Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Populate The Black Summer || HERE'S THE THING [ ME Populate of Empty Hexes ]


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HERE'S THE THING
"In the shadow of war, we forge more than weapons."

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EASTERN MOUNTAINS, ROON

When the Khar Zuun was declared by Mand'alor the Iron, the reaction across the Empire was swift and electric. It was a summons not only to battle, but to meaning. A season of proving had begun, one that offered every warrior the chance to test themselves against the stars, to sharpen their edge, to carve glory into the iron of their name. The Clans answered eagerly. They always had.

But what followed was not just war. What followed was vision.

The raids began as expected, tactical and thunderous, but something else stirred in their wake. Something older. From the camps of the Great Heathen Army to the far ships of the Mandalorian Protectors, a question began to rise. If they were to fight for Mandalore, should they not also fight for Manda’yaim in its truest form? Not merely the territory they held now, but the legacy they had inherited. It was not enough to conquer for survival. They would reclaim what was theirs by blood, by fire, and by time itself.

So their eyes turned to Roon.

A world half the galaxy away. A place forgotten by most Mandalorians, save for those who had walked beneath the banner of the Enclave. But the Clans remembered. They remembered the ancient Taung. They remembered the first thunder of war drums on foreign soil. They remembered that without Roon, there would be no Mandalore. Without Roon, there would be no them.

And so, they came.

The foothold that rose in the Abrion Major Sector was unexpected by the wider galaxy, but inevitable to those who understood Mandalorian will. What began as a raid became a reclamation. Soon, settlements became strongholds, and strongholds became a fortress. The old bones of a citadel, long buried in the mountain ranges of Roon, were unearthed and reforged into a new bastion for the Empire. Strategic value was only part of its worth. Its greatest power was what it represented: memory made manifest.

Now, with the region secured and the banners of the Clans flying high, the Mandalorians gather at the restored fortress. Firelight dances across armor etched with clan sigils. Merchants and smiths barter under makeshift awnings. Children chase each other between tents while warbeasts howl at the mountain wind. The air is thick with the scent of roasted meat, forged metal, and the thrill of what lies ahead.

They have come not only to revel in what they have taken, but to ready themselves for what must be taken next.

THREADS REFERENCED:
KHAR ZUUN
THUNDERBRINGER

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THE WAR FORGE
Location: Lower Keeps, Mandalorian Fortress

Beneath the fortress, where stone gives way to flame, lies the War Forge: a crucible of smoke, steel, and purpose. A wall of heat greets all who descend, followed by the rhythmic chorus of hammers striking beskar.

The Naur’alors, masters of fire and forge, have assembled here in full force. Beskar is shaped with care, repaired with precision, and passed into the hands of those who will bear it into battle. Engineers and technicians work alongside them, ensuring that helmet comms, jetpack nozzles, and HUDs are calibrated for the missions ahead. It is more than industry.

It is tradition. And in the glow of the forges, warriors become smiths, students become craftsmen, and the Empire readies itself for the next war with hands of fire and hearts of iron.​

Clanlife: Instruction & Tradition | Beskar-smithing, armor repair, weapon tuning, engineering mentorship, and training in the old ways!

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THE BAZAAR
Location: Courtyard, Mandalorian Fortress

At the heart of the ancient fortress, a vibrant sea of color and motion unfolds beneath high stone arches and open sky. The Bazaar is a living pulse of Mandalorian culture.

Tents and stalls are marked with clan sigils, each one offering something unique: rare spices from Concord Dawn, weapon mods from Kalevala, handwoven cloaks from Ordo, and more! Among them, established giants like MandalMotors and MandalTech share space with family-run forges and traveling hunters trading trophies for tools.

It is here that the Empire feasts, trades, and reconnects, where songs are sung, kin are reunited, and the spoils of victory are passed from hand to hand. Revelry is not distraction. It is celebration, unity, and the promise that the clans stand together.​

Clanlife: Community & Industry | Trade, clan bonding, food and drink, bartering, storytelling, and more!

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HOT SPRINGS
Location: Hot Springs, Mandalorian Fortress Exterior

Hidden beyond a long tunnel carved into the rock, The Hot Springs of Roon lie nestled at the far edge of the fortress, overlooking a breathtaking expanse of jagged peaks and mist-veiled valleys. The air is cooler here, touched by the mountain wind, and the only sound is the gentle rush of steam rising from the warm waters.

