Populate PRIMAVERA | ME Populate of Aurion

Mythra · Monday at 3:14 PM

PRIMAVERA
"THE FUTURE AND ALL OF ITS PROMISE AWAITS YOU."

MANDALORE

The time for Mandalorian supremacy is now.

The Dirachy is no more. It did not fall with dignity, nor in some final blaze of defiance, but beneath the relentless weight of beskar and will. On Yaga Minor their threats proved hollow, and their banners were ground into the dust beneath our boots.

To the south, the Imperial Confederation fares no better. Once a looming presence, now little more than scattered remnants clinging to fading authority. They break where we strike, fracture where we press, and one by one they fall.

And still, the galaxy turns its eyes inward. Tension coils in the Core like a tightening fist, powers circling one another in quiet hostility, waiting for the spark. Let them wait. Let them scheme. Their concerns are not ours.

For Mandalorians, the war is done.

This is not an ending, but a beginning.

Across Mandalore and its systems, the fires burn not for destruction, but for celebration. Foundlings stand beneath those flames and rise as warriors, their names spoken with pride as they take their place among us. Our ranks swell, not just in number, but in strength, in unity, in purpose.

Clans gather. Old rivalries are set aside, if only for a night. Armour is worn, but burdens are not. Drinks flow freely, laughter cuts through the dark, and for a rare moment, rank and title lose their edge. Warriors stand shoulder to shoulder not as commanders and soldiers, but as Mandalorians.

OBJECTIVE I: FIRES OF KELDABE
Keldabe

Clans gather in the fields beyond Keldabe beneath the glow of a great pyre, built from the ruins of our enemies. Drums and besbevs echo into the night and smaller fires offer space for quieter truths. This is more than celebration, it is a moment of reflection.

Cast your own items into the fire, or simply come to enjoy the music and the warmth of the ne’tra gal. Drink, dance and converse as the flames cast embers high into the night sky.

Social | Attn: All

OBJECTIVE II: The Race
Sundari

Beneath a blanket of stars, the newly constructed Sundari Race track hums with life, speeder bikes line up along the starting line, engines roaring as the noise of the crowd presses into the night sky, cheers rising for all who have come to test their skill and resolve.

Join the racers with nerves of steel, or enjoy the thrill of the race from the safety of your seats.

Each racer will roll 1d6 per post. The higher your roll, the faster your speed. A running total will be kept and will determine overall placement.

The individual rolls still matter: Turns on the track have a speed limit. Rolling over the speed limit will cause racers to fly off the course and drop to last place. Racers can apply a Braking modifier (-1) or an Emergency Braking modifier (-2) to their rolls to control their speed through the turn. Modifiers must be declared in the post. A roll total of 0 does not mean your speeder has stopped, it just means you drop to the back of the pack. Rolls landing in the negatives will be counted as a 0.

The track is divided into nine segments: Five straightaways and four turns. A staff account will post a description for the upcoming segment, as well as dice totals and racing placements for the previous segments.

Contest | Attn: All

OBJECTIVE III: The Markets
Enceri

The markets of Enceri are alive with activity, colourful lamps keep the streets lit for the evening shoppers, the smell of fresh roasting meat and spice drift over the sounds of vendors calling to one another, shouting their bargains for all to hear.

Vendors from beyond the Empire’s borders have been invited to join, to sell their wares and conduct business as they see fit, provided of course, they pay a fee.

Social | Attn: All

OBJECTIVE IV: BRING YOUR OWN OBJECTIVE
Mandalore

Sundari and Keldabe alone offer endless opportunity, whether your intention is to join in the celebrations spilling out from bars onto the streets, or perhaps you prefer the quiet more intimate setting of the Kelita River. Mandalore is open for you to celebrate however you like.

BYOO | The Story is Yours

Kivah

Sylor

Kyran Thaln
@Coranth Renth

Cabur

Fiore

Kyramud Kass Holliday
@Ekka Batari

Mao

Alden Akaran
@Kael Varr

Hrist

Niijima Izumi

Vael Saren

Elian Abrantes

Serrik Skirata
@Astella Verd

Cabur Nau'ur
@Kotak Vikar'Ranov

Avast Verd

Pal Veda
@Dral Kar'taal

Zurak Bruul
@Ajalurk-Chaidth Kryze
@Arden Priest

Inez

Sidonia

Maur

Ferris Skirata

Veyla Krinn

Renn Vizsla

Perseus

Hubert Starhopper
E erida Lok

Acier Moonbound
@Colden Renth
@Domina Prime

Elira Verd
@Viera

Nando
@Tin
@Serra Toss

Kassandra Beskar'ad

Liorra

Conrad

Reshim

Red Mobius

Suleiman Lok
@Kyrida Verd

Ladante Mamba
R raef Malstadt

CT-312

Rhys Swynol
@Lysara Rynn

Nephthys Nardithi-Verd

Hanna

Siae Andronike

Zlova Rue

Runi Kuryida
@Ren Ashbridge

Vyse de Valorous
@Varuun Rekaal

Mythra · Monday at 3:20 PM

SEGMENT ONE:

The starting line sits in the middle of the longest straight of the Sundari Speederway. Brilliant lights line the charcoal gray duracrete track, illuminating both the raceway and the stands beside it. Clan banners hang from the edge of the stands, flapping loosely in a light breeze. Pit droids and teams of medics stand ready to rush to the aid of swoop bikes that lose control. Anticipation hangs thick in the air.

