Separation of States (Mandalorians and Imperial Remnant)

[Leora]

[OOC: Note, this is not meant to be a combat thread, and it would be preferred if it wasn't turned into one. The leaders of both factions are definitely invited, along with any guards or representatives that would like to get to know their neighbors.]

Aboard the Victory II-class Star Destroyer Requiem - Near Yaga Minor

Intelligence put them closer to a potential threat than they had reasonably believed before. The Mandalorians had expanded exponentially, securing a large swatch of territory. A briefing on the matter had left the Grand Admiral feeling quite concerned. But he saw this as an opportunity more than he saw it as a threat. As it was, their small force was not a threat to anyone outside of the Crinan rebels. Antiquated ships like the Requiem wouldn't fare so well against modern vessels. Regardless, he knew something needed to be done.

While the Moff's were busy being Moffs, he'd taken it upon himself to see to doing something that would secure their borders while not threatening the Mandalorians. Mason knew the value of peace just as much as he knew the importance of the Remnant's goals. Coupled with the status of the Empire, well, some things had to be done differently than the old Empire would have seen them done.

The ship exited hyperspace a little ways from Yaga Minor, no support craft in tow and with shields and weapons offline so as not to present itself as a threat to the Mandalorian forces. This planet had a major shipyard. Coming in with guns hot and shields online would pose a threat, and likely result in a shoot first and ask questions later tactic from these folk. Not a smart move in the slightest. The Grand Admiral continued to sit in his chair and watch the screen, waiting for the response of the Mandalorian forces.

"Send the welcome package, Lieutenant," he said without looking at the communications officer. "Let them know we're here on white flag terms."

[member="Azrael"]

 

[Azrael]

Yaga Minor
Shokita-class Deep Space Station

Recent events required time to process all that had happened - and Azrael didn't process things well without keeping his hands busy, and his mind distracted to work on digesting paradigm shifting moments. Not very long after Teta, Azrael had taken a small span of time to collect himself and retain the level of composure the vod knew of him to have. He could internalize quite a lot of issues, and was looked upon with respect that he could deal with hardship, he could deal with loss, and like a true Mandalorian, he could overcome them. His process was just a bit off kilter since what transpired on that core world. Since then he'd put distance between himself and Yaim for a span of time enough to collect himself and weather this storm. Everyone had been hit hard there, and even before; and all the vode were known to deal with grief in their own ways. The truth was though, as far as he could go, he'd would be consistently reminded of what the Mando'ade had lost. He would have to come to terms with it, but it would on his own time table, when he was ready to face that bitter sting of truth and sorrow.

The Ca'prudii was docked into a space station that floated on the outskirts of Mandalorian territory, hovering near the world once liberated from Dar'Jetti control, and enveloped in the embrace of the Mando'ade. They had amassed a great victory here, and shown the Sith of this region that their resolve and might was strong and would prove this planet under their protection. Even if hadn't been on a personally commission station by his allit buir, he still had the beskar'gam that he wore on a consistent basis to remind himself of the only man in the Galaxy that had treated the half-blood like a son. He had never met his real father, never even knew the man's name, and aside from being a Zhell, he'd grown a full twenty years without a paternal influence of any real caliber. Gilamar had shown Azrael a great deal, taught him much, and left an unforgettable legacy in the mind of the Field Marshal. The man had been taken from him, but he was not list, he was just marching away. Kneeling upon the dome like shape of a power converter, and using a servo-cutter to slice some wires for the inductive cooling system that was being replaced, Azrael's armored frame sat within the deluge of sparks that flew harmlessly across the charcoal gray and black design of his beskar'gam, while the photo-chromatic filter adjusted to the level of light he'd need to see while being showered in the spark backlash.

:: Sir :: The voice impeded and over-rode the music playing within the confines of his buy'ce alerting him to one of the officers on deck. An inward command cut the music short as the servo cutter ceased it's plasma cutting, and his form sat up to take notice and peer down at a vod at the lower ramps. :: Incoming missive from a Victory Class two Destroyer. It's reached Yaga, but it's defenses are down and weapons offline. The chiefs aboard request a representative. :: Beneath the visor, his brows furrowed while he silently patched into the signal, and read the missive himself, before a small view screen inside the helmet displayed the wedge shaped ship inching across the chasm of space before the planet proper.

