Faction Lost Foundations [MP & Allies]

[Mia Monroe]

Armoured fingers trailed along the workbench, where tools lay scattered, dropped in the middle of his work. At her back, the forge was still hot, beading sweat on the back of her neck that trailed down her spine beneath her armour as she scanned the room, sensors within her helmet scanning everything feeding her HUD with information, none of it helpful. Just as the security footage Arla Rodarch had provided had been equally useful. one moment he'd been there, the next he wasn't.

Apprentices watched her nervously, wondering why she had summoned them here. They'd not been present when Ijaat Mereel had vanished, he'd dismissed them and told them to take a break. Had what he'd been working on been so dangerous? If so, was he dead?

That question hung for longer than she wanted it to in her head, fear seizing her chest. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She would know if he had died, she would have felt it. Their Mand'alor was not dead.

He was simply gone.

She'd been so quick to assume he had abandoned them, to believe that he had not been able to handle the seat she had pushed him to take. Guilt racked her but she pushed it aside, turning her attention to the apprentices who stiffened as her blank t-visor fell upon them. "You keep this forge lit. You keep the tools working. This place is not to fall into disrepair. Understood?"

"Yes, Al'verde.'' The response was unanimous, synchronised with the snap of a salute.

Mia nodded, and swept from the forge, Jhi falling into step behind her, she could feel her eyes on the back of her head, watching her carefully for any sign of a crack. Just as observant as her mother. "I'm fine, Jhi, you can stop looking at me like that."

"Of course, Al'verde."

Mia could hear the smile in her voice, and shook her head, "Be on alert, the news is going to cause a riot, these people came here for him, to find out he's gone is going to shake our foundations, but more importantly there will be those who want to try for that position. They might be stupid enough to try something tonight, they might not. Watch everyone, make a note of those who stay too quiet and those who leave."

There were a few people milling outside the Oyu'baat, with many others still arriving, she inclined her head in greeting at a few before ducking in through the door herself. Laughter and merry drinking met her ears, cheering and shouts echoed from a corner where an arm wrestle was taking place between a Rodarch and a Rook, Mia paid them no mind, moving to the bar where she would wait for Drego Ruus to arrive before breaking through the joy to shatter the news across all of them.

 

[Arla Rodarch]

Manda'yaim
Oyu'baat

Arla had been over Ijaat's forge with a fine toothed comb, there was no further evidence to find. She was now satisfied that he had indeed vanished into thin air without a trace. No traces had been found despite exhaustive efforts. The data had been checked and rechecked. Nothing. Nothing but the sword he'd been working on for her, but never finished.

She carried that blade with her now, functional, but not ornate, undecorated. She'd come to Oyu'baat to listen rather than to speak. She was still healing from the wounds sustained at Tion and at Carlac both, battles which she'd fought hard in.

The Journeyman Protector sat at the bar nursing a mug of ale, thick dark brown brew, a locally made one. Her friends and locals that knew her left her alone. They knew she'd lost Archimedes at Tion, a hard and brutal fight, but a glorious and successful mission against the Sith. Those who had survived, a handful, had the tale to tell.

Arla was lost in her thoughts, and didn't see Mia come in.

She couldn't hear the banter, the laughs, the shouts, the merriment. She was in her own little world, trying to let go of the memory of the last time she had seen her Shaakajir Riduur alive. "You died well, old man." She said to herself, taking another pull on the foamy mug. Yeah, he'd died well, died to give the Mandalorians a victory against the Sith. That didn't bring him back. It didn't bring any of them back. And the Mand'alor was kriffing gone.

Mia Monroe Drego Ruus Mig Gred I'dadr Gargon Kurayami Bloodborn Ordo Shev Skirata Domina Prime Jenn Kryze Daesyn Rodarch Fenn Stag Korso Rook Shuklaar Kyrdol

 

[Shev Skirata]

Shev sat at the bar beside Arla Rodarch he barely knew her outside of hearing her name over comms on the battlefield when they fought off Sith occupation and huge fething monsters. He heard she had lost her husband. He couldn't relate, he had never had a husband, but he had lost a loved one very early on in life. He hadn't removed his helmet in public since then, that was fifteen years ago. He took his beskad out of the hip sheath and sat it on the bar infront of himself and rested his forearms on the bar.

He didn't bother to speak. The woman wouldn't hear him even if he did. Pointless platitudes would be an insult in his mind anyway. He hated the apologies he had gotten during his mourning. That's one of the reasons he had left Contruum and struck out on his own. He couldn't listen to the way people still spoke to him as if the beskar was the only thing holding him together.

