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

[Aselia Verd]

Aselia Verd moved not far, just enough. A single, armored step forward. Not to speak over the Iron Throne, but to stand beside it more fully. Steel to its Iron.

Her crimson-trimmed armor caught the firelight, dull gold and red reflected in the sleek angles of beskar shaped by war and history both. Her helm remained sealed, the black visor fixed on the delegation as if it could see straight through them.

And in truth, it already had.

When she spoke, her voice came low and modulated, shaped by the quiet weight of someone who had led from the front and bled in silence. It was not raised to command attention it simply did.

"You've asked us to forget the past. We haven't. We won't."

She took another step. Not forward this time just angled, just enough to flank the throne more directly. Just enough to close the angle on the Core's delegation, a silent line crossed in a dozen small calculations.

Her presence was not fire. It was pressure.

"Every scar on our people was earned. Every betrayal, every withdrawal, every death in the Outer Rim that no one answered for. We remember it all. And we survived it. Without your fleets. Without your credits. Without your pity."

She paused, letting the words settle like dust on cold stone.

"But survival is not the same as stillness."

Her helm turned fractionally toward Aether. Not deference. Coordination.

"You've heard our offer. A contract. Clear. Measured. Bound by terms, not sentiment. This is not a treaty dressed in flowers. It is a bond of metal. Of blood."

Her visor returned to the delegation. A second passed. Then a third. She let silence hang not out of drama, but discipline.

"If you want peace, it will be forged. Not gifted."

Then she stepped back into position one pace, no more. Her presence didn't diminish. It rejoined the line, as exacting and unshaken as ever.

Let the diplomats spin meanings.

The warriors had spoken.

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

​

 

[Montello Deshra]

​

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

OBJECTIVE II​

Praviah listened in silence as the old man, Dillon Kai'el , the Jedi Master. He spoke with a tone meant to soothe, to broker peace with words. It was the sort of cadence one might use with children or frightened villagers, not warriors.

Still, Praviah kept his arms folded, posture rigid but not hostile. There was no need to escalate—not yet.

“There’s no need to do such a thing, Master Jedi,” he replied calmly, voice firm and clipped. “We’ll allow our superiors to sort this mess out. Let the ones with jurisdiction handle what’s been breached.”

Diplomatic. Professional. But laced with implication.

After all, incursions like this weren’t everyday occurrences. Not in Mandalorian space, not under the eye of the Empire. Praviah wasn’t naive. He understood what was at play here: an ideological clash wrapped in jurisdictional defiance. But what grated more than the violation of territorial lines was the sheer arrogance on display.

Vaegon.

The younger Jedi’s tone had gone from passive-aggressive to outright venomous. There was no temperance, no wisdom. There was only sharp-tongued outrage masked as righteousness. Praviah’s patience, already thinned from recent events, wore dangerously close to tearing.

Not all Jedi were alike, of course. But this one? This one carried himself with all the impulsive fire of a Sith initiate, minus the self-awareness. So much for the famed Jedi serenity.

Praviah tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing behind his visor as he listened to Vaegon speak, the words practically steaming with contempt. It was pathetic. Predictable.

“Always trembling at what you fail to understand,” Praviah muttered under his breath, just loud enough for those nearby to catch the disdain.

Then, louder—measured, deliberate—he addressed Vaegon directly, his voice like cold iron.

“We’ve already established that you’re here illegally. That hasn’t changed. Before I was Sith, I was born and bred Mandalorian. I know what honor looks like. I’ve seen better behavior from Sith Acolytes… and Gungans.”

He let that sink in, deliberately pausing.

“A lot of noise from someone with such… maiden-less behavior.”

The insult wasn’t shouted, just spoken like fact. Plain. Undeniable. And it hit harder for its delivery.

Praviah remained still after that, unmoved. He didn’t posture or provoke further. Instead, he let the silence do the talking. Let the Jedi stew in the weight of his own hypocrisy. No dramatic flourish was needed.

Sometimes silence was the sharpest blade.
​

 

[Zlova Rue]

"Peace is a lie," Zlova recited absently. "Sooner Jedi accept it, sooner they can figure out how to deal with their enemies." She turned to look at Vaegon Dolmyrian after she'd spoken. There was a great deal wrong with the Sith Code, but it got that one thing right. Peace were those short periods between conflicts when sides reinforced their defenses and rearmed their forces. There was always a reason to lash out at another. Food. Minerals. Incursions. Wounds to one's pride. Anything would do.

The Lethan shrugged as Vaegon continued. "What can I say? Most of them are taught to annihilate their enemies at any cost. It's about the only thing that gets your Master to quietly approve of you." Zlova smiled as she regarded the Jedi that was adamantly opposed to the Sith. He should be. They were a duplicitous, violent, ruthless, egotistic band of monsters -- and they liked it.

"But if you come at the Mandalorians as you would Sith, you'll have all that blood paid sooner than late. Look," she gestured in Jonah 's direction, "if he'd been Sith the war would have already begun. These 'peace talks' would have been a deception to get inside your guard or distract you from the real strike. Taking the initiative wouldn't have gotten you this unearned peace you seek so fervently."

Montello was taking the high road and raising the banner of the Mand'alor. Zlova had no such compunction. She liked their culture, but while she wouldn't go around screaming she was a Sith Zlova made no effort to conceal what she was; nor had she ever sought to change.

