The Iron Father
Fondor. It wasn’t Coruscant, but it was the newly minted beating heart of the Galactic Alliance government and seat of the Senate. Where politicians called home… A more wretched hive… Ijaat had been here many times in his younger years. But it had been since Sarge had been at large since he had stepped on the soil of the planet or took in it’s shipyards. The Svarog had departed with a small escort of fighters at the edge of the system, leaving the bulk of the fleet escort behind and in waiting.
The larger-than-average patrol craft had followed all the protocols and sliced through the atmosphere with much less grace than the Alliance escort that took over for his Protector pilots and their disparate craft. Touching down Ijaat had exited the craft flanked by Drego Ruus , his Warmaster, Mia Monroe his left hand and more, a Protector-armored Darius Mereel had been seconded as his guard, to give his son experience in command.
The guards at the Senate Doors had balked at the armored Mandalorians, and it had been a tense moment where Darius Mereel , in his resplendent blue and green armor, had almost backhanded one of the Guards of the Chamber for the demand to surrender weapons. But in a show of faith, Ijaat had surrendered his arms in a small pile greeted by growing alarm as he pulled knives and knuckledusters and blasters from concealed places and added to the dozen or so piled together.
Waiting for the others to either state their case or follow, Ijaat also turned to the Guard Captain and lifted his hands, removing his helmet with the Mask clipped to it and cradling it in h is arms.
“I am made aware Valery Noble is within, and we are expected…”
“Sir, we await the Mandalorian leader, not mercenaries. Step aside or be removed from these grounds by force if needs be.…”
With an unnatural quickness belying the white in his hair, Ijaat produced a kal knife from Manda knows where and spun it between his fingers like a gambler with a coin-rolling trick. With a mirthless smile, he flicked the knife into the table with his other belongings, sticking it point first.
“Ijaat Mereel, the Rekindler, Mand’alor of my people. At your service. Inform your superiors I am not used to being kept at the gates, guard.”
The lowercase ‘g’ in the title was somehow painfully apparent, and the man survived without new holes based solely on the fact Ijaat appraised his knowledge of the Mando’ade as painfully ignorant. And so only playful threats were made, rather than serious injury. And with a step back, the Manda’lor spread his hands to indicate his disarmament was as complete as they could prove short of stripping him to his flesh, and reiterated his request.
“Master Noble, if you please. I'd like to speak with authority...”
The larger-than-average patrol craft had followed all the protocols and sliced through the atmosphere with much less grace than the Alliance escort that took over for his Protector pilots and their disparate craft. Touching down Ijaat had exited the craft flanked by Drego Ruus , his Warmaster, Mia Monroe his left hand and more, a Protector-armored Darius Mereel had been seconded as his guard, to give his son experience in command.
The guards at the Senate Doors had balked at the armored Mandalorians, and it had been a tense moment where Darius Mereel , in his resplendent blue and green armor, had almost backhanded one of the Guards of the Chamber for the demand to surrender weapons. But in a show of faith, Ijaat had surrendered his arms in a small pile greeted by growing alarm as he pulled knives and knuckledusters and blasters from concealed places and added to the dozen or so piled together.
Waiting for the others to either state their case or follow, Ijaat also turned to the Guard Captain and lifted his hands, removing his helmet with the Mask clipped to it and cradling it in h is arms.
“I am made aware Valery Noble is within, and we are expected…”
“Sir, we await the Mandalorian leader, not mercenaries. Step aside or be removed from these grounds by force if needs be.…”
With an unnatural quickness belying the white in his hair, Ijaat produced a kal knife from Manda knows where and spun it between his fingers like a gambler with a coin-rolling trick. With a mirthless smile, he flicked the knife into the table with his other belongings, sticking it point first.
“Ijaat Mereel, the Rekindler, Mand’alor of my people. At your service. Inform your superiors I am not used to being kept at the gates, guard.”
The lowercase ‘g’ in the title was somehow painfully apparent, and the man survived without new holes based solely on the fact Ijaat appraised his knowledge of the Mando’ade as painfully ignorant. And so only playful threats were made, rather than serious injury. And with a step back, the Manda’lor spread his hands to indicate his disarmament was as complete as they could prove short of stripping him to his flesh, and reiterated his request.
“Master Noble, if you please. I'd like to speak with authority...”