Faction Lost Foundations [MP & Allies]

[Mia Monroe]

"He is not dead."

The words that spilled from her lips were in a voice that was not her own, one that rippled through the Oyubaat, stilling movement and bringing silence, amplified by the manda to which her connection ran deep.

She hadn't turned from the bar, not since she'd arrived. Even Drego's greeting hadn't stirred her. But she turned now, slowly, sapphire eyes cold as they settled on the figure of Fenn in the doorway.

"He is missing. How or where he is gone we do not know. But this protectorate will not fall." She took a step forward. "This protectorate will not crumble and break. Not as long as I draw breath."

Her eyes brimmed with tears, tears she blinked away. "Ijaat had spent months with his head in that damn forge. He has not been leading us for sometime. Or had you not noticed this?"

She turned her eyes from Fenn, sweeping the rest of the room as she continued.

"This protectorate is where it is because of the vode within it. Not because of the man who held the title of mand'alor. You are not sheep to be led, you are warriors, with thoughts and ideas of your own. All Ijaat provided you with was a reason to unite. A reason to come home. You think that because he's gone that those ideas fade away?"

She shook her head, her eyes settling back upon Fenn.

"Shame on you, for having such little faith in your vodes integrity."

Mia turned back to the bar returning to her drink, emotion burning in her chest.

If he was dead, she would know it.

"The floor is yours Warmaster."

Drego Ruus Fenn Stag Tempo Fenn Stag Tarre Priest Shev Skirata Arla Rodarch Mig Gred

 

[Tempo]

TAGS: Fenn Stag Tarre Priest

​

Tempo's eyes blazed with fierce intensity as he locked onto Fenn, his voice a venomous whisper. "Honor and survival? You preach from your lofty perch, blind to my past or present. High horse suits you, doesn't it? A convenient place to hide."

He took a step closer, his sneer cutting through the tension. "You're a coward, masking fear with grand speeches. You don't want a fight because deep down, you know you can't handle it. All talk, no action."

Tempo's fangs flashed in a predatory grin. "You think I'm small, and that ignorance blinds you to the possibilities. A single grain of rice can tip the scales, just like one person's actions can change the tide of war. Never underestimate the small."

Turning his gaze to Tarre, Tempo's tone shifted, laced with grudging respect. "At least Tarre here has the guts to show some leadership. He's willing to step up and take action, not just hide behind empty words. That's what we need—leaders who lead by example, not cowards making excuses."

With a final, dismissive huff, Tempo turned and strode back into the bar, leaving his challenge hanging in the air like a gauntlet thrown. The message was razor-sharp: he wouldn't back down, and he demanded the same courage from others. It would seem that at least Tarre Priest 's action had caused Tempo to calm and quiet.

 

[Arla Rodarch]

"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.

Shev's words hit harder than Arla might have expected. They made good sense, they were practical, and they struck right to the core of the reality of a warrior society. She couldn't help but nod, as she slowly but surely drained her mug of ale. Then she concealed a belch behind her good hand as she set the empty mug down. Most of what else went on in the cantina passed her notice completely, as she was mostly in her own little world with the warrior beside her, the bartender, and their drinks.

"Sorry about the bad language." Arla said to Shev, sounding serious, but not in the least meaning it. The whole situation was starting to feel a little surreal, though some of that might be the concussion and the alcohol having a little party in her cardiovascular system. Maybe it meant she was getting to grips with the loss. She hoped so. She couldn't quite force a smile, but she tried. Her whole face hurt.

The bartender brought the two drinks just as Mia began to speak to the vode, calling most of the assembled Mando'ade to attention.

Arla listened, turning painfully in her seat to watch. Immediately she regretted turning as she wanted to turn back for her mug of ale, but the pain wasn't worth it. She looked to Drego to see what the Warmaster would say.

For him Arla had a new grudging respect, for they had shed one another's blood in single combat. The Warmaster had been prepared to stand his words with steel in hand, and she had to admire that. And he'd fought hard. The pain of that fight was still well in the forefront of her mind.

