Private The Iron Accords: Haat, Ijaa, Haa'it

[Sibylla Abrantes]

Nessantico
Everholt Keep | Tol Forod

The hearth at Nessantico burned with a low and steady warmth that Sibylla had done her best to ensure would be stoked throughout the night. The great stone hearth was built out of stone, oak, and iron, the flames banked rather than roaring to provide a heat that was meant to gather rather than dominate. Above it, the banners of the Feast of Iron and Honor hung in quiet testimony to older compacts, to the attributes of strength acknowledged, respect earned, blood shed so words might follow.

Sibylla had chosen this place with care.

The stone walls still carried the memory of lances striking shields, of cheers echoing across the lists during the jousting. The long hall smelled faintly of smoke, roasted meat, and spiced bread. A banquet waited behind the screens, waiting to be served, but not yet.

First came the discourse at the round table, set with a purposeful mind, much like the first War Council that Aether had first invited her to.

Had other circumstances allowed it, the meeting would have been conducted earlier. The delay had not been of neglect, for chaos had a way of clawing its way into history whether invited or not. Corellia, her injury, then the period of recovery that had forced patience and rest, where urgency screamed. But once Sibylla had recovered, every lever of state and courtesy had been pulled to bring this meeting into being.

Now, at last, they stood on the same ground.

The High Republic delegation approached from the east side of the hall: High Chancellor Dominique Vexx, King Aurelian Veruna, former Interim Chancellor, and, between them, as Ambassador to the Mandalorian Empire, Sibylla herself.

From the opposite side came the Mandalorian delegation. Invitations had been extended with precision and respect: Manda'lor the Iron Aether Verd , Warden Renn Vizsla , and Wolf Adelle Bastiel , Ambassadors whose titles carried the gravity of both iron and oath.

As they converged near the round table set by the Jarl, the firelight caught on polished wood and bare steel alike, Sibylla took a step forward. She wore a dark green textured tunic beneath a darker grey overcoat that fell cleanly to her boots. The dark length of chestnut hair was drawn back from her face unadorned, wearing no veil or headdress. Nothing to soften or redirect the eye, allowing the slightly pink, uneven scars along the left side of her brow and cheek to be visible in full.

Truth be told, Sibylla had debated the choice. The court and the Senate promoted concealment, the politicas of it all often encouraged it. But hiding the truth would invite speculation, and speculation bred distraction. Unease. As if she were hiding something.

No, it was better to meet that scrutiny head-on.

And if there was any audience who would understand survival without sentimentality, who would recognize the difference between endurance and weakness, it was the one before her.

So, while she wore her injuries plainly, she did not do it to seek sympathy or reassurance. What she wanted was the respect that she had worked so tirelessly and authentically for.

The hearth crackled softly as the delegations took their places, chairs drawn back in unison around the round table. Iron and crown, republic and creed, each with the choice to sit rather than stand.

Sibylla's gaze moved across them, her thoughts racing at the thought that here they finally were.

Not on a battlefield. Not across a holo broadcast or through an intermediary. But at a table warmed by fire and shared history, prepared for a conversation that would test not only the Twin Crown Treaty, but the good faith of all who wanted to work hand in hand.

"Su cuy'gar, Mand'alor, Warden Vizsla and Wolf Bastiel." Sibylla began formally, but then her smile softened, and there was a flicker of warmth, as much gratitude as anything, that they had come.

She stepped forward a few more steps, intending to greet them no differently than she had before.

"It is good to see you."

Aether Verd Dominique Vexx Renn Vizsla Aurelian Veruna Adelle Bastiel
​

 

[Renn Vizsla]

M E E T I N G

The great doors of Everholt Keep did not groan when they opened.

They parted.

And through them stepped Beskar.

Renn moved with the Mandalorian delegation with the steady, unhurried cadence of a man who did not rush to prove anything. The firelight from the hearth caught him fully as he crossed into the hall, and for a moment, the gold of his armor seemed to burn brighter than the flames themselves.

His beskar was wrought in a deep, burnished gold, not ostentatious, but ancient in its tone. Broad pauldrons framed him like plated battlements, angular and severe, designed for impact rather than ornament. The cuirass was layered and functional, scarred faintly by past engagements though meticulously maintained. A heavy belt of squared plates cinched the armor at his waist, utilitarian and uncompromising.

And from his shoulders fell a long, crimson cape.

It flowed in heavy folds behind him, the fabric thick and battle-worthy rather than ceremonial silk. The red caught the hearthlight in dark waves, like coals banked beneath iron. It moved when he moved, not dramatically, not theatrically, but with the quiet gravity of something earned.

The helm completed the silhouette: a T-visored mask, polished gold, its narrow black slit unreadable. No flourish. No sigil displayed openly.

Just Mandalorian.

Just Renn.

He came to a halt opposite the High Republic delegation as the chairs were drawn back in unison. The air held that peculiar stillness that only warriors and rulers understood, the moment before speech, when every shift of posture was measured.

Sibylla’s greeting carried across the table.

Renn inclined his head slightly, not a bow of subservience, but a warrior’s acknowledgment. The crimson of his cape settled around his greaves as he stilled.

“Su cuy’gar, Ambassador Abrantes, King Veruna, and High Chancellor Vexx.”

His voice, filtered faintly through the helm’s modulator, was steady and low, iron wrapped in restraint.

Then he stepped forward as she did.

“It is good to see you standing,” he said, and there was no pity in it. Only fact. Only acknowledgment. “Everholt Keep is a good choice. Strength held in stone.”

His helmet turned slightly, the visor angling toward the rest of the High Republic delegation, toward Chancellor Vexx, toward King Aurelian, before returning.

The cape shifted subtly as he stepped nearer the round table, resting one armored gauntlet against the back of his chair but not yet sitting.

“We are grateful for the hearth,” he continued evenly. “It is… preferable to meeting across battle lines.”

A pause, brief, deliberate.

“But let us see if words tonight prove as durable as steel.”

