Reaching across the Aisle

[Laira Darkhold]

Alderaan had always stood as a beacon of the Core, a beacon of peace, prosperity, hope, and justice. For millennia the planet represented those qualities until the Galactic Empire erased it, turning that symbol into a martyr. Eight Hundred years had passed, the world has been rebuilt several times, and those scars run deep, down to the mantle of the planet, but the people, the people remained strong. They worked everyday of their lives to continue to be that beacon, to live up to that responsibility.

Alderaan had been the first to pull away from the Republic. The planet had declared neutrality and removed its resources and its support from the rump state of tyranny and deceit. Now, it remained peaceful, its sovereignty in tact, its people free. A Mandalorian Force had carved out the cancerous rot, and cast it off from the planet, and now only a few Mandalorians remained out of respect to the Alderaanian's rule.

Of those Mandalorians, most of them lived in a village, stuck in the mountains just before the first snows began to fall. It was simple, nothing massive or immense. There was no fortress, no emplacements, no massive cannons. There were small homes with people moving about the place, performing jobs, the hammer ringing of a blacksmith's hammer could be heard. They just lived simply. There was electricity, cleanliness, and some comforts, but the people farmed by hand, leading beasts around. There was a nobility to doing things the old way, the hard way, with your own hands. It was that spirit that Mandalore thrived on, what made them fearsome when they marched to war, but it was also what made the civilized people of the galaxy look down on them, call them barbarians, thugs, second-class beings.

The main building had a Kom'rk-class Fighter/Transport behind it, the only visible starship in the encampment. Inside the building, Shukalar, Conquer, sat quietly in his beskar'kandar. Only proper that if the Galactic Alliance met with him, they would see the Iconic Mandalorian look. There was only one other being in the building, the rest cleared away, a table stretched out and cleared before the Conqueror. Beside Draco sat an ancient warrior, long past his prime, his winter years setting in. He was there to offer his wisdom and insight to the Shukalar if needed, an old grizzled veteran offering his decades of experience from a place of honor. Outside a few warriors rested on the steps and on the porch. They were going about their daily lives, talking about hunting, fighting, their families.

[member="Astarii Saren"]

 

[Republic Engineering]

A heavy sigh slipped through the Hapan's disfigured lips, giving voice to the rising irritation surging through her consciousness. She was never one for politics; that was a wholly different realm - to which no warrior ever truly belonged. While history had shown that many warriors were able to cast aside their blades and become brothers through peaceful discourse, it sadly wasn't much to her liking. In the days after the One Sith had been defeated and the Alliance had earned their pyrrhic victory at Coruscant, the only negotiations that she had participated in were at the bulbous end of her Star Defender's turbolasers. Much to the High Command's delight, and her fellow comrade's chagrin, Astarii had found herself in a lofty position of honor after several noteworthy engagements - including the tumultuous Operation that would see the end of a tyrannical dynasty.

Thus, as more and more victories were laid at her feet as their efforts to drive the One Sith towards extinction had borne fruit, the Hapan was elevated to the position of Fleet Admiral. In essence, she assumed all the duties and authority of the Supreme Commander - but denied the name due to her lack of seniority and skill with diplomatic colloquies. It seemed that the woman was unable to live down her aggressive negotiation with an Imperial Officer on Bpfassh. Not her fault the Tea Cup was her only weapon, and the man saw fit to spring an ambush that endangered the lives of the tribal leaders.

Stifling the urge to chuckle at the memory, Astarii tore her augmented gaze off the Glasteel viewport and turned towards the disorderly stack of crystalline data slates littered across the table before her. Though she enjoyed the privileges of absolute command, what she hated the most was being sent away from her comfort zone to dabble in elements of her persona that others had known were less than ideal. Sure, she'd get the experience - but at what cost? This endeavor was something that couldn't be taken lightly, nor could they take the heavy-handed approach in forcing these techno-barbarians to come to heel. She was told that it was a delicate balance that had to be kept as the political landscape of the known Universe had begun to shift. The Alliance could ill-afford a War with the Clans, as their focus was entirely devoted to eradicating the darkness festering within the proverbial heart of the Galaxy.

Therefore, a meeting was called - something where the two factions could gather and come to an understanding. And when the time had come to choose an Ambassador, Astarii had seemingly drawn the shortest straw, Though she had understood the reasoning behind such a decision, the woman was loathed to accept it. For much of their journey towards the designated system of Alderaan, the delegation had borne witness to another side of the Hapan that many had never seen before. A ceaseless stream of curses erupted from her lips at regular intervals, setting those within the DC-4a Crix Class Diplomatic Courier on edge with how venomous her fury had become, leaving many to wonder how successful this encounter would be if this behavior continued.