She'd hoped for something more passionate in response to her presence, but it seemed Jonah and Caltin would get exactly what they wanted. "Well, the supplies aren't going to distribute themselves. The sooner they run out, the sooner we don't get the opportunity to taunt one another." Zlova wouldn't mind chatting their ears off philosophically while they worked. It might even be fun if they took it personally. Runi never did, the Shamanistic hag.

Dillon Kai'el | Vaegon Dolmyrian | Jonah | Montello Deshra | Caltin Vanagor​

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

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

Ancient rivalries, as timeless as the stars themselves, simmered in anger and frustration before Itzhal. Their familiar squabbles, steeped in history and beyond living memory, a tale far older than the avatars who stood in front of him, hissing past grievances into the air with a bitter eagerness. It was not unlike the old rumblings of his people, as blood feuds turned to swift spats barely contained by cooler heads, nostalgic for all that he was often the arbiter of such.

This time, he found himself lacking any authority over the diaspirate group before him, superiors and outsiders, the latter unbound by the strict hierarchy of his people. Nor would he delude himself into thinking he was an impartial observer; his grievances ran deep, etched into his very being with scars that time could never fade.

Once more, his visor panned across the landscape, beyond the kindling fires of past grudges and towards the people who suffered today. He would not allow it to taint them further; his focus shifted towards the approaching figure of Jedi Master Dillon Kai'el.

"You're sacrifice is commendable, but the actions of a nation cannot be placed upon the shoulders of a single man so far from the pedestal of leadership. Do not burden yourself with others' mistakes," Itzhal declared, calmly spoken with the certainty of years and the confidence to be heard by all who were close enough to hear.

His following words were a whisper in contrast, a hissing warning delivered to those who needed it, "In this moment, I care not for whatever grudges you may hold against each other. The people of Taris have suffered for long enough and require our aid," his buy'ce tilted towards Montello and Zlova. "We did not save them, only to damn them when they find their home the site of a quarrel they did not ask for. If you cannot tolerate their presence, then other jobs can be allocated to keep you away from each other's necks."

His attention turned back towards the presence of Dillion Kai'el and his fellow Jedi.

"I extend the same words to you; there are plenty here who have suffered," Itzhal turned, the grit beneath his boots skittering down the hill as the Mandalorian looked towards the crumbling ruins of a once lively city. "If you cannot control your temper, you shall find yourself a hindrance, and these people shall not thank you for such."

With a wave of his hand, he gestured towards the suffering superstructure, "Now, tell me, Jetii, how can you help these people?"

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

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Jaikell Wyrvhor returned the motion of her bow, stiff and awkward, but a budding sign of mutual respect that she could appreciate.

The air had been sufficiently cleared, yet there were still threads of tension that tugged at Alliance personnel and Mandalorians alike. The friction of a few sparks could be felt in the Force only a short distance away, but those too seemed to settle.

"Let us hope that there are no more grievances to come, then."

The history between Jedi and Mandalorians was long, and often unpleasant. Still, there were times where they'd fought alongside one another against a common enemy. If not for her kinship with Jenn Kryze - which began with great animosity - Cora might've regarded the lot as brutal savages who only hungered for war, rather than a culture with a strong sense of preservation and their own doctrine of honor.

"Jaikell,"

As she lifted a box of antibiotic pills, Cora's tone held a note of curiosity. With permission given and the Alliance's intentions clarified, he seemed more open to conversation.

"May I ask, this Mand'alor of yours. What sort of person is he?"

Valery had already relayed a decent image of the man, and Cora trusted the Grandmaster's instincts, but she wanted to understand how Aether Verd was viewed by his own people.

 

[Jonah]

OBJECTIVE II - A NEW EMPIRE​

Jonah heard the words before they were meant for him.

Jaikell’s voice cut through the air like gravel scraping durasteel. There sure are a lot of you guys here now. Jonah didn’t turn. Didn’t need to. His gaze stayed forward, but the corner of his mouth pulled. Just a little.

That’s one way to say it, he thought.

A lot of Jedi on their front lawn, indeed.

He took a breath, deep through the nose, filtered through the taste of smoke and dust that still clung to Taris like guilt. His helm tilted slightly, just enough to mark the presence beside him.

Zlova.

His aunt wasn’t one for warm reunions or long talks. They weren’t close. Never had been. But blood ran thicker than politics. And here, in the middle of this balancing act between diplomacy and detonation, her presence steadied something in him. Just knowing she was near.

Then came movement. Not sudden. Not loud. But present.

Adonis had shifted.

Jonah didn’t need to see him to know. His kin, the one he brought in when others would’ve looked the other way, had moved out of formation, the silent signal of trust. The moment had passed. The line had held. And Jonah felt the pride rise sharp in his chest. Not boastful. Just sure.

He belongs, he thought. And I was right to bring him home.

Cora’s bow was met with a nod.

“We appreciate your cooperation.” he said simply.

He watched her gesture, sharp and precise, toward the aid crates. Medical. Rations. Shelter. She didn’t just speak peace, she brought it in boxes. That meant something.

Jonah motioned over his shoulder without turning. The Mandalorians behind him moved on instinct, their visors flaring to life as they swept the first crates, then the transports themselves. No delay. No hesitation.

“You’ve been thorough,” Jonah offered to Cora. A rare compliment, spoken plainly. “We appreciate it.”

Caltin’s voice came next. Calm. Measured. The kind of voice that echoed long after the words were gone. Jonah listened. Then he answered in kind.