Shev Skirata Mia Monroe Drego Ruus Tarre Priest Fenn Stag

 

[Fenn Stag]

Fenn shook his head, both at Tarre Priest and then subsequently at Mia Monroe . He disregarded the words of the Tempo , completely turning his back on the smaller creature.

He cared not, if little, for grandstanding speeches from people who started bar fights to claim honor and glory. And more importantly, Fenn hated monologues.

He faced Mia and Mia alone, after turning his back. He processed her words for a moment, along with Tarre, taking them both into consideration.

“If he is not dead then he has abandoned us or become a casualty or a prisoner. But I don’t see a party for a search, or a desire to find him. So until otherwise, it would be fair to say he is dead in place of other options.” He stared at Mia.

“Because it wouldn’t be the first time the dead came back, would it?”

Fenn paced forward, looking at the gathered Mandalorians. He spoke in Mando’a, speaking with more conviction.

<“Do you believe in us, still? We are subject to the whims of other Empires, and our people are scattered. Without the sole ruler we turn our backs to those who died to uphold our people.”>

He turned back to Tarre, wanting to answer him.

<“We stand on their ashes, their graves and their ruin. We should ask them if not having a sole ruler turned out well. Or what happened when a weak one took the mantle.”>

Fenn turned back to Mia.

<“Our will is the subject of the Sole Ruler. But you won’t claim it again, will you? Not after what you’ve done.”>

He looked around again.

<“So, tell me, Liberator, of what you foresee happening next.”>

@did I miss any tags?

 

[Mig Gred]

Mig huffed, hearing the conversation between Fenn, Tarre, and either an overzealous foundling or outsider. Honestly Mig didn't care with how Fenn was talking. A few people might've noticed his fist clench for a second, small sparks arcing as he did. Same ship, different fleet. There was always someone trying to choose who who was actually Mandalorian. Long ago Mig's use of the Force might've been enough to be a no go. But more then that, the years in space had led him to be quite protective of aruetii'vod, as his clan had taken to calling those who weren't Mandalorian that had been so vital for his clan's survival. He didn't like it. Before he spoke up though, Mia had. He stopped, listening.

So he wasn't dead, or at least no one knew if he was. Mig listened carefully, pulling the hood off his head as he did. He may not've seen eye-to-eye with Ijaat, Mai would know this well enough, but it still hurt more if he had just left. There was a solid point though. They had survived with a Mand'alor closely involved for months, they had survived well before this without a Mand'alor, and they continue survive now without one. Mig hadn't gotten a drink, but he was paying attention as she noted Fenn, and when Fenn spoke again Mig finally spoke up, speaking in Concordian Mando'a with a simple, calm tone.

"I think you underestimate your own Stag. Everyone here's survived. Some more than other, and many baring the scars of it. You think we can't handle this without a Mand'alor? Honestly if we can't survive the lose of a leader, this would be doomed from the beginning to be another Annihilation. We've seen it happen again and again, and that's something I can't see happen for another time." He would be quiet as he heard Mia give the floor to Drego, but he kept his gaze on Fenn. He had a bad feeling where this could go. Still, he just stood their, his mind wondering what would happen next.

Mia Monroe Drego Ruus Tarre Priest Tempo Fenn Stag Shev Skirata Arla Rodarch

 

[Shev Skirata]

Sorry about the bad language

Shev smirked behind his visor. What a nerd. And she was moving with all the grace of a nuna on a spit. But as tough as she was she probably had a good reason. Even if she was drunk enough to apologize for cursing in a bar full of warriors, or warrior wanna-bes. He didn’t know them all enough to be sure.

“Don’t apologize.” He said shaking his head as he turned with his drink and sucked some more down through his straw like a real man, “I was fucking with you.”

He turned to see what that one guy had to say next. He really needed to hang out with more than just Sula. He should know who people were. He knew about six people and he forgot three of their names.

“I should have been around more.” He said mostly to himself, “Not that it would change anything.”

