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Of all the things one could be doing on the edge of the known galaxy, here on a ruined and abandoned world, the last thing one might expect to take place would be talks of peace, reconciliation even, but The Shaper had many plans now in motion. Many pieces on the Dejarik board to set into place, circumstances to set right. This was one such circumstance. For the plans he possessed for the empire, for the future, would likely involve an element of the Sith's past. A group and culture closely tied to their own, way an equal appreciation for strength and war. Mandalorians. The Union had fallen, flaring to life like a brilliant candle, only to grasped by an icy wind and smothered like the heart of a naive soul seeing the horrors of the galaxy for the first and final time. Since then The Shaper had committed resources to research and communication, study if you will, of suitable Mandalorian individuals with which to take up the prospect of association. This had lead him to one Strill Securities and, consequently, a titular Shuklaar Kyrdol
who seemed.... odd for a Mandalorian. At least from what information The Shaper could find.
Breshig's Alor seemed, to his eyes, a low smoldering flame against the roaring, grand inferno of violence his kin seemed to favor. Though The Shaper briefly reminded himself of what his reports had also told him, that such a fact did not mean this one was not an impressive warrior, quite the opposite really and The Shaper could appreciate a measure of control over the passions for war that may have simmered in the Alor's heart. Appreciate and understand. As such he had made a concerted effort to establish contact with the Alor, offering a contract, business, as well as a promise of something greater. Something that would at least, he hoped, get his attention. A chance to return to Breshig, as even a fool could see these proud warriors longed for their once-held homeland, and to reap and claim what they may have left there. A sort of irresistible ambrosia to proud, wounded warrior spirits such as these.... closure or at least the promise of such.
The Shaper had also seen reports of the Alor combatting the Brynadul and so, with only a bit of thought, had elected to use the broken remains of this world as their meeting ground. Beyond the prying eyes of the galaxy, beyond the slaughter and destruction wrought by the creatures now to their west. The Shaper had elected to come alone, to put himself at a disadvantage, save for the lone vessel in orbit that served as his exodus from this place. While under normal circumstances he would not be one to arrive to piece talks clad in his war-gear Kaeshana was not left unmarred by it's journey through the Nether. Twisted horrors and creatures without names stalked it's surface even still and, after slaying a few to..... clear a place for their negotiations The Shaper had enslaved the will of the rest of those nearby, sending them on their way, before gazing out over Kaeshana's ruined corpse of a surface. The Force now protecting and preserving him on it's ruined surface as he received the signal that his guest had, indeed, arrived.
Taking this cue The Shaper activated a simple transmitter that had been brought to the surface with him, pinging his location to the beings above, before he knelt there upon the ashes of Kaeshana.... and waited.
The Shaper. That was not a name that Shuklaar had heard recently outside of whispers of an extremely powerful force user operating on the side of the Sith Empire. Battlefield rumors, his sources on the matter hadn't exactly been clear. Few of them were really even what one might call reliable. Most of these sources were secondary sources at best. Shab, it was almost like the dar'jetii materialized only to wreak havoc and disappear. There was only one fact that had been the reason he'd even paid the communique that had been sent his way even the slightest bit of attention, and that he was one hundred percent sure that this entity, this man, had not taken part in the action...no, the slaughter, in the Mandalore sector.
It wasn't Mandalore itself that occupied Shuklaar's thoughts. He could care less about those that the shabuire Australis and Cadera before him had led astray. People had suffered for their mistakes, people had suffered for the poisonous ideology that his fellow Mando'ade had followed for years. Still, it was Breshig that still occupied his thoughts. The people that he couldn't get out, what they had to leave behind, and the price they'd paid for it all. It wasn't just the beskar that mattered like many in the Enclave so proudly chanted, but the people that wore it.
It was the very human cost of war with the Sith that had left Shuklaar content to let those responsible tear each other apart without letting those under his charge get involved to hasten the process along. Despite the fact that for years, war with their fellow Mando'ade, war with their erstwhile Sith allies, was all they had prepared for. Now here was this dar'jetii contacting him out of the blue. Had it been Raaf, or Dornian or any of the other dar'jetii shabuire he knew the names of, Shuklaar would have laughed in their face. He didn't know this dar'jetii, but his proposal had caught his attention for long enough that Shuklaar was willing to humor him.