“If the Alliance decides they need to pop by again, the name's Jonah Verd.” he said, tapping his chestplate. “Call me direct. I’ll get the gears turning.”

He met the Jedi Master’s gaze, firm.

“Thanks for keeping this clean. Taris is the priority. We’ll get it done.”

Then came another voice, one that carried steel beneath it.

Itzhal Volkihar.

Jonah turned his head, found him near the crest of rubble. As always, steady as stone. A man carved from the same war that scarred this world. Jonah thumped his fist against his chest.

“You all hear that?” he called. “If anyone knows where the survivors still draw breath, it’s that man. He was with us when the dead dragged screaming from the cracks. Pulled people back when the gates of death had already opened. Follow him. You’ll be where you’re needed.”

And with that, Jonah turned. The tension hadn’t vanished. It lingered. It was a crackle in the air, thick as storm static. His eyes drifted toward the source.

Montello. Dillon. Vaegon. Friends. Strangers. Firebrands and fools.

He caught the tail end of the exchange, lips twitching at the sharpness, the way Praviah’s insult hung like smoke in the air. Maidenless behavior. He heard Itzhal trying to ground it all again. Trying to remind them of what mattered.

And then Jonah laughed.

A real laugh.

Not the polite kind. Not the scoff. A full-bodied, armor-shaking, nearly-doubled-over laugh that ripped the solemnity out of the air like a blaster bolt.

He caught himself after a beat, still chuckling, and stepped forward, pointing between Dillon and Vaegon with a grin that could cut plate.

“Maidenless behavior?” he echoed, just loud enough for everyone to hear. “Gods, that's one for the archives.”

He bumped Montello’s shoulder as he passed.

Then he turned to face the Jedi and raised his voice.

“Alright! Reparations for unauthorized landing are as follows:”​

He pointed, first at Dillon, then at Vaegon.

“Mandalorians! Boo these men!”​

The reaction was immediate. From scattered positions around the field, visored heads turned and voices rose in theatrical unison.

“Booo!”
“Shame!”
“Someone revoke their nav clearance!”​

Even a mocking applause started somewhere in the back, like a scene from a sporting arena. The tension cracked, then snapped, replaced by barking laughter and lightened shoulders. Jonah clapped once, loud and satisfied.

“Right. Now that that’s settled…”

He stepped back toward the transport line, already moving again.

“Can we please get these supplies sorted? Thank you very much.”

And just like that, he was back in motion, armor creaking, voice clipped into his comm, visor already scanning the next manifest.

Business as usual. Just the way he liked it.

Tag: Corazona von Ascania , Jaikell Wyrvhor , Vaegon Dolmyrian , Montello Deshra , Dillon Kai'el , Zlova Rue , Itzhal Volkihar , Caltin Vanagor + Open

 

[Caltin Vanagor]

TITLE
TARIS
Objective II — A New Empire

The ruins of Taris still steamed in places — from trauma more than heat. But amidst the wreckage, a makeshift plaza had formed: relief crates stacked, refugees being triaged, Mandalorians and Jedi working awkwardly — if effectively — side by side.

Caltin stood at the center of it all, tall as a monument, cloak swaying lightly in the Taris wind. His face was uncovered, beard catching the dust, eyes fixed not on the horizon, but on those gathering before him: Jedi Masters like Dillon and Vaegon, younger Knights, and Padawans like Reina and Tyron. Cora stood nearby — not because she needed to hear the words, but because she belonged in their company.

He didn’t call for silence.

It came on its own.

And when it did, he spoke — low, but clear.

I’m not your commanding officer.

He let that settle.

I’m not the Council. I’m not a Senator. I don’t hold rank over you. And I didn’t come here to bark orders.

He paused.

I’m here as someone who was dead… once. Right there— He raised a hand, gesturing not toward the sky, but toward his own chest. —when Mandalore’s Neo-Crusaders razed Kashyyyk, their flagship’s cannons turned me into ash. It was Mand’alore’s order. And I died doing what I was trained to do. Protect others.

His voice never rose. It deepened.

But the Force wasn’t finished with me. I don’t pretend to understand why. I only know I was brought back. A quiet moment passed. Even the Mandalorians — some crouched near crates, some standing post — were listening now.

So if I can stand here… on Mandalorian soil… extend a hand… bring medicine, shelter, food… and not hold a grudge? He looked everywhere. Then you damn well can too.

No shame. No fire. Just conviction.

We are not here to avenge the past. We are here to heal what’s left of it. These people— He gestured around them, toward the Taris survivors, the half-collapsed streets. —do not need our pain. They need our service.

He looked directly at Dillon. Then Vaegon. Not accusatory — just honest.

You want to be angry? I get it, but be angry at injustice. Be angry at hunger. At displacement. At the sound of another child coughing blood in the rubble. Those here are working to do the same thing you are, to try and help. Restraint is not weakness.

Then he looked to Reina. Tyron. Even Montello and Praviah off to the side.

Let the taunts fly over your head. Let pride fall where it belongs — behind your lightsaber, not in front of it. They’ll try to understand us through their lens. Through ambition. Power. Legacy. That is their way, that is who they are, you may think that they are baiting you, and you may eventually prove right. However, until you have a definitive answer, you still have to wonder, “Are they?” and act like the answer is “no”. You all know that the Jedi Code is not something you wield. It’s something you live. And they’ll never get that — unless we show them not to change them, but at least to get them to see our point of view.