He looked at the tall woman as she peeked at her drink and did that face, the one people who can’t be bothered to keep their helmets on do, when they decide something isn’t worth the effort.

“Here.” He said as he grabbed her drink and handed it over. He clinked his mug to hers. “The is the way.”

He drank more, through his helmet straw, which would have to be scrubbed now.

Mia Monroe Drego Ruus Arla Rodarch Fenn Stag Tarre Priest Tempo

 

[Mia Monroe]

Fenn Stag Drego Ruus Mig Gred Arla Rodarch Tarre Priest Tempo Shev Skirata

Anger bubbled up quickly, spreading like wildfire through her chest. It was so easy to lean into anger over pain, anger was tangible...useful. the glas in her hand shattered from pressure she didn't realise she was applying. She flicked loose shards free, and rose again, closing the gap between her and Fenn till she was almost nose to nose with him.

"I did my time. I paid for my past in more than just blood. The title of Mand'alor should not be claimed. The mantle should be chosen. It was one of the few things that Ra got right. So no, I will not lay claim to a title I have held twice. Do you see any strong enough here to take that mantle? Because I don't. I know better than most what it takes to guide our people through the shit that surrounds our borders at present."

She pointed at the nearest empty seat. "Sit down, shut up and maybe if you keep your mouth shut for long enough you might hear our plan."

 

[Drego Ruus]

Tags: Mia Monroe Shev Skirata Fenn Stag Chaaj Priest Tempo Arla Rodarch Mig Gred Kurayami Bloodborn Anyone else​

With the slam of a mug, Drego stood, climbing on top of his stool and looking to the hotel bar. Anyone that could listen, could immediately hear the man clear his throat and speak in a tone only used when he was addressing soldiers.

"Alright, here's the deal. I don't give a chit what you think about Ijaat being gone. As of this moment, we're moving on. He's gone, no need to cry over it. Instead, the Protectorate will evolve. Me and Mia have worked out a system. The Vode will be lead not by one leader, but by the Pillars of our community. Those who stand tall and stand for what we fight. We are warriors. We are Mandalorians. Each of us should stand tall regardless of if we have a Manda'lor. Title didn't mean much nowadays regardless. So here's how it's gonna work. There'll be six of us. Each representing a piece of our culture. I will be Akaan Butu'r, Pillar of War. Not much will change there. Mia Monroe will be our Keystone, Ltulitr Butu'r, in charge of keeping the lights on in this place. Don't gotta be more complicated than that. Tarre Priest is who we've chosen as Butu'r be Nevr, Pillar of the Craft. He's the best choice we got after Ijaat left us high and dry. We got three more positions to fill. Fleet Pillar, Manda Pillar, and Pillar of Manda'yaim. If you want 'em, come talk to either of us. Don't care who as long as you're qualified. Until we find someone who fits the bill, the title of Mand'alor is retired. I don't care what'cha think, right now ain't the time to argue. If we find someone quick, chit, but if not, don't go whinin' to me about it. We're better than that."

And with that, he sat, going back to his drink. He was fed up with squabbles and unsureness. The fact his culture was so fractured was infuriating to him. Just follow the path, like he had. It was so simple to him.

 

[Tarre Priest]

Well, it seemed that Fenn was just continuing to keep the idea that he was always in the right. Which to be honest, many mandalorians did that. Always the few that would. My mouth opened to speak again. Even as I walked up the steps back to the Bar, all so I could respond to the man, Mia spoke up. Her voice carrying out through the door and the broken window like a storm of fury.

One of the few times I had seen her upset, and I wouldn't lie, Chaos have no furry like a woman scorned.

Yet, he spoke again. Trying to speak further on the subject. However, this time, Mig and Mia both spoke up. Their words carrying weight to what I had said earlier. That Mandalor's don't make us survive. It was our perseverance. Our tenacity. Where from there, Mia shut him down hard. In a way I didn't think I would have the words for.

