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[Aether Verd]

THE WILL OF EMPIRE
"What say the Clans, what say the Empire?"​

THE HALL OF BANNERS, MANDALORE

Ever since the Mandalorian Empire stepped into the greater stage of the Galaxy, all around them has been Chaos. Whilst their warriors struggled against the horrors of the Gravesong War, powers rose and fell beside them. Whilst they raided during the Black Summer, powers clashed in proximity. Now, before them stands a budding adversary in the Diarchy, but beyond that presence lies a deeper question that demands an answer. How shall Mandalore regard the Chaos that surrounds the Galaxy?

It is for this reason that the Mand'alor has summoned a gathering. The matters are not trivial, for they concern the aggression of the Diarchy and the path Mandalore will chart amongst its neighbors and beyond. Every decision will shape the lives of clans, worlds, and citizens alike. He does not approach this charge with haste. However the morrow is to be faced will be guided by the voices that are raised today.

The Hall of Banners in Keldabe, erected by the hands of MandalMotors, is where this meeting unfolds. There, amidst the banners of the people, the Mand'alor sits with helm resting upon the table before him. When he calls the gathering to order, he does so by painting a picture of the challenge before them.

“The first question we must answer together is that of the Diarchy,” he begins, his voice carrying across the chamber. “From the very beginning our dealings with them were poisoned with treachery. Their personnel descended upon Taris to stir rebellion within an ancestral world. Only when the Gravesong War crossed their borders did they extend an olive branch. They offered us a retainer contract, the return of all beskar mined from Echoy'la, and dual citizenship for those who called Echoy'la home. They pledged to honor Echoy'la, our colony, as sacred to our people. In return, they sought our strength to end the outbreak upon Yavin 4. We kept our word. We held firm to neutrality.”

His gaze sweeps the assembly, and he continues. “But as Vexis Station revealed, the treachery of the Diarchy endures. Their agents once more descended, spreading distrust toward Mandalore while cloaking themselves as saviors. And in the chaos, a Mandalorian child was slain. We answered with blood, and since that day we have contested the Diarchy wherever they appeared in neutral space.”

He leans forward, hands resting on the table. “Now we have come to a turning point. The Great Heathen Army stands ready to make the Diarchy answer for their betrayals. Yet before I command your sons and daughters to march, I would hear the will of the Empire. Shall we take battle into their territory, or grant them a chance to atone for their sins?"​

"What say the Clans? What say the Empire?”​

 

[Lynn Caromed]

Lynn did not take pleasure in meetings like this. She preferred action whenever possible. While she was hidebound and hewed to tradition more than most in her clan, Caromed had been wounded previously and the scars still showed. They didn't have much. Their hospitals were always full and lacking supply, their contribution to calls always diminished by the lack of bodies they could bring to bear. They didn't have much, and what they DID have remained in the polluted streets of Taris. Their home for centuries, despite their authority being whisper-thin in the modern era.

The purges had hit them where they lived. Gravesong had hit them where they lived. The Diarchy had taken a child from Taris, used the condition of her home as the inciting incident.

Lynn could not spare a single drop of blood, that could be spent rebuilding the clan. A single Mandalorian life, in her estimation, was worth rivers of blood and decades of vengeance - and more so . She would personally slaughter cities of Diarch children just to drive this calculus home, given the chance.

"Caromed devotes itself to the cause of slaughter." Lynn spoke up first, sharply, her eyes narrowing as she scanned all in attendance, the bloodstained green-and-white helmet of her Beskar'gam tucked under her arm. "Our soldiers and medics will join the front lines in any conflict that sheds Diarchy blood. Our homes are open to any who would be their enemy."

 

[Warpriest Prime]

I HEAR THIS VOICE KEEP ASKING ME
IS THIS MY BLOOD OR IS IT BLASPHEMY?

Aether Verd ​

The Hall of Banners thrummed with tension as the words of Mand'alor Aether settled over the gathered leaders like a heavy stormcloud. Banners of a hundred clans whispered in the faint currents of the chamber, carrying with them histories of glory and ruin alike.

Dima had slipped into her seat long before the others had finished filing in, her alien frame folded with a predator's ease into the chair as though she owned it. A beskar dagger sang faintly against her claws as she dragged it back and forth, filing her talons while the Mand'alor painted the grim portrait of betrayal and decision before them. She listened quietly, thoughtfully, but with the relaxed posture of one who lived far more comfortably on the battlefield than in a council chamber.

Her tail flicked lazily over the back of her seat, her legs swung over the armrest like an unruly child's, yet her eyes gleamed with something sharper. For so long she had been just that: a weapon. A tool wielded by others in the name of Kad Ha'rangir's endless fire. But House Prime had risen again, and with it came the uncomfortable truth. She was no longer simply a blade. She was a voice. A shadow people turned to when silence grew too heavy.

When the Mand'alor's words ended, silence loomed. Dima let it linger a beat longer before breaking it with the scrape of steel burying into wood. Her dagger stuck quivering in the table between them, and her grin sharpened behind her Mandalorian Mask.

"In the old mantras of our kin," she began, her tone a playful sing-song, "They say that to wage war is to welcome it. First, friends. Then... not so much. Funny, isn't it? How often the song repeats. We've done it with Jedi, Sithlings, and god knows many more." Her wrist rolled in a careless flourish, gesturing to the chamber as if all of Mandalore's history were a stage they were doomed to perform upon.