He'd be lying if he'd acknowledged even for a moment that he didn't have an inkling about what this was about. The Sith needed help. The shabuire in the New Imperial Order and the two-faced di'kute in the Galactic Alliance were closing in on the once mighty Sith Empire. Shuklaar knew, though, that the Sith Empire was far from beaten. His most well paying clients, the Confederacy, had aided the Sith from time to time. What little insight he could gain into the Sith state of affairs from that avenue had told him that much.
The former had proven themselves to be a reflection of the very thing they'd claimed to fight. The hypocrisy of the New Imperial shabuire wasn't lost on Shuklaar. The same went for their di'kute allies in the Galactic Alliance. The NIO however, were the only ones who not only preached this osik about the Sith being the biggest threat, but also harbored those aruetyc chaakare from the Death Watch. Out of the ashes of Mandalore, spouted more lunacy, it seemed. They never shabla learned, it turned out.
His transport translating out of hyperspace snapped him out of those thoughts. They'd come expecting Sith treachery. His transport had dropped out on the edge of the system with it's escort fighters. One of the squadron of Kyr'galaar fighters had raced on ahead and had searched the system till they'd confirmed that there was indeed only one vessel. If nothing else, it was a good sign that if hte Shaper intended to kill him, he intended to do so in personal combat. Not that he intended to give the man the privilege, Ragar's best men were aboard the the transport, all packing Ysalamiri birikad. Shuklaar himself had not brought one. If this was indeed the meeting it was claimed to be, then he'd long learned that most force users were usually less than pleased when you brought their least favorite reptile to the discussion table.
"You don't have to do this, you know that, right?" crackled Ragar's voice in his helmet. Ragar was a man of few words, but when he spoke, it was either to make light of something or because he genuinely believed whoever he was speaking to needed to hear what he said. Of all the people he'd served with, Ragar was among the few who know how badly what had happened on Breshig had affected them. "He has nothing to offer us."
"Truth is, dar'jetii like him wouldn't have called us if he didn't, and I'm starting to get tired of watching everyone else kriff up the one job they had. He gives us what we want, and I'm more than happy to put those Deathwatch shabuire in their place. We're not doing this for him, we're doing this for us," he replied.
"And if he goes back on his deal? Are you going to make the same shabla mistakes our chaakar neighbors did?" fired back Ragar, "How many of us are even alive, alor?"
"Even one is too many to leave in their hands .This is one way we can get our own back. When those shabuire are done with the dar'jetii, where do you think they're going to turn next? I watched one home burn, Ragar, I won't watch another when I can stop it," he replied, a fury he hadn't felt in a while coming out. He knew just what Ragar was thinking, and so he added, "Maybe there's another way, but I'm tired of waiting."
Ragar just nodded. The rest of the trip down carried on in silence. Their pilot, Mereel, didn't need to inform them of their ETA. The Manda interface in their armors were already tracking that. When his HUD changed to show that they were on final approach, he undid the seat's safety restraints and stood to his feet, verpine flechette launcher cradled in his hands. It seemed like ages before the gunship touched down on it's landing claws with a muffled thump. Adrenaline flowed through his veins as the ramp began to lower as it had so many times before.
He could see the Sith standing close to the beacon, fully equipped in what Shuklaar assumed was his panoply of war. Someone else might've assumed this to be a threat, but a Mandalorian like Shuklaar knew to do anything else would be to insult your counterpart, to insinuate that wasn't worthy of your effort. Shuklaar waited for the gunship's engines to die down before he addressed the man standing before him, "You wanted to talk, dar'jetii. So...talk."
The Shaper couldn't help the small, exasperated sigh that left his lips when he felt the conspicuous hole in the Force the Ysalamir his guests possessed brought with them. It was a precaution he could understand, respect even, were it not so uncomfortable to feel the Empyrean Gland go about it's work in giving him some semblance of refuge from them. Rising from his kneeling position and idly glancing out over the wastes of Kaeshana when the cry of some Force-borne creature echoed over the vast, empty expanse of a ruined world. Taking a brief moment to assess whether the creature was a threat, which it was not, The Shaper turned his gaze upon the 'Alor. His eyes cooled to a steely grey, the amber fierceness normally found within the eyes of Sith being contained and controlled, before he inclined his head ever so slightly.