:: Send word of my arrival, arrange twin escort, and prepare my ship. :: Azrael commanded simply and rose from his work, tucking the cutter into his utility belt and deactivating the mag-seal lock on his boots while the jetpack roared to life, drawing Azrael up and over the domed enclosure to landed with a ringing thud upon the catwalk to the side. Mandalorians didn't generally enjoy Star Destroyer's in their air space, and the only saving grace was how old an antiquated the model was - that and it's lack of anything dangerous being online that gave them a clear pass this evening. While the Field Marshal moved down the catwalks to the ramps below and ultimately towards the hangar a message was relayed to the officer's on-board the Requiem that the arrival of a Mandalorian Field Marshal would be coming with a twin escort, requesting the arrangement of docking clearance and preparations for his arrival. Not more than ten minutes later, the sleek black stealth ship of the half-blood exited the hangar flanked on either side by twin Kom'rk fighters. An IFF broadcast ensured their approach and awaited the docking instructions for which hangar to approach. Azrael wasn't in the mood for visitors, but it would at least be a better distraction than salvaging a cooling unit on a shipyard platform.

[member="Mason Deschart"]

 

[Serco Savar]

Location: Victory II-class Star Destroyer Requiem Bridge
Allies: [member="Mason Deschart"] and other Imperial Remnants


Serco stood on the bridge by the entrance the ever present guard watching and listening. Serco believed whole heartedly in the idea of a civil discussion with their neighbors. It was the Emperor's will so Serco do everything he could to ensure it came off without a hitch. Serco did however give a little bit of an uncomfortable twitch when the Admiral ordered the shields and weapons taken offline. Serco wore a more ceremonial version of his robes with the Dauntless Blade not sheathed on his back but on his hip.

The only thing that was certain was what the Emperor had told him. Where ever the Admiral went Serco went. The Emperor did not want his most loyal Naval Officer killed or taken hostage during a Diplomatic mission.

 

[Sebastian Santelli]

VSD-II Requiem
High Orbit, Yaga Minor

What a coincidence this was, heading on a diplomatic mission for a new government again. He really had to find a job that was more interesting than this, perhaps something with a little more color or taste...a chef maybe? Probably not. Even though Davin liked to think of his job as menial and dull, he understood that even the tiniest of details within these kind of conferences were ones that would alter history and the galaxy as he knew it. Thrawn knew it too, so he was glad to be doing something that echoed the tales of his lineage.

"Proceed to prepare the meeting room. Ensure that our guests will be comfortable." The Chiss officer spoke quietly to a pair of grey-uniformed attendants and a Stormtrooper. "We shall make our arrival shortly." The trio of imperials snapped sharp salutes before spinning on their heels to take off and carry out their new orders.

Being seated upon the bridge in the tactical center gave Davin more information than he would have pleased, but it was quite useful nonetheless. Readouts were splayed with lists upon lists of text, most of it technical stuff pertaining to the management and maintenance of the ship itself. The black-armored Admiral kept his crimson gaze to a slit, analyzing screens silently behind junior officers staffing the various stations. At one moment, he veered past the communications officer before stopping abruptly to return to peer at the module. "Grant them access. Have them enter the port hangar and arrange for a detachment to bring them to the meeting room."

"Yes, sir." The Lieutenant typed a few sentences on the control panel, sending typed orders to the crew in the port hangar before leaning forward to speak into the comlink. <<Unidentified Mandalorian craft, your request for boarding has been approved. Please touch down in the port docking bay. An escort will be awaiting your arrival. Over and out.>>

"Good."

And with that, his billowing black cape crackled with movement as he swiftly departed.

[member="Azrael"], [member="Serco Savar"], [member="Mason Deschart"]

 

[Garen Ruca]

On the command bridge of the Victory II-class Star Destroyer Requiem
-------------------

Mandalorians.

Garen's father spoke highly of their skill in combat and their code of honor, and even admitted to him as a young boy one of his fathers Mando friends offered to take him into training. Of course his parents has politely refused the offer with the intent of training him themselves, but as they prepared to engage in a diplomatic mission with a well known Mando he couldn't help but wonder what his life would have been like if he had been sent away to train with these warriors. Would he be take them on as his herd and join in their war against the Sith? Or would he have done as many Mandalorians have in the past and simply went rogue to pursue credits as a bounty hunter or mercenary? In any case Garen had not been sent away, and to be distracted by such thoughts on this mission would leave a bad impression with his superiors.