Slipping past the man through the door, I moved in and stood to the side. Even as Drego then slammed his glass on the bar. HIs plan of action with Mia, as a warmarshal, was to make pillars. Six of them akin to the tenants of the Resol'nare. Even I could see the comparison. What threw me off guard, was the fact that I was named.

With Ijaat gone, who was a Beskar Smith, there was only one person they could come to for the moment. One person who could fill the role of the Forge. My head shaking side to side. Confused for a moment, then correcting myself.

"Should this placement of myself being a Pillar, would help our culture continue to survive, and hopefully thrive, then I accept."

This was different. I did not expect to be called upon for this position. But I guess this was not just my own clan to look out for. Now, I needed to spend my time helping others reach their own goals.

A facilitator of the Forge.

Fenn Stag Tempo Mia Monroe Arla Rodarch Shev Skirata Mig Gred Drego Ruus

 

[Fenn Stag]

Such righteous indignation.

"We still pay for what you did, Mia-"

He paused when she spoke again.

"Our plan?"

He was about to respond, dispute her points, when he saw Drego about to speak. Arguing with Mia took a backseat for a moment, while Fenn intently listened to Drego speak. He breathed deeply beneath his helmet. He took it off after Drego spoke, holding it by his side. He had his eyes closed, his hair falling over his war-paint covered eyes. The kind that a sniper would use to hide the glint and shine around his eyes. Even under his armor, he was still a hunter, a predator.

He turned back to Mia, holding his helmet and gesturing to Drego, switching back to their shared tribal tongue.

<"You speak of not having a Mand'alor, and not being led by one, so I should trade my loyalty to our most sacred of leaders, to six?">

He turned to Mia.

<"And this is your plan to save us? To divide more power, to give it to those you and him deem worthy? You say you don't want the title but it seems the mantle is just shared amongst yourselves.">

He stared up at Drego.

<"You claim no argument can be made. I would call that an act of a ruler. A sole ruler, at that.">

Drego Ruus l Mia Monroe l Tarre Priest

 

[Arla Rodarch]

Had there been a Mandalorian tradition of such, the act of handing her a fresh netra'gal might just have spurred Arla to nominate Shev for sainthood on the spot. She was that grateful. Reverently she cradled the mug and took a sip of the cold brew, using her shoulder to wipe the foam from her mouth as her left arm was still not accepting movement requests.

"This is the way." She replied to Shev's speaking of the traditional words. It was only then that Arla noticed how emotional Mia had become, a rarity indeed for her to show the galaxy any emotion other than anger. Arla was too sore to be angry, and besides, she'd taken a lot of her anger out on Drego the day before.

She didn't feel it was her place to speak here. Her role as Journeyman Protector was of the utmost neutrality in matters political. She served at the Mandalor's command, and was to bring hope, security and prosperity to the people. Her role was far more than just a bodyguard, including outreach, cultural enrichment, and occasionally, military actions. To be accessible to any Mando'ad, the Journeyman Protectors took no part in any internal dispute.

That didn't preclude her from holding private opinions of course. Arla knew the secret of Mia's agreement with the Sith Darth Malum, and that would be a secret she kept, until and unless Mia had made to take up the Mantle. Mia had made it clear she would not do so, and so Arla kept her confidence. To the Marshal, it was more important that the Mandalorians select another Mand'alor, than who took the role. There were many viable candidates, in Arla's eyes.

As had been said, the Mandalorian Protectors didn't need a Mandalor for most things. What she saw had been missed in the conversation, is that having the Mandalor there meant Mandalorians were free to focus on other matters. They had someone they could go to if they required guidance or leadership. A safety net of sorts. A lack of a Mandalor was a distraction, in Arla's eyes. For her personally, it meant she had little to no guidance in her own actions, and that level of responsibility frightened her a little. She did not want to let her people down.

Dimly, though she was feeling the injuries and concussion, and now the ale, Arla tried her best to follow the debate. It was fairly central to her role, what might be decided among the vode here. So she had to at least try to pay attention to the substance being discussed.

