Faction Stand Ready for My Arrival [ ME/DIA ]

[Aether Verd]

IN THE ORBIT OF BASTION
"I will make thee a terror, and thou shalt be no more."​

The fires of Yaga Minor had not yet dimmed when the banners of the Mandalorian Empire were raised over its broken sky. The Bastion Curtain, once a lattice of steel and certainty, lay shattered in orbit, its fragments drifting like the bones of some fallen colossus. Planetside foundries burned low and silent; gun batteries that had sworn to scour invaders from the heavens were nothing more than molten ruin. Every line of resistance that had barred the Empire’s advance was cut down with deliberate precision, and yet when the Diarchy’s surviving vessels limped toward the abyss, no pursuit followed. No hunters were loosed. No vengeance fleet gave chase. The wounded ships were permitted to flee; the transports bearing the Diarchs were allowed to slither back toward Bastion, while Mandalorian forces entrenched themselves upon the conquered world and sealed its industrial heart in iron.

In the wake of victory, the Nite Owls descended upon Santhe/Sienar Station like surgeons entering a corpse. Databanks were cracked open. Archives were sifted with cold patience. What they uncovered was no ordinary intelligence cache but a labyrinth of encryption layered with obsessive care, so severe that some among them whispered it had been hidden not merely from enemies but from the Diarchy itself. They worked without rest, dismantling cipher after cipher until the truth lay bare. It was not a ploy. It was not another gambit from a beaten foe. When the final verification came through, the report traveled in silence through secure channels until it reached the one man whose judgment would shape what followed.

Vexis Station had not been chance. The clash that ignited war between Mandalore and the Diarchy had been engineered, cultivated with ruthless intention by a figure buried deep within the Imperial Confederation. A web of aliases surfaced in the Owls’ findings, each pointing to the same architect. She had stood as Warden Primus during the Confederation summit. She had attempted to seize Mandalorian personnel under the guise of diplomacy. She had guided the Diarchy to Vexis and stoked their fury when blood first spilled. Her agents had whispered counsel that ended with Mandalorians executed before the eyes of the Galaxy. In the shadows she was known only as Her. In recent cycles she answered to Ella Nova.

Her design was elegant in its cruelty. Let neighbors clash. Let pride ignite. Allow the smoke of war to choke both realms, then move the Confederation forward as savior and inheritor. It was the work of a nation that had twice failed to claim Brosi from the Sith Order and yet still postured as arbiter of imperial destiny. It was deception refined to a blade’s edge.

Mand'alor the Iron did not rage when the truth was placed before him. He recalibrated. Orders were issued with measured clarity. An expeditionary armada would accompany him to Bastion. Another fleet would hold Yaga Minor in unassailable orbit. At dawn the Mandalorian host tore from hyperspace above the Diarchy capital, an armada that eclipsed the force once deployed over Yaga Minor. The capital remained untouched. No bombardment commenced. No drop pods fell.

Instead, a signal pulsed across Diarchy channels.

Within the command chamber of the MIV Reclaimer, Aether Verd sat upon the throne that overlooked the forward viewport. The stars of Bastion burned cold beyond the transparisteel, reflected in the polished edges of his armor. His posture was composed, his gaze unwavering, as transmission arrays flared to life around him.

His voice rolled across the channel, steady and unhurried.

“Bastion. You know my face You know my voice.”

He allowed the silence to settle before he continued, not as a conqueror hungry for spectacle but as a ruler who understood consequence.

"I have come bearing the terms of your continued existence."​

Attention: Mandalorian War Council + Diarchy Leadership​

 

[Amelia von Sorenn]

​

The Stone and Sky​

In Orbit above Yaga Minor​

​

Yaga Minor had reignited the forge within her heart that had burned out at Coruscant. She thought she could finally permit those fires to extinguish themselves, to burn out in the darkness. Each moment that followed had been a new crucible, meant to forge a new life away from war; however, when Isley Verd had called upon her on Ferrix, those words rang still in her mind.​

​

"You carry yourself as one who has seen the abyss open and close again. That alone is a testament to survival. So, Supreme Commander, tell me...now that the Galaxy thinks you dead, how does it feel to breathe without a thousand eyes upon you?"​

​

She had embraced that thinking; she allowed the Galaxy to mourn her death and believe her nothing more than dust blown away by the conflicts that had claimed the Galaxy's core. There would come a time, however, when it would be appropriate to step forward from the shadows. For now, she would serve Aether Verd as she had his father, though by a title rather than a name.​