As of now he had not yet finished his official training and did not even have true armor, instead wearing a simple dark brown tunic with his dagger sheathed and hanging by his side. He was one of the more recent members to join the rising empire, but he would show just how suited he was to any task that could be handed to him whether it be a chaotic warzone or a peaceful and boring conference. He would follow orders, fight who had to be fought, and earn his way to higher authority while breaking those who would move against the order they sought to bring to the galaxy. His people needed this more than they even knew, and he would do what had to be done to help them in any way he could.

But for now Garen simply stood near [member="Serco Savar"] and waited, ready to spring into action if need be.

[member="Davin"]
[member="Mason Deschart"]
[member="Azrael"]

 

[Leora]

Aboard the Victory II-class Star Destroyer Requiem - Near Yaga Minor

Good. They responded quickly. The Grand Admiral allowed his subordinate admiral to take charge of the situation for the moment, even though he was the one with the true power to make decisions here. Still, Chiss were known for their intelligence and military genius. Mason had a distaste for all aliens, even Chiss, but he could respect a good military mind regardless of the head that it was in. That was how he managed to tolerate this particular alien being aboard his ship. [member="Davin"] was not a fool.

When the Mandalorian ship entered the hangar, and after the Imperial Knight and Admiral had departed, Mason stood from his chair. He surveyed the space around them, taking in the Mandalorian warships that were no doubt now on alert nearby. Any bad moves from them and they'd be vaporized and slagged in seconds.

Turning, he walked towards the bridge's lifts, motioning for [member="Serco Savar"] and [member="Garen Ruca"] to join him. He didn't particularly know why the Emperor wanted the Knights along for this mission, but he wasn't going to refuse the man his decisions. As Grand Admiral he had the utmost respect for the Emperor and his goals for the galaxy, and it was his duty to uphold the mans laws as well as to ensure his victories. Challenging him on an issue such as having bodyguards assigned to him was not only foolhardy, but a waste of breath and effort.

Downward they would descend, until he approached the meeting room. For the moment, he chose not to sit at the meeting table itself, but off to the side. He would allow [member="Davin"] to speak unless he needed to speak up himself. Call it a test of the Chiss's ability to deal with outsiders. It would be good for him to speak with [member="Azrael"].

 

[Nolan Detta]

Azrael's Ship

Nolan was seated next to [member="Azrael"] as he awaited the visitors. Nolan was there for aid and to show off the Mandalorian Hyperion Armor he'd just aquired. All his weapons were stored on his person. Sith visitors are not what he wanted to see but he was willing to help any way he could. He held a bottle of Circe Green in hand and took a deep drink of the delicious cold brew. His bucket was clipped to his side (obviously not on, you know drinking and all) showing the mess of dirty blonde hair and scruff.

Need a drink sir? It'll make them more tolerable.

 

[Serco Savar]

[member="Mason Deschart"] [member="Garen Ruca"]

Serco nodded to the Admiral as he entered the Lift slipping in after the Admiral making sure Serco was the first one to exit when they arrived on the correct level. When the doors open Serco stepped out and scanned real quick taking in the area before slipping off to the left to allow the Admiral to step out. As they entered the meeting room Serco did not move to stand beside the Admiral but staying by the door itself. Serco stood his hands clasped in front of him his forearm resting on the hilt of the Dauntless Blade his gaze scanning each person his expression soft but determined.

 

[Azrael]

Diplomacy was a learned trait, and not one that Azrael had gained in heaps. Through Gilamar he learned to be patient however, and take things as they came rather than trying to see too far down the proverbial scope to guess the outcomes of unknown situations. Still there was a certain abrasion to much tact in his speech. The Field Marshal had known a rough life in his formative years, and now he was a respected leader and decorated warrior with the Mando'ade. His life did not lend entirely well to the art of peace talks and glad-handing delegates. Several times he had let far more interested, and better men than himself take the reigns, but there were issues to face, and threats from all sides that the vode had to deal with. He'd not refuse to learn more about the intentions of this large ship wafting into their territory and requesting their presence. At the very least, they weren't requesting it with laser fire and hostilities.

