Populate REFORMATION: 878 ABY | Mandalorian Enclave Populate of Secundus Ando

[The Quartermaster]

878 ABY​

20 years.

It had been 20 years since the Sith genocide of the Mando’ade.

The Mandalorian people had been brought to the brink of extinction, laid low by the treachery of the Sith Empire and their collaborators. But the Sith had forgotten one thing: no matter how much they may try to hammer it, Mandalorian Steel does not bend. It does not break.

The Enclave had risen from the ashes of the Genocide to become a burgeoning galactic power, their military might and influence exponentially rising as the rich star systems of the Outer Rim fell under their influence. But at what should’ve been the crowning moment for a new Mandalorian era, the Brotherhood of the Maw resurgent -- led by the new Dark Lord of the Sith, Darth Mori -- had slain the Quartermaster, the enigmatic woman who had labored to rebuild Mandalorian society. The only Mandalorian leader who had put her people before herself, even going so far as to refuse the title of Mand’alor which could have been hers, and would have been hers by all rights and precedents.

She was now dead. Her spirit had passed beyond the mortal veil to rejoin that of the Manda, but her children that remained did so with a fire in their hearts only matched by the early days of the genocide.

As the twentieth anniversary of the genocide dawned, it found a dark mood among the Mando’ade and a resolve unlike ever before. The Enclave that was -- a commune, a safe haven, a paradise -- was not meant for this cruel galaxy.

It was time for Reformation. It was time for the sorrow of the Mandalorian people to be visited upon the galaxy.

Objective I
Great Council

A great council of the clans has been called to Kestri to convene in the wake of the Quartermaster’s death. Such a gathering is unprecedented in modern times and is only spoken of in ancient lore. A successor to the Quartermaster must be chosen, and even more important, a course of action must be decided to avenge her death.​

 

[Romul Saxon]

W A R M A S T E R​

Tag: Tytos Saxon | OPEN

The Quartermaster was dead.

The Enclave was in disarray. Cover it up as they might, there was no plan of succession for the Quartermaster's death. Each day the unity between the different branches of Enclave administration slowly unraveled. Already rivalries had formed. The peace talks with the Empire had been muddied by infighting between the military and the Karjr, and their response had been uncoordinated and in some instances opposed.

The Quartermaster was dead.

Romul Saxon stood off of the center of the massive gathering chambers with a retinue from Clan Saxon. Gallius, his loyal second in command, stood behind him. Tytos Saxon , the Clan's elder Mando'karla, was here as well. Along with various warriors of Clan Saxon -- some in the Clan's colors of red and gold, others in the blue of the Si'kayha commando -- represented the strength of their clan and their implicit support of Romul's claim.

The Quartermaster was dead.

And the galaxy would never see her kind again. She had led but did out of a desire for power. She had wielded absolute authority yet had sought no glory for her own. The Enclave would choose someone to lead them, but whoever they chose would face the impossible task of living up to the legacy that the Quartermaster had left behind.

Romul was never a pessimist. But he doubt that anyone could replace the one who had sacrificed herself to rebuild her people.

 

[Runi Kuryida]

Off to one side of the room stood a woman cloaked in feathers. Three long sticks with tufts of smoke wafting from their tips were slowly waved toward the pillar of the room she faced. The Shaman had already done every other that held the ceiling aloft. Each incensed blessing carried with it a touch of the Manda (Force) as well to ward the gathering from evil spirits. Times like these the vilest beings that lurked in the shadows would seek to make a move if people allowed them. Even the blessings would not be enough if one in attendance had given themselves to such malice. Hardly Runi's place to police a person's soul; just because they had intent did not mean the conclusion was foregone.

Slowly, Runi turned and carefully measured several steps to a pot will with sand. The incense she carried were placed in its center sticking straight up before she stepped back.

With the ritual completed, the Shaman turned her hazel eyes in the direction of Romul Saxon the acting head of the Enclave. No doubt the man would elect to continue in that role, and that was certainly possible. Runi was understandably concerned, however, in a Warmaster's preoccupation with war. It might require the Mandokarla become even more active in the community to ensure not all of the Enclave's might and resources went into solely destroying whoever was labeled 'Enemy.'

Not that Runi wanted the Mandalorians to become pacificists. Anyone that knew the teachings of the Mandokarla -- which she led -- knew they were not about surrendering weapons and living in harmony. That would be preferable, but such was not the galaxy they lived in. Strength -- in all its many kinds -- was what they needed. Restraint and a precise application of force were strengths. The sort the Shaman hoped the next leader would exhibit in weighing where the full attention and force of the Enclave should be directed.