​

The Warden of Ferrix remained at Yaga Minor, awaiting the order should the Diarchy refuse to accept that they had lost. Before her were the remains of the Bastion Curtain, once proudly defending the planet, now lying silent, drifting in the void. "Ma'am." The simple word was enough to draw her from her memories, pulling her to the present as she watched the debris of battle silently drift in orbit. "The broadcast has begun." She nodded quietly before stepping back from the viewscreen, pivoting on her hind foot, though pausing for a moment.​

​

She looked over her shoulder for a brief moment, her attention upon the carnage that the Mandalorians had dealt, that now drifted silently across her viewscreen. It was then that the slightest of smiles tugged at the edge of her mouth, slowly curving her lips before she slowly turned away. She thought she had left that part of her in the past, and yet, here she was, enjoying the conflict that she was born in and molded by. ​

​

The holosuite blinked to life, its pale blue light filling the room as the woman stepped into the center. The image of Aether Verd upon his throne flickered to life before her as he began to broadcast his message to Bastion. The woman would leave the speaking to the Mandalore, for it was not her place to make proclamations.​

​

No.​

​

It was her place to burn Yaga Minor to the ground should the Diarchy seek to push the Mandalorians further.​

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[Diarch Reign]

​

Location: Bastion
Tags: Aether Verd
Gear: Amulet of the Warden's Eye, Bladefather
Color Code: #B35432

---

The fleet’s arrival had not been a surprise, the Network had identified strange encryptions that did not belong to the Diarchy located within terminals recovered from Yaga Minor. Something that hinted at a larger conspiracy, from a potential actor Reign knew well.

So when the fleet dropped out of hyperspace and the message came, it was the voice of Reign that responded.

“Mand’alor, you are clear for landing. There is much we must discuss.”

It angered Reign that he could have been played in this way, he had seen himself as above HER schemes, ever since the fateful encounter on Malachor V.

As military personnel rushed around on high alert, Reign was steady. The fleet above Bastion had been fortified ten fold since the days of the bombing by the Empire of the Lost, as the heavily fortified capitol of the Diarchy.. any assault here would result in catastrophic losses on both sides.

To himself Reign said

“Enough have died for the pride of two men. Let us find a way to make peace”

 

[Renn Vizsla]

Aether Verd | Amelia von Sorenn | Diarch Reign​

Renn stood at the helm of the Iron Hound orbiting the planet of Borosk, one of the holdings acquired from the assault on Yaga Minor.

He had pulled his ships back after the taking of the planet to allow for much-needed rest and repreive along with the ability to drydock and fix the damage that his fleet had sustained in the orbit of the planet. Work crews spanned across the fleet, plasma torches working overtime, each engineer working his hands to the bone to complete the task at hand.

Through the visor, Renn looked out from the bridge onto the fleet, an officer to his side reading out reports on casualties and losses throughout his forces, his hands held at his back loosely as he listened to the words, his helm giving him an air of stoicism compared to the feeling he was holding within.

A voice rose from the far corner of the bridge, a comms officer, "Warden, we are receiving the transmission from the MIV Reclaimer, sending transmission to the Holosuite now."

Renn gave a nod towards the officer as he turned towards the man beside him, "Send the report to my Datapadd, spare no detail. Keep me posted on the repairs to the fleet and if any issues arise."

The officer gave him a nod as Renn turned, making his way towards the holosuite, the cape dragging behind his feet as he walked, Beskar singing against Durasteel with each stride.

Standing before the door, it opened with a small chime as he entered, locking the door behind him as he sat down, removing the helm from the rest of the armor as he set it beside him, his hands moving in front of him, his fingertips pressed together as the transmission flickered to life.

His mind slipped back to the battle, not towards the defiant stand that his fleet had made to succeed in the assault, to those who had lost their lives, their futures for... what?

For Nothing​

Anger rose through his spine as his body began to heat; his feelings open to the emptiness of the chambers he sat in, without the helm, the Warden couldn't hide what was buried beneath.

His brow furrowed before Aether's words cut through his thoughts,

"I have come bearing the terms of your continued existence."

His work had come and gone; it was now time for the Mandalore to finish this forsaken cause, not with Beskar and blood, but with words.

This is the New Empire.

This is The Way.​

 

[Mia Monroe]

The moment the armada had appeared over Bastion, every ship that hung in its guardian fleet had been marked, information pooled across Mia’s HUD, reports filing in from every ship as they settled into a state of readiness. The aim was to negotiate, to utilise the new information to bring an end to a conflict before it could stretch into something that would cost both sides.

The Empire could weather it, Mandalorians were raised for war, but that didn’t mean they should. She stood a ways off from the throne, sensor sweeps from the fleet building a picture of Bastion’s defences and infrastructure, markers were moved with soft words, targets identified.