Another pause.

This is not about politics. Or optics. Or whose flag flies over which city. This is about who we choose to be when no one is clapping.

And now he turned — just slightly — so Jonah and his warriors could hear the final words too.

You don’t have to agree with everything I say. You don’t even have to like me. But if you can’t find it in yourself to forgive — not forget, but forgive — then I ask you to step back from this mission. Because this is sacred ground now. Not because of who rules it. But because of what we build here together. His final words were quieter. Almost private. Meant for Jedi ears, yet somehow meant for everyone.

We do not raise temples out of stone. We raise them out of choice. And today, we choose to be Jedi.

---

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was settled. Grounded.

With one final look at Cora, he stepped close. Wasn’t trying to overstep, but sometimes hammers need to be dropped.

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

 

[Reina Daival]

Location: Taris
Tags: N/A

She was boiling inside right now. Her fists clenched tightly, as her nails dug into the palm of her hands, drawing blood. Frustration evident on her face as she was fighting the urge to yell. To scream. Good for him. He got revived after getting killed by the Mandalorians. So what? Everyone was meant to just forgive and forget? Kark that nonsense. Kark all of this. She wasn't needed here. They weren't needed whatsoever, if they had the precious protection of the Mandalorians. In the past, she might have said this all out loud, snapped it out for everyone to hear but she wasn't that obnoxious. She knew when silence was the more valid option.

Reina had wanted to be a paragon. Some kind of shining Light in the Dark. A shining Knight that helped the innocent. But she wasn't ready. No. She knew that. At the same time, she knew she wouldn't be any help here on Taris. Reina was a powder-keg, ready to be set alight. It was all easy for him to say to ignore the taunts. To let pride fall where it was. But when Pride had been the only thing Reina had for most of her life, it was all easier said than done. They didn't know her stories. And she didn't know theirs. And in this precise moment? She couldn't give a single care in the Galaxy for any of it. In the future, maybe. But not in this moment as she spun around on the heel of her prosthesis.

She couldn't bring herself to forgive. Everyone she forgave always stabbed her in the back. Twisted the knife in. Destroyed her. She wouldn't give anyone else another chance at that. Not right now. Reina didn't care what the others thought. The fire inside of her was burning brighter than ever as she made her way towards the Shuttle to head back. Others might be able to forget. Some might even be able to forgive. But Reina was not one of them. She was choosing to be a Jedi in her own way. Removing herself from the situation as she threw herself down into her seat and waited for the Shuttle to leave. Keeping her fists clenched until she was off world, finally allowing herself to relax, one small thought crossing her mind that made her chuckle

...I wonder who talks more. Him or Serina?

- Exit Thread -​

 

[Jaikell Wyrvhor]

OBJECTIVE II​

Jaikell, Seeing Corazona von Ascania lifting a box of medical supplies; he then decides to stack one box on top of another, carrying it around with ease as he looks at her,- She cant see, but a slight smile on his face.

"May I ask, this Mand'alor of yours. What sort of person is he?"

The mention of his Mand'alor drew his attention, a topic that held weight within Mandalorian culture and politics. Jaikell's response was measured, his words chosen with care.

"A true leader, and a caring man." he says, respect coating his words,
"I was there when Mand'alor Carduul Akahl and his men came to the Halls of Mandalore."
"When a gigantic Gen'dai "Mandalorian" came and insulted him,"

Faction - One Mandalore || Mandalorian Empire

Feydrik stopped, his mind trying to contemplate what the redhead was saying. But it was the appearance of Mandalore that brought him to a bow, then to a knee, a hand across his chest. He waited for him to finish speaking, then others. More newcomers. But the same speeches, the same words vomited...

www.starwarsrp.net

he's true to what he says, He called them all home for peace, eventually we got there, but when they tried to goad him into attacking, into loosing his cool, He didn't."
"He knew what was at stake if he did, if it was me... I would of shot that Thing.. But he didn't" he knows when to attack and when not,"

-A brief pause, Jaikell's demeanor softened slightly, a rare display of vulnerability in his otherwise stoic presence.

"I Say all this to have you know that he's smart, and not an egotist like I'm sure anyone else would be in his position" "he's a man whos worth following into the darkest, deepest pit, just from a glance."

"That's what kind of leader he is" his tone his tone carrying a mixture of admiration and respect, his demeanor hardening again "He might not follow The Way as I would have him, As I would want Every mandalorian to." "But he's my Mand'alor."

"What about you, You Jedi have Masters I've heard?" "Or do you not have one."


Then he turns his head to look at the new commotion-

“Mandalorians! Boo these men!”

Totally disregarding the seriousness of the conversation earlier,
He boos..Loud..
"BOOOOO" laughing as he ends it.

 

[Kuben Woods]

Objective 2

Spoiler: Theme

​

Tag: Corazona von Ascania , Jaikell Wyrvhor , Vaegon Dolmyrian , Montello Deshra , Jonah , Dillon Kai'el , Zlova Rue , Itzhal Volkihar , Caltin Vanagor , [OPEN]


Kuben had held himself back at the orders Jonah. Zlova proceeded onward, and while the rest of his comrades proceeded to engage with newcomers Kuben just sat back, quietly. He didn't have the patience to engage with them, nor the want. And like a good soldier he followed orders.

He also hadn't slept in almost three days since the attack on Taris.