"Very well. No doubt you are entirely aware of our ongoing conflict with a group of traitors known as the New Imperial Order, it is no secret even to those who frequent the space of the Confederacy. Perhaps especially to them, in fact." The Shaper closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, weighing his words for a moment, before levying his gaze at the visage of the Mandalorian's helmet. "I am also aware that actions speak louder than words, so instead of talk....." The Shaper slowly retrieved something from within his wargear and holding up a bundle of wrapped clothe, tossed it idly to Shuklaar. Waiting until the Alor opened the bundle, or perhaps simply let it fall at his feet, The Shaper would speak either way. Whether the 'Alor saw the carefully preserved fragment of Beskar'gam bearing a seal of Breshig, markings denoting it coming from the planet itself. Produced, as it were for Shuklaar's people, at home.
The Shaper then laced his hands behind his back and set his posture. "I called you here for a contract. Payment, within reason should you desire it, can be discussed at a later date. Instead of credits or words I offer you action. The Empire makes efforts near Mandalore and Breshig itself I have decreed to remain unmolested. Untouched. Should you, or your people, wish to return to it's surface to attend to your business then you've permission to do so without reprisal." The Shaper paused for a simple moment, letting his words sink in, before adding in a softer tone. "In truth the history between my people and yours is.... troubled and from my experience the history between your people and 'your people' is also troubled. We can, I believe, agree on one thing." The Shaper's eyes radiated to a smoldering crimson as a seriousness added edge not directed at the Mandalorians to his voice. "I would do ANYTHING for my people."
As if closing the door to a cage The Shaper's more proper posture returned, his eyes dimming back down to a cool, steely grey before he cleared his throat. "As such, I seek an agreement for arms and armor, and the services of your warriors. Kept to your command of course. I do not seek dominion over you and yours. Aid against our enemies, mutual or otherwise, in an effort to rid the empire of a parasite long overdue and after that...." The Shaper gazed long and hard at Shuklaar, at the man behind the visor, a knowing in his eyes as he nodded slightly. "We attend the scourge west of here, the Brynadul. I am sure you are familiar as I am." The Shaper went silent now, his gaze turning from Shuklaar to the wastes of Kaeshana, and he allowed the Mandalorians to no-doubt deliberate among themselves for however long it took. The stale winds of the world tossing his obsidian hair about him. He could imagine what he promised seemed almost too good to be true coming from a Sith, conflict and war not withstanding, but from his understanding Mandalorians perfected the craft with enthusiasm. The Shaper knew that his offer of closure with their homeworld was a variable he could not quite place, though he suspected it was quite a potent leverage, if it was not something the Mandalorians cared for then he would be relying solely on monetary motivation. Which, despite being a business, he suspected would not be sufficient for Shuklaar. These Mandalorians seemed the furthest thing from the hired thugs countless others had allowed themselves to become.
Ah. So he had been right. This was about the group of shabuire that had razed Mandalore with the rest of the dar'jetii chaakare and pretended like they hadn't been there. The shabuire that pretended that just because they called themselves something different, they were any less complicit in the crimes they'd committed so wholeheartedly with their erstwhile masters. Like the former Mand'alor, the shabuire Australis, Shuklaar had been willing to give them their cin vhetin, their chance at a fresh start. Like the shabuir Australis, the man on whom at least half the blame for what happened in the Mandalore sector could be pinned, the New Imperial shabuire had squandered it.
The Shaper then said something that made him think for a moment. Actions did indeed speak louder than words, and instinct almost made him arm both of his over the shoulder weapon systems. He watched as the dar'jetii withdraw a bundle. Shuklaar's armor sensors immediately picked up on what it was. When he saw the name that was displayed next to the box that was overlaid over the bundle, he blinked several times. He caught the package instinctively, his implant package keeping sharp what middle age had dulled.
He opened the package, just to verify if what his armor's sensors was telling him was the truth. Sure as sure, it was the genuine article. He had an eye for details, and this particular batch number took him back, back to the day when he made the decision to execute their ba'slan shev'la. The klaxons were always the first thing he remembered, then Mereel's voice when he told him that the fleet had told them they could only make one more run. They were out of time. They were out of lives they could spend before the system became their graveyard, and the facility became their tomb. He'd made the decision to wait, wait long enough for anyone that could still make it to the evacuation zone.