While Aether prepared for peace, Mia braced for the possibility that it wasn’t an option, and she did so with the cold calculations of a woman that had no qualms about collateral damage.

Her head tilted as @Diarch Reign’s voice answered Aether’s granting permission for him to land. She turned, moving towards the Mand’alor, black and gold armour glinting in the artificial light.

“The shuttle is already prepared. If they so much as sneeze in the wrong direction, we’ll know about it.”

 

[Vytal Noctura]

​

A pale woman with black facial tattoos strode about a holotable. Emerald eyes burned brightly in the dimmed light of the chamber. A different vantage point to the display yielded no hidden truths, but the movement kept the blood coursing as she mulled over the future.

The Mandalorians had struck a blow against the Diarchy. They'd secured Yaga Minor. A great victory to be sure, but the Witch couldn't help but notice the layout of the field. The likely reach of a counter-offensive put Dathomir near a possible front line. Not that the Diarchy had cause to assault her world on the way to Mandalore, but for-cause was not always necessary for an act to be taken. Merely being along-the-way, in-the-way, or otherwise conveniently available sufficed at times.

It would be to her Sisters' and Brothers' benefit if what the Mand'alor sought to do this day succeeded. Or, if it failed, that the potential threat the Diarchy posed be crushed in one swift blow. That would forestall any attempt at reprisal deeper into Mandalorian territory.

At last, Vytal waved a hand off to the side to conjure a gateway cut into reality itself. A passage to cross over into the Nether where space and time held no meaning. From there it would be just as easy to set foot on to the MIV Reclaimer. A task made easy by knowing the man that commanded it; otherwise pinpointing a destination would take more than a few moments.

She appeared outside of the command deck. In what might have been a conference room of some kind. The fact the portal can cut a desk in two registered fleetingly in her thoughts before Vytal turned to leave the room. Perhaps she should endeavor to scribe glyphs in key locations to aid in traversing large distances. It would remove more of the chance from her ultimate point of arrival. It was a thought she'd consider another time; the pale Witch did not strive to abuse the Nether as a road of convenience. Such casual regard for that realm only invited dimensional intrusion.

Vytal drifted into position as Aether announced his arrival in order of Bastion.

"If need be, I can have my kin drill reminders of lessons not learned into them through endless repetition," the Warden of Dathomir and Warmaster added.

Aether Verd | Mia Monroe
Renn Vizsla | Diarch Reign | Amelia von Sorenn | OPEN​

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

MIV Reclaimer

Hyperspace gave way to the star-speckled void and Bastion, throneworld of the Diarchy, appeared before them. Adelle stood at parade rest off to one side, out of the way and out of sight. Fresh bacta patches had been applied to her leg and side, the graze on her arm healed enough to not need further attention or precious supplies. Much like the meeting with the High Republic delegation on Nessantico, Adelle still wondered why she was there.

She had, of course, asked Aether about her presence and the fitness of it, earlier in the day before he’d gone out among the verd.

“If you’re fit enough to give advice during a meeting with the High Republic, you’re fit enough to give advice during this meeting,” he had said. She almost missed his next sentence, muttered under his breath: “Especially if they say something dumb.”

Adelle swore she had heard the ghost of a grin in his voice.

The Mand’alor opened communications with Bastion, his voice edged with steel.

"Bastion. You know my face. You know my voice. I have come bearing the terms of your continued existence."

It was no threat. While the Mand’alor had travelled with an armada larger than their invasion force, the Warden of Ferrix’s fleet hovered above Yaga Minor. Standby orders had been given to the Mandalorians on the planet. Aether Verd would destroy at least one planet and millions of people if the Diarchy gave him a reason.

Adelle ground her teeth and begged the Diarchy to answer with words instead of blasterfire.

“Mand’alor, you are clear for landing. There is much we must discuss.”

Relief flooded her veins when someone in the Diarchy answered with clearance for landing and an agreement to talk. Another Mandalorian advisor stepped forward, lights gleaming off black and gold armor.

“The shuttle is already prepared. If they so much as sneeze in the wrong direction, we’ll know about it.”

Mia Monroe. Someone she knew only by reputation and word of mouth. A former Mand’alor. Vytal Noctura, Warmaster of the Iron Wolves, entered the command deck shortly after with a threat for the Diarchy leadership. The witch hadn't come with them on the invasion so Adelle could only assume it was some Nightsister spell.

Once again leaving Adelle to wonder why she was there.