Once they had pushed through the ailing remnants of One Sith space and had reached the outer limits of the Clans sphere of influence, the shuttle had halted its advance through the azure tides of hyperspace, reverting into reality with a flicker of Pseudomotion. With the events of the present now unfolding before her silvered sapphire eyes, the Hapan roused herself from the comfort of the padded throne and moved through the interior of the shuttle, reaching the command bridge within a matter of moments. Palming the access panel and feeling the rush of cycled atmospherics blast past her face, Astarii slipped into the forward Cabin and asked for a situational update.

"We've translated out of Hyperspace at the respected Co-Ordinates, Ma'am, and are currently hailing the nearby Mandalorian Flotilla," The Pilot had said, as he turned his head to address his Commanding Officer. "Our escorts, as requested, have returned to the Anaxes Corridor to reinforce the Fleet in that Sector. Captain Kiyanu sends his regards and hopes this outreach goes well."

Feeling a smirk threaten to encompass her jaw, the Admiral nodded wordlessly and signaled for the two men afore her to carry on with their assigned tasks. They knew what they were doing, and it would've been pointless to interfere. Besides - she had much to read on regarding the Alliance's current knowledge of the Clans, and the information their friends in the SIS had been able to gather. Stepping into the unknown and acting on instinct alone would not be enough to see a mutually beneficial outcome from this "diplomatic mission."

Leaving the cockpit and returning to her seat, Astarii lifted yet another sheet of etched flimsi and began to devour the information stenciled onto the thin slate.

As the door had closed behind the Fleet Admiral, the Pilot of the DC-4a Diplomatic Courier had listened to the return message from the Patrolling Flotilla and had accepted their newest escorts without hesitation. They were in Mandalorian-Held space, and it wouldn't do them any good if they disobeyed their established laws. Thus, now in the company of their newfound neighbors, the Shuttle, and several vessels charted their course towards Alderaan and subsequently jumped into hyperspace mere seconds after the two forces joined into one.

Hours later, the shuttle and her escorts decanted into the sovereign world's orbit, following the standard protocols thereafter.

:: Alderaan Orbital Traffic Control, This is the Alliance Diplomatic Courier, 'Phonecian'. Requesting permission to proceed Planetside and coordinates to the Mandalorian Enclave. ::

| [member="Draco Vereen"] |​

 

[Laira Darkhold]

::Coordinates transmitted, flight path highlighted. Keep all weapons and shields powered down on approach. Welcome to Alderaan, Phonecian::

The simple message was transmitted from the large triangular pyramid shaped station that hung over the planet's main continent. Fleetcomm was careful, but there was always something coming to and from Alderaan, especially with the Mandalorians allowing for free trade in the region, so long as they didn't sell to the Republic or the One Sith, most people had a great deal of freedom. There were even rumors of visas being worked on by the Royal Family.

Off to starboard the diplomatic vessel would be able to see the lights and grandeur of the Royal City, New Aldera and the palace of House Organa set against the backdrop of the majestic Triplehorn Mountains. Large tracks of green land, healthy forests, and snow capped mountain peaks covered the planet. It had cost billions to cure the world of the Vong-Forming done to it by the One Sith, even now there were remnants of that curse the One Sith had laid upon the planet, but only ghosts now.

The only real tragedy of the One Sith's reign over Alderaan left was that almost every beautiful work of architecture had little to no ancient history of peace, tranquility, or freedom.

However the Mandalorian Enclave that the diplomatic vessel was directed to was very different. Where the cities of Alderaan promised luxury and hope, the village of Mandalorians, just outside a quarantine zone of vong beasts and wildlife, promised hardships and hard work.

A man dressed in furs and rags stepped up to the wooden structure and opened the door. "They've entered atmosphere." The bone tooth necklace around the man's neck emitted a soft glow as the large man inside set his eyes on the shaman.

"Very well. Direct them to land in the clearing with the other ships and make sure nothing is in their way, but other than telling them where to go, say nothing, continue as if they were not here." The shaman started to close the door with a nod, "Leave it open." The fur covered man shrugged and left the double doors ajar, letting the crisp wind of the mountains flow inside the structure. Draco turned to the older warrior, quiet, "What do you suspect they want?"

