Private A New Dawn I Clan Kryze

[Jenn Kryze]

Beskar'gam​

The Battle for Coruscant was over.​

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The Mandalorians of Clan Kryze, steadfast and resolute in their commitment to the defense of the Jedi Temple and its surrounding areas, had emerged victorious yet again- but the cost of such a victory was high. The warriors of beskar did not stay long after their victory, collecting their dead and their armor before returning to Onderon. Families were reunited, lovers brought back together... but so too were children orphaned, and kindred ripped from one another. The funerary pyres of the departed burned well into the night, and many a proud warrior wept for those they had lost. Such was the cost of war, the price to be paid by those who refused to stand idly by as their allies were faced with tragedy. Now, more than ever, the fate of Clan Kryze was truly entwined with that of the Galactic Alliance; their bond made true through the blood they shed fighting alongside one another.​

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Copper coins were laid over the eyes of the fallen by the Alor herself, an owl etched onto them, each and every one of them forged by her hand for such an occasion. So too did she throw the torch unto the pyre for those who had no family nor loved ones to see them to the Manda. Each face, each name, would be forever etched into her memory- but none brought her more grief than that of her Nite Owls. The truest of believers, who accompanied her wherever she went, no matter the danger; their loyalty rewarded with death.​

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But with dawn, came the Alor's summons; a call for all those who yet stood among the living to join her within the heart of the Clangrounds, where the earth remained barren by her word; a place for her people to assemble when needed. With a burst of her jetpack, the Ersansyr maintained a position above the crowd, looking over each visor in attendance... and finally spoke, in a booming voice.​

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"MANDALORIANS, VICTORY IS OURS!"​

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Weary as they were, many among the assembled warriors answered such a declaration with raised fists and cries of victories.​

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"The Dark Empire is in full retreat, and Coruscant is saved. To every last one of you, who stood alongside our ancient enemy and welcomed them as battle-kindred- I want you to know that your deeds will forever echo in history. You faced an implacable enemy, and triumphed. We hurt the Empire, and they will remember this. But so too did we suffer greatly; even now, those who made the ultimate sacrifice have returned to the Manda, their passing mourned by those who remain. They will never be forgotten... and it will take many years indeed before we can truly recover. There is but one path open to us; if we are to endure, then we must embrace who we were truly meant to be."​

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The siren marked a pause, her stomach tying into knots. There would be no going back from this, no walking away from the future she intended to drag her Clan towards. Now, more than ever, she felt all but dwarfed by the responsibility that came with the mantle of Alor, the many T and Y visors turned her way expectantly reminding her of the weight behind each word she uttered.​

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"I returned to Manda'yaim, when the Alor'ultai was summoned; and I watched as my peers displayed nothing but posturing, arrogance, and blind fanaticism. They care only for the fate of a dead world, asking for unity even as they refuse to change! There is nothing in their minds but the ancient ways of our people, blind to what such a mindset has led us to, time and time again! They would ask for a new Mand'alor, and worship stagnancy as sacrosanct, and I say NO MORE! No more will we let ourselves be bound by loyalty to our kin, only to be dragged into blind warmongering! Our fate is not bound to a dead world and the fools who yet remain, but to our creed!"​

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Jenn lifted her beskad into the air, and watched as her Nite Owls did the same. She only hoped the rest of the Clan would follow her along this path, just as they had done before...​

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"Wherever the weak and the helpless bow beneath a cruel yoke, we will repay their oppression in kind! We are the warriors of Clan Kryze, the shield of the innocent, and the instrument of their vengeance! We do not fight for conquest, riches and glory, but for hearth, and home!"​

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Varys Amun Zorana Atin Tracinya Anna Carden Haliat Kryze ​

 

[Varys Amun]

Varys sat at the edge of the circle, the dawning sunlight warming her back. She had tended the pyre lovingly throughout the night, fetched water and soup for the grieving mando'ade who could not bear to leave the side of their departed. She had borne the burden of the crates of beskar'gam, adorned with chains of flowers and sweet smelling herbs, as they carried them back to their families.

Now, Varys' bones ached. Still she sat and listened, clapped and cheered alongside her kin as the Alor spoke. She had not been on Coruscant, because she had not been allowed. Varys was ad'ika, the child. Her place was to watch over the camp, keep safe those who could not protect themselves, tend to the fields and the cooking fires, patrol the boundary fence. A noble job for the young of the clan, or so she was told. Varys could not relate to the other clan youth. They had an exuberance and naivety she found annoying. In truth, she considered herself better than they, and related more to the adult warriors of the clan than their children.

And now, many of those warriors had returned as lifeless husks, or mere bloody chunks. Varys, the future of the clan, had buried them. One day she would replace them.

Varys realised her mind had wandered, and she turned her attention back to her adoptive mother, her buir.

"I returned to Manda'yaim, when the Alor'ultai was summoned; and I watched as my peers displayed nothing but posturing, arrogance, and blind fanaticism. They care only for the fate of a dead world, asking for unity even as they refuse to change!"

She winced and looked away. Jenn was a reformer, and she kept her eyes firmly fixed on future. Though Varys admired her, that was not how the young girl had been raised. Manda'yaim, though wounded, was her spiritual home. She wanted badly to see it, to sow its battered acrid soil with seeds, to launch a great red kite from one of its rolling hills like the Amuns of old. Maybe one day.

The Alor's speech drew to a close and Varys stood. Her voice rang into the morning air with her kin, and Varys tried very hard to make sure her voice was the loudest, her loyalty the most fierce, even though she knew it wasn't so.

"OYA MANDA! OYA MANDA!"