It wasn't a choice he'd have wanted anyone to have to make. Take what would allow them to safeguard their future, the materials with which to create more armor, more ships, or save that many more of their people from the hell that would follow. He knew those that would have told him he made the right choice, Barnoess T'shkali for one. Though he knew the problems they'd faced trying to get back on their feet, and that shipment would've saved them a lot of trouble, but at what cost? He had made the right decision, and here was this dar'jetii who'd not only handed him beskar that could be used to rearm for war knowing that war could be against his people, but was offering him the chance to return home. No. Not home. Breshig hadn't felt like home for a long time. Still. It was an opportunity he couldn't dismiss. Not with a clear conscience.
This was the first time he'd met a dar'jetii with any shred of an understanding for their ways. The warrior's agreement. Ignoring the contradiction that was the Vicelord of the CIS, and his apprentice who he'd actually never formally been introduced to. That alone, alleviated some of Shuklaar's concerns, not enough to let his guard down, but rather to dull the edge of his natural paranoia that came of dealing with The Shaper's kind. So he listened, and when the Shaper was done, he nodded slowly.
There was nothing that he said, nothing that he wanted them to do that irked him. If it was anyone else, he'd have agreed to the contract with little more conversation on the matter. He wasn't, however, and while Mandalorian culture did not blame children for what their parents did, The Shaper was no child. He was a dar'jetii who'd been involved with the same shabuire that had ravaged and mauled the sector, the same shabuir who'd prior supported Cadera and Australis. The look in his eyes, however, told Shuk enough about why he was here, asking for help, and it was that conviction that helped keep him from walking away despite what was on the table.
"You're right about one thing, dar'jetii, we both would do anything for our people. For what happened to my people, what you're offering is not enough," he said, letting his words hang in the air for the briefest of moments, which would've surely felt longer to The Shaper's force enhanced senses and his own cybernetically enhanced ones. "Your Sith burc'ya in the Empire, have made my people suffer long before you invaded. They supported two of the most chaav'la chaakare of the list of worthless shabuire who ever held the title Mand'alor. When they ceased being useful, they came and they spread destruction, death, misery and suffering. I don't blame them, I was in the room with the shabuir for less than an hour and I already wanted to shoot myself in the head," he intoned, every single world dripping with the malice that The Shaper likely could feel radiating from him. It was every bit as genuine and undiluted as it seemed.
"I remember the name of about every single one of the shabuire who were there. Tavlar, Raaf, Vandiir, Dornian, the shabuir Carnifex himself, just to name a few. You. You weren't there. And I get the feeling, dar'jetii, something I haven't felt in dealing with your kind, that you are a man of his word. So you're either the best shabla liar I've ever met, and I don't doubt you've got the abilities to fool all the tech in my beskar'gam, or you're telling the truth. So here's what I want," he said, pausing to collect his own thoughts rather than for any other reason.
Here was was once again, making a decision that would affect the entire company. He'd considered everything before he came here, but now sitting on precipice of a decision that would affect them all once more, he once again found himself weighing everything one last time. He sure as haran knew that this would be the last chance he got to do so. He'd considered that the CIS could turn around and blame him for any accusations the Galactic Alliance or the Silver Jedi threw his way, and he was well aware that it could cost him the contract. Shab, it could cost them a lot more than that. Still, what right did he have to deny the others the chance for closure, to see loved ones taken from them. After all, that's what this was all about, the CIS contract, the reason they fought so hard, it was to secure their future, and what kind of a hutuun'la chaakare would he be to deny that future because he was too scared to make a deal that could save them, too scared of what people would think and say. No. He left them behind once, he wouldn't leave his vode behind again. What excuse did he have this time?
"One. I want my people back. Alive, healthy, and whole of mind. Anyone you...can't, give back in that state, don't let their suffering continue. Give them a fair death. Oh, and I want what you took from them, weapons, personal possessions, equipment and armor. Two. You will rescind the bounty the Sith Empire has on any surviving Mandalorians. Few have been stupid enough to try to collect, but I want it gone. Three. You will return what you stole from our home. Material, weapons, vehicles, ships, equipment. I'd prefer if you kept the mines and explosives we left behind. Four. The contract is with you, and you alone. Anyone else can usenye. Five. I need a name. Can't exactly put 'The Shaper' on the contract, Add that to what you're offering, and you'll get what the company has to offer," he said, completely matter of fact, tone unchanging. This wouldn't tide over what he felt, what any of them felt, but this was the only deal he was willing to make. As far as he was concerned, now was when he saw whether the Shaper was the kind of man he'd presumed him to be, or if he was just another dar'jetii.
Shuklaar Kyrdol
who seemed.... odd for a Mandalorian. At least from what information The Shaper could find. 