A droid hovers in front of the racers, high enough for all of them to see the lit sign attached to it. Steady red light washes over the helmets of the racers then begins to blink. Red turns to yellow as the flashes quicken until a solid green bar signals begin the start of the race.

R-5 (Rathen Vex) · Monday at 4:16 PM

A great pyre was lit to cast its glow among the faces of those who came for not only celebration over their foes, but of remembrance. R-5 did not play a part in their victory against the Diarchy, his arrival back home from his ancient slumber left him missing much of current and past events. The ancient Mandalorian warrior, more machine than man, had finally arrived home. If only he still had his eyes to gaze upon its skies once more.

His visor scanned over the horizon by the great fire, its burning light casting reflections off of his bright and thick armored body. The worn red cloak that clung to his shoulders swayed in the wind behind him, a relic of ancient but not forgotten times, not by him at least.

He was taken back home after his ship had been boarded and raided by pirates, accidentally activating his pod from the ancient Mandalorian ship. What they thought they had found were riches and weapons. These pirates did not know that it was the last walls they would see around them.

He had spent some time familiarizing himself with his new home, finding ways to cope with not only the loss of the original Mandalore from the Mandalorian wars, but the loss of the people he knew.

Much has changed since then…

Clung within the bend of his elbow was his Commander’s helm. Worn from time within a drifting ship that had since lost awareness of the generations that had passed. An ancient helm that once was decorated in silvers and coppers, its luster now dulled.

R-5 stood in front of that pyre, closer than most anyone deemed comfortable to them. His gaze peering into the flames. Memories flooding his mind as he remembered history before he was forced into shutdown.

Echoes of his fallen comrades whose voices were barely audible over blasterfire and mortar shells.

R-5 knelt by the flames, holding Commander Krell’s helm within both hands, looking deep into his visor. The last person he was able to talk to.

“Farewell, Brother…”

His arms outstretched towards the flames, placing the helm within. There he watched for a long moment, reflecting over the recent events, before he slowly stood up, and placed a closed fist over his chest.

Tags: OPEN

Perseus · Monday at 5:01 PM

| OPEN |

Times of community, gathering in a path meant for those who fought side by side. It was a gift to those who lost brothers, and sister. It was a time of remembrance for some. However, wounds can still be fresh. There was a time when I had longed for such interactions. A time when I would have nearly fallen to my knees to be a part of something. Yet I could not here. It wasn't in me to join them currently. There was so much more I needed to do before I felt like this was acceptable. I was not truly part of them yet. A foundling as they called it. Someone who needed to earn the right to partake in various things. Nor would I sully their gathering with my own troubles of my people. They were not them.

Instead, I found time for myself. While others gathered, I isolated. Finding myself on the training grounds. A dagger in my hand. Practicing different strikes, and movements on a dummy. Slow and methodical. Learning placement and application. Being shown this time and time again, while a Kal, their word for a short blade, was one of the last forms of weaponry to be used, it was vital. A Kal was not just a weapon, it was a tool. One that could be used to dig into the ground just as well as it could pierce into flesh. To whittle wood into spears, just as it could form a work of art. The blade that was utility just as much as it was a life saver, and life taker. Holding it in a reverse grip, and combining grappling techniques while standing against a foe.

The premise was to control distance. Using the blade not just to stab or slash, but the back of it as a hook to hold their arms. Bind them together in a fashion to prevent movement, hold them down, or to restrict their ability to block a strike. Hands and arms wrapped around the appendages of the dummy, and slowly thinking through the process of what advantages this held. Gathering the arm under my armpit, holding it tight and sinching my hand to my chest, The close ability of such would leave the arm, shoulder and part of the chest open. When it occurred to me.

A shift of foot position, pressing my hip into the center mass of the dummy, the blade plunging into the armpit. Not just because it was a weak point in many armors, but it acted like a hold, with a twist of my body, and a tilt, I did a soft throw. Even then, the weight of the sand within the bagged dummy landed with a thud. The new position here was another spot for me to learn. Now that I had the "enemy" on the ground, where else could I go from here. Arm locks, wrist locks, or even throwing my leg over their midsection to mount their form. Controlling their hips and preventing them from trying to get up.

A soft smile on my face as I removed the Kal from the dummy. Lifting it back up and positioning it to stand so I could practice the throw again.

Prisoner #36929 · Monday at 7:01 PM

Tags: OPEN
Equipment: X

The mood around Keldabe radiated with celebration. Thousands of Mandalorians gathered near the massive pyre, a jagged mountain of wreckage salvaged from the Dirachy and the Imperial Confederation. While the thrum of besbevs and the steady beat of drums vibrated through the soil, Prisoner stood at the edge of the light. The heat from the flames was intense. To the clans, this fire marked the end of a campaign. For him, it was a funeral for a man who no longer existed.