The voice was getting to him again. That ancient thing buried inside him—whatever it was—had stirred in ways Kuben hadn't dealt with in years. Something about the creature they kept fighting agitated it. Its very nature piqued the entity's interest. And Kuben… Kuben was afraid. Afraid of falling asleep and letting it take control—doing gods-knew-what while he was unconscious and unable to stop it.

So, he stayed busy. Digging people out of the rubble. Patrolling for gangs and undead stragglers. Fixing what he could. Anything to keep his mind focused. Anything to drown out the voice that whispered from the dark corners of his skull.

So when the Jedi started hurling accusations, Kuben didn't bark back. He just glared. He wasn't in the mood for fools or arrogance.

Watching Montello, Zlova, and the others spar with words made his blood stir. That's when he felt it: a cold, invisible hand resting on his shoulder.

Ooooooh are you going to let others do the fighting for you? Not going to tell the Jedi exactly what you think?

Shut up.

But he's standing right there. So self assured, so totally blind. It would be so-

SHUT. UP.

Kuben's fist clenched hard enough that the glove creaked. He exhaled sharply, forcing the thing back into silence. Itzhal, bless the kid, had already gone back to work—smart lad. He'd make a damn fine soldier someday.

It was when the final exchange between Montello and Vaegon that caused Kuben to take a step forward, because he knew exactly where this was heading. He couldn't stop the Jedi from running his mouth—but if Montello escalated things any further, Kuben would be the one dragging him back by the scruff of his collar.

Jonah beat him to the punch.

He usually did.

With a joke and a well-timed shift in tone, Jonah diffused the tension, prompting a few Mandalorians to join in with mock complaints. Kuben scanned the camp, checking for anyone still too keyed up for sense. Nothing serious. Good.

He let the moment breathe—just long enough for tempers to cool—then let his voice crack like a whip:

"Alright you've had your fun, LOCK IT UP. You've got your orders, get teams to their stations and get back to work," The tone was pure sergeant: sharp, commanding, final.

The men immediately snapped out of their revelry and the camp went back to being a hive of activity, Mandalorians scanning crates, calling out contents, while others moved them once clear, and engineering teams mustering to head out to clear more rubble. Kuben looked to his left, then his right, scanning the men and women visually with his eyes as he made sure there were no stand outs. Satisfied he started walking forward proceeding to the edges of the camp, pausing by Jonah, Zlova, and Montello and speaking evenly.

"I'm heading out to look for more survivors if you're looking to be occupied," he started walking again, not really caring whether or not any of them followed.

He yelled towards the cluster of Jedi still close by as he was walking out.

"If you're done grandstanding on the dead brothers and sisters in beskar who died trying to save these people—we've got a job to do. Any able and willing hands are welcome," he paused "Just leave your comments back on your shuttle."

 

[Athena Faar]

Objective II

"Keep an eye on them. Let me know if you seem them moving anything without being checked."

Athena impressed on Miit'alor's mind as she stroked the beast's scaled neck. The dragon made a sound between a huff and a growl, affirming her rider's request. The viscosity of the tension between the two groups had diminished some with Jonah's announcement that the supplies would be distributed. Dutifully, Athena began to stalk towards the Alliance staging area, where she would join the Empire's effort to inspect the goods unloaded .

It was then that she spotted Adonis, the gleaming star on his armor hard to miss. The Breaker was far from inconspicuous as he made his way to intercept Athena. She altered her course to meet him.

If there was a consummate knight among the vod of the Empire, Athena would confess it was Angelis. From immaculate armor to the swagger of a noble, the man clung to virtue in the miasma of moral inconsistency that was the galaxy. Or at least that was his reputation. Having seen him, but not meeting him, Athena reserved her judgements until she did meet him.

It seemed that time had come.

"Did you come to get a dragon ride, Knight?" Athena greeted Adonis with a good-natured jibe, stopping with her hands on her hips. In comparison to the knight's armor, Athena's matte black and grey armor looked worn and lackluster. Her helmet tilted to the side slightly in feigned curiosity. "Or did you grow weary of the banter?"


Tag: Adonis Angelis IV

 

[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 did not shift his weight, nor clear his throat, nor call attention to himself. He didn't need to.

In the quiet that followed the last Mandalorian voice — steel spoken, not shouted — he lifted his glass and finished it in a single, practiced motion. Not as a man in want of comfort. But as a man who had come to his conclusion.

He let the silence breathe, just a little longer than it needed to.

His voice came next — low, precise, clipped like the edge of a scalpel.

"Intentions are fashionable things. Worn easily. Shed easier still."

He turned slightly, not to face the delegation head-on, but enough to let his words cut across them all.

"But patterns… those endure. And if there is one truth the study of people always reveals, it is this: you learn the most not when they speak, but when they believe they are unobserved. When they think the moment has passed."

His eyes did not rest on any one delegate for too long, but it was absolutely clear now to everyone that he'd been quietly observing all of them and noting each detail.

"Today, many have spoken well. Promises were made. Principles named. And for what it's worth, I believe some of you mean them."

"But I've seen foundations crack under soft truths before." His voice was still calm, but harder now — quieter in pitch, sharper in aim. "Not from hatred, but from compromise. From convenience. Because peace, once made, is easy to celebrate… and easier to misplace."

Then, to Aether — a subtle shift of posture, almost a signal: I've heard what I needed.