He remained standing a moment longer, allowing the weight of that to settle, before finally taking his seat at the round table, iron choosing to sit beside crown rather than stand against it.

The hearth crackled softly.

And Renn Vizsla waited.​

 

[Dominique Vexx]

​

When Dominique had saddled the Ambassador to the Mandalorian Empire with the task of arranging this gathering, she'd set one requirement: that it be somewhere relatively neutral. Neither party would have the other at the mercy of grand achievements, monuments, or surrounded by countless warriors or soldiers. Hardly an easy task. Choosing such a venue could take weeks, months, and even years depending on the parties expected to come together. So when it was decided it was a world just within Republic space, at the edge of the Mandalorian State near Ryloth, Dominique was in equal parts surprised and impressed. She had expected it would have been on the Mandalorian side of any border. As for the location itself -- Nessantico -- it met certain conditions Sibylla herself with or without Mandalorian input must have set for themself. Quite the appropriate choice.

When the appointed time came, Dominique made certain her outfit was pristine. A slight tug at the bottom helm of her white jacket sealed down the center had the shoulders square and no sign of bunching at all from the ride over. It was far from an impenetrable fortress of beskar, but the custom uniform she had tailored for her innagural speech was not simply decorative. Dark lines cut lengthwise over the jacket's bodice and arms giving contour and design reflecting of circuits or artistic accent -- depending on your point of view. Swaths of purple cut across the shoulders, the inside of the collar, and the narrow belt at Dominique's waist for a splash of color. Royal as it might be, Dominique was personally partial to purples and pinks. Even the white boots hidden within the white slacks were polished, but made to endure the rigors of the outdoors.

Unlike some of the Mandalorians that might appear, however, Dominique wore no helm. None save the lilac glareshades whose opacity was set halfway so her eyes were not entirely hidden from view. At a distance it would be difficult to make out the nuances of her expression; closer in, her golden eyes could be seen and followed if necessary.

On arrival, the trio stepped forward and drew their chairs back from the round table. Dominique, however, did not sit immediately. She remained standing with her gaze for the Mand'alor to gauge his body language. If necessary, she would make a slight shift to one side to weigh if he was open to the thought of being seated. Much like the choice in venue, however, Dominique was determined to conduct these affairs on an equal footing with their Mandalorian neighbors and so she would remain on her feet the entire time if it appeared necessary. This meeting would not last nearly long enough to test her endurance.

"Ni gurire! tateyus teh High Republic, bal ner da'hagr par ibic balac at jorhaa'ir." Dominique inclined her head in the direction of the Mandalorian delegation. Unlike the modulators and synthesizers, Dominique consciously controlled the cadence, pitch, and tone of every word. There was a hint of warmth or openness, but not so much to be taken as a fool nor too little to appear dishonest in her sincerity.

"Words are but refined ore awaiting the stroke of Time's hammer forging them to act and deed," Dominique replied in the wake of Renn's cautious, but open words. "They are the materials to craft something that endures the rigors of time and hardship alike. As High Cancellor, Dominique Vexx, of the High Republic it is my duty to see that it so."

There was much more to be said, but not everyone had their opportunity to introduce themself or bring forth something crucial to their discussion. Perhaps the Mandalorian delegation had something they needed addressed straight away? As strong a front as she planned to put up so they were not seen a boat anchor tied about their throats, Dominique was willing to be quite amenable to what plagued their thoughts. If the Mandalorians deigned to share. If they did not then it would be on the Republic delegation to coax it out of them and demonstrate the value of continued and -- hopefully -- bolstered relations between their two people.

Sibylla Abrantes | Aurelian Veruna | Aether Verd | Renn Vizsla | Adelle Bastiel​

 

[Aether Verd]

Wearing:
Beskar'gam - Darksaber​

EVERHOLT KEEP

Aether Verd entered Everholt Keep at the head of Mandalore’s delegation without ceremony, without announcement, and without the indulgence of spectacle. Silence moved with him, heavy and deliberate, the kind born on battlefields where shouting had long since lost its usefulness. His beskar’gam told the story before any herald ever could. Where charcoal plates were once immaculate, now there were scars that no armorer had been given time to erase. Soot darkened the seams, shallow gashes marred the chest and vambraces, and the crimson cloak that followed him bore burns and tears earned, not repaired. This was not neglect. It was truth carried openly.

Yaga Minor still burned behind his eyes.

The offensive against the Diarchy was not concluded, not paused by treaties or courtesies, merely stepped away from for a breath. Aether had torn himself from the front to be here, not because words held more value than war, but because timing mattered, and moments stolen could decide campaigns. Whether the Mandalorians would hold the ground they had taken remained uncertain. War was never a straight line. It surged, recoiled, and demanded constant vigilance. The Mand’alor had come knowing full well that the battlefield waited for him, impatient and hungry.

Pleasantries would find no purchase this day.

Not while Mandalorians bled.

Not while his hammer still sought Diarchy flesh and timber strong enough to bear the cross.

When his gaze found Sibylla Abrantes, there was no flourish to it, only a firm nod offered with the respect of one survivor acknowledging another. No sympathy, no softening, only recognition. Then the words of the High Chancellor reached him, spoken in Mando’a with care and intention, and beneath the T-visor a faint smirk curved, brief and sharp as a struck spark. Aether turned fully toward Dominique Vexx, firelight catching along the damaged planes of his armor, and when he spoke, it was without hurry and without heat, a voice tempered by smoke and command.

“Your promotion suits you, High Chancellor.” he said evenly, the cadence confident, unbent. His helm inclined just enough to acknowledge the effort behind the meeting itself.

“You have my thanks, and Mandalore’s, for arranging this gathering.”

Aether’s gauntleted hand lifted then, palm open as he gestured toward the round table and the waiting hearth beyond it. The motion was measured, deliberate, the sort of invitation that carried both courtesy and constraint.