Heavy iron links weighed down his palms, the metal cold despite the proximity to the blaze. These were the literal chains from the Citadel, the very first things he had owned upon escaping. They represented a past he had spent weeks trying to piece together, only for the trail to vanish when the records on Lianna burned. That nameless man, the one who might have had a family or a home before the Imperials took him, was truly gone now. A hollow ache settled in his chest, a quiet mourning for the ghost of a person he would never get to meet. Looking at the fire, he realized that clinging to these shackles was no longer an act of remembrance, but one of self-inflicted captivity.

"I won't be defined by what was taken," he whispered, his voice lost to the roar of the pyre. The decision brought a sudden, sharp clarity. He was no longer a shadow searching for a body. He was a foundling of the Mandalorian Empire, forged in the same heat that was currently consuming the banners of his enemies. The weight of the galaxy seemed to concentrate in his hands one last time before he stepped toward the inferno.

With a final, decisive motion, the Imperial cuffs sailed into the heart of the flames. They vanished instantly beneath the glowing orange debris. As the metal melted into the collective ruin of the old galaxy, a strange lightness took hold of him. The past was cinders. Turning away from the heat, Prisoner looked toward the gathering of clans where drink flowed and laughter rang out. He walked toward the music, no longer a captive of his own mystery, but a man ready to be known.

Garo Vevut-Varkor · Monday at 8:29 PM

OPEN

Garo was holding his helmet, sitting upright by the fire, leaning against his canine basilisk, silent but with a faint smile.

He thought of all the battles, wars, and victories of the Mandalorians, of the lives lost; perhaps because he was a shaman, he knew and could even sense where the others were, the greatest sorrow was for those left behind.

He sat there in silence until someone finally decided to approach him.

Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata · Monday at 8:31 PM

OBJECTIVE 1- The Fires- Keldabe
Armor: Owl-type Beskar'gam
Blade: Tal'Alor Beskad
Primary Weapon: Plasma Bow
Secondary Weapon: Paired Beskar Tonfa

Arriving aboard his ship, The Cabur Rekr, or The Guardian Wolf in basic, Kael walked down the plank and into the wider festival. He came with a job to do, a few actually. First, he wished to start over with this festival. The Mandalorians had a concept, cin vhetin. Basically, it meant a clean slate, or fresh virgin snow. As he stood here, after the Ver'gotten, in new armor, arriving on a new ship, he was burying the failures of his past, the trauma of being abandoned, first by his parents, then by his first founder. He had found family, He had found his pack, He had found his clan. He would be excited to see his Buir, after her dealings with both the High Republic and the Empire, but she said she would be taking part in the races being held. That meant in his mind that he was on medic duties, should they be needed. Knowing this, he carries his medic's supplies that he started carrying since he had been studying under Adelle. In his other hand, he was carrying a bag containing the destroyed armor that he had worn for the Verd'gotten. This bag was destined for the fires. He moved over to one of the quieter fires and sat down, opening up the second bag and taking out the first piece of the scarred armor, and reflecting.

Mentioned:

Adelle Bastiel
Tags: @open

Aren D'Shade · Monday at 11:17 PM

Objective: 3

Jett Vox

Sergeant Omen

Korda Veydran

Aren did not arrive in Enceri for the celebration; she arrived because the markets were open, and the distinction mattered to her even if no one else would ever think to notice it. Where others came for the noise and the color and the easy sense of victory that hung in the air like smoke, she moved through it with quieter intent, her attention drawn not to the banners or the music but to the structure beneath it all, the trade routes that had reopened, the supply lines that had shifted, the materials that were suddenly easier to acquire now that the war had settled into something steadier and less desperate.

Still, even she could not ignore the atmosphere entirely. The streets were alive in a way that felt different from ordinary commerce, lanterns casting warm light across rows of stalls where colors bled into one another, and vendors called out over the hum of conversation. The smell of roasted meat and spice drifted through the sharper scents of metalwork, fuel, and freshly unpacked goods, and somewhere nearby, laughter broke out, loud and unrestrained, followed by the heavy rhythm of music that carried farther than it should have in a place built for function rather than festivity.

Aren slowed slightly as she moved through the crowd, not because she was drawn into it but because she was accounting for it, adjusting her path without breaking stride. Her hands stayed free at her sides, her posture relaxed, but her awareness never dulled; even here, especially here, she watched, because old habits did not disappear simply because the war had.

She paused at a stall without announcing the decision, her attention settling on a neat spread of components arranged with more care than most vendors bothered with. These were not decorative pieces meant to catch the eye; they were functional parts with real use behind them: power regulators, micro-actuators, interface chips from manufacturers she recognized and a few she did not. It was the unfamiliar ones that held her attention, the small irregularities in their design that suggested someone had taken the time to modify them rather than accept the limitations of mass production.

Unknown variables.