Shev Skirata Mia Monroe Drego Ruus Tarre Priest Fenn Stag Mig Gred Tempo Kurayami Bloodborn

 

[Mia Monroe]

Fenn's words were rattling Mia more than they should have. Perhaps it was because of just how close her emotions were bubbling to the surface, fists clenched at her sides. "Save us? Wayii, Fenn, are you really this stupid?" She shook her head and stepped away from him taking a breath to calm herself. She would not allow him, of all people, to derail her.

"What this is, is a stop gap, a temporary solution to a temporary problem. This isn't about power, this is about keeping us afloat until Ijaat is found, or a new mand'alor is chosen. So unless there is someone here you'd back for the title, or you want to put yourself forward, do us all a favour and stop filling the room with so much hot air."

Fenn Stag Drego Ruus Arla Rodarch Shev Skirata Tempo Tarre Priest Mig Gred

 

[Drego Ruus]

Tags: Everyone Yes
​

<"You claim no argument can be made. I would call that an act of a ruler. A sole ruler, at that.">

This isn't about power, this is about keeping us afloat until Ijaat is found, or a new mand'alor is chosen.

A long swig of his flask. "I'd do it." Drego said simply. "If that's what you folks really care about? Some arbitrary replacement for the man who started all this? Fark it. I'll be Mand'alor. Anyone of us could be. It's not the title that matters, it's the person. You want one so badly? I'll be it. That make you happy?"

 

[Shev Skirata]

Shev looked around and realized...he had come to get drinks after working on ships at the port during a really bad time. Why did he do it? He could have went to his ship and locked himself away for a shower and maybe some reading. What did he do instead? Followed rumors that some familiar faces were down at the tavern getting drinks. Man, he went from dumb to stupid sometimes.

"In the covert," he began to Arla because yelling wasn't his thing, "The forge master kept the history and followed The Way. We would all vote and the forge master would have the final say in the event of too much division. It drove me nuts to be honest. It's always easier to sheep around and say "they" told me to. I don't think I need anyone to tell me how to be who I am anymore."

He turned and set his mug down and ordered another two.

"Drink up, loser." He said as he started drinking again, "All those bad choices aren't going to make themselves."

Arla Rodarch Mia Monroe Drego Ruus Fenn Stag Tarre Priest Tempo Mig Gred

 

[Mig Gred]

Mig looked at Mia and Dregos, simply nodding along. He decided to not try responding to Fenn again, mostly because the mention of where these Pillars were going. A way to not be blindsided every time this happened. Honestly. He would nodded, straightening up a bit.

"Whatever help with this I can give, you've got it."

Mia Monroe Drego Ruus Tarre Priest Tempo Fenn Stag Shev Skirata Arla Rodarch

 

[Fenn Stag]

Vode An?

Fenn stared harshly at Drego Ruus , spitting at his feet. In that moment, Drego sealed his fate as unworthy of leadership by so easily tossing aside the Mandalorian traditions, their people's ways, and their culture in such a dismissive manner. And by so dismissing Fenn's concerns about the Mand'alor, the one above the clans, the Sole Ruler- the most sacred of positions to a Mandalorian, Fenn dismissed them. And perhaps, rightfully so.

Fenn did not need to say anything more to him, his lack of foresight and demand that his way be followed- instead of the old ways, was enough for Fenn to lose any amount of respect he might have had for him. Fenn looked around the room, finding each person gathered unworthy to be followed, lead, or to be a 'pillar' as they claimed to be. For the time being.

"We stand in a tavern, where we once filled cities and amphitheaters with times like these. Do not speak anymore of these pillars when you don't respect our old ways."

Fenn stood tall again, making for the door. He had an air of disgust about him- none of those inside he deemed worthy of following, and none presented a case worthy for him to follow. So far, none of the gathered had offered enough for him to be even remotely convinced to follow them, or even adopt their new way of thinking.

Fenn left them in the bar, refusing to follow them if that was the path they chose.