Mandalorians come not in armor, but in silence or soft conversation, their weapons set aside for a rare moment of peace. This is where warriors restore what war has worn down—sore limbs, strained muscles, and the quiet toll of constant readiness.

To soak here is not to forget the fight, but to prepare for the next one with a clear mind and a stronger body.​

Clanlife: Restoration & Kinship | Quiet conversations, character reflection, relaxing springs, mountain views, and more!


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Objective 3
The Hot Springs of Roon
Mandalorian Fortress Exterior
Open

It was the first time Sibylla had ever set foot on Roon.

The Ambassador was quietly reflecting on top of an open balcony overlooking the valley and the series of hot springs scattered about the Mandalorian Fortress. While she wasn't taking advantage of the hot springs herself, she was here to conduct quiet conversation and discuss the expansion of the Mandalorian Empire to the Abrion Sector.

The move, from her understanding, was a cultural one, rooted in the Taung. During her time working with the Mandalorians, she made an effort to research and study their history, both oral and written, distinguishing the differences between the clans, their use of the Mandalorian language, and what fueled their desire for expansion and purpose.

So here she stood, quietly awaiting her Mandalorian counterpart to discuss the move and what that meant for the High Republic, as she was sure that the High Chancellor and the assembly would want to be informed on the particulars, along with answering any concerns.

For now, though, the young woman stood, observing and musing next steps along with what was to come.

 
Objective 2: THE BAZAAR
Tags: OPEN


Having been in the Enclave, Ranna was somewhat familiar with Roon, even visited the tidally locked planet a few times. The way the surface was day or night, dependent on your location, had naturally lent the planet to war games and training. Plus she just liked it as one of the more peaceful planets. What she hadn't done before was turn merchant. But credits didn't make themselves, and she had kals better than anything these Empire Manda had seen. At least in her opinion.

So she borrowed a table near one semi-busy thoroughfare and set out a few tomuon wool blankets she'd purchased to trade a few months back. The brightly patterned blankets were alleged to be hypoallergenic, but she knew them to be durable and luxuriously soft, with a silky smooth texture. One of the blankets, she unrolled to show its pattern and revealed half a dozen Enclave Kals and a pair of large Bowie Knives. Ranna carried one of each strapped to her armor, and knew they were the right blend of lethal practicality that any Mandalorian would appreciate.

Setting her red helmet down on the table next to them so her plaited hair could breathe, Ranna set to waiting. Her dignity wouldn't let her yell out for attention like someone hawking wares, rather she wanted the knives to go to fellow Mandalorians that would appreciate them.
 

Location: Hot springs of Roon
Objective: Network
Tags: Sibylla Abrantes Sibylla Abrantes

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Alyvia wasnt cooking today, she was here as one of numerous Mandalorian representatives and she was absolutely sampling the cuisine while she was here. She actually felt a little uncomfortable in her dress having over indulged so she thought she might step away to the balcony to get some air and plan her next move. Perhaps she might end up in one of the hot springs, that might be fun. She would have to let her dinner settle a little first, so networking and socialising was on the agenda.

She spotted someone, a Republic ambassador, Abraxis? Abrantis? Something like that. The Zeltron pouted that she couldnt quite remember, so she resolved to find out. It wasnt like she was noone, she was the defacto daughter of her clan's alor. Potentially only two nasty accidents away from being potentially one the Empire's leading figures. She would chat to the ambassador and represent her people.

"Hi, its a pleasure to meet you, Ambassador..." she trailed off a little as a prompt for the other woman to finish her statement.

"I am Alyvia of clan Toss, I hope you are enjoying yourself, may I have a moment of your time?" she gave a gracious bow of her head and put her fist to her chest in respect. She wore an elegant green dress of atrisian design and she admired the outfit of the ambassador too.

 

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THE BAZAAR, MANDALORIAN FORTRESS

The Nite Owls never slept.

At least, that’s how it felt to Jonah these days. Ever since the Black Summer had begun in earnest, the tempo of his life had shifted into something relentless. The raids came fast, and the prep work had to come faster. His people moved in shadows and high places, mapping the way for the sledgehammer that followed. He would not have it any other way.

Still, the Fortress was secure now. For the moment. And while others came to the Bazaar to trade, feast, or rest, Jonah came to breathe.