“The battlefield is eager for our return." he continued, voice lowering a fraction, sharpened by honesty rather than threat. “My warriors are still engaged, and the Diarchy has not yet learned the full cost of testing our resolve. But for Ambassador Abrantes, Mandalore will take a moment. We will see to the concerns of one of our most faithful clients.”

The words settled into the space between iron and crown, neither promise nor warning, simply fact laid bare.

“For now..." Aether finished, his helm angling slightly toward the table once more, “we sit. We listen. And we see what this day chooses to become.”

With that, the Mand’alor claimed his place, battle-worn iron choosing the seat not because it was comfortable, but because it was necessary.

Sibylla Abrantes , Dominique Vexx , Aurelian Veruna , Renn Vizsla , Adelle Bastiel

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Tags: Aether Verd | Aurelian Veruna | Dominique Vexx | Renn Vizsla | Sibylla Abrantes

She was not made for this sort of thing.

Adelle walked on the Mand’alor’s opposite flank to Renn, armor scratched and dented from action on the battlefield. Unlike the other two, she had no cloak nor cape to speak of—she preferred as few things for the enemy to grab as possible. She did not possess the stature of the other two, nor their authority. And the spukami draped around her shoulders did not lend an air of solemnity. Phantom could have blended in, if not for the bright service animal vest she wore.

Sibylla Abrantes, High Republic Ambassador to the Mandalorian Empire, stepped forward and greeted them with Mando’a. Poised and polished as usual but bearing pink scars across her left eye. Adelle’s breath caught in her throat.

Too slow to recover. Pain ripping through her face, the mask that muted her cracking and shattering under the assault. Blinding pain. Devaronian blood poison. Agony as raw as her screams—

Something hit her visor sharply. Adelle blinked. A small black paw hit the T-shaped visor again, before lowering slightly, still poised to strike if necessary. Adelle remembered to breathe again, ears ringing with the rush of blood. The paw disappeared from view and something nudged the side of her helm, pushing forcefully. Phantom had shifted to sit solidly on one shoulder. Adelle reached up with a hand to reassure the spukami as much as to ground herself.

She was lucky the Warden, the High Chancellor, and the Mand’alor saw fit to talk before sitting. Adelle sat as the Mand’alor sat, Phantom hopping down into her lap. Diplomacy had never been her strong suit so she’d let those with more experience talk for the time being.

Aether had said she was here as an advisor and for the ‘sharp wit’ she displayed during the Imperial Confederation’s holocall summit-turned-nightmare.

That was a nice way of saying she was here because she was snarky.

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Tags: Sibylla Abrantes | Aether Verd | Renn Vizsla | Adelle Bastiel

Aurelian Veruna entered a half step behind Sibylla and Dominique, close enough to be clearly with them, far enough to pretend he had not timed it that way on purpose. The hall was warm, heavy with smoke and old stone, and filled with the kind of people who measured rooms by exits and threats instead of tapestries. Mandalorians. Wonderful.

As introductions rolled out with proper titles and careful cadence, Aurelian leaned just enough to be seen between Sibylla and the High Chancellor. He lifted two fingers in a lazy salute toward the armored delegation, smile already in place.

"Did you miss me?"

The words hung there for a fraction too long. He felt it immediately. The weight. The silence. The sort of silence that had probably killed people before.

Ah. Right. Warriors.

Aurelian cleared his throat, the smile softening into something more diplomatic, or at least less likely to get him stabbed. His eyes flicked briefly to the Mand'alor's battered armor, the soot, the scars that had not been polished away. War clung to him like smoke. How dull. How inevitable...

"Let's stick to Basic," Aurelian said lightly as he moved around the table, hands open in a gesture of peace rather than surrender. "I'll admit I haven't kept up with my Mando'a lessons. My tutor quit. Something about 'career longevity.'"

He slid into his chair, rested one forearm on the table and glanced around the circle, meeting visors and uncovered eyes alike. Internally, he sighed. He hated war rooms. Everyone always acted like words were explosives instead of tools. Still, Sibylla and Dominique had worked too hard for this moment for him to cheapen it.

"All jokes aside," Aurelian continued, tone settling, "we appreciate you being here. I know you're in the middle of… unpleasantness." His gaze returned to Aether, respectful, alert. "So I won't waste your time."

He leaned forward slightly, enough to signal engagement rather than challenge.

"I think we're all in agreement that a renewed accord between our two governments is long overdue. The galaxy's changed. Borders shift. Enemies get creative." A corner of his mouth twitched. "And I'd prefer we remain on the same side of the table when that happens."

​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

Nessantico
Everholt Keep | Tol Forod

Well aware of the circumstances going on, Sibylla gave a nod towards Renn's points. As soon as Aether indicated that it was best to get to the point of the matter, their discussion regarding renegotiations of the treaty began.

For the briefest second, Sibylla let her gaze linger upon Adelle, noticing just the faintest of tells from her body language as well as Phantom's bap to the Corellian's vizor that let her know something stirred there. There was a softening to the young woman's features, in concern as much as in assurance, so she inclined her head as if to say, it is okay.

That was what mattered. Survival.

Nonetheless, seeing as how Aurelian was quick to move towards quips, there was a distinct, narrowed glare that was briefly shot over in his direction. This was a conversation to be led by both Heads of State, with the advisors providing input as necessary. There was no need to stir the Giju pot when circumstances were already tense enough.

While everyone sat, Sibylla made a murmured gesture to ensure water was provided and set before all. Should any other drinks be desired, those would be brought as well.

With a breath, Sibylla sat, folding one hand over the other as the conversation began with a nod, letting Dominqiue take the floor.

Aether Verd Dominique Vexx Renn Vizsla Aurelian Veruna Adelle Bastiel​

 

[Dominique Vexx]

Dominique didn't turn her head to look at Aurelian as he glibly replied about the talent with his tongue.

She had hoped to have Aether without his helmet on, however. Perhaps it was asking too much, but the whole body-suit of beskar'gam was also a bit much. This was a conversation not a battle. They might disagree expecting her to wax philosophical at their expense. Perhaps others needed a reminder about the Mandalorian skill at holding their own and being adept in battle, but not her. A woman had to know whom could be called upon when a situation got out of hand.