"Us to stop picking on their despotic cousins." The warrior said flatly shifting in the chair. "But, I know my place. Speak when needed and all that, Shukalar." Draco nodded at the seasoned warrior, sighing. Times they were a changing, and change was never easy. The new Mand'alor was distrustful of Force wielders, but had two become the Cuir Rekr, and the Warmaster was as well. A full half of the highest ranking members of the Mandalorian Clans, two of them former Mand'alors, were Force Sensitive. Perhaps it was a sign of trust that they had been chosen, despite the distrust and distaste for their kind. In the end, they were Mandalorians first and foremost.

[member="Astarii Saren"]

 

[Ra Vizsla]

"What do you suspect they want?"

A gruffled voice responded from the back of the cabin as a rather large, cloaked man entered the bridge.

"I don't know, but I hope it's quick. And I hope they have jawa juice."

The man pulled back his hood. Ra Vizsla.

"I love jawa juice."​

[member="Astarii Saren"] [member="Draco Vereen"]

 

[Republic Engineering]

Tugging at the hem of her tunic, the newly minted Fleet Admiral stood before the courier shuttle's exit hatch and waited to feel the vessel touchdown atop solid ground. When they had issued her a new uniform after the Fall of Coruscant, the tunic was far larger than what she was ever used too. It seemed that the Alliance Quartermasters had thought it would've been hilarious to bequeath their newest Commander with clothing that was ill-suited to her body type. Where the woven ebony threads had accentuated her lithe figure, the tunic she now wore made her seem several pounds heavier than the Hapan had ever been in her life. When she had interrogated the tailors, they gave her the worst explanation that was ever heard. Who needs a larger bust size to compensate for neural implants? Should this encounter bear fruits and the Admiral live long enough to make it home - she would see to it that those men were scrubbing the latrines with their toothbrushes before the day was out.

Breathing out the sudden wave of anger flushing through her veins, Astarii focused on the myriad of sigils that were ascribed to the door before her. The trick was simple, as it narrowed her thoughts into a single point - to which she could easily reclaim the sensation of calm that had pulsed across her nerves mere hours before. How funny it was that one could prepare for a meeting such as this for days, cycling through possible dialogue, practicing small measure's of one's culture, and still be unprepared for the execution. A slight tremor drummed through her fingers as they toyed with the ivory hem of her tunic.

"Damn..." She cursed through thin lips. Her nerves were shot, and in the darkest recesses of the Hapan's mind, a flash of desire despoiled the sanctity of her thoughts. In that passing moment, she had craved a stiff drink, or three, to settle the tempest of anxiety swirling about in her brain. However, just as quickly as the urge had materialized, the sudden compulsion vanished into thin air. She had regained the stability desired, and opened her eyes to see her reflection - nearly blanching at the sight of her despoiled face being despoiled further by nearly having bitten through the supple flesh of her lip. Recoiling from the sight of the self-inflicted wound, Astarii fled into the shuttle's interior and fumbled with the Medkit's locking mechanism. As the case burst open, the shuttle itself had come in for a landing. The loss of forward momentum would've tossed her from her feet, had she not been able to drop the small alabaster case and brace herself between two of the nearest seats. Once she was confident that the Pilot's had control over their shuttle, the Fleet Admiral knelt down to the deck and began collecting the spilled medicinal supplies.

With the last of the items placed within the now restored Aid-Kit, the Hapan grabbed the small antiseptic wipe and a nearly invisible patch of bio-degradable plastoid infused with bacta. Feeling the sting of the wipe cleansing her wound, the woman had almost swore several times over. The pain she felt was the price she had to pay for being distracted, and thus having learned her lesson long before the meeting between these two might peoples had begun - it would prove to be one of the most valuable things she would ever learn in the coming days. Wrapping the salve around her wounded orifice, she returned the kit to its rightful place affixed to the wall and moved back towards the exit hatch. As the shuttle had landed, the Fleet Admiral palmed the access terminal and watched as the door peeled back into its housing - revealing another world entirely beyond its iron-riveted frame.

Descending the extended ramp and bathed in the exsanguinated plumes of hydraulic gasses, the former Captain had seemingly stepped into a bygone era, where technology was but a myth. Her augmented eyes whirred to life, spinning in mesmerizing circles as it devoured the time-lost village before the Shuttle. With her boiled leather boots kissing the earth beneath the iron-shod passenger plank, a voice had called to her from within the shuttle, causing the Admiral reluctantly to turn away from the enthralling visage laid out afore her.