He had walked the courtyard twice already, weaving between tents marked with clan colors and banners he hadn’t seen since his youth. He had tasted a broth spiced like home and even turned down an offer for a shot of tihaar that would have surely taken his eyebrows off. The air was thick with stories and steel, and he let it all wash over him as he moved.

Eventually, color caught his eye.

A table stood at the edge of a well-worn path, blankets laid out with a merchant’s care. They were bright, but not gaudy. Practical, not flashy. And resting on one of them, gleaming in the sunlight, were a pair of Bowie knives that demanded a closer look.

Jonah approached, boots crunching over stone, and dipped his head toward the woman behind the table. His helmet remained clipped at his hip, so the grin that followed was plain enough.

“Nice layout,” he said, eyes shifting from the wool to the steel. “What’s the story on these?”

He already knew what they were, more or less. But this wasn’t just about a transaction. This was the Bazaar. And sometimes, a good blade was only as sharp as the pitch behind it.​


 



Tags: Open


Kirae sunk into the water of the hot springs, burying herself down right up to her eyes, letting her gaze wander. The warmth and heat that seeped into her bones was a pleasant sensation. Kirae didn't take enough time to herself to recover and relax. She kept pushing herself further and further and Kirae knew she was going to reach her breaking point sooner or later. There was only so much a shield could take before it broke. She'd have to temper herself, in the heat of the springs.

Her lavender gaze flickered over towards the Republic envoy alongside a fellow Mandalorian before quickly looking away. There was a part of Kirae that just didn't want to be seen right now. It felt wrong. Not being in her armour. She felt far too exposed. It wasn't as if she was a follower of the Way, she wasn't concerned with wearing her helmet everywhere she went...but her armour was like a second skin to her. To be without it, was as if a part of herself had been peeled away.

And so she tried to dunk as much of herself as she could in the hotsprings, hoping that the water would at least help to obscure her presence somewhat. The steam, and the mist. That was all she really wanted right now. A chance to hide but also to recover as she closed her eyes, resting in the water.​


 
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Objective 3
The Hot Springs of Roon
In the Waters

Open
The tunnel gave way to steam and silence.

Niijima Izumi stepped out onto stone slick with mist, her presence quiet as falling snow. A faint glow illuminated the otherwise steamy white surroundings, though to only seemed to glow around her being. This was in part thanks to her earrings, a warm glow that helped lit up the path like fireflies in a dark forest. She could have not worn them, especially not here, but it was part of her signature attire, an accessory given to her by the owner of the teahouse. Her thoughts drifted back to the teahouse, the place where she took up an entirely new identity; the identity of Sakurako, a well-known geisha in her hometown.

She shook her head a little, as though to physically shake away the thoughts that were now threatening to consume her. It was one thing to be sulking and deep within one's own thoughts, but another to do so when she was in such a public area as this. Izumi walked gracefully to the rocks surrounding the spring waters, stopping only for a moment to analyze the situation around her. She had forgone her usual samurai attire, although neatly tucked underneath her arm, choosing to wrap her slender frame with a white towel. It wasn't traditional hot springs etiquette, she knew, but she was also not in the position to call on tradition in a land of the unknown.

Choosing a spot, she placed her neatly folded black silk yukata, removing her geta sandals and big straw hat, both signatures of her samurai attire. Her twin katana were the last to be strategically placed to the left on her clothes, the closest distance to her when she entered into the spring waters. It was a sign of distrust, distrust in the people and the land. Izumi was always careful, always ready. And this applied to every situation, no matter the circumstance. She was an outsider, after all, having made no friends not foes. But that was perhaps for the best, for samurai like her often operated alone; with purpose and poise.

When she entered the water, it was with a breath just barely audible, relief hidden beneath restraint. The heat of the waters enveloped her body, penetrating into her skin, the throb behind her leg muscles and loosening the rigid line of her shoulders. She sank in up to her collarbone, head resting lightly against the stone, another soft sigh escaping between her lips. She closed her eyes, the only sound audible to her was the rippling of the waters, which its still and quietness had been broken by the likes of her entering it. Izumi could get used to this kind of relaxation, a genuine escape from the pains and problems of the world.

She would continue to be in this position, eyes closed but ears open to even the faintest of sounds.
 