A slight tip of her head acknowledged the Mand'alor's words regarding her ascent to the Chancellorship.

Despite the on-going war effort, Aether invited them all to take a seat at the table, which bode well for their conversation. Dominique followed the Mand'alor in taking her seat in time with his own movements. "You've given us the honor of your time, so I won't take more than is necessary." Dominique paused for a second to let that sink in. "I'll be frank, Mand'alor, I think our two people work well together. The Republic welcomes the renewal of our standing agreement, but I think we could be more than just a client and a provider."

"The galaxy is on fire. Entire nations rise and fall practically overnight. Refugees are being scattered to every corner of the galaxy," Dominiue spread her hands out to either side, "and they look to those still standing to shield them from the fear that drives them. Our people have spent years defining who they are and what they seek to accomplish. We provide stability in our localized regions. Yet, together, we could provide stability even outside of our own borders; to keep our enemies at a distance where they do not trouble us every day, sapping our resources and exhausting our people."

To reiterate her earlier statement, the Chancellor's carried through the chamber, "Would the Mandalorian Empire be open to establishing a deeper relationship? Not of over reliance and dependency, but of support. A unity of purpose and will."

Aether Verd | Sibylla Abrantes | Aurelian Veruna | Renn Vizsla | Adelle Bastiel​

 

[Aether Verd]

Wearing:
Beskar'gam - Darksaber​

EVERHOLT KEEP

The Force brushed against him like a whisper through smoke, subtle yet impossible to ignore. Beneath the immovable silhouette of beskar and behind the dark T of his visor, Aether felt the disturbance ripple from his right, a tremor of memory and pain that belonged to one beneath his banner. His helm did not turn, for Mandalore did not flinch in chambers such as these; yet his unseen gaze shifted, measuring the cadence of Adelle’s breath and the slight adjustments in her posture that spoke louder than words. She sat, Phantom settled, and the flare diminished into something endured rather than surrendered to. Assured that his envoy remained steady, the Mand’alor returned his full attention to the diplomats, vigilance banked but never extinguished.

When Aurelian Veruna took his seat with an ease that bordered on theatrical, Aether’s brow lifted beneath his helm, unseen yet present all the same. The King’s comfort was bold given the soot that still marked Mandalorian armor and the fires that yet burned beyond these walls, though that boldness had long defined the strange cadence between Naboo and Mandalore. For a measured breath, the Mand’alor allowed the silence to stretch before answering the lazy salute with two armored fingers of his own, a mirrored gesture offered without smile yet not without recognition. It was a rare flicker of levity between leaders who understood that familiarity, when carefully handled, need not weaken resolve.

Then he listened.

He listened as Aurelian spoke of remaining on the same side of the table when borders shifted and enemies grew inventive. He listened to Sibylla’s disciplined quiet and to the Chancellor’s vision unfurling like a banner in uncertain wind. Renewal of the retainer was expected; such arrangements required maintenance. Yet beneath the language of cooperation lay something more ambitious, something Aether had declared beyond Mandalore’s threshold when he first took the mantle. They sought not simple continuation, but deepening, an alliance defined not by credits exchanged, but by shared purpose.

When he finally spoke, it was with the careful cadence of a man who understood that every word could redraw a border.

“I agree,” Aether began, his voice steady and resonant within the confines of his helm, “that cooperation between our nations has been fruitful, and I do not speak that lightly. When the Galactic Empire unveiled its third Death Star and sought to bend the galaxy through terror once more, Mandalorian iron stood beside Republic resolve, and together we demonstrated that our strengths do not cancel one another, they compound.”

He allowed that memory to settle among them, not as nostalgia, but as evidence.

“However.” he continued, tone neither sharpened nor softened, “Mandalore is not a democracy that Jedi call home, and our purpose has never been to gather the displaced beneath our banners so that we might be praised as saviors. Our focus is survival, sovereignty, and the preservation of a people who have been targeted in every era of galactic conflict.”

There was no bitterness in his delivery, only clarity forged through experience.

“As you are aware, Mandalorians aligning themselves too closely with any nation has rarely ended in our favor. The Sith reduced our world to a crucible for half a century. The Jedi coined the phrase there is no such thing as a Mandalorian civilian, and in doing so ensured that our farmers, our artisans, our children were seen as legitimate targets whenever war found our borders.”

The hearthlight danced across the scars in his armor as he continued.

“Even our current agreement was tested. The Treaty of Twin Crowns contained no morality clause; there was no expectation that Mandalore would wage war in a manner that Naboo could comfortably stomach. There was, however, an expectation of communication, of envoys utilized and direct lines honored. That expectation fractured the moment my hammer crucified the Diarchy.”

He did not raise his voice, yet the statement carried the full gravity of recent conquest.

“I do not recount this history to be obstinate,” Aether said, each word deliberate and grounded, “but to ensure that there is no ambiguity regarding where Mandalore stands. A deeper relationship than client and provider requires trust strong enough to endure not only shared victories, but the realities of how Mandalore prosecutes its wars.”

His visor fixed upon the Chancellor, unblinking and unwavering.

“Tell me, High Chancellor...” he concluded, the cadence calm yet unmistakably firm, “has the High Republic earned that trust from Mandalore? What say you?”

Dominique Vexx , Sibylla Abrantes , Aurelian Veruna , Renn Vizsla , Adelle Bastiel

 

[Dominique Vexx]

The Mand'alor spoke calmly, but with the resolve of someone befitting a throne. A good beginning. Not that she feared for their life in any way, but it was well that his ire was not climbing the walls.

A mirthless visor met the steady, polished glareshades as the two leaders watched and listened to one another intently. What the Mand'alor had to say was of clear purpose and well received. The Chancellor bore no scowl nor made unnecessary physical gestures, but waited as the Mandalorian delegation laid out their accolades and their grievances.