Tags: Aether Verd | Diarch Reign | Amelia von Sorenn | Renn Vizsla | Mia Monroe | Vytal Noctura

 

[Siv Kryze]

.​

MIV RECLAIMER​

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The medwrap tightened as the final seal locked into place with a quiet hiss.

Siv Kryze exhaled slowly through his nose, jaw set as the bacta-treated bindings settled against the wound beneath his armor. The stab had been clean — precise, professional. The kind of strike meant to end a fight quickly if it had landed a few centimeters deeper. The Shroud Knight had known exactly where to aim.

Annoying.

He rolled his shoulder once, testing the resistance. Pain followed immediately, sharp but distant, dulled by stimulants and stubborn refusal to acknowledge weakness. Good. That meant he could still move.

Outside the viewport, Yaga Minor drifted in silence, its orbit cluttered with broken warships and fragments of the Bastion Curtain. The battlefield had gone quiet, but Siv had fought long enough to know quiet rarely meant peace.

A datapad rested in his hand, the decrypted report glowing faintly across its surface.

He read the name again.

Ella Nova.

A humorless breath escaped him. "Of course it was you."

The irritation sat deeper than anger — heavy, personal. They had spoken before. Not across a battlefield, but through careful words and measured diplomacy, her composure wrapped in civility while she quietly lit the fuse beneath two empires. Every phrase now replayed in his mind, each one placed with surgical intent.

They hadn't just been manipulated.

They had been studied.

His grip tightened around the datapad as images followed unbidden — Mandalorians dead, fleets burning, worlds scarred because someone decided war would make a useful experiment.

"Could've just started a war yourself," he muttered. "Would've been more honest."

Across the system, the Mand'alor spoke to Bastion, offering terms instead of orbital fire. Siv understood the decision. He even agreed with it.

Didn't mean he liked why they were here.

He pushed himself upright from the medical bench, ignoring the protesting whirr of the med-droid. "I said I'm fine."

Armor came next, piece by piece, slower than usual. Each movement reminded him how close the Shroud Knight's blade had come — and how well her agents had been trained.

A soft chime broke the stillness.

Priority Advisory Notice — Surface Delegation Preparing for Descent. Senior staff report to assigned landing craft.

Almost immediately, a second tone followed — landing preparations underway.

Siv exhaled once, steadying himself as the reality of the next phase settled in. He wasn't going planetside to fight this time, but to watch, to listen — an advisor in case something went wrong. Given what he knew about Ella Nova and the war she had engineered, someone needed to recognize manipulation before it took root again.

Helmet sealing with a hiss, he cast one last look at the drifting wreckage beyond the viewport before turning toward the landing bay, ready to stand beside the Mand'alor should negotiations require more than diplomacy.

Tags: Aether Verd | Diarch Reign | Amelia von Sorenn | Renn Vizsla | Mia Monroe | Vytal Noctura | Adelle Bastiel

 

[Ze'bast Verd]

Orbit of Bastion​

MIV Reclaimer
Ze’bast stood on the right side of Aether’s throne. The t-shape visored helmet silhouetted his face. He wasn’t in the forefront as of recent events, but he knew he needed to stand with his liege now more than ever. Disgust did rest within him as he wasn’t able to support the battle of Yaga Minor in person. There were other things that needed to be done on their homeworld of Mandalore. Decisions he made prior to the invasion came with consequences against his conscience. It came with regrets. His deeper feelings were to be put aside. Here and now he was present.

The Supercommando stood tall with hands gripped around his utility belt. Ze’bast’s eyes dashed across the room as he gathered his thoughts. The last thing he wanted to be was distracted. All of his attention was dedicated to making sure those around him were safe. It didn't matter if they could protect themselves or not. Regardless of previous interactions with the Diarchy, he wasn’t one to let his guard down around any situation.

He wondered how their father would consider the actions of Mandalorians thus far compared to previous iterations of their “empire.”. At the same time, it also scared him and he quickly put away the curiosity. Probably for the best that he didn’t want to know.

Thoughts definitely crossed his mind that he wasn’t doing enough. Never was he himself one to spread accolades of his own glory. Ze’bast was more pressed with seeing a job done to the end. All in all, he hoped that things wouldn’t go sideways. He had no itchy trigger finger this go round. He just hoped that the two parties would come to an agreement. Turning on that itch was as easy as breathing. Something he learned from a young age.