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Objective 3
The Hot Springs of Roon
Mandalorian Fortress Exterior
Alyvia Toss Alyvia Toss

Sibylla had been tracing the curve of the horizon with her eyes when the sound of soft footfalls stirred her attention. She had grown better at listening and not just to voices, but to footsteps and any noise that could indicate an attempt at harming her life. It was something she'd been practicing ever since the attempt on her life by the Noghri assassin that had nearly killed her.

And while she was still in the midst of campaigning for the throne as the Sovereign of Naboo, Sibylla still had her responsibilities as an Ambassador. Duties that required her to continue her work within the Mandalorian Empire's sphere, but also more importantly, allowed her to plan time away from prying eyes to be with the one she truly wanted to be with, taking advantage of every possible opportunity to make sure she could see Lysander von Ascania Lysander von Ascania .

"Abrantes," Sibylla replied, not at all offended, well aware that she was just one politician among many to the Mandalorian Clans.

"Ambassador Sibylla Abrantes,"
the brunette offered with a polite incline of her head in greeting.

"A pleasure to meet you, Alyvia of Clan Toss."
she added, her mind was already sifting through a mental list of clan names, sigils, and their respective Alors along with all the details she'd worked hard to memorize.

She offered Alyvia a warm smile and a respectful inclination of her head. She was curious about what the woman would need.

"Of course," she said kindly. "How may I be of help?"


 
Ranna gave the man a smile of appreciation as he complimented her offerings. "Thanks, but that story might be longer than you think." She drew up one of the large blades and her own kal from where it was sheathed across the small of her back. Striking them together while keeping the edges well away, she let the beskar ring true. "Forged in the Enclave's Kestri Weapons Foundry, is the short of it." She let the metal's song die down before continuing. "Mono-edge, upgraded vibro-motor, and," She flipped the hilt more firmly in her hand and squeezed down on an activator, sending lightning momentarily dancing down the blade. "Mark four energy cell. That was actually an input from the Kestri armorer that helped me bring them over." Sheathing the large Bowie knife, Ranna passed it over for Jonah to examine.

"I specced my beskar'gam and gear pretty heavily into piloting and other pursuits to the point I went with duranium for its weight. Still wanted something that could fend off the lightsabers, but even a short beskad would be annoying in a fighter cockpit. Gangs back home would fight with knives like these, close quarters and wouldn't blow out the seal on a dome or blast a purifier, right? They'd make them as big as they could while still hiding them under a coat or strapped along a limb. Anyways, seemed pretty ideal, D-guard protects the hand, and you can catch a saber in the choil. And they don't get in the way." She finished, knowing she might have given her fellow Mandalorian more of a story than he'd expected. But she was proud of these knives and believed in them, as the Bowie knife strapped to her boot attested.

Jonah Jonah
 

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HERE’S THE THING

Objective: Refresh - Hot Springs (Roon)

Tags: Open


Relaxation was a passing stranger in a bar. This stranger offered solitude.

The ice within her veins found warmth. She entered the hot springs as her eyes danced around slightly. Tension seemed to be the least of her worries. Paranoia was a cruel mistress that persuaded her to not trust easily. Incitrix had experienced many hardships that became a barrier for her to be friendly. Being militaristic in nature allowed her to hide behind her rank of Field Marshal. Objectives and the Manda were the only thing that kept her moving. Times like this, in places of refuge and safety, didn’t ease her thought process.

Incitrix shyly entered into the water as she sank into the waters. Her exposed red skin stuck out like a flare fired in the middle of the night. Closing her eyes took some work, but she would let the warmth of the waters guide her emotions. Calm for her was combat… war. Being in an undisclosed location like this still wasn’t comfortable. Even when surrounded by her vod, it didn’t make things better. The feeling of potentially being betrayed was always prevalent. Though, she would find solstice in knowing that everyone here could join together if things got antsy.

She would wrap her arms around herself and begin a form of meditation. It was one that she had learned from the Spiritspeakers. Maybe that would get her to calm her nerves. It did beat the alternative of constantly being in a state of anxiousness. The Gravesong brought her a sense of turmoil that she did know that could be felt. Even with its now silenced nature, its song would occasionally play in her subconscious.

This was the closest thing she would get to a break. Missing out on this chance wasn’t something she wanted to miss out on. Her old group had followed her to Roon. Some took the Resol’nare while others wanted to remain unchained to any faction or people. This also brought her some level of comfort. Though her time of crime had ended, she was glad to have people that were willing to support her this long.

