Mand'alor the Reclaimer
Kreslin leaned against the railing of the terrace, eyes closed and smiling as he felt the rush of cold air flow past him. He took a deep breath, cherishing the feeling of his lungs reacting to the cold air all around him. Unlike almost all other times, Kreslin did not wear his armor. Despite the freezing temperature of the West Horn's, he wore only a grey tunic lined with gold lettering, as well as a fur vest left open. Brown fur lined pants emerged from beneath the tunic, though they were not entirely needed. Kreslin had spent nearly twenty years of his life here on Recluse, the homeworld of Clan Westwind. He had long since come to enjoy the cold, though he knew his body could not handle it for long on its own. With a final, extended inhale and exhale, he turned away from the railing, heading back towards the feast being prepared within the Towers of the Sunset, Clan Westwind ancestral seat.
Few members of the Clan had survived the fall of Mandalore, the homeworld of all Mandalorians. The once crowded halls lay near empty, and Kreslin only spotted a few of his Clan members as he made his way back to the Grand Hall. There, it was a bit more crowded. The Mandalorian Union, the fledgling nation formed by Kreslin and his close compatriots had been invited to a feast in the Grand Hall, where the drinks ran freely, and the food was freshly cooked as needed. The warmth of the Grand Hall slammed into Kreslin as he stepped through the massive open wooden doors, locked in place against the wall to allow air to flow freely in and out of the room, though the smell of cooking meat never truly left.
The gathering was intended to serve as a time of bonding between the various warriors and Clans that had made ties with the Union, though they were still too fresh and tenuous for Kreslin's liking. Others had been allowed to attend as well, a general broadcast having been sent out inviting all those interested to attend. Kreslin was not sure how many would
Smiling at the sight of those present, Kreslin made his way over to one of the large barrels lining the walls of the room, opening the tab briefly and ducking his head underneath. The dark red liquid poured briefly into his mouth, splashing across his tunic before he pulled his head back, shaking his short black hair, though he had noted a few more streaks of gray in it earlier that morning. Grabbing a tankard from a nearby table, he quickly filled the cup before closing the tap. The red liquid pooled on the ground for only a few seconds before beginning to flow to a nearby open drain, vanishing into the floor.
The various other barrels all held different drinks, from almost every corner of the galaxy. The aroma of strong alcohol mixed with the smell of cooking gundark in the center of the Grand Hall, briefly overwhelming Kreslin's senses as he stumbled away from the barrel as two members of his Clan pushed past him, eager to fill their own cups.
Taking a drink from the cup in his hand, Kreslin made his way across the room to Venku Bralor where he stood, nodding to him briefly. He folded his arms across his broad chest, the drink in his hand sloshing over the edges of the cup and splashing to the floor as Kreslin glanced around the room, taking note of the grouping of people. "
"How do you think it's going, friend?"
Plume Loreena Arenais-Valhoun Hix Tribbul Rav Bralor Torrack Torrackstur K Kaine Australis Thror Cal Vorn Kes Stag Ingrid L'lerim The Quartermaster
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