Her fingers hovered over one of the pieces before she picked it up, turning it to catch the light and examining its internal structure through the casing. The craftsmanship was uneven but intentional, the kind of work that came from someone who understood the function well enough to break the rules on purpose. Better than most things here.

"You made this," she said, not a question, just a quiet observation, lifting her gaze to the vendor for a moment before returning to the component in her hand. The exchange that followed was simple and efficient, credits transferred and parts wrapped with no wasted words, the transaction almost secondary to the evaluation itself.

She moved on.

The market shifted around her as she walked, the density of the crowd changing, the rhythm of it pulling her deeper without effort. She still noted materials, still tracked what might be useful later, but somewhere along the way, the purpose of her being there blurred at the edges, the noise no longer something to move through but something she found herself existing within. A group gathered around a food stall laughed over something she did not hear, their voices overlapping with the ease of people who no longer needed to measure every word. Ahead, two armored figures stood shoulder to shoulder with their helmets off and drinks in hand, their posture loose in a way that would have been unthinkable days ago. Even the vendors carried themselves differently, less guarded, more willing to engage than simply transact.

Victory had changed the shape of the space.

Aren slowed again, this time without a clear reason, her gaze lifting to take in the stretch of lantern-lit streets ahead. The pull of it was subtle, not something she would have named if asked, but it was there all the same, a shift from pure observation into something closer to consideration. She could leave. She had what she came for.

Instead, she remained where she was for a moment longer, letting the sounds of the market settle around her, the warmth of it pressing in just enough to be felt. Keldabe was not far. The fires would already be burning. Her friends would be there.

Her expression settled back into something neutral, familiar, but the thought did not disappear; it stayed, quiet and steady beneath everything else. She turned slightly and continued deeper into the market, letting the path unfold without forcing it, her presence blending into the movement of the crowd as easily as it always did.

But she did not forget where she might go next.

Adonis Angelis IV · 2026-05-05T00:15:15-0400

The fires licked at the stars, plumes of smoke losing themselves into the sky, burning away the enemies of Mandalore, dust to dust, ash to ash. Next to the fire, as many of his vode were, stood Adonis. He was unceremonious in his attire, his beskar'gam still pristine, but his usual eye for detail was lacking. Truth be told, Adonis hadn't been himself since he was imprisoned. He had come face to face with everything he feared losing in his life, everything he had fought for, and he had lived, if barely. Those moments of loss, or near loss in his case, ground someone into seeing what it is they truly want. And what Adonis wanted was power. The power to stop the galaxy from ever making him feel that small again, the power to destroy those who came before.

Part of power was loss, you could never gain something without losing something else. That was trained into the warrior since childhood by his father, and his father before him. The House of Angelis was a proud people, and they didn't get that way without loss. He was also shown that loss was not always bad, sometimes loss led to growth. Just as the dry season on Vaal started fires that were only put out by the rolling storms of the spring, and in their wake they left nourishment for growth to occur. Growth led to power.

In his gauntlets rested a piece of his past, wrapped in a piece of his catalyst. He held the helmet of his father, one of the last pieces of him he had left, and it was wrapped in the remnants of the uniform he had been forced to wear while under Imperial imprisonment. Both things represented what he had to leave behind in order to grow, the same as it was on Vaal. There was a hesitation in Adonis, however, something that he didn't quite like. He hesitated because these fires were lit to celebrate a battle Adonis had largely not been involved in.

While the Mandalorian warrior had been imprisoned by the Imperials, his people had been waging a campaign against the Diarchy. The first true test of battle the Mandalorian had, and he wasn't there for it. He had been present for the beginnings, but what he wouldn't give to have been there to crush the Diarchy beneath the boots of Mandalore. It was a bitter edge in Adonis's thoughts as he weighed his actions. The celebration was just as much his as the rest of them, but he still couldn't shake the sense of absence. Of something he missed, a debt he owed.

Adonis took a slow breath as he tossed the two items into the raging fire, watching as it devoured the uniform instantly before beginning to consume the helmet's inner workings. There was a brief moment where the fire struggled against the steel shell, flames curling and grasping at something that refused to yield. He watched that too.

Then he let it go.

A breath left him, quieter this time, but heavier. Relief came with it, though not cleanly. He promised himself that the rest of the night would be spent celebrating his brothers and sisters, standing among them as one of their own. But first, he mourned the death of his innocence.

Now, he had a destiny to fulfill, and an old friend,

Athena Faar , to catch up with.

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Tekton Artez · 2026-05-05T07:02:42-0400

Tekton was enjoying himself. There were times when being a Mandalorian could become a burden. When the actions of his people became hard to defend, whether it was their impressment on others or their own internal divisions. Tekton was pleased to be at a Mandalorian event where that was not the case. This was what it truly meant to be Mandalorian to Tekton's mind. What other cultures failed to understand that if all Mandalorians wanted was bloodlust or a warriors code of honour without anything else then they wouldn't have wouldn't need moments like this, celebrations like this. If anything Tekton scoffed at those who called Mandalorians a bloodthirsty people. The whole point of this celebration was to celebrate the end of the war and the rearing of a new generation, the next generation. Not for blaster fodder on the front lines, but for family, for clan, for the Mandalorian people.