"So, what's the plan this time? Talk it out? Hug it out? Maybe even share a few kisses, if we're feeling generous?" She giggled, a girlish, mocking laugh that nevertheless carried an edge. Then her claws raked across the curved edge of her kopis, the sound like a promise of blood. "Meanwhile, the Diarchy smiles and shakes our hand with one and hides a dagger in the other. Always the same act. Always the same betrayal. The cycle plays out again and again."

She leaned forward, claws curling, her voice dropping into a purr. "So why don't we spare the gods a comedy, hm? We're not here to play diplomats. We are the descendants of the fiercest warlords the galaxy ever burned beneath. Either we live that truth...or we don't."

Then she spread her arms wide, painting her own vision in the air. "Picture it. No fleets. No war engines. No endless armies. Just us...their best, our best. A clash of champions on behalf of their respective sides. A war-feast for the gods to savor. And to the victor, the spoils. On acceptable terms of the loser of course."

For a moment, she seemed caught in the fantasy, her helm tilting upward as if seeing it unfold in crimson hues above her. Then, with a scoff, she rolled her eyes and leaned back, tail curling with amusement. "Or feth it. We can just do the same tired song and dance. Throw bodies at each other until one side runs out of them! Everyone here clearly knows those steps well enough. What do I know it clearly goes so well EVERY time~"

Her claws flexed over the dagger still quivering in the table, the faintest tremor of laughter escaping her mask. Half-jest, half-threat, wholly Dima.

 

[Vytal Noctura]

​

"The Nightsisters have never been ones eager to join in the wars of others," Vytal announced, her emerald gaze slowly panned across the other faces in attendance. Her pale features highlighted with black did not flinch at any body language suggesting disapproval. "Our magick has often been an exploited source of knowledge and power, tis left them disinterested in such things."

Recent events weren't much of an exception to that rule. One slain offworlder had set armies against one another? A number of clans dismissed the entire affair as beneath them from the start. Had it been a Daughter of Dathomir, however, things would have been different. It was as she'd expected -- her Sisters were not the sort to be cowed into obedience no matter what Vytal's background.

"The Empire has done what it must to maintain its authority. Outsiders sought to undermine that authority, which led to violence, and now tis a self-sustaining cycle." The Dathomiri woman nodded in Domina's direction. "Perhaps you could talk it out, but they started this believing you unwilling to respond. Twould be in our custom for you to instill in them the fact you will respond. Now. In the future. Whenever and wherever they choose."

"My Sisters may not fight on the front line, but we will support you. Your Shaman Warmaster will have a number of Sisters to protect, heal, and if need be attack your enemies." A horde of magick wielding warriors was not in the cards, but that didn't mean all of the Nightsisters would sit it out. Vytal had managed to convince some to support the Empire to ensure Dathomir's independence; and Aether, to his word, had not made any effort to colonize or dominate their world. It would be a slow process to unravel their desire for isolation. And in some respect, Vytal was hesitant to unravel it too quickly or too thoroughly. The galaxy was not ready for Dathomir to make its claim on the galaxy. They had enough problems with the Sith.

Aether Verd | Lynn Caromed | Warpriest Prime​

 

[Aselia Verd]

She sat at Aether's right, her helm resting atop the table before her, the firelight catching on its crimson trim. Silent, watchful, Aselia listened as each voice was raised, weighing every word without dismissal. But when the time came, she turned to the Mand'alor, dipped her head in brief acknowledgment then began to speak.

"You know our way, Mand'alor. The Diarchy has shown us theirs."

Her eyes swept across the chamber, tracking every face. "Not once. Not twice. But every time their shadow crosses ours. They preach peace while drawing blood. They extend a hand only after their blade has already cut us. We are not prey to be soothed with soft words while the hunter circles closer."

Her voice hardened, steel edged with fire.

"They killed a child on Vexis. A Mandalorian child." She paused for a moment, remembering her own fate during the force purges, how she had nearly been killed by her own kin if not for the pity of one man. "That child had no chance. No mercy. No future. That alone is reason enough to march. But beyond vengeance, there is truth. If we show weakness now, then tomorrow it will not be just one child."

She turned her head toward Warpriest Prime eyes fixing on her. "You make a good point though, if we can settle this in a way that spares more Mandalorian civilians. This would be preferable to all out war, but do not mistake my meaning. If war is what we choose then we fight it to win." she turned back to Aether "However, our goal all along has been to protect our people. Not to be the crusaders before us. If we keep to that ideal our course becomes clear."

TAG: Aether Verd Lynn Caromed Vytal Noctura Warpriest Prime + OPEN

​

 

[Korra Kast]

Korra Kast stood off to the side of the hall, leaning against a wall with her arms crossed, listening to the gathered voice their opinions. As she figured, most were wanting bloodshed.

"Mand'alor," she begins, her tone measured, "I understand the fire that burns in the hearts of those gathered here. The Diarchy's treachery is a wound we all feel, and the instinct to strike swiftly is one that has guided Mandalore for generations. Yet instinct alone has cost us sons and daughters too many times to count."

She steps closer to the table, meeting the eyes of her peers. "We cannot allow emotion to drive the decisions of the Empire. Before we go firing wildly, let us send scouts ascertain the truth of this attack. Was this truly the Diarchy acting as one, or merely the hand of a rogue agent? If we strike blindly, we risk spilling blood needlessly."

Her gaze sweeps the assembly, calm but unyielding. "Reconnaissance will be preparation. Knowledge will sharpen our swords and ensure that when Mandalore's will is carried out, it is carried out with precision, justice, and honor. The Galaxy may be chaos, but our response need not be."