Thrusters fired to take the lead moving into a 'V" formation while the fighters were simply there to broaden the scope of his vision in the inky depths of space between the station and the vessel ahead. A few flicked switches that had broadcast his IFF signature returned with the crisp and clear orders for docking privileges and instructions once inside the auxiliary hangar that was opening it's great mechanical maw before him. Light spilled out into the darkness as the inner workings of the Destroyer became less of a bath of light, and more clear patterns and parts that put together the impressive wedge shaped structure. Banking to the right, the escorts flew below and behind while the thrusters beneath the ship silently drew the vessel upwards to break the threshold offered and enter into the port hangar as instructed. A light sigh kept silent by the buy'ce escaped his lips while Azrael sat back, relenting his more stiff nature as the passenger to his right offered him a swig of the green ale he'd helped craft. A single nod was offered as the face plate of his helmet snapped up, revealing the slight crimson sheen to his chin and lower jaw. A long swig was taken in earnest before he handed it back to Nolan and waited for the landing gear to touch down, and the field of energy to resume keeping the air lock secure and providing them with the artificial gravity of the ship.

"Vor'e." His short response was at least honest before the face plate snapped back into position courtesy of the mag-seal tech housed in his beskar'gam. Nolan was a formidable warrior, and he trusted the man's judgement. He couldn't think to go into any kind of negotiation talks with something a impressive as this ship's crew by himself. He'd need some support, even though he truly wasn't in a state of mind that would make him all the more cheerful. Yaga Minor was a temporary escape to clear his mind, and take what had been dealt out on Teta to heart. Things had changed on that world, and even the events leading up to the invasion. Things that would never be the same. "Time to put our best face forward...ones covered in besk'ar." Azrael gave a nod to Nolan as he turned from his seat and turned to step through his ship and toward the loading ramp that was descending on command. Clad in the custom armor from head to toe, Azrael's crimson visor struck out to inspect his surroundings, and get a readout on what he could from the ship's internal hangar. He didn't suspect he'd get much aside from the apparent age of the vessel and what the crew were doing around the area.

Word from the ship had given indication of an escort party, and the first terms of business in any interaction of this size would indicate to Azrael to look for either two security personnel, or a pair of droids. Rarely would they risk anything else in attempting to lead a pair of Mandalorians anywhere they weren't entirely familiar or comfortable with. It was a bad business notion to do otherwise.

[member="Mason Deschart"] | [member="Serco Savar"] | [member="Nolan Detta"] | [member="Garen Ruca"] | [member="Davin"]

 

[Nolan Detta]

Nolan took back his bottle, noticing [member="Azrael"] had all but emptied it, Hmph, he place the bottle on his seat as he rose and donned his orange and green helmet. He followed his Manda'lor to the ramp from the ship and put on his big boy attitude. Nolan was no diplomat, so he would enjoy the experience as much as he could, plus he would get the chance to watch the surrounding crew wet themselves at the presence of two walking destroyers.

The two pilots of the escort crafts walked forward, but Nolan ordered them to stay with the ships. He pulled a fresh bottle of Circe Green from a small pack on his belt and tossed it to one of them. They happily waited where they were.

Alright, now what, Nolan stood at his full height of 1.89 meters and polished black, orange and green armor. He scanned the room for anyone who looked more official than the crew in grey jumpsuits.


[member="Serco Savar"] [member="Mason Deschart"] [member="Garen Ruca"] @Davin

 

[Arla Ordo]

It was supposed to be a time to relax. It was supposed to be a time to reflect. It was supposed to be alone time, down time and hundred other phrases and words went through her mind but she was one of the few closest by. A transmission had been sent and now they were flying escort. In one of the escort ships Arla kept thinking about what they were going to do now.

Dressed in her armor having cleaned it up from battle one that she barely escaped her life with. They were headed toward the coordinates. The thought of her being one of the ones protecting Azrael clearly showed that the leadership at home was trying to bolster her confidence. She was glad though that he would be there to be the lead on this, he was a Field Marshall and would surely know more about how to negotiate if need be.

She remembered what she had told them at home, that she would have to listen, and watch. While Azrael was fluent with words he did not react unless provoked he would be able to see if their words held truth, or more death for the mando’ade she would be interested in their actions. How would they receive them, react to them. As they neared the coordinates communications opened up to give them a place to land.