"It's unwise to go alone, Ma'am. Let us send a few Sol-"

Before the man could finish, she cocked a disfigured smile and brushed his comments aside with a flick of her wrist.

"No, Captain. I want you and your men to stay on the ship. This is their world, and it was requested that I meet with their..." Mando'a was a complicated language to one used to the nuances of High Galactic, and thus the term to describe the man she was supposed to meet and the position he held within the Clans was lost to her. It took her several moments to sort through the data she had gleaned from the pile of data slates, but once the word was found, Astarii continued. "Their Shu-kalar. Something of a foreign relations minister for the Clans, if the intel the SIS collected is correct. It wouldn't do us any good if we showed up for our first meeting with the Mandalorians armed for war, now would it?"

"Aye ma'am," The voice replied.

"Besides, what could go wrong?" She said with a blighted smile.

Hearing nothing more from her bodyguard and his detail, the Fleet Admiral turned away from the ochre clamshell and started towards the village, taking in the sights with every purposeful step.

Passing by the venerable Kom'rk - Class Fighter/Transport, the Hapan had resisted the urge to reach out her arm and run her fingers along the cooled surface of the vessel's hull. She had only seen such a starship in her briefings, but it lacked the majesty of reality when depicted by Azure pixels. While it would've pleased her to no end to touch the over-sized fighter craft, the woman had known better not to touch another's belongings without permission. It was only the gravest of insults, and when in the company of those who held honor above all - such an act would've most likely warranted deadly repercussions.

Nevertheless, with such dreams cast aside for the realities of the present, the Fleet Admiral had made her approach towards the largest of the buildings within the village, oddly enough the very one that had housed the unpaved landing zone behind its tightly bound wooden walls. As the short stroll came to an end, the Hapan was greeted by an abrupt gust of crisp mountain air, nearly chilling her to the bone. Saved by the thick threads of her oversized tunic, Astarii rolled her eyes at the irony of the situation. Stifling the urge to burst into laughter, the Admiral scoffed and tugged at the hem of her tunic once more - before turning the corner and coming face to face with a man clad from head to toe in fur and rags.

He said nothing as he departed into the village proper, leaving the massive double-doors ajar for Astarii to enter. Slipping a graceful hand about the carved wooden surface; the woman tugged - secretly wishing she had been clad in her beloved power armor - as it took her several moments to force the doors open. With enough room to permit herself entry, the uniformed woman slipped into the massive Hovel and saw those awaiting her within seated, and standing behind a rather vast and empty table. She studied their faces, in turn, devouring the very facets that set them apart. When the former Captain was confident that she had known which man was the Shukalar - the one who seemed to be sitting at the head of the table surrounded by venerable warriors, and the only familiar face that she had recognized - the Hapan took a step forward, allowing the door to swing closed behind her.

"I am Astarii Saren," The woman said aloud, coating each expelled word with a measure of her High Galactic accent. "And I seek the Shukalar."

| [member="Draco Vereen"] | [member="Ra Vizsla"] |​

 

[Ra Vizsla]

Ra landed with Shukalar, entered the village, and followed the proper path to the location that the Mandalorians and the Galactic Alliance had chosen to meet at. He was playing catch up because he had only just summarized that he would also be attending this meeting between the two factions and he could only read Astarii's because inthey were posted in italics. While the italics were pretty cool for artistic effect, in large doses they made it super hard to read and the Iron Wolf only liked to squint when he was glaring at someone in a melodramatic or mischievous way. He silently apologized to both himself and the Galactic Alliance if he interpreted anything they did or said incorrectly because of this.

"We're over here," Ra bellowed throughout the hovel.

"They've got jawa juice!"

He looked excited, holding up a cup, sitting at a table next to Draco.

[member="Astarii Saren"] [member="Draco Vereen"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Draco nodded at the Manda'alor, but didn't say anything. The other older warrior grinned, but didn't say anything. He was mostly here for logisitical purposes if they needed to know about exact troop movements and supply trains, and other such nonsense that was simply too many numbers and measurements for Draco or Mand'alor to keep up with accurately on their own.

"Make yourself comfortable," Draco said, gesturing to the chair on the other side of the table. Everything in the building was either hand made or simplistic. "I am Draco Vereen the Shukalar, that is Ra Vizsla, Mand'alor, and this is Jerric, Ancient of Clan Vereen." Draco nodded his had at his two companions before leaning back in the chair.