Her body would submerge further into the water reaching over her shoulders. Eventually, she would hope to find something good out of this. It wasn't the first time she was in such a place. Hopefully, this one won't be as memorable as the last time. Her mind drifted to her previous conniption after staying in the water for too long.

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Location: Hot springs of Roon
Objective: Network
Tags: Sibylla Abrantes Sibylla Abrantes

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"Thats the one!" she beamed as Sibylla Abrantes Sibylla Abrantes confirmed her name. "Sorry, you spend your whole life around people either named Vod or with their names in a sigil on their shoulder you erm.. its fine, its fine." she babbled a little and smiled. She was talking to the possible future monarch of Naboo here, nothing too much to be worried about. She looked up through the tops of her eyes wondering where her nerves had come from, she felt very nineteen all of a sudden. She took a deep breath.

"Ok. So, here's the thing. You are campaigning to be queen, yes? And if I'm hearing right you are favoured for the spot. So, in the spirit of future cooperation and prosperity between our peoples, I would like to offer my services to cater for your theoretical inauguration." she would even do it at only the smallest margin for herself because what did she need money for when her whole life was provided for by her clan, she would probably be able to under cut one of the wealthy noble-chefs by a tidy sum. The thoughts of this made her smirk and brought her back into her comfort zone, food.

"I am a chef, honest. I don't mind saying I think I'm pretty good. Not planning some overt poisoning operation." she laughed as her nerves began to fade. She loved catering for hundreds of mandalorians, sourcing provisions on a military budget, making sure everyone had their energy, protein and the like. But to serve high cuisine was a passion to her. To crack open ingredients that even smelling them would be expensive. Her mouth was watering.


 
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Objective 3
The Hot Springs of Roon
Mandalorian Fortress Exterior
Alyvia Toss Alyvia Toss

Sibylla blinked, just once, a little caught off guard by the sudden burst of enthusiasm. Then her smile softened into something warmer and less diplomatic.

She liked this girl already.

"Well," Sibylla said gently, "I think you're the first person who's ever offered to cater my theoretical coronation."

Her hazel eyes sparkled with amusement only for her voice to lower with just a hint of playfullness.

"Which, frankly, makes you far braver than most politicians I've met this week."


She leaned a little against the balcony rail, shoulders relaxing as Alyvia found her stride again.

"Well, food is culture, and Naboo's traditions have always celebrated hospitality and the art of the table. I imagine Mandalorians do too.. but perhaps with just with a bit more fire."

Sibylla's smile continued to linger, to which the Ambassador then gave a small tilt of her head, encouraging Alyvia to join her for conversation. PErhaps they can find a place to sit or continue standing here.

"So, what would you pitch as your best dishes? I've only just been introduced to Mandalorian cusine, but I can tell that each Clan may have their own subtle differences. Walk me through how that looks like."


 

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R O O N

HOT SPRINGS - MANDALORIAN FORTRESS

The path was carved in silence. Steam gathered along the stone corridor, thickening as he moved forward, until the air itself felt like breath. Aether walked with purpose, not as Mand'alor addressing the court or commanding warriors, but as a man answering a different kind of duty. Since the moment the Clans had anointed him, he had not once allowed himself the luxury of stillness. The title demanded vigilance. The people required resolve. From the horrors of the Gravesong War to the thunderous launch of the Black Summer, he had met each trial without pause, choosing always to lead from the front.

Now, with Roon reclaimed and the banner of Mandalore rising once again over ancestral soil, he saw fit to act on another responsibility. A warrior must also mend what battle has broken. The Springs of Roon promised exactly that. Heat to ease the pain. Silence to clear the mind. He had stripped down to a pair of black trunks and left his beskar'gam in the care of the smiths below. With each step into the water, the tension faded. When he reached the deeper part of the spring, he exhaled fully, releasing something he had been carrying far too long.

His gaze wandered to the balcony nearby. There stood Sibylla Abrantes of the High Republic, speaking with one of his own. The sight brought a small smile to his lips. He raised two fingers in a quiet salute, acknowledging her presence without interruption. Aether then turned toward the others within the spring. Kirae and Incitrix were both present, their roles within the Mandalorian Knights clear in their posture even as they relaxed. He also spotted an ebony-haired woman, one he recognized from Little Jar'Kai during his recent visit.