So he sat by the massive warrior woman and stared at the inside of his buy'ce elbows only a centimetre away. A warm body that was within reach if she needed someone and far enough away to not disturb her in the meantime. What else could anyone really do?

Mia Monroe @people and things.

 

[Drego Ruus]

Tag: Mia Monroe Arla Rodarch Others​

The Warmaster had so much on his mind, but Mia had called.

He had been tasked with doing the impossible. Forming a new way of doing things. He knew many would oppose it. Ask when the new head to wear the crown would be announced. Question why they needed it. He couldn't let the Protectors fall apart. He couldn't let the people he had given up his old life to fall to ruin. Not again. They needed to break that cycle.

As he walked into the bar, he was greeted by the sight of revelry. It wasn't a sight he was focused on. His eyes wandered to the bar itself, and to Mia.

Slowly, he made his way through the crowd, and to her. "You look awful." He noted as he sat down next to Mia. "...so how are we doing this? At the bar?....seems fitting, I guess. You want a smoke before we get done with this?"

 

[Tempo]

TAGS: Drego Ruus

​

Tempo stepped into the hotel's bar, a place where the lavish decor clashed with the rugged dust that clung to his boots.

With a feline grace, Tempo padded over to the bar, each step echoing softly in the muted chatter. He climbed onto the small foot railing, his height barely enough to peer over the bar's edge. A cloud of dust, stirred by his movements, shimmered in the warm light, drawing a bemused look from the bartender.

Tempo had been summoned here, far from his base in the desolate badlands of Tatooine, where jagged rocks and endless dunes were his only company. He wondered what urgency could have pulled him from such isolation. Leaning forward, he ordered a tall glass of chocolate milk, his voice a low murmur.

The bartender, a polished professional, raised an eyebrow but said nothing, sliding the glass across the gleaming wood. Tempo took the glass with a nod of thanks, turning to face the room as he took a sip. The sweet, creamy beverage was a welcomed change.

He almost missed the familiar figure at the corner table, but a double-take confirmed it. Drego Ruus . A fang-toothed smirk spread across Tempo's face as he raised a clawed hand in a mock toast. "Oh, hello train guy, fancy seeing you here~" he drawled, the words dripping with sarcasm and a touch of genuine amusement.

 

[Drego Ruus]

Tag: Mia Monroe Tempo
​

That caused Drego to take pause. "...train guy, what?...oh." He let out a long sigh. "Mia, say hi to Tempo. They fucked up a job I had a while back. And then Dima took them in as a foundling, I think. They're like you, space wizard and all that."

 

[Mig Gred]

Mig sat aboard the Echo's Light as R10 brought her in for landing, not sure what to expect. All he knew was something had happened. He wasn't sure he was gonna like this. Mig put on his helmet, slipping on a beskarweave cloak before leaving the ship and making his way out. R10 followed behind, whistling about something as the mandalorian just tried to figure out what was going on. He guessed he'd figure out soon.

He walked up to the Oyu'baat, seeing Mia, Drego, and, interestingly enough, a Force sensitive if his own skills weren't failing him. R10 whirled as he trying to catch their attention, leading to Mig just glaring at the droid. "Sorry about him."

Mia Monroe Drego Ruus Tempo Arla Rodarch

 

[Arla Rodarch]

Though she was sat in a bar stool in a busy cantina, Arla should probably have still been in a bacta tank. She could feel her nose barely attached, and her left arm wasn't even able to lift a mug. Still, she needed to be out of the damn tank for at least an hour. At least that was what she'd promised the local doctor, who was also the local veterinarian. The woman had threatened Arla with a needle she used on nerfs if she wasn't back in the tank in a timely fashion, and Arla took the threat seriously.

Looking up because her mug was empty, Arla blearily noticed Shev Skirata sitting beside her. She waved the bartender over for a refill, and nodded once towards the Skirata man. They'd first fought together at the Battle of Sundari, shed blood together there for the vode, and she wasn't so far gone as to forget an old comrade.

Not looking over at Shev, but still at her drink, Arla commented, lifting her mug with her undamaged right hand. "Fucking war." She said, as a form of salute. It was the sort of black humour and irony that old soldiers understood like no one else in the galaxy. Coming back when your mates did not. Getting to live when better people did not. It wasn't fair. It was life.

Life had to go on, no matter how hard it was. And it was hard. Fortunately for Arla, until there was a Mand'alor once more, she didn't have to do much of anything. Ijaat's successor would commend her, or replace her. Until that time, she could recover, and fight the damn Sith whenever and wherever she could.