With a question, the Mand'alor sought to pin them down and extract a response to weigh their worth. How did one gauge their estimation in the eyes of the Mandalorian Empire? One could if they understood them.

"I make no excuse for what transpired, Mand'alor. As the leader of the High Republic it is my duty to make it right."

There certainly was no getting around the black-and-white violation of the prior terms. Any effort to do so would have been met with scorn.

"Any harm that may have occurred must be addressed in order to move forward; yet, we can move forward. Let me begin by expressing our sincere apologies for the breech; and my personal reassurance that the Republic will abide by the terms of any new agreement. More, we shall strive to exceed them in order to be more than just two parties to a contractual agreement."

"In the interest of openness, I make no promise nor seek to mislead you into the belief that all citizens of the High Republic will understand the ways of the Mandalorian. Our people and their representatives enjoy the freedom of expression. I, myself, may not always agree with your decisions. However," Dominique paused for a second, "it is not always necessary that two must agree in all things in order to walk a trail together. Be it well-traveled, or the rocky shores of perilous peaks."

"Perhaps there are those among you that feel this sounds familiar." Dominique wasn't certain, but she imagined the introduction of the Diarchy and the Mandalorian Empire may have begun something like this. "What I can promise is that this government will not abide repression or harassment of Mandalorians in our space. That I will ensure our messaging reaffirms law-abiding Mandalorians are respected members or visitors of our Republic, be they warrior or civilian. That we pursue opportunities for our people to work together and bear witness to our similarities -- so we are not defined by our differences. And while we may, at times, disagree passionately on some matters that we can civilly discuss them and come to understand one another. It will not be quick. It will not be easy. Yet it remains wholly in our power to accomplish."

Dominique drew in a breath and released it. Her voice grew more formal, tighter, as she added, "I do not agree that it was necessary to crucify those people, Mand'alor." Then it relaxed, but not as much as it had been when she championed their cooperation. "But you sought to protect your people from further suffering. We disagree on the means, but not the intent. I do not sit in judgment of you in bringing this matter up here, Mand'alor, but to demonstrate I am willing to engage you and your people. Because if I could not, everything I just said would have been empty rhetoric doomed to fail before the month is out."

Aether Verd | Sibylla Abrantes | Aurelian Veruna | Renn Vizsla | Adelle Bastiel​

 

[Renn Vizsla]

M A N D A L O R E

Renn did not move when Mand’alor spoke.

He sat in his place along the curve of the round table, hands clasped in front of him. The crimson of his cape pooled behind him in heavy folds, catching the low heat of the hearth but never stirring in haste. Gold beskar gleamed beneath the firelight, each plate reflecting the glow in softened amber tones.

Aether Verd 's words carried the weight of iron law, measured, disciplined, deliberate. Renn listened as a Warden should. Not merely to the tone, but to cadence. To emphasis. To the silences between phrases. He did not tilt his head. He did not nod. There was no outward signal of agreement or dissent.

Then Dominique Vexx took the floor.

The High Chancellor’s voice carried a different texture: polished, practiced, diplomatic in its layering. Where Mand’alor’s words were forged, Vexx’s were woven. Renn absorbed them both the same way.

From the outside, there was nothing.

No tightening of jaw.

No narrowing of eyes.

No shift in posture.

Only the smooth, impassive line of his helmet’s T-shaped visor, tinted black, reflecting the hearth’s fire in wavering streaks of gold and orange. The light flickered across it like flame dancing on obsidian, giving the illusion of motion where none truly existed.

Those who watched him would see only that: an emotionless mask. A still figure of gold and red, carved from discipline.

But beneath the visor, his mind worked.

Yet none of it reached the surface.

The visor revealed nothing.

Only the reflection of fire, and the faint, mirrored shapes of crown and iron seated across from him.

Then the voice rose from alongside the Mand'alor.

"Every citizen that calls Mandalore their home has chosen to walk the path set forth by our Mand'alor. Unlike the belief of some, the Resol’nare was not shoved down the throat of the people within our borders."

His visor shifted among the three sat across from him as he continued to speak,

"I do not wish to mix my words, but when in recent memory, if your people were persecuted by their beliefs, would you not wish some retaliation by those who would see you and yours wiped off the face of the galaxy?"

The fingers on his gauntlets tightened slightly, "Somehow, whether it's those who wade in the darkness, or bask in the light, the Mandalorians are stomped under heel and called to war like dogs to the call."

A clenched jaw as the words of his elders filled his ears.

"Our Mand'alor, this Mand'alor only wishes to let those who follow the beliefs founded by my ancestors a safe place in this galaxy to exist without fear of annihilation to whoever wills it."

A breath as he took a moment.

"The Mandalorians have walked alongside the High Republic with the honor that we bring to the battlefield, as the Mand'alor said, we rallied our troops to the third Death Star so that this galaxy could sleep easily another night. We wish to continue on this path with one another, but for one so integrated in your society to blatently disregard the pacts that we have forged with one another slanders our honor. The word of a Mandalorian, of the Mand'alor, is his bond, why should it not be yours aswell."

The visor shifted to the Monarch of Naboo, "Is the respect of your people too much to ask of those who wish the same of their people as of yours. We wish to live without fear, to sleep without worry, to go out into this galaxy without our lives being taken for silly squabbles."

His eyes came back to the High Chancellor.

"We do not ask for everyone to understand our beliefs, we just ask for the respect we have shown to be received back."

Dominique Vexx | Aurelian Veruna | Sibylla Abrantes | Aether Verd | Adelle Bastiel

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[Aurelian Veruna]

Tags: Dominique Vexx | Sibylla Abrantes | Aether Verd | Adelle Bastiel | Renn Vizsla

Aurelian listened. Renn's words were controlled, but they carried heat. Honor. Retaliation. Respect. The same themes dressed in different armor. He could feel the temperature of the room rising even if no one raised their voice.

Shiraya, they really did take everything seriously.