Aether Verd Lynn Caromed Vytal Noctura Warpriest Prime Aselia Verd

 

[Adonis Angelis IV]

ADONIS ANGELIS IV
Mandalorian Knight of House Angelis | Risen Son of Vaal | Vanguard of the Manda
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It had been some time since Adonis last set foot in this hall. The last time, Mand'alor had announced his Warmasters, proclaiming Mandalore's virtues and vision. The months since had been hard ones, each campaign, each raid, each battlefield giving Adonis new scars and new understanding. He had faced towering horrors and crawling abominations, enemies that would have broken lesser peoples. Yet time and again, his brothers and sisters had stood tall. They proved to him that Mandalorian might was not measured only in beskar plating, but in the Creed itself. Mandalore was a people, not a bloodline, and its strength ran deeper than steel.

When Adonis arrived, he slipped in at the rear, his white-and-gold beskar'gam blending with the press of warriors before finding a place at the table. He removed his helm and set it down with care, dark amber eyes following each speaker in turn. Caromed, with blood vengeance burning. Domina, his war-sister, mocking the gods and fate in her sharp-edged way. Vytal, weaving Dathomir's pragmatism into the fire. Aselia, fierce yet tempered, protective of their people. And Kast, a new voice, demanding caution and precision before war.

Adonis turned their words over in his mind, weighing them as a commander might weigh the fate of his own people. He thought of Vaal, of his kin. What kind of leader would let his own die without consequence? What kind of Mandalorian would barter blood for the faint promise of favor or ground gained? Not him. Not ever.

At last, he rose, towering nearly seven feet in full armor. Silence rippled as his voice carried.

"How much more do we endure before we break?" His gaze swept the banners overhead, then returned to the table. "Twice now we have shown them that when they cut us, we bleed, and we bleed together. Twice now, we have answered. But when do we show them what it truly means to cross Mandalore?"

His crushgaunt crashed against the table with a thunderous crack, punctuating his words.

"Why do we keep smacking the dog on the nose," he growled, voice rising, "instead of putting it down?"

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TAG: Aether Verd Aselia Verd Warpriest Prime Korra Kast Vytal Noctura Lynn Caromed ​

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

HALL OF BANNERS, MANDALORE

Aether listened.

Above all else, he listened. His gaze moved from voice to voice, helm still upon the table, but his focus never strayed from those who spoke in turn. He hearkened to Caromed’s vow, understanding well the scars carved upon Taris, and how the Diarchy’s offenses had piled too high upon their suffering. He hearkened to Domina’s antics, sharp as ever, for though she mocked the cycle of diplomacy and war, she did not lie in saying history repeated itself in blood. He hearkened to Vytal, who had won what few of Dathomir would lend, and who now pledged them to Mandalore’s cause. He hearkened to Aselia, whose conviction burned fierce but whose heart yet bent toward the protection of their civilians. He hearkened to Korra, who urged that Mandalore not be ruled by instinct alone, but rather strike with precision after knowledge was won. And he hearkened to Adonis, whose passion thundered against the table, demanding that Mandalore rise and break the Diarchy once and for all.

The Empire was speaking, and the Mand’alor was listening.

When he finally spoke, his voice filled the chamber with calm severity. “My soul burns at the loss of our child. A life that could have one day worn the mantle of Sole Ruler. A future robbed from Mandalore, taken before it could flourish. That loss is unforgivable. That loss demands an answer.” His words did not thunder as Adonis’ had, but every syllable cut with equal ferocity.

“As much as it would be beautiful if peace could prevail, as much as it would be a wonder if champions could clash instead of armies, I cannot forget the truth of our adversary. The Diarchy are crafty. If their word meant anything, our child would still live. Their hand is poisoned, their promises hollow.” He leaned forward, hands resting upon the table as he continued. “What I want more than anything is to rally the Great Heathen Army. What I want is to call a Crusade. I want to honor our ancestors and the Neo-Crusaders before us by laying waste to the Diarchy in total war. But two extremes give me pause.”

His gaze moved across the assembly. “First are our own. Mandalorian citizens live within Diarchy borders. Echoy’la stands as holy to us, yet its people are vulnerable. If I call for war without restraint, then Echoy’la will pay the price of reprisal. Second is the nature of the Diarchy itself. What do both of our encounters share in common? Their agents were present and active where they had no right to be. At Taris. At Vexis Station. Close to and within our very borders. Their shadows are their strength, and any action we take against them will surely awaken those shadows within our midst.”

He allowed the chamber a breath before speaking once more. “Thus far, the direction our midst seeks is reprisal, though temperance has been urged and noted. These two concerns, I lay before you now.​

What say the Clans? What say the Empire?​

Adonis Angelis IV , Aselia Verd , Warpriest Prime , Korra Kast , Vytal Noctura , Lynn Caromed

 

[Siv Kryze]

.​

HALL OF BANNERS​

Tag: Aether Verd Adonis Angelis IV Aselia Verd Warpriest Prime Korra Kast Vytal Noctura Lynn Caromed​

​

Siv Kryze rose, helm upon his head, its T-visor reflecting the firelight of the Hall of Banners. When he spoke, it was with the measured clarity of a warrior who carried both his clan's name and Mandalore's burden.

"Mand'alor. Clans. Know this, Clan Kryze has borne the mantle of leadership before. Ours is a legacy that remembers both the folly of endless crusades and the ruin that comes when Mandalore waits too long to act. It has always fallen to my bloodline to balance restraint with resolve, to guard Mandalore's fire without allowing it to be smothered."

