sɪɴɴᴇʀs ʙʏ ᴅᴇᴇᴅ ʙᴜᴛ ʀɪɢʜᴛᴇᴏᴜs sᴛɪʟʟ
CONCORDIA, THE FORTRESS MOON
BLACK FLEET ENCAMPMENT, 30 MILES FROM WEAPONIZED EQUATOR ZONE
1700 HOURS
BLACK FLEET ENCAMPMENT, 30 MILES FROM WEAPONIZED EQUATOR ZONE
1700 HOURS
"For too long has Clan Vizsla lain dormant" The holo-message began, a cloaked figure in weathered full Mandalorian armor appearing
"Scattered across a thousand worlds, fighting for as many factions as there are Vizslas in this galaxy. We were a proud Clan once, a House even. It is time we rise once more"
"I am Aloy Vizsla. And I would convene the Clan Moot upon our ancestral home of Concordia. For us to rise, we must all make a choice. We must decide who to follow in this opportunistic time"
Aloy sat upon a simple crate of blaster power cells, replaying the message on her holo-communicator several times. She analyzed her own speech, constantly deconstructing and rebuilding, criticizing her own work until it had reached perfection. Even now, she wasn't sure if this was the best she could do, but it had become the final version regardless. Once recorded, it was broadcasted the message all across the holo-net for all to see, hoping to reach any surviving Vizsla, and as many as possible.
That was weeks ago. Some had already made camp, others were still arriving. Always fewer than she had hoped...
"Where have you gone, old friend...?" She muttered while cycling through a list of attending Vode. So far, she had yet to see a single previous Alor enter the system, save herself of course. There was one in particular whose vote she had hoped to see, if not their competition.
Looking up, she could see by the position of Mandalore's sun that it was almost time to begin. The fate of Clan Vizsla may be decided today, and she planned to have a say in it.
With a whir of cybernetic limbs gained through the painful purchase of war after war, the once-alor stood to approach the center of their camp where the meeting was to take place. Fang-class starfighters and gauntlet transports flanked either side, while the mighty roar of moving Star Destroyers such as the Beast of Shukut echoed overhead like thunder as they moved to make room for arriving starships. A majority of her Black Fleet had gathered here as a show of force, not only as security against any would be Sith attack, but to demonstrate the power of their leader's claim.
They had followed Aloy willingly to destroy Sith and Imperials since the union fell. The Protectors were new to these territories, Aloy's conglomerate of Mandalorians were not. They had bleed the imperial remnant supply lines dry, made many later battles easy pickings for their allies. And with the backing of powerful allies such as the infamously large House Solus, whom Aloy shared a familial alliance with, They would become a powerful asset to House Vizsla, if only the clan could be rebuilt.
She would allow some others to make themselves known, perhaps make their case for Alor of Clan Vizsla, but Aloy came to stake her claim at this meeting, and she had been stacking the cards in her favor for years leading up to this moment.
When the time came, she would set her personal hammer down atop a munitions crate that served as the makeshift podium in the center of this camp. It was meant to serve as the "Talking Stick" for anyone who wished to make a statement meant for the entire clan, but primarily it would be used to give any claimant a turn to speak without interruption. Those who did not wish to make speeches would simply declare an individual vote in their own way. Aloy only hoped that whoever claimed the title of Alor today, would be strong enough to repair the damage done after years of isolation. Herself included.
"Before I begin, does anyone wish to speak for themselves?" She called out to the gathering crowd, hands splayed across the makeshift podium as she leaned forward, observing, waiting.
Elise Ahana-Gwyneira Tan'yill Vizsla Tahlah Vizsla Domina Prime Hilal Vizsla OPEN to Clan Vizsla PCs
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