Mia Monroe Drego Ruus Tempo Mig Gred

 

[Tempo]

TAGS: Mia Monroe Drego Ruus Arla Rodarch Mig Gred Shev Skirata

​

Tempo turned and shifted, climbing up onto a stool with a mischievous glint in his eye. "My oh my, everyone here sure doesn't seem like they're having a good time. Perhaps you all would like some excitement?" he chirped, his voice cutting through the murmur of the bar.

He lifted his glass of chocolate milk, downing it in one swift gulp before turning it upside down on the countertop with a decisive thud. The gesture was unmistakable—a challenge had been issued. The bar tender exchanged a curious glance, their interest piqued by Tempo's audacity.

Tempo's eyes sparked with playful defiance as he surveyed the room, gauging the crowd's reaction.

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the bar, and flashed a roguish grin. "Come on, surely someone here is up for a bit of fun?" His voice was a playful taunt, dancing through the room with infectious energy. "What do you say we liven things up a bit?"

 

[Shev Skirata]

"Fucking war."

Shev looked at the ale as it was sat in front of him and a great many thoughts went through his head. Should he tell her he didn’t remove his helmet anywhere he could be seen by a living soul? That he hadn’t had his face unexposed in public for nearly 15 years? That if he was going to give up his vows and religion for anyone, it would probably be someone like her?

No, probably not.

“Language.” He said through his helmet speaker as he tucked his chin and the straw he installed on his buy’ce popped out inside the helmet and he reached up and pulled the external portion out and put it into the drink and started draining the glass.

“War is always messy and no one really comes back.” He said as he lowered the glass, straw dripping onto his armor. “Field Marshal Ordo said that. Sounds true to me.”

He waved for two more drinks.

Arla Rodarch Mia Monroe Drego Ruus Mig Gred Tempo

 

[Tarre Priest]

News of the missing Mandalor reached my ears. It was not something I had been expecting for someone who so fought for such. Breathing in deeply through the helmet, I walked between the doors of the bar. Sounds of the music playing, whatever kind it was, and just seeing a host of other Mandalorians who were all gathering. Not quite too sure on what was going to be truly done. While this information I knew was limited to a small number of people, I didn't think all that were here would be in the know.

Either way, I walked up to where a group of them were. Drego, Mia, Arla, and another who I had not seen before. I tapped the bar for Mia's attention, and a head nod to indicate I was here. But not speaking words to prevent any problems with interruption. Others had gotten themselves drinks. I would not be partaking, but the thought was there.

However, something confused me for a moment. Another Mandalorian, who happened to be drinking something non-alcoholic, had downed a glass and then slammed it onto the bar. They wanted a fight. Even saying they wanted to liven things up.

Walking over to said individual, I placed a hand on the bar next to them.

"Not sure if you really want to go through with that."

The visor looking them up and down. Checking if they really could be in a legit fight.

"Take it outside, or I'll take you out there."

Mia Monroe Drego Ruus Arla Rodarch Fenn Stag Ordo Shev Skirata Tempo Mig Gred Kurayami Bloodborn Domina Prime Jenn Kryze Daesyn Rodarch Korso Rook Shuklaar Kyrdol

 

[Fenn Stag]

I went looking for you.

Fenn came off of the wall he was leaning on, watching the passing-by of many of the Mandalorians. He heard the news, and he felt the impact the news had. He narrowed his eyes behind his helmet, staring at the young man at the bar who issued an open challenge. He walked over, using his Beskar prosthetic arm to set his glass back upwards. It was one thing to ignore a challenge or deny it, but Fenn was openly saying that it was not worthy, nor timely.

Truthfully, Fenn hated it when Mandalorians could not resist the temptation to fight at every given opportunity. Every gathering, every meeting, ended with a fight that went nowhere and produced nothing. Foolish and idiotic, and unbecoming of warriors of their caliber.

"Do not disrespect such a time and a man."

He looked over to Arla Rodarch , who had every more right to be somber than he was.

"Now what?"

He looked around. He was more pragmatic than most, more focused on the future. He saw only a few faces he knew. He stood tall, his fists curled at his sides, aggressively as he usually did.

Tempo l Shev Skirata l Mig Gred l

 

[Tempo]

TAGS: Mia Monroe Drego Ruus Tarre Priest Shev Skirata Arla Rodarch Fenn Stag Mig Gred

​

"Ah, finally, someone with the testicular fortitude to say something." Tempo smirked at the man, eyes gleaming with challenge. "You think you could take me outside, big guy?" His smirk widened into a taunting grin. "You couldn't even handle taking me on a date, let alone a dance."