His helm turned slowly, visor catching the chamber's light as it swept the gathered banners.

"We have not been reckless. When the Diarchy reached with false promises, we offered the olive branch. When others rushed to war, we held to discipline. When Yavin burned, we stood by our word. That was not weakness. That was honor. That was Mandalore proving we are not the raiders of the past, but a people capable of restraint when restraint is wisdom."

His gauntleted fist struck the obsidian table once, the sound sharp as a gunshot.

"And what was our reward? Treachery. A child slain at Vexis. Lies woven into every accord. They looked upon our patience and called it hesitation. They saw the olive branch in our hand and believed Mandalore too timid to raise the sword."

The voice within the helmet hardened, carrying the steel of conviction.

"That illusion ends here. The branch is broken. Now the sword must speak. And when it speaks, it cannot linger in a war that strangles our trade and starves our people. The routes and markets that could enrich this Empire will rot if we fight half a war. No! This stroke must be swift. It must be merciless. One blow that shatters their fleets, their coffers, their falsehoods and brands upon the galaxy's memory what Mandalore is."

The visor fixed forward, unyielding, beskar gleaming beneath the chamber's light.

"This is the truth of Clan Kryze: peace is offered once, and once only. Refuse it, and Mandalore does not hesitate. Our patience has been mistaken for weakness. Let us correct their error. Raise the sword, Mand'alor, and we shall show them that while Mandalore's peace is honorable, our wrath is final."

 

[Kirae Orade]

Tags: Aether Verd Adonis Angelis IV Aselia Verd Warpriest Prime Korra Kast Vytal Noctura Lynn Caromed Siv Kryze


It felt wrong for Kirae to be here. She was only here since she was the only one of her clan who still remained. It should have been someone else here than her. Someone more aggressive. Willing to go on the offensive for their people. But that person didn't exist. Instead, Kirae did. She knew she was defensive. Far too defensive. Her eyes focused on the galactic map on her display as she was trying to come up with some kind of plan. Something that would add to the discussion, instead of her standing here as a witless bystander.

Echoy'la was close to the Diarchy's capital. The idea of suggesting an evacuation alongside an assault would be folly in that case. There would be far too many defensive tactics the Diarchy would have for protecting that space. Even if they hit fast and hard, it was likely Diarchy agents would be able to report their movements. She could feel her blood boiling more and more at the suggestion for them to go straight into war, without thought about their people that were in Diarchy space. The people that Kirae wanted to protect...but she kept her mouth shut. Anger would get them no where.

"...The idea of an honourable duel between champions to decide between the Diarchy and us is a good one. Though there is one specific fault with that idea that stands out to me. How do we know the Diarchy will honour it? They're a serpent. And the best way to deal with a serpent is to go for its head. Yet at the same time, if we go on a full assault...Echoy'la is deep within the Diarchy's influence. Even if we tried to evacuate our people, there's a high likelihood it would not go well."

She knew there would be possibly some who would be offended at the concept of evacuating the planet. Evacuating a holy world, but in Kirae's eyes, it wasn't the worlds that made Mandalorians. It was the people. Not the territory. Without the people, all they'd have were relics and ruins. Either way. She had said her piece now, so Kirae just went back to standing in silence.​

 

[Alara Ordo]

How long had it been since she set foot on Mandalore? Since she had truly been amongst her own people in large numbers such as this? Last she remembered, she had been in her mid teens. Before she vanished into the dregs of society, and becoming all to familiar with the galaxies criminal underworld. So far as to even become part of it herself.

Now here she stood at the edge of the shadows in the Hall of Banners. The visor from her helmet occasionally catching the light from beneath the hood of her poncho. She was here more to observe then to speak. So used to the politics of her own planet that she almost forgot how straightforward Mandalorian politics could be sometimes. This Diarchy, however, was a new threat that could even reach her little syndicate halfway across the galaxy.

She stepped some out of the shadows. Voice slightly raspy as she spoke her words. "Whispers of what the Diarchy has done, and still does, has made its way through the criminal underworld. I can tell you, it does not paint a very good picture of honor and trust. The killing of a Mandalorian child is unfortunate, but not surprising considering what they do to their own people who do not conform to their ideology."

"They indoctrinate children with their philosophy of peace. Even as twisted as their definition of it is. Whose to say they're not trying to warp the minds of our children already. In hopes of quietly moving them into our ranks to destabilize us from the inside." She paused for a moment and scanned those who were present. "We need to act, but not rashly. For that could be dangerous for our people on Echoy'la. I know smugglers who can get supplies to them if things get worse, but it might not be enough."

"As for striking back. Rushing in and striking at the first thing won't do any good. The average soldier means nothing in the long scheme of things for them. Just another being to further their cause. It would be better to prod their defenses, see who yells the loudest. Then silence them. Removing the voices of their philosophers or bringing down their leaders will do more to being a thorn in their side then killing a few grunts."

Aether Verd Aselia Verd Adonis Angelis IV Warpriest Prime Korra Kast Vytal Noctura Lynn Caromed Siv Kryze

 

[Warpriest Prime]

I HEAR THIS VOICE KEEP ASKING ME
IS THIS MY BLOOD OR IS IT BLASPHEMY?