With the ceremony concluded, Varys made her way to the centre of the circle, taking her place beside Jenn, as was her right. She placed a gentle hand on the woman's shoulder.

"Tion gar jate Buir? You are alright? This is a hard day."

Jenn Kryze | Zorana | Atin Tracinya | Anna Carden | Haliat Kryze

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[Haliat Kryze]

He'd made note of it before, and Haliat Kryze noted it once again now. This woman hovering before them like some avenging angel may not have expressed any ambitions to the title of Mandalore, but without a doubt she was forged from a similar steel. The ferocity was unquestionable, and to stand as part of it left no room for doubting her skill in playing to a crowd. Haliat was no more immune to the draw of such raw charisma than anyone else gathered here today. Felt against the weariness that inevitably followed a battle so hard fought, it was more than simply inspirational. It was electric. It was…

Well, it was terrifying, at least to the most pessimistic version of himself lurking at the back of his mind. There was real, substantial power at the Alor's disposal, its potential reason for pause. Jenn had used it well thus far, but a journey seldom ended the same way it had begun. And the long bloody story of this galaxy contained more than one despot who had made a grand show of taking power only by necessity and with the greatest reluctance. And despite the righteous overtones, this WAS essentially another call for violence. Vengeance…that led his mind nowhere good.

It would likely be some time before Haliat could banish that voice entirely, if ever. He was cynical by long conditioning. But he refused to let such dark thoughts dominate his mind now. This was a moment for hope, a moment to honor the ultimate and honorable sacrifice of many whom he'd been proud in the end to call his brothers and sisters. And that was not a thing to be squandered. He may not have screamed his devotion as others did, but his sword was among those raised energetically in triumph.

Many…most Mandalorian leaders In times past had used their power poorly until they could use it no longer. But Jenn Kryze, his kin, had pledged her resolve to be different, and he believed her. He was not an infallible judge of character, but he could act only on the instincts he had, and she seemed sincere. She spoke of a new creed, one actually worth devoting a life to. More importantly, she had acted, led him into two fights already that he could feel actual pride in. That was more than he could say of any leader who had claimed any right to his loyalty, and this one had technically claimed no such thing.

All he could actually express of any of this in public was a simple nod when their gazes briefly met, albeit obscured by his visor. But that was just as well; the Alor had no immediate need for further lip service. Action would answer action.

She had taken it upon herself to bring real change to a people he had long ago given up on, with no guarantee that her quest was even possible. And in whatever small way possible, he would help her.

Jenn Kryze Varys Amun Zorana Anna Carden Atin Tracinya

 

[Jenn Kryze]

Beskar'gam​

By many titles did the warriors of blue and white call her; she was Warmother, Daimyo, Khan, Kiith-Sa, and Alor... but these titles meant little to her when compared to the greatest of them all. Something far more humble, perhaps, yet charged with meaning and warmth; above all, Jenn was a mother. Although possessed with a fierce love for her Clan, such dedication would ever be a distant second to the lengths she was ready to go through for her daughter. Even now, the world around her ceased to matter, her Jaig Eyes resting upon the familiar beskar'gam of the Little Bird as she brought a hand to rest on her mother's shoulder.​

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Turning to face her daughter more properly, the wise matriarch wrapped her arms around her treasured child and held her close. The battle of Coruscant had been hard-fought, and although victory had been secured... she may very well have emerged the vanquished, if not for the timely intervention of Corazona von Ascania . Even now, the memory of abject powerlessness haunted her still; the thought of leaving Varys all by herself in the world, a horrid nightmare.​

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"Par an be mhi", answered the Alor softly. Strength was required of her, to guide her people through sacrifice and loss; and yet she had wept for the fallen, all the same, for there was little shame to be found in mourning the departed. Of all those assembled within the Clangrounds, it was her Var'ika who saw beyond the might and guile of the legendary figure, who knew her to be aggrieved. Jenn expected nothing less of her. "Ni cuy' briikase at haa'taylir gar morut'yc, ner'ad." ​

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Mando'a rolled off the tongue more easily for her, just as it did for her child; although fiercely loyal to her ideals as reformer, Jenn yet honored those traditions of her people worth remembering. Basic would never replace the tongue of her ancestors. It didn't quite make as much sense to her.​

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Varys Amun ​

 

[Atin Tracinya]

Somewhere there, among the sea of blue and white, a helmet of grey and orange sat utterly, still and unmoving as Atin gave his utmost attention to the leader of Clan Kryze. He had yet to forsake the burning orange of his own clan. He would not. The colors of his fallen, his own long-passed family would not fade. But the blue handprint pressed to his chestplate, over his heart, gave credence to the his choice, the one Jenn Kryze had offered him in Iziz.

Beside him, Anna Carden jostled back and forth, occasionally bumping into his larger form as the clan, together, let loose the ancient cry of Mandalore. By the time they'd all finished, Atin wondered how it was that their voices hadn't gone hoarse. His own, hardly used, and weak from it, was eager for water. Especially after the harrowing day they'd all faced.

The crowd didn't so much as disperse as it did spread out a bit, the Mandalorians each only earning themselves a little more standing room as they all went to their celebrations and mournings, each of their own accord. Atin, for his part, shouldered his way through the crowd to find some a drink, and hopefully the Alor as well, to notify her of his choices. And where that might leave him with the Jedi.

Although he hadn't said anything, Atin had half-expected for Anna to follow after him. Not quite attached at the hip but...well, the man preferred to keep her close at the very least. He paused, briefly to look back and see if she had indeed followed him, before continuing on, regardless of whether or not she had.

Varys Amun | Zorana | Haliat Kryze