[member="Nolan Detta"] [member="Azrael"] [member="Serco Savar"] [member="Mason Deschart"] [member="Garen Ruca"] [member="Davin"]

 

[Leora]

Aboard the Victory II-class Star Destroyer Requiem - Near Yaga Minor

A small contingent of naval troopers would appear to be waiting for the contingent of heavily armed Mandalorians. They approached and dipped their armored heads respectfully, and did not ask for the Mando's to relinquish their weapons. They were not trying to make them seem ill at ease with the current situation. Instead, they made it apparent that they were treating them with openness and equality, something that would, to most, seem contrary to the tenants of the Empire. This Remnant, however, was smart enough to know not to alienate everyone.

The troopers would lead the Mandalorians through the halls of the vessel to the a particular room which was already occupied by a few senior individuals, as well as a couple of Imperial Knight Cadets. They were intent on remaining on guard. Mason was the senior officer in the room. Davin had yet to arrive, which meant he couldn't stand down and at the ready as he had wanted to. He was going to have to deal with the Mando's directly himself.

"Forgive us for intruding upon your operations and space. I assure you we mean no ill will by it."

Mason was already seated, and he would motion towards seats available to the Mandalorian's should they wish to sit. If not, that was fine. Nobody was going to threaten them or anything.

"I am Grand Admiral Mason Deschart. I'm in charge of the Emperor's Remnant forces. The reason we're here today is because we wish to negotiate politically with you, as we have set up on a world near your borders. We do not wish to fight with you, but would rather live in peace with you. I am here to negotiate a political relationship between our governments. Hopefully, one of you is capable of seeing to this."

[member="Arla Balor"] [member="Nolan Detta"] [member="Azrael"] [member="Serco Savar"] [member="Garen Ruca"] [member="Davin"]

 

[Azrael]

While the Field Marshal was compliant with the request to come aboard at the behest of this as of yet unknown allied vessel, he wasn't in the best of moods. A brutal and unforgiving assault on a core world recently had caused much turmoil in the lives of many Mando'ade including himself. The ramifications of which were spreading further than he had even expected, rippling through the Galaxy and creating waves of change both unfortunate and unseen. He hadn't seen a lot of good coming off of that attack, and while he needed his space, he wouldn't deny the vode a voice in the matter of whatever these people had in store. The small contingent of fighters and his own vessel emptied out into the hangar bay, with both Nolan and Arla at his side. His already sour disposition was pushed aside in favor of a more emotionless resolve to deal with this particular invitation of unknown design. Those with him would notably see the change, but these that would meet him here would only see someone of a business attitude who'd cut through ceremony and strike at the heart of the matter.

"We see were this leads, vod." The straightforward response came between the party conversation in the Mandalorian buy'ce that each wore. He'd not remove his helm for the time being, while he still resided in unfamiliar territory. A section of troopers approached weapons holstered for the time being, and waved for the vode to follow, in which Azrael took the first steps forward moving silently behind and between their flanking position to escape the hangar and move into the corridor. The rest of the escort would stay in contact and in the hangar. Trust was hard to come by in this Galaxy, even more so with something that gave immediate remembrance to an allegiance with the Sith. During the short walk through the corridors, he was noting exit strategies, sygils that might suggest alliance with factions, or any other stand out marker that would lead to a gleaning of truth behind the shadow of the unknown.

A signature woosh of the doorway opening, allowing himself and his brother and sister passage inward, drew upon the enclosed few that rested at the other end of a conference table. Apparently it was to be a discourse of sorts, or more likely a negotiation. Politics had never really been a strong suit of the Mandalorian people. They were inherently nomadic, and while they had something resembling a governmental front to the outsiders looking in, they were a family first and foremost. A family that had been around for thousands of years. The crimson visor of his helmet shifted left to right scoping out the internal fortifications of the room, and then to those present, identifying what he could from his internal database. As Mason stepped up to be the voice for this meeting, Azrael remained standing for the time being, his arms crossed before him, further giving glimpses to his left bionic arm that was offered in stark contrast to the rest of his dark charcoal armor. He certainly wasn't offering much of a warm greeting to those that had asked their presence here, and it was likely to remain as indifferent.

"What Emperor?" Azrael's voice struck out slightly synthesized from the helmet's transmission of his voice. He'd skipped through the entire introduction, the proclaimed purpose of this visit, and went straight to the only thing he wasn't able to piece together in Mason's first few sentences. He knew of a Dark Lord of the Sith, he knew of the Lord Protector of the Protectorate, as well as a handful of other leaders in the Republic as well. He was not however aware that someone was claiming title of Emperor, or what this Empire was made up of. He saw no fleet, he saw a single ship, and while there were military uniforms decorating those inside this room, he still didn't exactly believe he'd missed an entire thriving faction on his collective radar.