For a moment he considered remaining perfectly regal. Thoughtful nod. Hands folded. Earnest expression. Then he decided against it. He leaned back in his chair and, with deliberate care, kicked his boots up onto the edge of the table. There was a soft thud of polished leather on stone.

Sibylla was going to kill him later.

Aurelian clasped his hands behind his head and looked at the ceiling as if weighing the architecture. Then he dropped his gaze back to the Mandalorians.

"You want respect," he said plainly. "That's reasonable. We want reliability. Also reasonable."

He rocked one boot slightly against the table's edge. "You retaliate when threatened. So would we. The difference is presentation."

His eyes flicked to Aether. "You crucify your enemies. We hold press conferences." A faint smile tugged at his mouth, honest.

"You're asking whether our word means anything. It does. But our Republic is loud. Messy. People disagree in public. That's part of the machine. If we renew this, it has to survive outrage. Commentary. Senators who like to hear themselves talk. Sometimes Kings who act out of impulse. If you can tolerate that without assuming betrayal every time someone complains, then yes. We can give you respect."

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[Adelle Bastiel]

Tags: Aether Verd | Aurelian Veruna | Dominique Vexx | Renn Vizsla | Sibylla Abrantes

As the Mand’alor and the new High Chancellor discussed terms for a new treaty and the obstacles a closer treaty faced, Adelle listened as best she could, one hand idly rubbing behind Phantom’s ear while the spukami curled up in her lap. The Mand’alor thought a closer alliance possible should the terms of the treaty not be breached—like the previous one had just been. The Chancellor offered apologies that sounded mostly sincere, if very politicized, and began to lay out the beginnings of how the High Republic and the Mandalorian Empire could work together.

Renn spoke pointedly of how the Mandalorians had been historically treated. His grievances were vaild and he asked for respect.

And then fething Aurelian.

The King of Naboo kicked his feet up and reclined his chair like they were discussing which of two bolo-ball teams was better, instead of a breach of treaty that he did. And he had the gall to say the new treaty had to survive people like him.

The mir’osik.

Adelle found the legs of Aurelian’s chair in the Force, tilted back as he was, and made a small gesture with the hand that had been petting Phantom. The carefully balanced feet squeaked as they were Pulled forward slightly, upsetting Aurelian’s carefully casual equilibrium.

The thud that followed was satisfying.

Aether might reprimand her later for it, but no one else would know. And Aurelian needed to learn.

“Careful, vod’ika,” Adelle said, using her best Jedi Master voice, the calm, quiet tone that instructed and reprimanded padawans. “This is why we don’t lean back in chairs that aren’t supposed to.”

Adelle redirected her attention to Sibylla and Chancellor Dominique, who had come to the table genuinely and meant to deal with the gravitas required. “His Majesty says the High Republic wants reliability. The Mandalorians gave their word. The Mandalorians followed their word, in spirit and to the letter. We have been nothing but reliable according to the terms set previously. If reliability really is the desire of the Republic, you’ve already been given it.”

Her helm tilted in the direction of where Aurelian had been lounging before returning to the two women. “But since it’s been brought up, the breach of contract and trust must be amended before an accord is reached. As High Chancellor, you have the misfortune of being responsible for every outrageous thing your senators and kings do in the name of the High Republic. What solution do you propose?”

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

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Nessantico
Everholt Keep | Tol Forod

Oh Shiraya.

He didn't just -- Sibylla began, only to stare at Aurelian's feet propped up on the table. The Mandalorians were about talking like family at the table, but this was casual on another level. The slow panning stare and widening of her eyes, directed at Aurelian was enough of a tell, the look conveying her incredulity.

Perhaps it was the foreshadowing of what was to occur as Phantom plopped down, her dark shape and eyes peering in Aurelian's direction. The would-be Queen of Naboo in all her feline majesty seemed to serve her verdict. And just like that, Aurelian's chair wobbled, and his balance went askew.

Sibylla had to bite her lip so as not to snort out and instead focus on what the main pain points were being discussed. Focus, this was no time for casual levity. It was important.

And as the conversation progressed, Sibylla kept careful track of the fault lines forming beneath the surface, weighing which points required clarity between Aether, Renn, and Adelle.

This was, on its face, a negotiation for amended terms, but no one at the table could pretend the catalyst did not exist.

The broadcast had been graphic, and transmitted across the entire holonet; the sentence that had not only been carried out but also displayed. In Mandalorian culture, with its full context understood, it could be interpreted as a powerful but measured act, the hammer of Iron applied to a few to prevent wider bloodshed.

Within the Republic, that framework did not exist.

Without that context, the act was not received as a restraint; it was received as severity.

When the reaction began to swell, Aurelian acted to stem it. He moved with the information he had and with as much impartiality as the moment allowed.

Could he have waited for Sibylla to reach out to Renn and Aether first? Yes.

Sibylla had been candid in her anger and frustration that he had not consulted her before issuing his response, that he had not allowed her to do her duty as an Ambassador -- the treaty they had drafted together was clear: in the event of a dispute concerning the accord, both parties would seek resolution through their appointed ambassadors before any public declaration or martial action.

That clause now sat at the center of the tension.

The question was no longer who had erred, but what mechanism could be proposed to prevent such fractures in the future. What safeguards would be reasonable for both Republic and Mandalorian leadership? What would preserve dignity on both sides without paralyzing necessary action?

And while the question was levied at Dominique, as both Renn and Adelle had provided their discourse and queries, Sibylla chose to comment with quiet but sincere earnesty.

"Indeed, you are correct: the Mandalorians have honored the terms as written in spirit and in letter. Your forces rallied when called. Your banners stood beside ours. That reliability is not in question."

"You refer to a breach of contract, then let us name it plainly." Sibylla began, laying out the groundwork of the core issues as she had been assigned to do as Ambassador. "It is my understanding that the public travel advisory prior to the Ambassadors seeking a resolution or more clarification is what is being called into question as a breach of contract, correct?"

She wanted to make it clear to avoid any miscommunication.