He lifted a hand in greeting, offered a small grin, and allowed his voice to carry across the surface of the water. "Now this is just what the doctor ordered." Aether's tone was light and inviting. "How are you all faring?"


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R O O N
War Forge - Mandalorian Fortress

The heat did not bother him.

Zayid moved through the stone corridors of the Lower Keeps as one born of fire. His armor bore the scent of ash and sweat, the marks of recent victory still etched across his frame. His beskad, cradled in both hands, was wrapped in coarse cloth like a wounded limb. It had seen glory on Roon. It had tasted blood and carved paths through flesh and steel alike. But the blade was chipped now. The edge dulled by resistance. The hilt cracked by a stubborn skull. That would not do. Not for what came next.

The War Forge welcomed him like an old friend. Heat surged against his chestplate. Sparks danced in the smoky air. Metal screamed beneath hammers, and the anvil sang its praises back in rhythm. To some, it was noise. To Zayid, it was scripture. This was the sound of devotion. This was the heart of Mandalore, made manifest in glowing iron and rhythmic toil.

He stepped forward, finding the Naur’alor with practiced ease. The smith did not need to be told what was wrong. He saw the wrapped blade and gestured to the side table without a word. Zayid obeyed, unwrapping the beskad and setting it down with reverence. The smith lifted it, turned it in his calloused hands, and gave a grunt of approval. Then he got to work.

Zayid hovered.

He did not speak. He did not touch. But he stood close enough that lesser men might have felt it. Close enough that the smith could sense the weight of his gaze and the intensity behind it. Zayid did not believe in personal space. There was only presence. There was only purpose. This was his weapon, and the moment it was whole again, he would be ready.

Death Watch did not rest for long. Roon had been only the beginning. Somewhere across the stars, another banner would be raised. Another warlord or sovereign would call upon Mandalorian steel. And when that call came, Zayid would answer. He would bring glory to the Manda, honor to Mandalore, and leave broken empires in his wake.

But worship did not begin with war.

It began here. In the fire. In the forge. In the careful way the beskad was made whole once more.


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Location: Roon - Eastern Mountains

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Equipment:
Training Jumpsuit | Lightsaber | Modified DL-27


Impostor. That was the word that came to mind as he navigated his way toward the hot springs. Even though Aether had personally invited him to this... gathering? Ace still felt like he stuck out like a sore thumb. Although he was a descendant of Clan Verd and Mandalorian blood coursed through his veins - he had no knowledge of his heritage.​
He figured this would be an opportunity to learn more about that aspect of himself, but now that he was here? Ace couldn't help but feel completely self conscious. Like he didn't belong.​
As he arrived, Ace spotted several people already here. The only one he recognized was, well of course, his brother. A smile tugged at his lips and he raised his arm, waving at Aether. Then his gaze lowered to his teal jumpsuit, seemed like he was overdressed.​
He felt a pit form in his stomach, not the one when the Force told him something bad was going to happen, no. It was the one you felt when you were so self-conscious you felt like you were going to spit up your lunch. For all his training, and all the crazy, life-threatending scenarios he'd found himself in. Being amongst his 'people' terrified him.​
Steeling himself, Acier walked toward the edge of the spring. Close enough for Aether to hear what he was about to say.​
"Busy day at the office?" he smirked.​
 

Objective I

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Roon was a planet steeped in Mandalorian history. It had been the world the ancient Taung settled after their exile from Coruscant, long before the beskar mines of Mandalore were unearthed. This was where the foundation of Mandalorian culture had first taken root, not in ore, but in fire and survival. For Adonis, standing on its soil was more than an honor; it was a moment he refused to waste. This time, it wasn't war, and that alone felt strange. It seemed like it was always war now.

He moved through the heat of the mountain, descending into the forge with slow, steady steps as warmth bled up from below. It wasn't the dry, biting kind he'd known on Vaal, where the sun carved everything sharp and bright. This heat was heavy and alive, clinging to the skin like a second weight. It soaked into armor, into bone, into breath. You didn't fight this heat; you respected it. The Mandalorians who lived down here, the Naur'alors, weren't just smiths, they were warriors of a different kind, shaping Mandalorian legacy through fire and will.