[member="Mason Deschart"] | [member="Arla Balor"] | [member="Nolan Detta"] | [member="Serco Savar"] | [member="Garen Ruca"] | [member="Davin"]

 

[Serco Savar]

[member="Mason Deschart"] [member="Davin"] [member="Garen Ruca"] [member="Azrael"] [member="Arla Balor"] [member="Nolan Detta"]

Serco watched the Mando party enter the room studying the armor for a brief moment and they way they moved. Simmering under the surface of the Force Serco could feel an uneasiness amongst the group. Turning and looking at Garen for a moment Serco could not help but wonder if the meeting was going to go as peacfully as they all had hoped. When the obvious leader of the group asked what Emporer Serco felt compelled to speak up in a soft tone.

"The leader of our people calls himself Emporer." "A central figure that keeps us all together working towards a common goal." "My father was a Jedi for a time under the banner of the Republic." "Similar to the Republic's............what did they call him......Supreme Chancelor.....some thing like that."

Serco shrugs falling silently after givng the Grand Admiral an apologetic look for the interuption realizing he should have probably just let the him answer the question.

 

[Leora]

Aboard the Victory II-class Star Destroyer Requiem - Near Yaga Minor

"Thank you, Cadet Savar."

While normally he wouldn't tolerate subordinates speaking out in such a situation, the Cadet was right in what he said. This time he would allow it. Mason steepled his fingers against his chin as he regarded the Mandalorians with cool control. Most would be absolutely afraid of these individuals. He was not. Neither their armor, nor their weapons, scared him. They were just another being hiding behind a suit of armor in an effort to protect themselves. It wasn't overly different from him hiding in a ship. Not that he was hiding. He preferred space.

"The Emperor is a descendant of the first Emperor, without the ability to touch the Force, which allays him of the possibility of falling to the darkside. We are a remnant force of old Empire's who were invited to a planet not far from your space in order to end a bloody, centuries old rebellion. We have done so, and made the world our new capital."

He tapped a hidden button on the table in front of him and an image of the galaxy appeared in holograph form before him.

"We are here, at Yaga Minor." He pointed to it for reference. "Crina is here. We also intend to expand to Valc and terraform Kalee as a refugee center for those who wish to escape the galactic wars. Our Empire is intent on bringing peace to the galaxy. We wish to start doing so by not having to worry about fighting with you. In fact, we'll help you in your fights, if you wish."

[member="Azrael"] [member="Serco Savar"]

 

[Arla Ordo]

Arla followed nodding to [member="Azrael"]'s remark of see where this leads. Yes see where this leads for certain as they walked into a room Arla took an immediate step to her left to clear her vision to see those who stood before them. The word emperor filtered through very clearly Arla turned her head toward [member="Serco Savar"] who was explaining to them who the Emperor was.

Arla felt a little shiver run down her spine Emperor but she stood fast in her position slowly turning her head now to [member="Mason Deschart"] as he continued the explanation. So the Empire was rising already with their very own emperor, and a descendant of the first one force or no force what were the possibilities that he wasn't as bad as the first one. Arla kept quiet though her role was not to ask questions.

She looked over at [member="Nolan Detta"] to see what his movements were.

 

[Kal Kandossii]

Kal stepped off the ramp of one of the accompanying ships before the ramp even connected with the flooring in the hanger. His HUD was already recording as he watched the mando delegation get escorted, [member="Azrael"] at the fore. His armored boots rang faintly, a different tone then what the armored troopers boots made. Deeper.

Watching the formation of the guards, for that was what the troopers left in the hanger were, Kal focused on the other's armor, weapons, stance, and even builds as he pulled in as much information as he could out here in the hanger. Behind him he felt more then he heard the other three members of the Beskar'ad spread out, their own HUD recording and picking up all transmissions floating around them. Obviously many of the transmissions were encoded and encrypted yet they made copies of them all for cracking at a later date. No doubt there was nothing of value on the transmissions. But better safe then sorry.

Standing with his armored thumbs hooked in his gunbelt he waited and learned all he could from his station in the hanger. He was making sure he didn't do anything that would be considered hostile. This was a diplomatic mission after all. He snorted in his helmet.