Aether Verd | Adonis Angelis IV | Alara Ordo | Kirae Orade | Siv Kryze | Korra Kast | Vytal Noctura | Lynn Caromed ​

And for once, it seemed the Assembly carried an unusual current of unity. Each voice brought its own flavor of conviction. Some, like Siv Kryze warning against the folly of endless war, others salivating at the chance for annihilation such as Lynn Caromed . Some were on the side of conflict mixed with caution like Korra Kast & Aselia Verd . But all were aligned in their understanding: this slight could not go unanswered. Even the concept of duels were entertained, though not without concern that the Diarchy would prove too craven to honor such a proposition.

The Mandalorian Xeno shifted in her chair before standing, clawed fingers drumming across the table in a steady, grating rhythm. Five eyes narrowed from behind her mask as she spoke.

"Seems we are, more or less, in alignment. The only divisions I hear are in method. Whether we strike with hammer or scalpel, Whatever is decided, Prime will play along. Scripture demands no less."

She rose to her full, imposing height, dragging one clawed finger across the table so the sound echoed like nails on slate, cutting through the chamber.

"And on this matter of champions & duels..." her tone sharpened as she removed her military cap and tucked it beneath her arm, "There was once a time when kings and rivals spared their people from endless slaughter through single combat. One crown against another. One blade to decide the fate of thousands. So why not here? Why not now? Let me, on behalf of my kith and kin, deliver the challenge directly to this Diarchy. Give them the chance to end this conflict clean, swift, and honorable."

She peeled away her mask, setting it aside with deliberate weight. Her five eyes darted across the chamber, each locking with another as a wicked grin spread across her lips.

"And if they should accept only to betray that honor? Then I promise you something sweeter. They will earn my undivided attention. And I will see to it that their shame feeds the gods for generations."

Her tone dropped lower, more venomous. As if making a promise only she herself could keep.

"Let's be really real, brothers & sisters. This so called 'Diarchy' are not Sith. They are not Jedi. They lack the weight of the Galactic Alliance, and they have none of the heavy hitters of the Dark Lords. The Diarchy may strut about like kings, but they are no warriors. They play games of crowns and treaties, not war. They are politicians. Nobles. Pretenders. Ambition far too large for their boots."

She spread two arms wide, gesturing to the hall.

"They balance their little empire on cards and borrowed coin. All it would take is the smallest strike, harass their envoys, drain their coffers, cripple their great projects. And their whole house comes crashing down. If we let them dictate terms in full war, they'll bleed us slowly. But if we take the fight to their pride and their purse? When they learn that their fleets can't guard their granaries, their nobles, and their ships all at once? They'll beg for our terms. Beg for the duel. Beg to give us the fight they cannot escape. Or They'll crumble~"

Her grin widened as she leaned forward, snarling across the table.

"So, brothers. Sisters. Lend Prime your sanction. Let me go to their gilded throne-world as emissary of blood & steel. If they honor the duel, i shall return to you for further steps. If they deny me?" she spread her four arms wide in a violent shrug, "Then they will know there is nothing stopping us from turning their world upside down." She promised as that massive tail swished and flicked behind her looming frame.

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

Observing but open to interaction ​

The Hall of Banners
Keldabe


Sibylla sat in silence beneath the shadow of the banners, her hazel eyes steady on the chamber as the voices of the Mandalorian clans rose and fell around her. As the High Republic's Ambassador to the Mandalorian Empire, her place here was not to speak but to listen. And so she did, carefully, weighing every tone, every argument, every strike of conviction brought forth.

The matter before them was not a small one. War. The Diarchy stood as the question upon the table, and the Mand'alor's call demanded an answer that would shape not only Mandalorian Empire’s fate, but have a rippling effect on the galaxy. Sibylla could not help but recall the Republic's own recent decrees, how swiftly the vote had named Black Sun and Sith aligned powers as enemies to be met with force. Their own call for War. So understanding what the Mandalorian themselves deemed worthy enough to fight for was paramount for Sibylla as much as for the High Republic as well.

Some spoke in Mando'a, their words thick with phrases and turns of speech her translator whispered into clarity. Yet she made a point to catch what she could unaided, stubborn in her will to learn their tongue. Even their curses had found their way into her vocabulary, small tokens of effort meant to show she was not a stranger here.

It was not the fervor of their debate that held her, but the weight beneath it. Anger, pride, grief, and loyalty, all woven together into a tapestry of Mandalore was painted in the cadence of its people.

When the Mand'alor Aether Verd spoke, Sibylla caught how he walked the line of righteous fury and the burden of restraint, and she understood. He spoke of how he remembered Echoy'la, the fragility of his people, and the shadows enemies would never cease to cast across them.

In turn, the young Ambassador weighed each voice in turn. One comment pressed too quickly toward vengeance. Warpriest Prime ‘s provocation forced the question of whether endless cycles of blood could ever teach. Aselia Verd 's pragmatism echoed her own instincts as a diplomat, balancing leadership with the desire to protect her people reminding Sibylla of what the Republic strove to uphold. Korra Kast ‘s clarity warned of mistakes born from haste. And Adonis Angelis IV ‘s passion burned with the unyielding fire that had always been Mandalore's spirit.

There were more, of course, but each voice was a facet of the whole. And with every one, Sibylla learned not only what Mandalore would fight for -- but what it was willing to die for.