"Well, you asked for this meeting, lets cut out the banter and go for the meat of the subject. Why are you here?"

There were already theories involved with why the Galactic Alliance had requested a meeting with the Mandalorian leadership, most of it revolved around them trying to defend the Galactic Republic, which Draco understood, but personally believed that the dogged defense of the Galactic Republic was in direct conflict with the Alliance's oaths to defend the innocent and destroy the Dark Side where it hid. There were more Dark Jedi and just evil people in the Silver Sanctum and Republic, than the Mandalorians. But, those groups self-identified as Light Sided regardless of their actions. Perhaps Social Justice was a very big deal in the Alliance and the leadership wasn't allowed to assign terms like 'Evil and Dark' to other people without serious political backlash.

[member="Ra Vizsla"] [member="Astarii Saren"]

 

[Republic Engineering]

Breathing out a silent sigh of trepidation, the Hapan Admiral gathered her errant thoughts and moved through the interior of the Hovel. She walked with purpose bleeding into her every stride, unwilling to wilt under the narrowed glare of those who were seated afore her. With a calculated gesture, the woman pulled the heavy wooden chair from underneath the table and took her seat. She was starting to appreciate the simplicity of the decor, as it added a certain charm to this dimly lit atmosphere. Once enthroned atop the padded wooden chair, Astarii had politely nodded to each Warrior as they had made their introductions, and in turn were introduced. Doing everything she could to conceal her surprise at the revelation of the Mand'alor - or Warrior King. There had been rumors that the governing body of the Clans had shifted once the strongest amongst them all claimed the Mantle of Leadership. However, the Alliance had been too focused in their risky gambit to take Coruscant to follow up on these Spacers tales.

What made things more interesting, was that the Shukalar did much of the talking rather than his direct superior. Were the shoe on the other foot, it was unlikely that she would've been able to speak at all, had the Supreme Commander been present. That Mon Calla had a way of muscling his way through conversations without giving others the chance to voice their opinions. Feeling a smile curl up on the fringes of her lips, the Hapan listened and subsequently appreciated what the burly Techno-Barbarian had to say after the introductory pleasantries were cast aside.

As the man leaned back in his high-backed chair, Astarii folded her arms atop one another and slowly craned forward, taking the proverbial ground that was given.

"With Coruscant liberated, and the One Sith scattered to the wind, the Alliance Triumvirate wanted to make contact with our new neighbors among the stars." She paused to adorn a more serious demeanor, as the woman knew that the fate of this fragile peace hung on every word she had spoken. "And to clear the air regarding our relationship with the Republic."

Now it was her turn to lean back into the padded embrace of her archaic chair. It was nothing close to what she was used too, but the simplicity of the comfort was starting to grow on her.

"Forgive me for being so bold, but I have heard reports that your fleets are beginning to muster for war. To cleanse the stars of the defunct Republic, and that there had been whispers of our involvement when this War comes to pass." Pausing once again to ensure her accented words were heard, and allowing the time needed for them to sink in, Astarii continued. "Our Federation has little interest in intervening on the Republic's behalf. When we called for aid before the Coruscant Gambit, they were absent." It took everything she had to reign in her venomous words and resist the urge to spit. From everything she had learned about the Republic during her time as a Captain of the Royal Hapan Navy, the woman was none too impressed with how they had handled themselves when their backs were against the wall.

"If I recall correctly, Shukalar, you were there, and before the rushed proceedings had claimed our voices, I believe that the appearance was to offer support in some manner. To that regard, the Alliance is more inclined to open a dialogue with the Clans than we are with the ailing Republic and their mewling Ambassadors." Astarii smiled. "With that being said, I'd like to take a moment to thank you personally for the assistance the people of Alderaan and House Organa have given to those of Coruscant. We are indebted, and shall repay the kindness in turn."

| [member="Draco Vereen"] | [member="Ra Vizsla"] |​

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Draco shrugged in the chair, Mand'alor content to sit back and listen for now, leaving the politics to him. "When Mandalorians are called to war, I will be among them. Each and every time." Just as he always had, and likely always would. Already his life had been a very long road, and it wasn't even half over if he made it to his old age alive. It was doubtful that a warrior like him would live to such age, but not unheard of.

