in warnings. He heard them. Filed them. Dismissed most. But not all.

One voice stepped forward with purpose. A woman. Jedi by the look. Her words were careful. Cooperative. She acknowledged what most of them would not. That they were guests here. That Jonah had the final say. She offered to work within his command. He gave her a nod. Not a full answer. Not yet. But it meant something.

Then came the voice over comms.

Vanagor.

Jonah exhaled through his nose as the Jedi Master announced his approach. The Basilisk behind him stayed silent. The whir of its sensors was the only sound it made. Jonah stepped down from the platform and into the dirt.

He waited.

When Vanagor arrived, Jonah eyed him. Tall. Centered. Open-handed. The kind of posture that said he meant peace, but still carried weight. Jonah’s arms stayed folded for a moment longer. He did not rush. Did not smile.

"Do not make this a habit." The words left his mouth flat and cold. "If the Alliance or the Jedi want to bring aid into Mandalorian space, you ask first. We won't entertain surprises in the future."

He looked at the outstretched hand. Then took it.

The shake was firm. Direct. No lingering.

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."​

He clicked off. Turned back toward Vanagor and the woman.

"There is an order to things." His voice was quieter now. Not softer. Just level.

"But that said, Mandalore appreciates the assistance."

He glanced back toward the ruined skyline.

"And Taris does too."

Tag: Athena Faar , Cassvar , Caltin Vanagor , Corazona von Ascania , Reina Daival , Tyron Khan , Dillon Kai'el , Montello Deshra , Vaegon Dolmyrian , Itzhal Volkihar , Jaikell Wyrvhor , Zlova Rue , Adonis Angelis IV , Kuben Woods

 

[Aether Verd]

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

OBJECTIVE I - INTENT AND IRON

The throne did not shift.

Its occupant did not rise. He did not speak. Not yet.

Aether Verd watched in silence, fingers drumming once, twice, three times along the arm of the throne as Captain Draav was removed. The words had been loud, but not new. Mandalore had heard worse in Senate halls and prison cells. The dog had barked, and now he was leashed.

With the disturbance handled, his golden gaze turned.

The Chancellor stepped forward.

He carried himself not with bravado, but with burden. Not a soldier. Not a Jedi. But a voice. The voice of trillions. The voice of the Alliance. And so, the Mand’alor listened.

When the man had finished speaking, Aether spoke.

Slow. Deliberate. A mountain uncoiling. His presence did not press outward, but it filled the Court all the same.

“Mandalorians have long memories.”

The words were not loud, but they carried.

“For every scar born by the Alliance, there is a scar born by Mandalore. We do not pretend to ignore them. We choose to move forward. If we do not, the blood feud between our peoples will be everlasting.”

His gaze drifted then. Toward the Grandmaster. He motioned toward her with his dominant hand.

“As spoken to Grandmaster Noble, and to your Royal Naboo siblings, Mandalore does not seek forgiveness for the war in its veins. We do not condemn our Neo-Crusader brothers for worshipping. War is our way. However, the Empire has chosen a different path.”

He looked to the Chancellor once more.

“So to your question. Is Mandalore willing to try?”

He paused.

“The Court is open because we are.”

And then, another voice. Different. Quieter.

The young senator spoke not with a sword, but with memory. Aether listened. He watched the man speak of dust and loss and the weight of blood that did not dry. When the words ended, the Mand’alor did not smile. He did not nod. But his tone changed. It grew heavier. Sharper. Not out of malice, but of purpose.

“Mandalore is tired of rebuilding itself, over and over.”

His voice echoed across the stone.

“Thus, our way is different. So that our people may endure, united, long after my passing. I will not blame those who came before. As in those days, in those moments, they truly believed they were doing what was best for Mandalore. Just as previous Alliances and Republics attempted to do what was best for the Core.”

A breath.

“The past will not be vilified. But it will be acknowledged.”

Then silence again.

Let them sit with it. Let them choose how to answer.​

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