Tempo huffed dismissively, rolling his eyes at Fenn. "I haven't been given a reason to respect a man who leaves his brothers and sisters high and dry. What kind of loyalty do you have for someone who abandons you and your cause?" he sneered, his voice dripping with provocation.

It appeared to him a lot of people wanted to act like a leader but when it came down to it no one wanted to take the responcibility that comes with it.

Tempo was by all means a small, mite-sized pest standing at only 4'7", with a big mouth and a loud voice. His gear didn't look all that special, rough and tumbled with frayed edges, and rough clothing made to withstand the desert sun. His mouth held two sets of fangs and his hands were tipped with claws. He was very lightly armored and looked to be carrying a gun way too big for himself to wield. Yet, there was something undeniably compelling about his audacity. He was the kind of figure who could either ignite a much-needed transformation or exacerbate existing tensions, depending on how his provocations were received.

"If you want to build something, I'm here to build. If you want to bellyache about water under the bridge, then I can't help you."

Tempo's boldness was a double-edged sword. His directness had the potential to inspire and galvanize the group, pushing them towards action and unity. However, his confrontational approach and lack of diplomacy risked alienating potential allies and creating further divisions. It remained to be seen whether his fearless callouts would bring about the change he desired or deepen the fractures within the group.

Cause with action was what Tempo wanted.

 

[Tarre Priest]

Eyes rolled with how this Mandalorian wanted to just seemingly start chit. Just for that purpose. Sure mentions of wanting to help build, and not to just sit there and do nothing, whining and complaining. Welp, here is where I took my leave of Mia. While I wanted to be here for her, I wanted to help her with whatever was going on, It seemed my duty took me else where. Looking over to Mia for a moment, only to shrug my shoulders.

Someone wanted a challenge so now I'm gonna give them one.

Their taunting got to me. I will admit that. Calling me a big guy and whatever else. That didn't really bother me, It was the whole trying to make everyone else have a chit day because they wanted to have fun. To me, it was like a morning person. They just needed to understand, that we, were not morning people.

Reaching up, my crushgaunts grabbed them by the collar of their armor, and the other by the belt. Lifting them up with my strength, leading them over to the window, and throwing them out. The transparisteel being that thin, caused them to be thrown through it. Turning to the rest of the people in the bar.

"Anyone else want to talk chit, I'll take you outside next."

Stepping up onto the table, and vaulting myself through the window after this purple and black armored mandalorian. Walking to close the distance, my arms pumped from my side up to my faceplate in a typical shockboxer position.

"Come on. You asked for this."

Fenn Stag Tempo Mia Monroe Drego Ruus Arla Rodarch Shev Skirata Kurayami Bloodborn Mig Gred Ordo Domina Prime Daesyn Rodarch Korso Rook

 

[Tempo]

TAGS: Tarre Priest

​

The small creature was relatively light and therefore easy to throw. He hit the ground hard, rolling in the dirt from the force of the impact before sliding to a stop on his side. With a swift motion, the creature rolled over and popped up on his feet. Baring his fangs, Tempo snarled, a dagger flicking out in his right hand as he crouched low. Strange, squeaking hisses and guttural noises emanated from him, like the combined sounds of a baby alligator and a Komodo dragon.

Tempo's eyes blazed with feral intensity as he surged forward in a blur. His small frame moved with startling speed, climbing his opponent like a wild beast. He aimed to dig his blade into a tender nook between the armor with an animalistic ferocity.

 

[Fenn Stag]

It was overwhelming, how ugly it all was.

Fenn stood there quietly, looking over at Tarre Priest for a moment. He seemed to be thinking, very calculatingly so- unusual for Fenn, of his next words. But perhaps there was more of Preliat in him that he cared to admit.

Crushgaunt adorned hands tightened in their fists when he saw the actions of Tarre and the aruetti whelp.

Fenn walked outside, stepping between the aruetti, and Tarre, the blade caught in the pocket of his left arm before it reached Tarre. It sparked, scraping off of his prosthetic arm, only a small nick of the blade cutting slightly into his flightsuit beneath his armor- but Fenn gave no reaction. His visor looked down at the small, pathetic man who had been thrown through a window. Fenn turned his head towards Tarre. A single finger pointed at the rat while not looking at him.

"You dishonor yourself by fighting someone a third of your size in the wake of our great loss, brother. We are not savages, we are not brutes, and we are not dishonorable. He has had enough, and so have you. We stand at the precipice of failure and suffering a great loss, and you're concerned with a fight with an outsider."