TAGS: Aether Verd / Diarch Reign / Amelia von Sorenn / Renn Vizsla / Mia Monroe / Vytal Noctura / Adelle Bastiel / Siv Kryze

 

[Aether Verd]

Wearing:
Beskar'gam - Darksaber​

IMPERIAL CENTER, BASTION

The Diarchy’s response settled across the bridge like a measured breath finally released. Clearance for landing. Nothing more. No threat veiled in courtesy. No theatrical posturing. Twice before, Aether Verd and Reign had crossed blades with the kind of proximity that erased illusion. Twice they had tested one another in open violence. Perhaps Yaga Minor would mark the final time steel answered steel between them.

Aether did not acknowledge the transmission aloud.

Seated upon the command throne of the MIV Reclaimer, he allowed the silence to endure, his visor reflecting the glow of tactical projections suspended before him. One display confirmed what he had already anticipated, that the intelligence packet detailing the Confederation’s treachery had been received and decrypted by Bastion’s network. They had seen it. That alone explained why their cannons had remained disciplined.

Another feed tracked Yaga Minor, where the Warden of Ferrix maintained her fleet in patient orbit. A separate stream monitored Borosk, where the Warden of Roon oversaw repairs with the efficiency of a commander who understood that restoration was as vital as conquest. The blade was already raised above the Diarchy’s reclaimed worlds. It merely awaited the order to fall.

Aether opened a secure transmission, routed beyond the hearing of the Diarchy.

“To the Warden of Ferrix," he said, voice calm and unembellished, “you have stood ready without falter. You have my gratitude. Maintain your position.” He did not shift from his throne as he continued. “If you do not hear from me within the hour, set fire to the Diarchy worlds we have taken. Leave nothing that can be turned against our people. I do not expect treachery, but expectation has never saved a nation.”

A second channel opened. “To the Warden of Roon, continue your repairs and keep your fleet poised. If an hour passes without my voice, you will act. Burn what we hold and deny them the comfort of recovery.” The transmissions closed without flourish.

Only then did Aether rise from the throne. His gaze moved first to Vytal Noctura, who had manifested within his command deck through means that defied conventional distance. A single, deliberate motion of his hand indicated her.

“For today...” he said, tone even and resolute, “have your kin prepared to pull us from Bastion as you arrived. If anything feels wrong, we leave before the mistake completes itself.”

His attention shifted briefly toward Mia Monroe. He offered a measured nod in acknowledgment of her readiness, nothing more, before stepping toward the bridge exit.

As he passed Adelle Bastiel, his hand came to rest upon her shoulder for a moment, firm and affirming, a silent recognition of her place within the delegation. No words accompanied the gesture. None were necessary.

He led his chosen retinue through the corridors of the Reclaimer and into the waiting shuttle. The descent toward Bastion’s capital was controlled and uneventful, the vessel touching down upon one of the citadel’s expansive landing platforms with restrained authority.

The Supercommandos disembarked first, establishing their perimeter with disciplined precision. Aether followed, boots striking the stone of Bastion without hesitation. His visor swept across the assembled Diarchy personnel who had come to receive him, assessing posture, spacing, and restraint.

When he spoke, his thundered upon Diarchy soil.

“Where are your Kings?”​

Diarch Reign , Diarch Rellik , Renn Vizsla , Amelia von Sorenn , Vytal Noctura , Ze'bast Verd , Siv Kryze , Mia Monroe , Adelle Bastiel

 

[Srina Talon]

Tag: Diarch Reign | Diarch Rellik | Renn Vizsla | Amelia von Sorenn | Vytal Noctura | Ze'bast Verd | Siv Kryze | Mia Monroe | Adelle Bastiel | Aether Verd
Location: MIV Reclaimer to Imperial Center, Bastion
____________________________________________________

To the Warden of Ferrix…

Amelia von Sorenn had been an elusive figure for so long, but her aid on Brosi had proven that some ties seemed to outlast even the most desperate of ideological schisms. The wintry woman was everything the Galactic Alliance had come to hate, and yet, when it finally burned away, it seemed to have missed warping the mind of one of the finest naval commanders she had ever known. It was…A relief—Of sorts. To know that not all had changed.

That some things remained exactly as they should.

Her attire was bleak.

She was dressed in armor that was primarily black with onyx armored epaulets that held an equally dark fabric in place over her shoulders. It was a mixture of silken cloth and armor that had Sith Runes of alchemy pressed between the material to keep her Force Signature clouded. It wouldn’t do much to hide who she was if someone beheld her face, knew her history, but…There was always the chance she could be confused with a random civilian of Eshan. At least, for a time.

Her homeworld was now part of the Mandalorian Empire…Soon enough, they would be filled to the brim with beautiful, albino, feminine freaks of nature, and she could slip among them with ease.

Genetics were a funny thing, that way. With her own…Entirely unoriginal.