"Still," he said, lowering his empty glass, "it's useful to know the shape of a thing... before the blade falls."

He gave the glass the slightest tilt toward Aether. Not deferential. Not defiant. Merely professional, and then set it down on one of the pillars surrounding the hall, opening down.

The analysis was complete.

The measure taken.

 

[Vaegon Dolmyrian]

Objective 2
Taris


It was amazing how some interpreted truth as insults. He looked at Montello Deshra , whose cage seemed very easily raddled, who then quickly tried to spar with him. It only made Vaegon chuckle. An incel joke, I mean really. Everyone on the holo-net who didn't have a real job was telling that overused joke these days. Jonah laughed like her never heard it before, and then broke up the situation before it could escalate.

"Go on, leashed Akk dog," Vaegon said to Montello. "Your master calls."

Caltin Vanagor arrived as well, trying to take control of the moment.

"Alright, Master Vanagor, I don't need a lecture."

The tension still lingered in the air after the confrontation had dispersed. Vaegon Dolmyrian moved without fanfare to the makeshift Alliance aide camp. A medic glanced up as he passed, startled to see him return so soon.

"There are burns in Sector Five," Vaegon said simply, kneeling beside a wounded miner whose hands were charred and trembling. "Fetch more kolto."

Vaegon turned to stand, and for a moment, his eyes lingered on nothing at all, fixed on some distant corner of the mind. Some hidden ledger. Then he turned, robe shifting behind him, and resumed his work. A Jedi Master, by all appearances.

 

[Zlova Rue]

Casual acceptance gave way to dubious regard as her head rolled to the side, eyes on Itzhal Volkihar . The heel of her hand rested upon one of the two curved saber hilts at the small of her back while her golden eyes regarded the man. A smile creased her face, but fell far afield from those burnished eyes.

That man was not talking to her. If he was talking to her or about her then there was going to be a problem. It wasn't what he said so much as how he said it. Zlova didn't bow and serve at the pleasure of a government, she sure as hell wasn't getting a dress down by someone that wasn't a Lord -- and even then they'd probably still clash in a duel.

Her eyes slid aside toward Jonah as he called attention to Itzhal. Apparently the man was to be a guide. Convenient. For him. Perhaps them both as Zlova didn't feel inclined toward a public spectacle for such a small slight that might not have been meant for her at all -- but totally had been and she knew it. Take the social vagueries where you could to avoid embarrassing her own 'tribe.'

Zlova leaned in Montello Deshra 's direction as she spoke up regarding Vaegon Dolmyrian 's insult, "The mewlings of babes often grates, but is immediately forgotten." What? Well, Sith had their pride. It was her form of metaphorically using an arm to bar the way to hold him back. If anyone was leashed around there it was the Jedi beholden to their precious Order.

And then Jonah laughed.

The little rascal. A Sith Lord, however, did not boo someone. Zlova planted a hand on her hip and smirked. Strongly. It as an adorable moment even if Jonah meant for it to defuse the situation rather than inflame it. At least he had a sharp tongue. Had she managed to help him develop that? Certainly a skill a warrior should possess in her estimation -- which was the only one that mattered in the end.

Reina Daival didn't much take to Caltin Vanagor 's lofty desire to rise above. The man was obviously a true believer. Had he returned from the dead? Meh, perhaps. Neither here nor there, honestly. He was alive now and waxing poetic about the virtues of being a Jedi... so, naturally, Zlova wish he were at least a hundred years dead before he'd set foot on Taris.

But Reina, there was a woman Zlova could like. Fiery. Self-assured. Shamelessly accepting the offer to dispense with the presence of those she reviled. Those, perhaps, she hated. There was a Jedi that might survive encountering a Sith out in the wilds somewhere. Not one consumed with "meditating" their life away wondering which sad soul they could spend all their time and effort "saving." As though saving someone enriched them in any meaningful way. Sure, they didn't die, but then what? Pray the Jedi came along to save them again in the future?

Speaking of fire there was Kuben Woods . No, not the good Sergeant routine. The "I want to rip your limbs off one-by-one and beat your loved ones to death with them while you watch in your final moments" Kuben that fought to not come out and play. Seriously, did no one else see that? Runi must have seen it. That damn Shaman played like she saw everything. But there Kuben was standing around like he was just a big, old lovable grump. Well, that was a choice the Mandalorians could make. She looked forward to that developing. Zlova certainly had no obligation to ring every alarm bell and whine about someone's bottomless rage.

"Seriously?" Zlova's expression brightened with a smile as she looked after Kuban. Lord of Wraith and Ruin was going to look for survivors? She gave Jonah a quick wink before she swiftly moved to follow the man. "You look tense," she remarked hopefully before anyone else got close. That was all she'd say. It was more than enough to guage just what sort of thing brewed in the cauldron called Kuben Woods.

 

[Adonis Angelis IV]

Objective II
Tag: Athena Faar

The noise behind him faded as he walked. The words and philosophies of the Jedi had never sat well with leather-skinned Mandalorians. The Jedi preached. They proselytized. Always ready with a lesson, a lecture. Mandalorians? They acted. They moved. And if needed, they put their boot on the neck of anyone who didn't get the message. The galaxy didn't need more sermons- it needed people who did what had to be done.