Fenn, if he was not wearing a helmet, would've spat on the ground. He shook his head and walked inside, leaving the two outside. Perhaps Fenn was right, perhaps there were more pressing concerns than the egos and personalities of the two to discuss and to be aware of. He felt disgusted, the amount of interpersonal violence the Mandalorians often had in these situations when they faced total loss and near dissolving of what they had built thus far.

No wonder his people were constantly damned, fractured, and broken. The best of them currently gathered, and this was their concern.

Tarre Priest l Tempo

 

[Tarre Priest]

As the other Mandalorian came up, the knife drawn, and well ready prepared for a fight. Even hissing in such a weird way. Likely due to their species. However, the fight was stopped before it even started by Fenn getting in between the two of us. Parrying it rather casually. Then directly stating it was a dishonor to fight an outsider. Clearly, Fenn had his own thoughts on who was and wasn't a Mandalorian now. Who was he to call who could and couldn't be one. Even then, this person could be a Foundling of a Clan. The issue of a challenge was respected, and was being delt with. Yet Fenn stepped in the way. A side step to be closer towards the side of the man with a hard looking visor that stared at his own helm.

"I take care of rats. I clean out would be trash from our culture. To deny that, is bringing only dishonor to yourself for not doing the same. Even if others are wallowing, I have work to do."

The visor not leaving Fenn's direction, the next words were daggers at this hissing foundling.

"As someone who is new here, Foundling, Trash, Rat, doesn't matter. You throw a challenge, it's going to be respected in kind. Now either go back in there, and help your fellow vod, or keep your voice to your helmet."

Fenn Stag Tempo Mia Monroe Drego Ruus Arla Rodarch Daesyn Rodarch Kurayami Bloodborn Shev Skirata Korso Rook Mig Gred Domina Prime

 

[Tempo]

TAGS: Fenn Stag Tarre Priest

​

The low guttural snarling came from the small creature as someone else stepped in the way—someone who was not willing to meet his challenge saw fit to intervene. He was in an animal-like fury, with slitted eyes narrowed in the direction of the arrogant narcissist.

Tempo's snarls grew louder as the newcomer stepped between him and Tarre. His body was tense, every muscle coiled like a spring, ready to lash out. The interruption only fueled his rage, and his slitted eyes locked onto the man who dared to intervene.

He crouched low, ready to pounce, every inch of his small frame radiating with barely contained fury. "This isn't about size, it's about honor. And I'll be damned if I let some pompous prick talk down to me."

 

[Fenn Stag]

“Yes, the Manda screams with your praises for getting into a fight outside of a bar, your honor so intact.” He snapped his head to Tate, then back to Tempo. He had stopped mid-stride.

Fenn had killed far more and been in enough bad situations to know when to stay his hand.

“We stand at the edge of the Protectorate being broken apart. Our Mandalore is dead. Our people have no leader. You both dishonor yourselves with this vulgar display of stupidity. You’re Mandalorian. Act accordingly.” He said primarily to Tarre.

He did not seem to take much insult or threat from the small creature. Strength was not about using it- what honor was there in that fight? Fenn, with his training, arm, and experience could quite literally rip the small thing in half. There was nothing to gain, no equal footing to be had. It was unbecoming of a warrior to fight those lesser.

Even more so in the wake of the death of their people’s leader. Fenn stood in the doorway now, looking to Tarre.

Disappointed and ashamed.

Tempo l Tarre Priest

 

[Tarre Priest]

"It matters not where it takes place. It could be in an orphanage, outside a bar, or in Hyperspace. Would you have preferred for me to throw them over the bar itself?"

Shaking my head. All I could do was shake my head at a man who seemed to be a diviner of who could, and couldn't be Mandalorian. I gave this individual a chance to be a Mandalorian. Should the issue a challenge, a slight upon our people, we were bound by such to return in kind. Its within our blood to protect our own. It was even within the Resol'nare.

This was an educational moment for the new face. No matter who they were. Previous creed, previous life, species, age. It mattered not. Limiting ourselves to determine who could and couldn't be one by those factors alone would only lead to our own demise.

"What of the Mandalorian Union. The Enclave? The Death Watch? Crusaders? All fallen iterations of our kind. Yet we survive by teaching, correcting those who issue such requirements. No Manda'lor is needed for such."

Turning to him now, giving his disapproving stature the time of day. Even for a moment, I felt it beneath me to give an explanation for someone who could have easily been a foundling within my own clan. I'd do the same to them.

"Your words fall on deaf ears Fenn. Unless you want an even contest to teach the welp how we handle people who have issues with our vod."

Fenn Stag Tempo Mia Monroe Drego Ruus I'dadr Gargon Shev Skirata Arla Rodarch Daesyn Rodarch Mig Gred