Tekton walked amongst the fires, allowing himself rare soft smiles, as Mandalorians, some boisterous with drink half welcomed him half challenged him to drinking games. Tekton merely smiled and shook his head. He understood their mood, but he had never been neither much of a heavy drinker to the point of inebriation, although he did enjoy A Quiet Drink every now and then nor was he much one for games. Tekton preferred to maintain a clear head on his shoulders as he enjoyed the spectacle of Mandalorians at rest. It wasn't that he feared attack. What fool would attack a gathering of Mandalorians such as this?

It was merely both personal preference, and a desire not to break the habits of a life time either at work or on campaign. Nor was he adverse to the socialisation offered. If anything Tekton considered it his duty to mingle, and make friends. To counter act his seemingly stand offish behaviour, Tekton offered to referee the contest of Five Hands. Tekton stayed for the full three rounds and declared the winner.

Then he shook his head regretfully and continued to peruse the scene around the fires. Tekton wondered if he should be doing more to establish contacts amongst the other Mandalorian Clans. It was a conundrum. Clan Artez had some liberal notions that not all other clans appreciated. As much tradesmen as warriors they believed in applying both sets of skills to the service of others. Not all Mandalorians believed in such sentiments.

Tekton shrugged. If they had a problem with it, it was there problem to deal with. Besides it was not as if they were likely to start anything at a holy celebration such as this one. Even if they did Tekton was not one to cower from opponents over his Clans beliefs and principles. If some belligerent drunken fool said something well… Tekton would stand his ground calmly, respond as it deserved and go from there.

Making up his mind to approach a ring of Mando's around one of the fires, tekton turned in a slow circle trying to identify an ideal fire. One where the drinking hadn't gotten to the point of slurring and half hearted challenges yet.

As he turned he bumped into someone.

"Oh my apologies" Tekton said turning to the other person.

Quinn Varanin

Sergeant Omen · 2026-05-05T08:07:53-0400

Objective I

Omen rested by the fire, his mind drifted from thought to thought as the fire crackled against the night sky. For now, he was alone. Korda had gone to get more booze or to wrestle some woman with massive biceps, Aren to browse for the market for anything she could use in her shop and Jett... Jett had slipped away to do her own teenage thing for a bit before the agreed time to come back together again. Which was good, the kid needed her own life. And like always, he let her take it at her own pace.

Months ago, he had been infront a similar fire where he had met Korda. Time had passed by quickly since then. Sometimes he still couldn't help back think he was just dreaming back in his cell. Hell, he thought the same thing as he lay awake at night after proposing to Aren and she had said yes. That this was just something of his imagination. And yet when the Clone looked at the ring on his finger and twisted it, it actually seemed like his life. Maybe he would be even be able to keep it this time.

Jett Vox

Korda Veydran

Aren D'Shade

Korda Veydran · 2026-05-05T11:36:28-0400

..............................

..........................
Korda returned from the edge of the gathering with two tankards in hand, the distant noise of laughter and drums fading behind him as he stepped back into the quieter glow of the fire. His pace was unhurried, deliberate, boots pressing into the dirt as if grounding himself with each step.

Without a word at first, he extended one of the tankards toward Omen.
"Figured you'd still be here."
His voice was low, steady. Familiar.

For a moment, he didn't sit. His gaze lingered on the fire, watching the embers rise and vanish into the night. Something in his posture shifted, subtle but present, like a man standing at the edge of a decision he had already made.

His hand moved to his belt.
The canteen came free first.
Worn. Scarred. Yaga Minor.

He turned it once in his hand, thumb brushing along its surface like he could feel the years pressed into it. Slowly, he brought it up and took a final drink. The burn lingered longer than it should have.

Then, without ceremony, he stepped forward and lowered it into the flames.
Not thrown.
Placed.
He watched it catch.

Watched the fire take it.
His hand didn't linger.
Next came the sidearm.

Older. Heavier in meaning than weight. His father's.
There was no pause this time.
Korda tossed it into the fire in a single motion, the metal clattering briefly before being swallowed by heat and light. The act was sharp, decisive. Almost… relieved.

Only then did he step back.
Silence stretched for a beat before he spoke again.
"Feels like that night," he said, eyes still on the flames. "Months ago. When I met you."
A faint breath of something close to a laugh left him.

"Same fire. Same noise. Thought I was just passing through then."
He finally sat, tankard resting loosely in his hand.
A pause followed, longer this time. Less certain.

"Funny thing…" he muttered, gaze fixed on the pyre. "After that night… I built something."
His jaw tightened slightly, but his voice stayed even.
"Trained them myself. Every one of them. Tor. Fenn. Rex. Joric."
Not names spoken into empty air. Each one came with weight.