Slung over his shoulder was a wrapped bundle: charred chain, twisted beskar plating, and slagged sigils torn from the walker he and Athena had destroyed on Onderon. The thing had been an insult, wearing the dead like armor. They had brought it down together, and what remained of it would be made into something worthy.

At the base of the stairs, the forge opened before him in a flood of light and motion. Sparks danced like insects above glowing coals, and the pounding of hammers echoed with almost ritual precision. He spotted Zayid near the central anvil, his weapon laid out before him. It was an impressive blade, scarred and beautiful, and the man beside it carried the same weight, still and unshakable.

Adonis approached one of the nearby Naur'alors, offering a respectful nod as the heat washed over him. "I'll be forging my own beskar soon," he said, tone even and grounded. "Not alone. I'm here to learn, to watch. I brought material I want to forge." The smith glanced at the bundle with a flick of the eyes, then returned to his task. It wasn't approval, but it wasn't dismissal either, and that was enough.

Turning to Zayid, Adonis offered the traditional mandalorian's clasp, firm and familiar. "It's good to see you," he said, voice low but sincere. They didn't cross paths often, but there was always mutual recognition. His gaze shifted to the sword resting on the table, and he nodded once. "Beautiful blade."

He unslung the bundle and laid it out on a nearby bench, unwrapping the scorched wreckage with a careful hand. The pieces clinked softly as they hit the metal surface: a length of chain blackened with soot, armor plates still bearing the twisted sigils of the walker, fragments pitted and heat-warped but strong beneath the surface. The stink of blood and oil lingered, faint but stubborn.

"I want to make two items," he said, eyes still on the metal. "One for me. One for a friend."

The smith looked up again, sharper this time, but Adonis didn't flinch. Athena Faar Athena Faar had earned her share of this metal, and she had earned something more permanent than memory. "The chain can form the spine of a blade. The armor, a strong shield. I want something that remembers, something she can carry."

He didn't reach for the hammer, not yet, but he stepped closer to the forge, standing just far enough to feel its full heat on his chest. He watched the sparks rise and fall, followed the rhythm of the anvil's voice, and breathed in the scent of slag and flame. This wasn't just about metal. It was about what came after the fire.

And he was ready to learn.

 

Objective 3: Hot Springs of Roon

Zee wasn't normally one for cross-clan activity. Hell, Caromed as a whole wasn't big into it. Sure, they showed up if the Mand'alor called. They did their duty when it was expected. But after having their numbers purged so recently, the entire clan was holding on by the fingernails and tended to face the rest of the galaxy with knives outwards. Zee was as much to blame for this as his mothers were, and like them he'd been going out of his way to bring Caromed out of their antagonistic hermitage. The Planeshift event, the Gravesong - the whole Empire hurt. Caromed were not the only medics and surgeons to wear beskar'gam, but could it continue to be such a focal point of their identity if they ignored the pain of their siblings to lurk in the resentful depths of Taris?

So. Though it was not normally something he did, Zee turned up for the big retreat.

Towel wrapped around his chest, Zee found a quiet portion of the mineral baths to slip into the water. The heat was a welcome refuge from the cold mountain wind. Accustomed to the towering neon-steel-glass obelisks of Taris' toxic streets, being around so much open air and so many grand vistas was a little unnerving for him, but in a way he could see himself acclimating to. Maybe even coming to love, given time. He had yet to find a horizon he couldn't eventually appreciate.

Zee draped himself over the side of the bath, politely ignored the quiet conversations around himself, and let himself sublimate in steam and the majesty of nature.

 



Tags: In the Post


As Kirae brought her head up out of the water to finally take in some air, she finally saw some familiar faces. Which immediately made her regret lifting her head up. It wasn't like she had a choice at the end of the day. Kirae didn't have some superhuman lung capacity but if she did? There was a high likelihood she wouldn't have ever revealed herself.

Her eyes darted between the familiar stranger of Niijima Izumi Niijima Izumi and then that of the Mandalore himself Aether Verd Aether Verd . Okay. It could be worse. There could be more people that Kirae knew that were here...but that's when Kirae came to a somewhat sudden realisation. She didn't quite know...anyone at the end of the day. Her isolation and solitude was a shield to her of course, but it was also a weight that she never really thought about. She was a shield for her people...but at the same time, she didn't quite know her people. The people she bled for...