"To which, if that is the case, then yes, it was done. King Aurelian broadcast a travel advisory in response to a graphic warning that all who stand with the Diarchy will be enemies of the Mandalorian Empire." Sibylla stated plainly, "And while the Republic itself and the Senate do not have relations or stand with the Diarchy, we do have citizens who may have family or connections to the space the Diarchy has claimed."

She paused, then added it without accusation, simply as something she had believed was her right to know in her role as Ambassador.

"...I would like to address that a mitigation point may have been established had I, as your Ambassador liaison, been given advanced notice that the conviction of Diarchy radicals had been served, and that their public execution would be broadcast live on the holonet, we may have be able to mitigate and address potential public concerns there would come before any public action was taken.

The door for conversation is open in both ways. We have done our best to ensure open dialogue, and had I been approached, we would have been forthright in addressing any concerns regarding the Diarchy and the Republic as well."

She took a breath and gave a nod in thought regarding what she had been considering up until now.

"If there is anything this situation has taught us, it is that on filmsi, every article and line upon that tready may seem to cover all aspects until real-life comes to challenge that preparation. I struggle with it, one you all have borne witness to my growing pains with it." Sibylla admitted honestly, as she was the youngest by far among the six, conveying her thoughts openly as the Mandalorians and their Elders had taught her.

That scarred visage looked up to pan across the table, taking in Mandalorian and Republic alike.

"We are not perfect. We make decisions with the best intentions and outcome, and I believe everyone at this table can attest to that. As leaders, we bear that responsibility, along with the risks and the scrutiny...and with each act and lesson, we learn, and we adapt. All of us do. It is how we survive.... and how we can survive, together."

Sibylla's shoulders rose, and she took another breath.

"So, I agree, Wolf Bastiel, if we are to move forward, let us define clearly what constitutes a breach. Let us establish mechanisms to settle grievances before chaos intervenes... and to ensure that open dialogue and communication remain at the forefront of every consideration."

Aether Verd Dominique Vexx Renn Vizsla Aurelian Veruna Adelle Bastiel​

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Aurelian thudded to the ground after his chair tipped over. Ouch. Message loud and clear. Aurelian picked his chair up and sat down like the good boy he was. He kept his mouth shut, just listening. How boring.

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[Aether Verd]

Wearing:
Beskar'gam - Darksaber​

NEGOTIATION TABLE

The Mand’alor listened.

He did not interrupt. He did not shift impatiently in his seat. His visor traced the arc of each speaker as if marking lines upon a battlefield map, and beneath the scarred beskar the judgment of Mandalore took shape, deliberate and unhurried.

The High Chancellor spoke well. Her apology was not dressed in excuses, nor diluted by deflection, and that alone counted for something. She addressed the fracture directly and spoke of collaboration without presuming entitlement. There was steel in her restraint, and Aether respected steel when he saw it.

Renn gave voice to the deeper current. The frustration that did not make headlines. The High Republic had been one of the Empire’s most lucrative patrons, and in proximity nearly a neighbor. The travel advisory had not simply disrupted a contract, it had stirred doubt among the clans who had bled beside Republic banners. Were the Mandalorians merely useful until the optics became inconvenient, or could Republic promises withstand public outrage? That question lingered in more than this chamber.

Then Aurelian reminded Aether of a younger noble who once lingered in the gallery of the Court of Iron, gossiping in hushed tones while empires were weighed and measured below. Boots on stone. Casual posture. Words tossed like dice. Freed from the mantle of Chancellor, he wore himself more honestly now. Carefree. Flippant.

Aether felt the ripple in the Force before the chair struck the floor. His Wolf corrected the tone of the room without drawing a blade, and severity returned as naturally as breath. He did not rebuke her. Her words had been fair.

It was only after Sibylla finished that Aether spoke again, his visor settling upon her scarred visage with unblinking focus.

“Ambassador.” he said, voice calm and resolute, “You have been present at our war councils, our clan gatherings, and every meeting of consequence since your appointment. While the precise hour of the crucifixion was withheld for security, you were no stranger to the state of war between Mandalore and the Diarchy, nor to the line we drew in the sand.”

His tone did not sharpen, but it did not bend.

“Long before my hammer struck the first nail, our position was plain. Any who stood with the Diarchy stood against Mandalore. If that clarity was not relayed in full to the High Republic, then that is a failure we will correct. From this day forward, every line drawn in the sand will be communicated without ambiguity, and the expectation will be that Naboo understands precisely where Mandalore stands before steel ever meets bone.”

His visor shifted briefly toward the King of Naboo, who now sat upright and silent, and Aether gave the faintest shake of his head before returning his attention to Dominique Vexx.

“What we built when the third Death Star rose,” he continued, voice steady as the hearth behind him, “can serve as the foundation of an evolved agreement.”

He lifted one gauntleted hand, counting each point with measured clarity.

“First, the retainer contract will be renewed. Our rates will be adjusted to reflect the current market, the skill Mandalore has demonstrated to the galaxy, and the threats now looming that were not present at the first signing.”

A second finger extended.

“Second, we reaffirm a commitment to communication. If a decision will tangibly impact the other partner, notice shall be given before implementation. If Naboo intends to issue a travel advisory concerning Mandalorian space, Mandalore will be informed first. We do not seek your permission to act as Naboo requires, nor will we request yours for our own operations, but notice must precede action when consequences are shared.”

A third finger rose.

“Third, in the event of an existential threat, another Galactic Empire, a rogue Jedi element, or a Mandalorian schism that threatens mutual stability beyond our borders, we will stand together as we did before. Mandalore will commit to defending Naboo soil or launching counter-offensives where prudent, and Naboo will do the same.”

His hand lowered slowly.

“We are not yet at the level of discarding the retainer as foundation.” Aether said plainly. “Alliance without structure invites the same mistakes history has already taught us to avoid. But our relations have improved to the point where I am willing to commit Mandalorian iron to your side when the survival of nations is at stake.”