With shape.
As he spoke, the firelight seemed to answer him.
Tor was always the first to appear in his mind's eye. Half a step ahead of everyone else, like he still couldn't stand waiting for permission to move. Arms crossed, head tilted slightly, like he was judging everything and everyone in equal measure.

Fenn lingered just behind him, quieter, always watching more than speaking. The kind of presence you noticed only when you stopped hearing him move.
Rex stood like he always had in life, solid, squared shoulders, like he was holding a line even when there wasn't one to hold anymore.
And Joric… Joric never stood still in memory. Always shifting weight, restless, like he was already planning the next thing before the current moment finished happening.

They weren't illusions. Not really.
Just the way Korda's mind refused to let fire exist without them anymore.
"…Yaga Minor was their first deployment."

The words landed heavier than anything else he'd said.
"And their last."
A beat.
The fire cracked, embers rising into the night like fragments of something trying to remember how to stay whole.

Behind Omen, the shapes felt closer now, not separate figures, but the way light bends when you expect to see someone standing somewhere they no longer can.

Korda didn't react like it was unusual.
Just like it was familiar.
Then he exhaled, a slow release of something he'd been carrying too long.

"…they're still around," he said quietly. "Not gone. Just… watching."
His eyes flicked briefly to Omen's ring.
A dry smirk tugged at his mouth.
"Aren's a lucky woman."

Beat.
"Also cursed."
A faint pause.
Then, softer:

"Depends on the day."
He took a slow drink, gaze returning to the fire as it consumed what he had given it.
And for once, he didn't look like a man haunted.
Just one who had learned to live with the shape of what he lost.

Sergeant Omen

Aren D'Shade

Jett Vox

Jonah · 2026-05-05T13:36:41-0400

How did they end up here?

After their last operation, which involved being tightly crammed into a boarding pod and jettisoned through space, Tessa had made a simple - yet wrathful - demand. When the battle was over, Jonah owed her something delicious...something greasy...and he, of course, complied. Well, imagine his surprise when, after they had broken bread in a questionable burger joint, that Tessa had a subsequent demand. She stated that the Primavera celebration was right around the corner.

And thus, Jonah was to further compensate her by taking her, of all fething things, shopping.

Now, the Warmaster wasn't hurting for capital or anything of that nature. That wasn't the part that struck Jonah as being absurd. It was the fact that, of all things, she wanted him to take her to buy trickets? Or baubles? Or whatever the feth ladies blew their credits on nowadays? For one, didn't she have anything better to do with her time? For another, didn't he have anything better to do with his time?

Nonetheless, they had agreed to a time and Jonah arrived. He was punctual, dressed from head-to-toe in his obsidian-hued beskar'gam. His T-visor moved back and forth, watching the passersby as they moved about the bazaar.

There was one thing for sure. If he was paying for this excursion, they were at least going to get some decent grub out of it. He'd be damned if his bank account earned a smuggler-sized hole with nothing to show for it.

Tag:

Tessa Thayne

Athena Faar · 2026-05-05T14:44:25-0400

Tag:

Adonis Angelis IV

The blades of grass at the edge of the plains bent in waves as great leathery wings beat the air, until taloned feet rested on earth. From the great reptile's back Athena slid, the dragon reflexively angling its forearm so the Korun warrior could glide down its scaled limb to the ground. Her helmet was left hung on the ridiing harness. This was not a battlefield, but a gathering. Jet black hair, cropped above her armored shoulders, was tossed by the breeze, revealing that one side of her head was closely shaved.

Armor usually dulled by the grime of war had been polished, the glow of the distant bonfire reflected on black and red laquered beskar. Athena turned, as Miit'alor lowered her great head. A dark hand lifted to affectionately caress the beast's strong jaw before the dragon's broad wings beat again and she lifted into the air. Emerald eyes watched the war dragon disappear into the night, to hunt or skulk, whatever it's will.

Athena strode with an unconscious swagger as she began to pass through the perimeter fires, around which the vode gathered, some in quiet conversation, others in bawdy debates and raccous laughter. The Korun woman, usually carefree and gregarious, found herself a bit more sober. She made her way near the massive pyre, around which more warriors gathered.

This was to celebrate victories, especially over the Diarcy. Athena had played little part in that war, though she did engage in the battles on Serenno. With so much newly 'liberated' territory, the Protectors were stretched thin in their task of keeping order, and she could not be spared to join in the war against the Diarchy. That suited her.

She was never fully behind attacking the Diarchy. She would never defy the Mand'alor, and would have fought if called. But she had her own reasons, a silly one, she often thought. One she felt guilty over.

Athena retrieved a scrap of fabric, black with green trim. It had been torn from the robes of a Diarchy archon. That woman and Athena had fought side by side on Yaga Minor, when the Mandalorians and the Diarchy fought together against the GraveSong. The woman,

Zara Saga , had made an instant impression on Athena in the heat of battle. The Dragon Rider allowed Saga to ride Miit'alor with her, an honor no one else but

Adonis Angelis IV had been granted. In the aftermath of the battle, the two parted ways with no words. Yet the brave and beautiful woman had stuck in Athena's memory, and affections, for some time.