When she appeared on the MIV Reclaimer it was not next to Aether Verd as one might suspect. He would feel her entry to their vicinity as one might note a chill running down their spine…But her runes were doing their work. He would feel her pride in the success of their venture. Her sorrow that she could not attend because she had been required on Brosi to save her people…But support could be expressed to her nephew in many ways. Presence, was one.

Srina pulled from the shadows as if she were part of them. One step then the other—Peeling herself from the darkness beside Adelle Bastiel as if it had become a second skin. It would happen in the blink of an eye, there and gone, while she traversed the glom with the speed and skill that was required of her station. Folding space was a technique that had long eluded her…For good reason. It was like trying to catch a bumble-bee, not kill it, while throwing it through a random wormhole, but aiming it to hit a canine in the rump on a specific planet, at a specific place in time.

It was easy to get lost.

Once again leaving Adelle to wonder why she was there.

“Stop it.”

The Sith Empress did not explain, why, she was suddenly scolding the Corellian. That would have been too easy, too simple, but even if her prison of beskar Srina could recognize when someone had a wavering of spirit. It wasn’t her Echani heritage—but that of Sith. It would have made her a poor practitioner of the arts not to notice when a soul was feeling weary and out of place. It made things easier to guide them toward her point of view, but that was neither here nor there. “You tempt me to test your mental fortitude so that I might correct whatever…This…”, she gestured toward the Mandalorian woman in a general sense, “Is…But I have been told that it is rude.”

Even if it was prudent.

Instead…She reached for her side and removed a small bag from her hip, this time, containing chocolate dashed with Crait red salt and licorice bites. No fire required. Srina offered it to Adelle Bastiel just as she had offered the sweet mellows before, assuming that this is now how their interactions should proceed. It would mean that she had been noticed, even while she constantly questioned her place and existence. That…She mattered. “I apologize for my absence…The filthy cousins to the Faithless decided to test my boundaries while my focus was on the Core. But…They have been repelled.”

Her expression never changed. Emotionless, full of ice, and unchanging. It might even give the impression that she was angered by something, but it was only the intensity of her gaze. Srina did not have the same social graces that many seemed to cling to. She was blunt, often demanding. The galaxy tended to tilt on her axis, rather than spinning on its own…It made her sure. Determined.

But she was still made of flesh and blood.

“…Do you think my nephew will hold it against me?”

There wasn't too much time for an answer because they were already being guided to a shuttle.

"Be seated with me, Mandalorian Bastiel, and tell me of your war."

Not a question, or an offer, but something that could be mistaken for hubris....Which was actually far from the mark. It simply didn't occur to her that the Mandalorian might want to sit anywhere else.

 

[Renn Vizsla]

Aether Verd | Amelia von Sorenn | Vytal Noctura | Ze'bast Verd | Siv Kryze | Mia Monroe | Adelle Bastiel | Srina Talon | Diarch Reign | Diarch Rellik​

Renn continued to watch the transmission, as Aether and his entourage of Mandalorians made their way deeper into Bastion. Renn squeezed his hand, pain shooting up his arm from a cut inflicted on his hand not so long ago.

“To the Warden of Roon, continue your repairs and keep your fleet poised. If an hour passes without my voice, you will act. Burn what we hold and deny them the comfort of recovery.”

Looking towards the transmission he gave a small nod, This is The Way." As soon as the words escaped his lips, the transmission cut, the room filled once more with darkness as the quiet settled in around the Warden.

His mind drifted towards the worst of what could happen, the death of the Mand'alor and his entourage, their capture, a million different possibilities of what could happen so deep into Diarchy space without the Warhost at their back.

A soft chime rose him from his forsaken thoughts, his eyes flashing to the datapadd as his fingers wrapped around the device, lifting it to his face as he began to skim the contents, the detailed report on losses from his fleet during the assault on Yaga Minor.

Many Clans were represented in the list, most of the names outside of their Clan held no meaning to him, but even there, a few names caught his eye: Braxen Saxon, Jyr Kryze, Ilia Wren. All Mandalorians he had met before, all gone and with the Manda now.

It was moments like this where he could not escape the thought of faith, how carelessly lives were thrown away in the conflicts that plagued Mandalorians, whether they wished it or not.

A leader is meant to push forth those beneath them to obtain their objective. A great leader does so with the thought of those beneath him in mind.

Through it all, Renn could only think about those who lost, even with victory; his brothers and sisters did nothing to eclipse the dread he felt at those who had lost their lives in conflict.

But to despair over their deaths would only be a disgrace to their memories; every one of them lived their lives by the Resol'nare, and each of them died fighting for what they believed in.