 

[Zet Reav]

First meeting. No tags because did not interact (yet)
Armor | Vambraces | Mentioned lab


Zet certainly cannot be blamed for arriving late to the party. The universe moves, eternal and vast, but his intellect is eternaler. He hit a patch of inspiration a while ago and HAD to spend a few “days” locked in his private lab, working to make his idea a reality. It is not easy to make something out of nowhere, guided only by a sudden inspiration and the determination to make it work. It was only when two members of his staff moved by the hallway outside his doors, speaking a bit too loudly, that reality hit him. Hard.

“We did it.”
“Finally.”
“It’s been months of hard work… has anyone seen the boss?”

At that moment, the door to Zet’s lab opened up and Zet himself stared into the souls of the scientists before him.

“It’s been WHAT!?!?”

And so there he is, attending the meeting. Late to the party, but joining it nonetheless. When the Manda’lor calls, Zetham Reav answers immediately.

… No. That is a lie. He did answer, but not immediately. Zet had to check the news concerning the previous months, question his staff, demand answers as to why no one updated the calendars. Turns out they did update them, Zet just did not pay attention. So, first, he had to do some homework and find out what changed and how much.

Turns out the Mandalorians had a few issues here and there and the clans were called to pitch in. And Zet is… technically the head of his clan, being the last member and all. Not that it matters much. The Rev clan lives and dies with him.

And so, again, there is he. Almost naked, in comparison with his fellow brothers and sisters armored to the teeth and the tails, given how effectively simple his armor is/looks. But he walks with confidence and pride to find himself a place, his arms crossed over his chest and his helmet held in one hand. It will do him some good to show his face, to be known and to know others.

So much has changed. But life goes on, and life is all about conflict. Zet has a good-enough notion of the galaxy’s political situation now, but the Mand’alor paints a good summary of the situation at hand. The man has the charisma to talk to a crowd. That’s good.

Zet doesn’t speak. Not yet. Others all around seem to share his belief: revenge is very much needed. It's only a matter of when, where, how and for how long. He is glad he is not the one calling the shots and making a decision about those precious details. He will fight with them, he will kill and heal for them, he will even die for them when his time comes, but right then and there his focus is to study. To see the faces of those present, to see who are the leaders and how the leader of leaders works. Zet follows the title of Mand’alor, but he has yet to really know the man wielding it.

 

[Mig Gred]

Mig sat with a surprising calm to him. He’d honestly had t hear this same tune so many times before…. He took a breath as he heard everyone there. Their different view and opinions. He couldn’t deny age at this point, but he was still able to fight. Light armor, a Sith dagger, an Echani blade, and the strange hybrid weapon of his clan. But they all stayed sheafed.

“Stars are a funny thing.” He said as he finally stood up during a pause in the talks. “The squadron leader for one of the Keros’ Kad’s landing ship units, a spacer from birth, has a saying about them I’ve taken to heart.” He held his hand up, using the old techniques Stardust had showed him to pull air to his hand, holding a flame. The Force in action, though not as a weapon or tool like usual. “Stars that burn the brightest, the hottest, with the most actively tend to die young.” He closed his hand, sniffing the flame.

“And they tend to take everything in the sector with them.” He decided to pull off the helmet for the time being. No, he didn’t think anyone would struggle to catch his feeling, but he wanted them to see the scars, the mismatched eyes. “I’ve watched so many worlds survive and fall in my time. Some ours. Some others. Some simple take overs, and others…. Pure, unbridled destruction.” He took another breath before looking at everyone, ready to gage any response he’d get for this. “My clan has tended to remain in the black largely because of what the Sith did use that day. Mand’alor. My clan might be willing to fight for many things, but all out destruction, bombardments, no escape, no care for who’s on the other end of that blade…. No.”

 

[Delsin Shaw]

All of the Mandalorians vowed blood for the blood spilt.

It made complete sense. All of these voices loud and boisterous. Wanting to proclaim themselves the "Mandalor's Champion." or to bring down the full might of the Mandalorian Empire down upon the Diarchy. A group of people led by two specific individuals. A cult of personality, only with two faces instead of one. Both of which had shown their hand a little too much. Willing to be allied, but now turning the hand to a blade to be plunged deeply into the chest of the Empire.

All voices spoke. Each one being heard and listened by Aether. Normally, I would be much more reserved. Holding back any form of emotion towards this predicament. As I, was no Beskar Brain Bucket. I kept my fingers playing across strings of the universe to bring about things that the Mandalorians may not have had otherwise. Connections with Sith, and a Dark Court. Connections with the Black Sun was one of my most recent attempts to bring about a possible working relationship. Now, any chance of providing the same aspect with the Diarchy was gone.

Their hearts beat proudly at calling the Crusades. A rite given rarely. One that is not done without reason. While Aether could have easily just called for one of his own power of the governmental shape, he came to his Alors instead. Leaders of the various clans that were within the Empire. Asking them for their vote of confidence that this action, this call for all out war against the Diarchy over the death of a child, be reprimanded. No longer a smack on the wrist, but a complete drawn and quartered action of removing them.

I felt for the man. Losing someone, anyone under his watch was painful. However, there was much more to this. As one of the more prestigious members of the Writ of Iron, and the Mandalore's Champion in the Galactic Kaggath, Friend and ally of the Verd House, and personally fond of Aether as a friend. This was a hard decision for him. Even without having all of these voices telling him what to do. The bombastic reactions of some sullied the floor to me. So easily willing to fight eye for an eye. Making themselves blind to the situation. However, a War with the Diarchy, might also bring new opportunities for myself to network allies out of the Black Sun Syndicate, or even the Imperial Confederation. As we had previously met with them on small occasions.

Was all of this worth it?