Yeah, it was silly. That is why she brought the foolish keepsake, the scrap from Zara's battle-torn robes. Athena wadded the cloth up in her fist, then moved closer to the fire, until it threatened to singe her hair. She flung the remnant into the fire, watching it ignite. Then she moved back to a safer position, feeling freed of something that never should have had a place within her. With a sigh and a shrug, Athena turned her had and find someone else she had though of often.

Adonis.

The regal knight stood alone, clearly engulfed in his own personal ceremony. Athena watched him toss the helmet and the uniform into the flames. While she did not know what was behind the helmet, she did recognize the uniform. That which he wore in captivity.

She had returned to her duties in a remote corner of the Empire after his rescue. A rescue she demanded she be permitted to join. She was not refused. Yet there had been no opportunity to reconnect in the wake of his tribulation.

Once he had completed his own ritual, Athena approached him. Her greeting was not the loud taunting to which she usually subjected Adonis. It was quieter, though no less teasing.

"You look well. I will be, when I get a nit'ra gal in my hand. " She said,her gaze shifting from the fire to look up at him with a wry grin.

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Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata · 2026-05-05T15:08:05-0400

OBJECTIVE 1- The Fires- Keldabe
Armor: Owl-type Beskar'gam
Blade: Tal'Alor Beskad
Primary Weapon: Plasma Bow
Secondary Weapon: Paired Beskar Tonfa

From the bag, Kael pulled a gauntlet. He looked at the simple construction, armorweave, plastoid, and the scars of use. He remembered.
Kael remembered the handshake he had with his first Founder. How he looked him in the face and said, "Prove to me you have what it takes to be Mandalorian. Survive here till I return, then we shall see if you have earned the right to wear proper Beskar." Kael remembered the first few weeks. Weeks of starvation and learning, of fever and cold. He had learned the hard way that the only person he could rely on was himself. What a fool he was. He pulled the gauntlet's partner, noting its wear, especially where his fingers had grasped at first a physical bowstring, then the emitter unit of his plasma bow, and remembered.

Kael remembered begging for food in the small town of Concordia. It wasn't his first time begging; that was his life before being found, but he remembered the helplessness he felt when he thought he had escaped that life just to fall back in the Sarlac pit of hopelessness again. It was then that a junkshop owner, a Whiphid named Ja'aine, saw him and brought him in from the cold. She was old, but she was the one who first taught him how to hunt, how to wield a bow, and how to work on and fix ships. She had died a year or so after; all Kael knew was one autumn when he came in from the plains to work through the winter, she was gone, yet the new owner agreed he could work for housing and meals, same as before.

With his tears thankfully hidden behind his mask, he tossed the pair of gauntlets into the fire, watching them catch, melt, then become ash.

Tags: @open

Adonis Angelis IV · 2026-05-05T17:03:17-0400

The warmth of the fire faded quickly as he turned his attention back toward the group. He was quickly spotted and greeted by Athena. It was kismet it seemed, the galaxy had brought them back together again by the fire. Under his helmet, Adonis couldn't help but smile. Mandalore himself pried Adonis out of the grip of the Imperials, but

Athena Faar was the one he had been excited to see in those pits. He dared not spoil the moment with flashbacks to those memories. Instead he decided to greet her, his gauntlets going toward his helmet to take it off. He rested it at his side with one hand while the other went to greet Athena.

"Su cuy'gar, Athena!" The smile couldn't help return to his lips as he greeted her. He stood tall over her, but her presence made it feel like he was looking eye level, a powerful woman, just as Adonis had remembered. He went in for the traditional Mandalorian handshake with his free hand. "You've always worn it well." He said as he nodded toward her freshly polished armor. His eyes lingered on hers a moment longer than necessary before he pulled back, lifting a hand to catch the attention of someone moving through the crowd with drinks. They moved quickly, and Adonis took one and handed it to Athena before taking another for himself. He swallowed down the nerves trying to creep up his throat.

"To Miit'alor." Adonis said with a smirk, raising his drink slightly before taking a sip. The warmth spread quick, grounding. The dry season on Vaal had left its mark on him, long days under the blistering sun had tanned his skin, sharpening the lines of his face. Even his black hair had lightened a little, a faint burn of orange catching in the strands.

"I wanted to say thank you…" His voice dipped just slightly, not losing confidence, but losing some of its edge. He took another drink, smaller this time. "For helping get me out of there." He exhaled through his nose, steadying himself before continuing. "I was starting to think I wouldn't see you-" He caught himself, jaw tightening briefly before correcting. "Wouldn't see any of you again."

He lifted his drink again, a small, self-aware smirk returning as he glanced at her.

"Didn't plan on making it a whole thing."

Alsin Vex · 2026-05-05T17:04:21-0400

Objective IV

Perseus

Alsin just needed to walk away for a minute. She was still getting use to… well all of it. She was a foundling now… after everything that happen. It was all so new, and while the Rekali had been good to her, it was still an adjustment. She hadn’t really taken to armor yet, still in her old robe and eye wrap. It did seem peaceful at least. That was when she heard something though.