There were Sith among them now. Not hiding it. Some even wore it like armor. That didn't make diplomacy easier. Whatever bright future the Mand'alor was trying to build through all of this, Adonis would have to see it to believe it. Maybe it would work. Maybe it wouldn't. But he would follow the Mand'alor's word to his last breath. And for now, that word meant smiling. Offering hands instead of fists. If it all turned into a firekeg, he'd be the first to wade through the flames. He just hoped someone else would have the decency to look surprised.

He caught Athena adjusting her course toward him.

Her reputation moved ahead of her. So did the shadow of her beast, a thing of wings, smoke, and muscle. A dragon. Impressive, imposing. He wasn't sure how he felt about it. On one hand, it was exactly the kind of display the Mandalorians were known for. On the other, it could kill him in one bite. There were few things he didn't trust, but creatures with talons larger than his chest were high on that list. Still, he'd never doubted Athena's training. No one had.

She greeted him with a jibe, and he allowed himself a flicker of something like amusement.

"To ride away from here would be a blessing," he said, voice even. "I'm just cannon fodder, a grunt, politics bore me." Adonis knew his place was on the battlefield, others were better at aiding. "But our honor- and our Mand'alor- require us here."

He dipped his head as he stepped closer, offering his arm in greeting.

"I left the company of blowhards to seek the wisdom of the one smart enough to keep her distance until the tension eased." He took a breath, "And I wanted to see the woman who rode in on a dragon." His boylike wonder almost slipping through.

His tone was light, but not dismissive. What was happening behind them still mattered. He simply no longer needed to be in the middle of it. Athena hadn't rushed in. She'd read the moment. Held her ground until the right time. That said more to him than all the talk in the world.

"Adonis," he said simply.

If she took his hand, his grip was firm, but measured. He wasn't the type to posture with people who didn't need convincing. Strength recognized strength. She didn't need to be tested.

He glanced toward the staging area, then back to her.

"Where were you headed before I took your attention?"

Whatever it was, he'd follow. Better to walk beside someone who acted than listen to another speech from someone who didn't.

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Jaikell Wyrvhor Caltin Vanagor Jonah

Cora observed not only Jaikell's answer, but the manner in which he spoke. Proud and reverent. It was clear that he thought highly of his Mand'alor as a leader and a man, despite their differences in doctrine.

He called them all home for peace.

"He sounds like a capable man. The history that we share isn't the greatest, but I hope that our delegations on Mandalore can come away with something akin to a non-aggression pact.”

Cora set the box down onto the ledge of the speeder's truck bed. It was soon passed into a pair of gloved hands that stacked crates onto vehicles. For a few moments, her eyes settled onto the torn skyline of Taris.

"The galaxy has seen enough violence. The last thing we need is more war."

Her gaze snapped back to the task at hand quickly, and Jaikell's question was met with a thoughtful tilt of her head. Cora gathered her words while marking supplies off on the manifest as they were loaded onto the speeder truck.

"I had a Master when I was a Padawan - an apprentice. Padawans graduate into Knights, and some Knights eventually become Jedi Masters." Lifting her hand from the datapad, she gestured towards Caltin.

"The wisest of us. Leaders in our Order. At the head is our Grandmaster - Valery Noble. She was, and in many ways, still is my teacher. She has the wisdom to balance her guidance with compassion. It was her who first approached your Mand’alor to lay the foundation for these talks.”

The Grandmaster was able to open up a dialogue with the Mand'alor. Caltin met Jonah with the right words to begin smoothing over the tension they'd caused.

That had to amount to a decent start, given that the alternative was drowning in blaster fire.

Cora took a step back as Jonah's men scanned the crates. Things moved swiftly, without much delay or pomp. Cora offered him a simple nod and the barest upturn of her lips.

That expression grew into a faint smile as Caltin stepped in closer. "Sometimes they do," she agreed.

The Padawans had learned an important lesson - that Jedi were not always welcome, and were not always seen as peacekeepers. Many would regard them with suspicion, even outright hostility. There would be times where their good intentions would be rejected.

Despite the turbulence, the air had been cleared enough. Jonah's mention of reparations did heighten her concern, only for it to dissolve at the sentencing.

Her lips twitched, stifling her amusement as the pair of masters were booed.

Well done.

 

[Alicio Organa]

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

A transactional arrangement.

Chancellor Organa frowned, his expression becoming just a bit more severe as he checked the reactions of the Alliance officials around the room. It was... an ugly partnership. Treating the Mandalorians like a mercenary company, rather than a government. The Alliance reduced to clientele, one of presumably many as this new empire tried to fund it's future. A contract, easy to terminate.

But he never expected anything more than ugly to come from their first meeting. At it's core, the deal would satisfy both parties' goals- Mandalore gets credits to construct a legacy, and the Alliance gains a powerful force in a turbulent galaxy. And it would tie the Alliance and Mandalore closer than they'd been in decades.

"You've asked us to forget the past. We haven't. We won't."

That earned a look from Alicio. A brief flash of annoyance sparking in his eyes, then cooling with understanding all the same. He'd spent a long time in the Federal Assembly- it wasn't the first time a politician had disregarded the meaning of his words to make a point. People heard what they wanted to hear. He was certainly guilty of that sin on many occasions.

Conrad's assertion, that promises could quickly empty given time and space, Alicio twisted his lip in thought at. But he kept those thoughts to himself. At least, for now.

The Chancellor canted his head up as he spoke, his voice soft and easy. "The Alliance's current military doctrine... discourages the use of mercenary forces, to put it lightly. To change that, I would have to consult with the Supreme Commander, and likely get approval through the Assembly." He found another ghostly half-smile. "This is an... extraneous situation, so let's assume for a moment everyone agrees."