His finger moved, pressing the activator on the Communicator, "I have just received the reports for the losses from our fleet, send word to Roon, send a list to all the planets whose sons and daughters are no longer with us. Pay for their ceremonies, spare no expense, pull it out of my coffers if need be, I will not bring any shame to the fallen."

A crackle as an officer responded from the other side,

"This is The Way."​

 

[Amelia von Sorenn]

​

The Stone and Sky​

In Orbit above Yaga Minor​

​

The order was simple - "If you do not hear from me within the hour, set fire to the Diarchy worlds we have taken." - The t-shaped visor of the beskar faceplate showed no emotions. Her voice remained calm and eerily soothing. It did not raise, nor crack, nor show signs of stress or fatigue as the woman remained, her hands clasped firmly behind her back.​

​

Then, she spoke four words, just four. And in all the long, stoic life, there were four words she thought she'd never utter or issue forth as her attention remained upon the holographic image of the Mandalore.​

​

"This is The Way."​

​

A simple head nod was all that was required for a command to those few officers among her crew privy to the meeting. Off-screen, they quietly and diligently went to work. Hundreds of Heavy Tractor Beam Projectors began to lock on to the remnants of the Bastion Curtain - stations that remained fully operational and those that were damaged or destroyed. The crew began targeting: first, military; then, infrastructure; then, civilian.​

​

What was the purpose of leveling a city with turbolaser fire when the Diarchy had already given the Mandalorians the perfect tools to enact the destruction of Yaga Minor?​

​

The count-down had begun... 59:59​

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Aether Verd | Vytal Noctura | Renn Vizsla | Srina Talon | Adelle Bastiel | Mia Monroe | Ze'bast Verd | Siv Kryze | Diarch Reign | Diarch Rellik​

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[Vytal Noctura]

​

His Warmaster of the Forbidden and Taboo gave a subtle nod. Not because she did not respect the man, but because what he asked was no small measure. Vytal was all too aware others utilized the Nether for passage. She liked to think Pom and herself had pioneered it -- albeit the Nightmother of the Mandragora at the time had always cautioned in its usage. It being in vogue, however, did nothing to dispel the risk. People could go mad from spending a single second bathed in the light of the undying realm. Even the very Witches Vytal had taught on Ryloth had been warned countless times the Spiritual realm was not to be trifled with lightly.

As a... tactical option, however, it was valid. Every strategy had its risks, and this was no different. Better to risk madness than certainty of death.

Though, from where Vytal stood, it was easier to cure the latter. Not that she would admit that to but a select few.

Were the Diarchy not so accustomed to the mystic arts themselves, the pale Witch would have had spirits surveil their land for treachery. As things were, she deferred to avoid souring their impression before Aether had even arrived.

Vytal followed Aether from the command deck. Her head only snapped to the side with her emerald eyes aglow as Srina made herself present. The woman hadn't used the Nether to cross over, but that did nothing to improve the Witch's countenance. Aether trusted her and so it was what it was, but a Sith Empress was even less inclined to care for the needs of those 'beneath' them. If Dathomir were not part of the Mandalorian Empire, and Srina not accustomed to its ruler, the Nightsister had no delusion given the opportunity what might transpire. What stark choice would be demanded.

Now was hardly the time to approach the woman. Instead, Vytal turned her attention forward and followed the Mand'alor to the shuttle.

Her gaze swept over those charged with accompanying and protecting the Mand'alor should events unfold poorly. Magick spread from the tips of her hands pressed against the seat to creep through the shuttle and infuse its occupants with a manner of protective ward against mental attack. Mandalorians were great warriors of iron, often with strong minds; but their armor was weakest where it was not made of beskar.

Once the shuttle had landed, the black and white Witch took position behind and to the left of the Mand'alor with her eyes piercing those before them. It wouldn't take much for an ethereal hand to bring a rebelious soul literally to their knees. Worse, if they thought to do more than cry out or step forward. It was not wise to test how far a Witch of Dathomir would go, or the extent of their power.

Aether Verd | Diarch Reign | Diarch Rellik | Renn Vizsla | Amelia von Sorenn | Ze'bast Verd | Siv Kryze | Mia Monroe | Adelle Bastiel | Srina Talon​

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Aether Verd //: Diarch Reign //: Diarch Rellik //: Renn Vizsla //: Amelia von Sorenn //: Ze'bast Verd //:
//: Siv Kryze //: Mia Monroe //: Adelle Bastiel //: Srina Talon //: Vytal Noctura //:
//: Bastion //:
//: Attire //:

While the bridge breathed the absolution of the Mandalorian king, Quinn remained quiet in her corner. A queen, given a crown to prevent any issue of a mortal enemy claiming the Echani world. Part of her felt like a traitor, siding with the people that had once terrorized her and her planet and going against her own flesh and blood.