A practice dummy is what it sounded like. One being used. She slowly followed the the noise before spotting the dummy one the ground. And then it moved?! Ok. Which idiot was pranking her? The Miraluka slowly stepped forward, trying to figure out what was going on. Then she bumped into… what did she just bump into? She couldn’t see anything there.

“Hello?”

Perseus · 2026-05-05T19:17:18-0400

|

Alsin Vex | Open |

Turning around at first the bump, physical contact of being ran into? Turning around to see someone else. Eye wraps around their head. Obscuring their vision. Were these the kind of people that were... always blind? What was their species. I had heard things but never seen them before. Somehow they could see despite not having eyes. Which didn't make sense to me. It was removing a sense from a being that should have one. Standing up, I kept my distance after the bump. Just looking them over. Much smaller frame than myself.

"I am here."

The words came a little deep and harsh compared to what I wanted to sound like. What I wanted to convey. A clearing of the throat before I continued speaking.

"Uh, just practicing on a dummy. Is there something wrong with that?"

To make sure that there wasn't another accident, I sheathed the Kal. Letting it stay in its spot on my current gear at my back, connected to the belt for a more concealed carry without clothing covering it. My eyes returning to look at them. Their voice was in a slightly higher pitch, and the hairstyle didn't really tell me if they were of one gender or another. Considering I didn't know much about their species, I wouldn't assume anything and just answered.

"I'm Perseus. Foundling."

Veyla Krinn · 2026-05-05T21:38:49-0400

Objective: 1
Tagging:

Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata

Veyla didn't arrive at the fires like someone chasing the celebration.

She moved through Keldabe with the same quiet purpose she carried into a battlefield, her pace steady as the glow of the great pyre painted the horizon in shifting orange and gold. The sounds of Mandalorians celebrating victory rolled outward in waves of laughter, music, and clashing tankards, but she didn't get pulled into it immediately. Her attention drifted instead toward the quieter edges, where the fires burned lower and the reasons for being there ran deeper than drink.

She spotted Kael before she reached the circle.

Not because he stood out, but because of the way he didn't fully blend into it. There was a stillness to him, the kind that came from someone caught between holding on and letting go, and it was familiar enough that she didn't hesitate to change her course.

Veyla approached from his side rather than directly, her steps deliberate so she didn't break the space he had carved out for himself. She came to a stop just off his shoulder, close enough to join him without forcing the moment into something else, her gaze settling briefly on the worn pieces of armor in his hands before lifting to the fire.

"You're not the only one who's had to start over," she said, her voice calm and even, the tone of it grounded more in shared understanding than observation.

She let the words sit for a moment, not pressing them further, before shifting her weight slightly and lowering her hands loosely at her sides.

"Cin vhetin sounds clean when people say it," she continued, watching the flames curl around the offerings already cast into them, "but it's never actually that simple when you're the one standing here deciding what goes in and what doesn't."

Her gaze flicked toward him briefly now, not searching, just acknowledging, before returning to the fire.

"Some of it you burn," she said, her tone steady, "and some of it you keep because it's the only thing that taught you how to survive long enough to get here."

There was no judgment in it, no push for him to act one way or the other, just a quiet presence beside him that didn't try to take the moment away.

"You already made it through the part that mattered," she added after a brief pause. "This is just deciding what comes with you next."

Only then did her expression shift slightly, the faintest hint of familiarity settling in.

"Didn't expect to find you here this early," she said, a touch lighter now, though still measured. "Figured you'd take a little longer before you threw anything in."

Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata · 2026-05-05T22:40:48-0400

OBJECTIVE 1- The Fires- Keldabe
Armor: Dauntless-type Beskar'gam
Blade: Tal'Alor Beskad
Primary Weapon: Plasma Bow
Secondary Weapon: Paired Beskar Tonfa

Kael was still adjusting to the armor he now wore, and as such, he was slightly startled when his armor alerted him to Veyla's presence, startling him from his remembrance. He listened to her words, taking them in. "I didn't fully understand what the Ver'd'gotten meant till it was over. The fire of trial that clarified the person I am becoming." He pointed into the fire, where the slight remains of the Plastoid gauntlet were turning into an ashy sludge within the coals. "Each piece carries a bit of the scared and scarred kid I used to be. That kid got me here, but that kid... well, he was changed in the fires." He took out the slashed and ruined chest piece. "Each piece is a reminder of a failure, and a lesson. However, that kid eventually got most of what he wanted. A home, a place that he struggled and fought to attain, and a place he would sacrifice everything up to and including himself to protect. No, not a place. Home for me is people, my Buir, my Pack, my Clan, my Empire, and Manda'lor. That kid has found purpose, a medic, a Verd, a son, and a packmate. But that kid is held back by the ghosts of his past, so tonight I feel I should give the kid I was a proper funeral. I'm not going to forget the kid I was, and his ghost will still haunt my quiet moments, but after tonight, I vow not to allow his excuses to cover my mistakes."

Veyla Krinn

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