A deep breath before I stood. Donning myself in my typical gear. While I did not have a right to speak as a Mandalorian, I did as a Member as the Writ of Iron, as well as a close friend of the Verds. This connection spanning to years before the turn of the century.

"Aether, Mandalore. I wish to speak."

Giving it a moment, I let my voice be heard. Speaking a little louder than I normally would, but the smooth tone and deep resonance echoed on its own without being loud.

"As a member of the Writ, I will support you in whatever decision you bring. I will support the Mandalorians. They have given me much to work with, and much to enjoy over the battlefields, within your hearths, and as comforting as Mandalorian Ale. However we both know the history of the Mandalorians."

I turned around to the others. Letting my unnatural eyes play across the helmeted Mandalorians. Their armor all different shapes and sizes.

"A call of champions will not be respected. Honor duels when the Diarchy have shown their hand, will only give them a slap on the wrist. It is a personal affront they have blasted you in the face with. Even your thick beskar helmets couldn't hold that blow. They hit your heart. Your people."

Facing once more to the man I had found confidence in, I spoke very plainly.

"This is not the time to half-ass a decision. Either let it go, or give them what they asked for. Anything else, would be a stain upon your name, and your people."

Mig Gred Zet Reav Sibylla Abrantes Warpriest Prime Alara Ordo Kirae Orade Siv Kryze Aether Verd Adonis Angelis IV Korra Kast Aselia Verd Vytal Noctura Lynn Caromed

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

HALL OF BANNERS, MANDALORE

Aether listened, as he had from the first word spoken within the hall, and let the current of his people pass through him like heat through iron. Siv Kryze gave voice to a creed that rang true in every banner overhead, that peace is offered once and once only, that refusal turns the branch to a blade without hesitation. Kirae set a careful eye upon the map and named the truth that others would rather dress in ceremony, that a contest of champions is a fine story on a fine day, yet there is no seal upon the Diarchy’s honor and Echoy’la lies too deep within their lines for an easy hand to pull our people clear. Alara Ordo walked in out of the edges and named the rot, that the Diarchy schools children into a faith that would set our house at war with itself, then offered the needles that might draw a true reaction from the serpent without throwing lives away for the sake of noise. Domina pressed the virtue of single combat, daring the tyrants to take a clean decision or expose their own cowardice for all to see. Mig spoke for the fire that chooses not to become a star that devours its own sky, and set down the circle that Clan Gred will not cross no matter who calls. Delsin cut to the bone and called the duel a door to nowhere.

He did not need to look toward Sibylla Abrantes to feel the gaze of Naboo upon the chamber. The High Republic had sent an ear and a memory, and whatever left his mouth would not stop at these walls. It would run to courts and councils and ships whose flags did not bear the mythosaur, and it would tell them whether Mandalore kept its word with discipline or lost its mind to rage. He welcomed that witness. Let them carry the truth of what was decided here.

When he spoke, his voice carried the steadiness of a smith at the anvil. “Mig of Clan Gred,” he said, inclining his head without rising from his chair, “I have heard temperance spoken in this hall from the first day of my rule, and I hear it again now. The clan that refuses to torch a world for the comfort of fury speaks for more than itself. Your measure will be kept in the decisions ahead, and I will not pretend that I did not hear you.” His attention moved through the room and came to rest upon the alor of Prime. “Domina. If our foe had shown even a scrap of honor in any of our dealings, I would set a field and four corners and let champions speak so the innocent would not. They have shown no such honor. They speak with masks and knives, and call their lies prudence. A duel would be a stage they set fire to the moment our backs turned. We will not give them the script for their next deception. What must be done is harsher than pageantry.”

He drew a long breath and set it down between them without apology. “There is something many in this chamber saw upon Yavin Four. At a time when the Gravesong War devoured every hour, the Empire chose to bare a tool that could end a field in minutes. I believed that strike would do two things at once. It would stop a monster that had reached too far, and it would remind the Diarchy that there are lines they cannot cross without finding themselves under a sky they no longer own. They did not learn. So they will be taught again.”

He leaned forward, fingers steepled over the obsidian table. “The shape of that lesson is clear in my mind. We do not begin with speeches and we do not begin with parades of armor. We begin with reach. We begin with craft. We take the chapters they wrote in shadow and write our own. Our fleets and our covert hands enter Diarchy space along several axes. In low orbit above selected civilian centers, we ready Super Defoliators without fanfare and without broadcasting targets in the open. Then the Empire speaks a single demand that none can mistake. Echoy’la will be emptied of our citizens in full. Every beskar-rich asteroid that can be towed will be cut loose from Diarchy claim and brought toward Mandalorian space under our escort.”

“The moment that demand reaches their desks, the Diarchy will understand that the next word they speak may sign the death warrants of millions. If they choose pride over sense and move so much as a finger toward interference, they confess to the galaxy that they would trade their own people for the chance to bloody our nose, and they will learn what true silence looks like from orbit. If they comply, we secure our people without delay. We safeguard our holy world by pulling every son and daughter clear of their reach, and we pull wealth once promised to our children back into hands that will not use it to fund the poison that killed one of our own.”

He did not soften the next turn. “And once our people are home, the sword falls. Not upon granaries, not upon hospitals, not upon the ordinary lives that have already been kidnapped by their rulers. The strike will fall upon what makes the Diarchy a threat. Shipyards will become scrap. Fortresses will lose their teeth and their floors in the same hour. Arms foundries will stand silent, and the men who profit from them will watch contracts turn to ash. The Diarchy preaches security and competence while peddling treachery. They have told the stars they are the safer choice. We will strip that sermon down to the lie it has always been.”