He motioned toward the High Chancellor with a measured tilt of his helm.

“Are you agreeable to these terms, High Chancellor, as the evolution of what stands between Mandalore and Naboo?”

Aurelian Veruna , Sibylla Abrantes , Dominique Vexx , Adelle Bastiel , Renn Vizsla

 

[Dominique Vexx]

The Chancellor did Renn Vizsla the service of a slight pivot of her head to indicate he had her attention. They kept their expression conceled behind helmets; she hers behind opaque glareshades and an iron control over the muscles of her face. This one thought to test that control; perhaps to see if it was as solid as she wanted them to think, or merely to get a complaint off their chest -- or off their collective's chest. She would give them this: they played the breach well in their favor. Renn made it sound like a personal affront, as she'd come expecting.

That's when Aurelian Veruna chimed in, of course. His words weren't even that concerning. Until the end. More, it was his posture that begged Dominique's composure to fracture more than anything Renn had said. Leaned back, boots kicked up, hands behind his head. Certain thoughts were quickly analyzed as he'd spoken.

Thoughts soon dashed when Aurelian's chair abruptly... slipped. Dominique's chin shifted a few degrees in Adelle Bastiel 's direction as the woman spoke up. They were to believe he'd been careless and fallen over? The Chancellor was no Jedi, Sith, or anything in-between to have felt the Force -- or whatever it was they did -- but she wasn't a fool. A scant amount of plausible deniability existed, however, that held her tongue.

As for what Adelle said, the woman thought to put the responsibility for punishment or repayment back on the Republic. Dominique, however, turned her attention squarely back to Aether Verd . Was this a test to see if the Republic took this seriously enough by proposing a harsh enough punitive measure? Frankly, she wasn't on the mind to humor it. If they wanted something in particular -- even if it was outrageous in an effort to force a concession -- they would have to be the ones to ask it. She'd come there prepared to deal with this matter, not grovel at their feet.

Meanwhile, Sibylla Abrantes 's efforts to reframe the violation were commendable, albeit wouldn't do much to assuage the Mandalorian complaint. They were arguing as a matter of procedure, which in turn demonstrated [a lack of] respect. An rationale wasn't going to convince them short of the High Chancellor having had a gun to their head.

That being said, she did bring forth a point they'd discussed previously. The Mandalorians could also have given the High Republic a warning about what had been planned to avoid the shock being too keenly felt by their allies as well as prospective foes.

To which the Mand'alor countered that she had been privy to certain discussions already. A matter Sibylla had conveyed to Dominique in private before this gathering. Whether she fully knew or understood any metaphors that may have been used that a reasonable person wouldn't know meant crucifying multiple people, on the other hand... But that was not a matter worth contesting on Dominique's part as Chancellor.

Indeed, contest was hardly needed as the Mand'alor stated they would unambiguously communicate their intent in the future. The Chancellor gave Aether a slow nod of acknowledgement and even gratitude. It should help avoid any... misunderstandings. It might do little to forestall Senators from rattling their sabers regardless, but Dominique could manage that problem if or when it arrived -- as was her duty.

Aether then continued. First, market price for the services of a Mandalorian. Second, open communication regarding meaningful actions related to the other party. Third, unity in the face of galactic or existential threat. In effect, the same agreement, but re-emphasized and asserting a mutual interest and solidarity.

"Your terms are fair, Mand'alor, and agreeable." Dominique only paused for a second. "I would add formalizing the exchange of Ambassadors, the founding of Embassies, and open borders between our two people. If you are also agreeable. Words on a page are a poor substitute for a relationship, I agree, but they prevent renegging on crucial agreements under a manufactured guise." It wasn't the Mandalorians Dominique was worried about. Not that she would ever say that where they would hear; they would not understand how a people could be so disorganized and still trusted -- that too was her responsibility to make happen. "It also makes clear to our adversaries our commitment is more than that of non-agression and tolerance, but of growing accord. Where one is strong, two are stronger." Naturally, Dominique also wanted to talk economics and trade, but she'd have to leave that to Sibylla to work out those details. Taxes, tariffs, dues, import restrictions... so on and so forth.

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[Aurelian Veruna]

Aurelian sits, a model of calm,
His grin tucked away like a quiet psalm.
No words break the air,
Just a steady stare.
He's the good boy who never alarms.

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[Renn Vizsla]

B L O O D

Dominique Vexx | Aurelian Veruna | Sibylla Abrantes | Adelle Bastiel | Aether Verd​

Renn listened as the Mandalore spoke beside him, Aether's gauntlet raised as he spoke, his fingers moving to accent the words that escaped his lips. Even with this, Renn did not allow his eyes to escape those across from him, flames licking the reflection as he looked at the expression of those across from him, studying them like a hunter does its prey, even in the field of politics, friends can soon be turned into enemies.

The voice of the High Chancellor rose in response to the Mandalore, agreeing to the terms that Aether had spoken, whilst also adding some more to accompany the accords that had previously been struck between the two governments.

Renn stood from his chair as he placed the bowl into the center of the table that divided the two parties, "This is a bowl that has been in my family for longer than most recordings can recall. From one Alor to the next, given to show our connection to our people, to our service to Mandalore. Today, this pact is once more to be struck to help the people of both Mandalore and of the Republic."

His fingers moved for the clasp on his gauntleted hand as he removed it and set it to the side, his hand moving towards a knife that had tucked into his belt, displaying it for the table to witness, "All we do, we do for our people, for those we have sworn to protect, for those we have failed and repent for our mistakes." His words echoed through the chamber as he spoke, his hands raised above the bowl as the blade struck his palm, blood dripping from the fresh wound and into the bowl as his visor stared across the table, unwavering.

Once more, his voice rose as he continued to speak, squeezing his hand into a fist as more blood streamed from his palm, "Mandalorians are more than willing to spill blood for this pact, High Chancellor, Ambassador, your Majesty. I ask you one question," As he spoke, he turned the bloodied knife's hilt towards those across the table.

"Are you?"

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