"I remember before Coruscant, the Generals and politicians of the Alliance were in chaos planning the campaign. My betrothed and I had supplies and other assets available that we attempted to offer to the Alliance prior to the battle, such as staging from Alderaan itself, and the medical resources we sent to Coruscant would have been available to you earlier, along with some assets of the Royal House. But, that is in the past, I understand how difficult it can be to negotiate with others while battle preparations are being made." Faith had wanted to help as much as she could. She hoped that maybe the Alliance and Alderaan would have been able to mend injured ties. She had even asked Draco to lead Alderaanian troops to Coruscant if at all possible. In the end, all they had been able to send given the information they recieved was Medical supplies after the fact. A lot of medical supplies, certainly. But even if only one percent of the population was injured, they barely put a dent in that number. "I'll be sure to pass your appreciation on to House Organa."

"On the subject at hand, what dialogue is it that you would like to open?" They shared several common goals. The eradication of the One Sith, and to a much lesser extent the Sith Triumvirate, both already on shaky ground, though the Triumvirate had battled back the Silver Sanctum. There was much to be done to cleanse away the stain of the One Sith, several places of power and prestige the One Sith claimed that needed to be washed away before the Core could be held as the beacon of the Alliance. "What is it the Galactic Alliance seeks of the Mandalorian Clans, and for what gain to the Clans?" His tone was polite, despite cutting to the point of the conversation. Everything else could wait until after they decided if they were friends or not as far as the Shukalar was concerned.

[member="Ra Vizsla"] [member="Astarii Saren"]

 

[Republic Engineering]

"A mutual assurance of existence." She stated aloud when the Shukalar had once again speared to the heart of the matter. While her superiors had wanted something more tangible than friendly words and possible futures, it wouldn't go over too well with the Clans if they rushed into a pact of friendship, only for it to sour overnight. Baby steps, she had reminded them time and time again. If they were to become what they had desired to be, their relationship would have to be built - Well - much like the very Hovel in which she now resided. From the ground up and with their hands. How ironically poetic.

She smiled as the thought passed through her mind, but was quickly quashed in favor of following through with an explanation of her previous statement. "Our Federation would like to see an amicable relationship established with the Clans and their Manda'lor, with the possibilities of becoming more than just neighbors in the future." Astarii paused for a moment to let her words settle. She knew that what would come of this meeting would lay the foundations for the uncertain future between the Sons and Daughters of Mandalore, and the member worlds of the Galactic Alliance. Once she had judged sufficient enough time had passed, the Hapan continued - making sure to keep her words to the point and as short as possible so that whatever point she sought to make, it was understood without confusion.

"The One Sith are broken, and the Federation cannot afford to fight another War on yet another front. We, in the future, would like to see ourselves on friendly terms, and restore the chaos those vile creatures had wrought. Together, if possible."

The Clans and the Alliance were like two hands upon the galactic clock. While they were on opposite sides of the spectrum in many respects, their goals were - at their basest nature - aligned. They both sought to end the corruption of the One Sith. To drive the putrid creatures out of the Core Worlds and return System after System back into the light of Order and Justice. While there were member worlds within the Federation that would scowl at the Clans and their War with the Galactic Republic - Many had hoped that their shameful cousins would merely accept their fate and succumb to the Iron-Fist of Justice.

"As to what the Clans will gain? A possible Ally in the dark times ahead, and much more. From what I have learned from your people, every Clan has their worlds from which they rule. Similar to how our Federation Operates. Thus, they each have their needs which require attention." Her disfigured smile returned then. "To that end, I would like to see our people trade their world's goods. To provide the items your systems cannot produce, and the same in return."

| [member="Draco Vereen"] | [member="Ra Vizsla"] |​

 

[Ra Vizsla]

[member="Astarii Saren"] [member="Draco Vereen"]

Ra gulped down the last of his jawa juice and set his cup on the table.

"You want peace," Mand'alor stated, his green eyes piercing through the low light of the cantina. "...I want peace." His hand began fiddling around the rim of his cup, spinning it slowly on its edge on the table as he looked down at it. His gravelly voice broke through the empty cantina again, speaking in a commanding tone.

​

"...You want trade."​

​

His eyes rose to meet Astarii's own.​

​

"...I want trade."​

​

These were pretty much the amicable terms sought.​

​

But Ra had more to add.​

​

His brow furrowed and his eyes darkened.​

​

"Make no mistake,​

​

This does not make us allies.​

​

This does not make us friends.​

​

We are joined only in the unified goal of the total destruction of the One Sith Empire​

​

and the restoration of the Core Worlds.​

​

Of that, you have our support."​