"I have a counter proposal, Mand'alor the Iron."

"The Mandalorian Empire and Galactic Alliance enter into a mutually-binding contract, as you have described, the Alliance is allowed embassies on Mandalore and Taris... and you allow us to rebuild Taris alongside you." Alicio let his right hand pass along the line of his chin. "The planet was an Alliance world for a long time. They would be quicker to accept Mandalorian protection if you allowed us a joint investment in their future."

"And it would prove to us your Empire can act in a capacity more than conquerors and mercenaries." That was Alicio's biggest concern, as Conrad had so eloquently put. They seemed genuine, but he had to be sure this new band of Mandalorians didn't make sweeping promises of stable governance they had no interest in keeping.

 

[Tyron Khan]

OBJECTIVE II - Taris: New Empire

Tyron was disappointed in how things had panned out with fellow Padawan Learner Reina Daival there were fresh scars in theory coming from her. There was that impression left behind. A shame it had left Tyron to carry on with handing out rations and other supplies to the civilians. He continued the activity as the comm call came through that the Alliance and Jedi participants that permission was granted from Manda'lor.

After Jedi Master Caltin Vanagor clapped his shoulder with a reassuring hand that this unease from the Mandalorians arriving upon various Alliance supply station outposts. Once the confirmation came through from the Alliance HoloNet Communication Network Corazona von Ascania had patched in.

A sigh of relief came from Tyron as he resumed handing out supplies with fellow Jedi ranking from Padawan Learner to Master. A hand went to his commlink to make contact with Caltin Vanagor and Corazona von Ascania to provide further assistance with the objective he was committed to.

["Masters, this is Padawan Learner Tyron Khan here at one of the Supply Station outposts. I am continuing my activity in issuing out the supplies we're bringing for the Tarisians. How else can I be of service?"]

The Besalisk used his other arms and hands to pass more supplies out with troopers hailing from the Galactic Alliance. Tyron being approachable, compassionate and kind as the Tarisians came to him for supplies. A slight flash-back where the Besalisk had lost everything; his home world, family and possessions back on Ojom. He knows of loss and has experience from such a young age that led him to the Jedi lifestyle.

This experience and hardship Tyron had endured as an infant. He doesn't want this to happen with any other innocents that already face many other harsh realities of life in general. His focus came back to the present.

["I'm available and ready for where you want me to assist Masters."]

Outfit: Clothes
Weapons: Double-Bladed Lightsabers
Saber Hilts: Guardian Hilt | Vanquisher Hilt
Master: Kaeleon Seleare | Kei Raxis
TAGS: Caltin Vanagor | Corazona von Ascania | Jaikell Wyrvhor

 

[Jaikell Wyrvhor]

OBJECTIVE II​

"He sounds like a capable man. The history that we share isn't the greatest, but I hope that our delegations on Mandalore can come away with something akin to a non-aggression pact.”

Jaikell had watched in silence while the Jedi woman spoke, but not idly. His visor was dark, unreadable—but behind it, his eyes tracked more than words. He noted the cadence of her voice, the weight behind her choices. Not rhetoric. Not arrogance. She meant what she said.,
He can Respect that, having little time for people who lie.
-A moment later
​

"The galaxy has seen enough violence. The last thing we need is more war."

"Peace is a rare gift from a Mandalorian"
"Pacifism, nonviolence" it all leads to stagnation, to sloth, That comes from Arasuum, So treat it well."
"But as long as Mandalore lives there Will be War- its in our Blood" Jaikell responded, his voice stoic, Leaving that in the air,, she can take that how she will.

As the supplies were loaded onto the speeder truck, Jaikell's focus shifted between the task at hand and Cora's recounting of her experiences within the Jedi Order. The mention of Grandmaster Valery Noble and the efforts to open dialogue with Mand'alor Verd
"She must be a wise woman to lead an empire that big" he says "It also takes courage to seek understanding in the face of adversity," Jaikell remarked, his words carrying a note of respect for the effort.

With a quiet resolve, Jaikell prepared to continue aiding in the unloading of supplies with the Jedi beside him, a testament to the power of cooperation amidst the shadows of a troubled past.

| Outfit: |
J O R I R
B E S K A R ' G A M

| Equipment: ALL |





​

 

[Cassvar]

OBJECTIVE II
LIFE FOR LIGHT, ATTN: JEDI

Strange. Normally a hostage crisis had the Jedi jumping from every corner to prove their self-righteousness. In this instance, not a single head had been turned. Perhaps they were just really attached to their lightsabers. The rumours did say the blades were like an extension of themselves, maybe it was simply painful to part with them?

The concept of lost time wasn't really embedded in the B'rknaa psyche, so she shrugged to herself. Next time, perhaps, Cass would have to find something better to barter with than innocent lives. It wasn't like she was leaving entirely empty-handed. She pulled the prisoners along as she proceeded toward the supply ship closest to her. The Alliance non-combatants, humanitarian workers mostly, gave her a wide berth.

She dealt with the troopers warning her to stay back with the same unhurried nonchalance. The prisoners around her proved a valuable shield. The chance of killing one of them, if the troopers opened fire, was too great. Cass used this little quirk of good nature to knock the troopers aside, and boarded the ramp leading into the supply vessel.