 

[Nolan Detta]

Nolan listened in silence to Az speak, but when the officer started speaking, he started scoffing at the claims the man from the old Empire. Inside his helmet, the others in his party would hear, he didn't believe that the Empire could ever be peaceful. He didn't move but to scratch his butt.


In his head, Sure, you come in peace, I'll send you home in pieces, ha, I made a funny.


[member="Arla Balor"] [member="Mason Deschart"] [member="Serco Savar"] [member="Azrael"]

 

[Azrael]

There were certain moments in the history of the Galaxy that anyone who'd been awake in the last thousand years had heard of in at least some smattering of detail. They were archived records by now, and it was unlikely that the grand story of the rise and fall of the Skywalker family was detailed in honest truth in every source of text and code. There would certainly be discrepancies after such a long period of time. Especially since history was normally written by the victors and skewed to their viewpoint. Talk of the Empire of old though was not something soon forgotten, and certainly had it's fair share of lore and myth floating out there between campfire stories, and memorial headstones alike. While the name of Palpatine was familiar enough to the Field Marshal (as he had once raided an old forgotten stronghold of his) to glimpse the true sinister nature of the man, it mainly came in the correlation that he had been a Sith Lord who had sought to purge the Galaxy in order to have a false peace.

"You're not the first, Admiral." Azrael spoke, his arms still crossed while the crimson visor kept locked on the seated visage of Mason, peering through the holographic display of this quadrant of space. "Nor will you be the last." A mission of peace was almost trite, it had been tried so many times, in so many varied ways. The Mandalorians weren't generally considered one of that camp though. Peace wasn't their desired goal - it generally bordered on conquest and rivalry. The culture thrived on conflict and battle, and it was well known throughout the Galaxy that these warriors were not shy about dealing out sizable death to any thought thought was either a worthy adversary, an obstacle in their path, or even more decisive - those that held a grudge against. Azrael went silent for a moment longer, considering his next statement before he stepped forward and loosed the grip of his hands over his chest. "The Empire you refer to was a cold and calculating machine that took what they wanted without care. They too preached peace to the masses, while holding a blaster to the lids of any who'd speak up against their enforced tyranny." A little bit of a history lesson that he pointed out while pressing his index finger at the edge of the table between them. "Whoever this Emperor is that you report to, his legacy does him no favors in our eyes."

Pausing at the last, both hands rested their palms over the back of the chair before him, but he made no move to sit. He was doubtful that Mason, nor any of the assembled officers on deck were blithely unaware of the Empire's history. They signed on board this ship under service to this so far unnamed Emperor for any number of reasons. Payment, security, to stave off some kind of hostile takeover of their homeworld perhaps. The choices were endless, but Azrael didn't really care about that. His heart was with the Mando'ade, and so far he wasn't impressed. He was already dealing with a heavy burden, and it was only growing heavier with the recent events of the month. While this was somewhat of a distraction, it wasn't proving to be an entirely effective one.

"So show me how you can fly the same banner, but offer something honorable in the same stead." It was a challenge he issued, because he honestly couldn't come up with anything so far to tell him that this wasn't just them trying to buy enough time to gather forces enough to challenge the Mandalorian territory. Mason was making a bold move inviting them here to give them promises he'd seen printed on flimsi from records over a thousand years ago. Either history was repeating itself, or he actually has something unique to offer. For now, he'd listen, but his patience did have its limits.

[member="Mason Deschart"] | [member="Nolan Detta"] | [member="Kal Kandossii"] | [member="Arla Balor"] | [member="Serco Savar"] | [member="Garen Ruca"] | [member="Davin"]

 

[Serco Savar]

[member="Azrael"] [member="Arla Balor"] [member="Nolan Detta"] [member="Mason Deschart"] [member="Garen Ruca"] [member="Davin"]

Serco listened to the words the Mandalorian spoke. A frown formed on his face at the man's words knowing that something about what the man said did not seem right. Something his father had taught him, stories his father had told him mirrored some of what the man said but did not match the Emperor's intent, their goals, or the actions they had taken so far.

While everything in him screamed to retort what the man said Serco bit his lip to the point of even drawing blood and waited to see how the Admiral would react and respond. Instead Serco only glanced briefly at Garen before turning his attention back to the Admiral and their guests.