The presence of other Mandokarla was pleasant ( Tytos Saxon ), though just because they were a Pathfinder (non-Force Sensitive) or Shaman (Force Sensitive) did not mean they agreed with Runi in all things. The important ones should the Speaker make a pronouncement in that capacity, but blind obedience wasn't something taught among their kind.

OPEN​

 

[Aloy Vizsla]

BACK FOR BESKAR​

Tag: TBA \\ OPEN

Aloy stood beside her daughter, Tayl Vizsla, and her supporting Ex-Crusaders, dressed in their sky blue armor. She doubted highly that she would need them, but considering the coronation of Mand'alor the Infernal that had doomed her family as a child and began her journey away from mandalore so many years ago, she also couldn't deny the added comfort.

Damn did she feel old... It made the fingers of her newest prosthetic arm click anxiously as she thought on her shared history with the Mandalorian people.

Humble beginnings as little more than a stray child in the outer rim, to her ascendancy as Alor of House Vizsla and Grandmaster of The Nite Owls. She had seen the rise and fall of empires from the moment she could walk on her own two feet, only for it to catch up in her weary present.

She had shed blood and tears for her people. She had killed and loved in equal measure. And throughout all that time, The Quartermaster had been there for most of it.

She had visited Aloy and her now Ex-lover, Darsch Vizsla, in the lands of Daba'r when the clans were but refugees living amongst an old enemy; The Confederacy of Independent Systems.

Even after Aloy had followed Darsch Vizsla as the Alor of her house to Mykr, to build the once-great Mandalorian Union from nothing but a promise, The Quartermaster gave her time. Gave her people a place to rebuild in the shadows while the war-thirsty sacrificed lives for vane glory.

Aloy would go on to liberate Mandalore, for a time, before immediately becoming Alor in Darsch Vizsla's newfound absence.
Even while Aloy lead the shadow war against Apollyon The Betrayer , The Quartermaster was still there.

That woman, ever hidden behind the golden visage that had become the face of the enclave, would even forge the engagement ring that her beautiful wife, Tan'yill Vizsla still wore to this very day.

​

Aloy shook her head to bring herself back into focus. This was no time to dwell on the past, but observe and prepare for the future.
It had been four, long, miserable years since her capture at the hands of Apollyon The Betrayer . It had left her humbled. Broken. And out of touch...

With her newfound freedom, it was time to reacquaint herself with The Enclave and cast her vote in choosing a new successor.
Assuming that anyone remembered the old Vizsla's voice... If not, perhaps she would make them.

So with a clenched fist of beskar and duraplast fingers, she strode the great halls in search of faces, both familiar and new alike.
There was of course Romul Saxon , who was little more than the arena's mouthpiece when she had first heard the name. It seemed that in her absence, he had been christened "Warmaster". It was a feat worthy of praise, of course, one she hadn't heard since the fall of the Mandalorian Empire long ago, but something seemed... off.

Her daughter had fought during the disastrous incident over Kestri some time ago, where several Imperial fleets were allowed access to the very heart of their people. Many lives were lost to imperial treachery that day, when they could have been saved if only those in charge had chosen their battlefield more wisely. This was a lesson she had learned as a de facto warmaster in her own right, and it made her blood boil to see that others had not.

If Romul Saxon was behind this blunder on the Enclave's part, it would surely point to an unsteady and unthinking nature that Aloy simply could not abide. If not however, and another was to blame, than perhaps Romul could have been a savior to many, had he only been given the time of day.

Such a thing would make for hard decisions, she thought.

Perhaps it would be better to consider others who she had known since the beginning;
Men and women such as Siv Dragr , A man she had fought beside many times, and even had the honor of liberating Mandalore not unlike herself. Sadly, she did not see his trademark Buy'c among the crowd yet, but she remained hopeful.

Another man came to mind, that being Vren Rook . A mere Marshal of the underworld when they had first met, though it sounds as if he had risen in station during her absence. He would always be remembered as a jovial sort, whom she had shared a laugh or two with in even the darkest of days back then. But his attitude hid a sharp mind that Aloy would come to appreciate.

And of course, there was her clan's own Kranak Vizsla . Titan of the old Ori'ramikaad. A Battlefield medic who's rise she had personally witnessed right up until her capture, an incident which occurred while freeing another from captivity.