Aether settled back into his seat and opened his hands to the chamber. “This is where my mind stands. I have heard the call to restraint and I have heard the call to swiftness. I have considered the duel and set it aside because I refuse to barter our future on a promise already broken. I would begin with reach, force a choice that values our people first, then end the Diarchy’s capacity to make war. Tell me what I have missed. Tell me where this plan leaves our flanks open, or where a quieter hand can make a loud strike cleaner."​

What say the Clans? What say the Empire?​

Delsin Shaw , Mig Gred , Zet Reav , Sibylla Abrantes , Warpriest Prime , Alara Ordo , Kirae Orade , Siv Kryze , Adonis Angelis IV , Korra Kast , Aselia Verd , Vytal Noctura , Lynn Caromed

 

[Runi Kuryida]

"A bag of white sand. A bag of black sand. Poured into a vessel however carefully still mix." The Shaman had stood at the edge of the gathering. She leaned back against a pillar or a wall so as not to be too far not to hear the words of those spoken, but not too near to interrupt. It was their story to tell, and she was just a guide. And the Mandalore asked for guidance. "Some build hospitals next to military installations. Schools on shipyards. Convenience they call it being too accustomed to peace. Choose carefully, Mandalore, or a targeted assault may only perpetuate what is meant to be at an end."

Runi didn't advocate pacifism at any point. Would it be nice if the galaxy were peaceful? Certainly. Was it realistic? Not at all. They did what they had to do to survive. Yet, the people of the galaxy went out of their way to find reason to perpetuate war. They claimed the Mandalorians were warlike, but they built civilian centers around military targets. They begged for civilian casualties in the hope of stirring up support. Some thought the attackers monsters; but who was more monstrous, the attacker for attacking military targets, or the defenders that thought to use human shields? The Mandalore only need know it was a variable and to account for it -- that was all.

As for the options on the table... Runi didn't see any good ones. Diplomacy? Wasn't the problem. They could reach an accord with the Diarchy government relatively easily. But what about the instigators? The people that did not abide the wishes of the governments, or that did but in secret? Diplomacy did nothing to combat that. Their words wormed their way through the masses unimpeded until that very government so understanding before started making those claims themselves. And then they were back where they started.

It was, sadly, a case where peace was merely that short window in time when you built up your forces in preparation for war. Would war make things better? No. People were rarely convinced they were wrong when attacked. Total War? But Runi was reluctant to even propose that. She might not be a pacifist, but the number of souls wounded and lost for the chance that in the end the other side was brought to heel... What could a Shaman do, but support them in their efforts when there was no perfect solution? Perhaps, this time, the dice would fall in their favor.

Aether Verd​

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

MANDALORE

The words of the Warmaster gave him pause enough to incline his head, the gesture slow and deliberate as he acknowledged the counsel for what it was. “You name a truth, Runi. Convenience is so often the veil thrown over cowardice, a mask to hide behind when the builders of fortresses choose to wall in a school or a ward as their shield. They hope the hand that strikes will falter, or that the tale told after will damn us more than it damns them. Yet if the treachery of the Diarchy bleeds even into the way they raise their installations, that is their folly. It is not a hand of mercy when we step aside and let their deceit stand unchallenged, it is surrender. Mandalore’s reprisal will not be denied.”

His gauntleted fingers tapped once upon the obsidian table before parting again, voice steady as iron. “I will not set fire where care is possible. We will choose our targets with precision. The sky does not need to fall on every corner of their world to remind them who they have wronged. It will fall on the places that make their tyranny endure, and nowhere else if it can be helped. Before the launch is set in motion, I will confer with the War Council. We will weigh every strike, test every line of intelligence, and make certain that when the command is given it is not war without thought but judgment delivered with clarity. To act otherwise would be folly of our own, and I will not let Mandalore answer deceit with recklessness.”​

Delsin Shaw , Mig Gred , Zet Reav , Sibylla Abrantes , Warpriest Prime , Alara Ordo , Kirae Orade , Siv Kryze , Adonis Angelis IV , Korra Kast , Aselia Verd , Vytal Noctura , Lynn Caromed + Open

 

[Vytal Noctura]

​

"Then the bones are cast," Vytal intoned.

Thus far, Aether had not asked the Witches to use their magick to give the Mandalorians a tactic advantage. The Witch was grateful for this. It would be difficult to convince her sisters to use the Nether as a means of waging mortal war. There was already concern over being under the gaze of the Mandalorians, as though there were any other option short of open war to change that. A foolish war.

Even she, herself, would not wish to militarize the Nether. It was a realm with its own challenges and rules. It could currently be used to bypass shields and other defenses, or even allow ordinance to go unnoticed before erupting in the midst of the enemy, but there would be consequences. Spirits were not as mindless as some thought. Merely... occupied. Content to remain apart. Unless disturbed.

Her emerald eyes swept over those in attendance. "Wars occur not only on the battlefield. Those of your people that will not be at the frontline must still prepare themselves. Resources before. Fallout after. Your warriors are brave, but still mortal." The Shaman would no doubt agree with the effect battle could have on the psyche.

Aether Verd | Mig Gred | Zet Reav | Sibylla Abrantes | Warpriest Prime | Alara Ordo | Kirae Orade | Siv Kryze | Adonis Angelis IV | Korra Kast | Aselia Verd | Lynn Caromed​