Fortunately for her, Aether's question snapped her out of that thought process, as she turned her attention over, giving a short nod.

"Doing well."

Quiet. Direct. There was no need for her to throw in any fluff into the conversation. She was alive. She was doing well. Sure, she was somewhat uncomfortable without her armour or her shield...But that was something she'd just have to get used to it. She couldn't afford to her a crutch at the end of the day.​


 


"Tidally locked planets often get a bad wrap. Consider Ryloth, a planet of extremes, with hellfire on one side and a fridged, dark wasteland of beasts on the other. To that end, Roon is a rather pleasant place. It's light and dark sides are not inhospitable, and rather than being dry and bleak the goldilocks zone in the center is a paradise. Rich with hot springs and valuable Roonstone, insulated from the dangers of the galaxy by the nearly impenetrable Cloak of the Sith. It is almost a surprise that Mandalorians were here nearly 8000 years ago to many, but not if one considers that Roon has always served as a place of refuge. It was here that the Taung licked their wounds following their exile from primeval Coruscant, as depicted in the Dha Werda Verda, before departing for what would become Mandalore in 7000 BBY."


"I thought you came here to rest, Mr. Zel," his droid companion, Heath, chimed in. "Recording history here too?"

Zel sat in a pair of briefs and his large fish-bowl shaped helmet, his feet in the water of the hot springs. The helmet stayed on, of course. His cyan, scaled skin was visible, not a common sighting, but Zel always wore his helmet with pride. The historian laughed, turning off his in-helmet recording device.

"It helps pass the time," Zel mused. "Besides, my heart belongs to history. When she compels me to speak I must oblige. It is therapeutic, in a way."


"If you say so, boss," the droid agreed. He was just the camera man after all.

The Blubreen let out a relaxed sigh as his feet sank a little more into the pool. He would, of course, offer a lazy salute to Aether Verd Aether Verd . A recognition of his Mand'alor, before his T visor fixated on something in the water.

"Ah!" the historian exclaimed. "Could that be?!"

A glitter under the rocking of the water. Zel stood and waded out into the pool, reaching down and scooping up a clump of compressed soil from the bottom. There it was... a sliver no larger than a fingernail, flat as a nail file. From a distance the fragment may have looked like glass, but up close Zel knew it was a stone.

"Incredible," he exhaled. "This may very well be a naturally occurring specimen of Roonstone. It looks worked, I see some bulges of percussion on the flake. It must be debitage from a stone tool. This stone has been MIA for the last nine-hundred years... There must be an undiscovered deposit of flakes below these pools that are slowly being brought to the surface by sentient activity in the springs..."

Kirae Orade Kirae Orade , whom he was standing right next to, would be the unwitting recipient of Zel's rambling, not that he would notice quite yet.


 

Location: Hot springs of Roon
Objective: Network
Tags: Sibylla Abrantes Sibylla Abrantes

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"I'll take that as a compliment, I like to think I'm pretty brave. I'm not sure I would enjoy standing up and arguing at a Senate or something though." their cultures weren't all that different, treating children as adults and sending them off to battle, the naboo with words, the mandalorians with guns.

She nodded and thought to herself. She hadnt actually made much of a plan beyond just outright offering her services. But she could think on her feet and did at least have some idea what she would do. "Right then, a pitch...

Well, you have this lovely fish, I forget whats its called right not, but it has a kind of steak like consistency with a peppery tone. Its also about 300 feet long so I might ask Aether Verd Aether Verd to arrange a hunt in your honour first."
she laughed at the idea of a mandalorian hunting party chasing after one of the Nabooian monster fish before dinner.

"I think I would pair that with some mandalorian spices, I know this one which would work really well, its a bit more mellow than I like but I think its a nice synergy of our cultures.

A nice white on the side of that, and if course plenty of accompaniments and then for desert well... perhaps we need to do a tasting session for that."
a big grin crossed her face as she realised she was babbling again. "I could send you some images... if you want?" there were more of both of their houses gathered about now. She even spotted her Mand'alor walking out onto the balcony. Part of her felt like eyes were on her how she was navigating this diplomatic venture. She looked at the eyes of the ambassador and realised she was only about her age, perhaps younger, and yet she had the nerves as if she was talking to her elders.

"Sorry... can I ask. Do you ever feel like you are too young for your own skin?"


 

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