But Aether's mandalorians were supposed to be different. With each and every stride they took, they proved that.

It irritated Quinn, but the man often did in his own way.

She remained quiet, letting the others speak amongst themselves, even her own mother had found a place among them. It was easy, though, despite her denial of charisma — she had a way with people. Quinn had learned and, in her own right, was gathering allies. For now, she had to sit on the side and take each lesson given to her.

The information that was shared among the council and wardens illuminated her datapad screen. She read it in detail, impressed with the information gathered. It seemed the Imperials were more of a nuisance than she had given them credit for. She wondered if her small venture into their space so long ago could have prevented this… but even then, they were unwilling to give her a chance.

Quinn shifted in her seat, her eyes still glued to the screen. The sharp lights of the bridge caught the edge of the golden circlet adorning the crown of her blonde head. She was here as the Queen and Warden of Eshan. Not a Dark Councilor, nor Srina's daughter.

Just thinking about the different hats she wore at any given time and how they constantly changed. At times, they countered each other, but Quinn forced them to work together. Luckily for her, it worked out. Closing her eyes, she can hear the clawing timbre of Sibylla's voice asking her the burning questions that others must have thought but didn't dare ask.

"So who are you choosing to be right now?"

Her knuckles turned white as she clung to the datapad in her lap; she hated the self-conscious look it gave her. It was easier to keep layering on, protecting the softness of her core. Her heart, her soul, all of it needed to be tucked away and hidden, much like her force presence.

Her eyes opened and looked away from the data pad; her attention flickered momentarily towards her mother. The woman was entertaining the company of one of the Mandalorians, one who was fairly familiar with her.

A soft smile curled at the corner of her lips as she exhaled a small laugh to herself. Today, she was given two gifts: the Diarchy fat kings in the hot seat and Senth.

They arrived on Bastion, a home that Quinn hadn't seen in years. Her academy was here, her life had started here, and her lost memories of Vesta were here. Quinn did her best to keep her mind about her, ignoring the clawing desire to let her mind wander to her youth… a youth that was stained with war like so many like herself.

Hands folded behind her back as she followed the much taller Mandalorian war council. She remained at her place, following near the familiar quiet steps of her mother.

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Iandre stood a step behind and to the right of Reign on the command level, exactly where she belonged in moments like this. Present. Attentive. Supportive without intruding.

Beyond the transparisteel, the Mandalorian armada filled the void in disciplined, predatory formation. Capital ships held position with mathematical precision, patrol craft weaving through them like silent sentinels. It was not a display meant to impress. It was a declaration of certainty.

They had come because they believed they were justified.

She felt it through the Force before any sensor officer finished their report. Not rage. Not reckless aggression. It was something colder and far more dangerous. A collective resolve shaped by loss and hardened into purpose.

When Reign responded and granted clearance for landing, she did not speak. She watched him. Listened. Trusted his judgment.

Only after the channel closed and the command deck settled into controlled motion did she allow herself to speak.

Her voice was quiet, meant for him and those nearest, not the entire room.

"Mand'alor does not feel like he is here to provoke," she said calmly. "If he wanted spectacle, Bastion would already be under fire."

She kept her eyes on the distant flagship.

"There is anger in that fleet," she continued. "Grief. Resentment. But there is also restraint. He believes he is acting from principle."

She turned slightly toward Reign, her expression thoughtful rather than prescriptive.

"That does not mean he is right," she added. "Only that he thinks he is."

A brief pause.

"If the intelligence about Vexis is accurate, then someone wanted this war," she said quietly. "They wanted both sides exhausted and isolated."

She did not accuse. She did not dramatize it. She simply laid it out.

"I trust your instincts on how to handle this," she said to him, her tone sincere. "But from what I can sense, he came expecting to be heard. Not ignored. Not dismissed."

Her hands folded loosely in front of her.

"If there is room for verification and transparency, it may prevent this from becoming something neither side can walk back from," she offered. "And if there is not, we will know quickly."

She met his eyes then, steady and loyal.

"Whatever you decide," she finished, "I am with you."

Her hand rested naturally near her belt, not in challenge, but in quiet readiness. She remained where she was, letting Reign lead, as she always had.

Aether Verd Amelia von Sorenn Diarch Reign Renn Vizsla Mia Monroe Vytal Noctura Adelle Bastiel Siv Kryze Ze'bast Verd Srina Talon Quinn Varanin