If the stories were true, than the grizzled veteran had become the de facto Alor in her absence, much like her own ascendancy when Darsch Vizsla left them. He was a war hero of many battles, who had shown bravery, honor, and a keen mind for the ever changing battlefield many times over.

Choices, choices... choices.

​

 

[Gwyneira Vizsla]

In the back of the council, a Mandalorian woman leaned against the wall. Her arms were crossed, trying to look tough while she actually felt quite nervous. The droid next to her, Mini, looked at her through his dome, able to tell that she was actually hugging herself. Her buy'ce covered her face, black glass hiding her expression. She was lost in thought, worried and overthinking in her rapidly working brain.

The Quartermaster. A woman of legend and honor. Gwyneira had dreamed of someday meeting such a wonderful leader and crafter. Sadly, that time had never come. During the recent battles that the Enclave fought tooth and nail in, the queen was slain. This was the only leader of Mandalor Gwyn had ever known. Joining the Enclave as a Foundling, the Quartermaster had been status quo for her. But she fully understand the bloody history of Mand'Alors. A history of reasonless, war mongering warriors. A history of Mand'Alors so hostile towards the Force, they went on a mass crusade against the vode of Force Sensitives in their ranks. Cruel leaders, honorless leaders, and bloody leaders.

She was worried for the future of the Enclave. Worried that whoever came next, they would bring the darkest times of Mandalorian rule back. A fight amongst those all claiming to be Mand'Alor. The wars for that darksaber, the accumulation of armies. The concept of even outsiders stepping in and claiming they knew better... Gwyneira was... scared.

The unknown yawned out, promising monsters in the dark expanse.

Biting her lip, Gwyn leaned her head against the wall. The last thing that the Enclave needed right now was instability! They were still recovering from the genocides and infighting that followed Mandalor's defiling twenty years ago. Gwyn had not been there for it, living her own aruitiise childhood elsewhere, but she had come to a vulnerable, poorly populated, hiding Mandalorian faction. She only hoped and dreamed that time and effort would make things better, but the downfall of their wise leadership could prove disastrous. Where was the Manda in all of this? Where was the might and glory of the Mandalorians? What horrors could befall them now? Would a corrupt, abusive leader take her place?

She pushed herself off the wall, opting to sit down. Mini followed her silently as she huddled in seating near the corner, slumping. She was scared.

What is going to happen to us now? Our leader, why did you leave us?

 

[Volo Dragr]

FATE OF A NATION
TAG : Siv Dragr | Vren Rook | Eldris Ravenwood | Aloy Vizsla | Runi Kuryida | Romul Saxon | Gwyneira Vizsla
LOCATION : Council Chambers, Kestri
THEME : Theme
- - - - -

Death.

It came for all things, in its own time. The Karjr Guildmaster knew it well, had danced with it, cheated it, directed it... bargained with it. It was not something he feared, nor was it something he yearned. It was the most dire aspect of nature, and yet, the most vital. Without Death, the threat of total destruction, Life would have no spur, no motivation and no urgency.

A spur was just what the Enclave needed now, though. They walked a path of expansion and growth, moving faster without proper consideration and consolidation of their territory and peoples.

Now they were on the brink of a Cold War, no thanks to one of the claimants to the Quartermaster's legacy. Why Romul was incapable of uttering a single, cordial word was beyond Volo. Their leaders death was sudden, but that did not mean an heir had to be chosen in kind.

Sparing a glance to Clan Saxon's staging grounds, the Dragr found himself unsurprised with the bitter amusement that came from seeing the Si'kahya blue intermingled with the Saxon red and gold. Their numerous presence only confirmed his guess that their Alor treated politics the same way he treated all things.

With copious force and want of thought.

The swift-forming rivalry between the Guildmaster and the Warmaster, between Karjr and Si'kahya, was a dynamic Volo would not enforce. He had not called for the Karjr who stood with him now, with Clan Dragr, the blacks of their armour standing in stark contrast to the rainbow of colours favoured by the menagerie of Clans and Houses within the Enclave.

While the Karjr came of their own volition, that was not to say the Guildmaster had not penned a few invitations of his own. By his side was an old friend and mentor, the Lord Arbiter of Vlemoth Port, Eldris Ravenwood. His clan-brother, Siv Dragr , would make an appearance as well. He'd extended an invitation, also, to Vren Rook ; whilst the man was entitled to stand with his own Clan and House, Volo would be remiss not to admit the comfort he found in the Rook's carefree nature.

There was something to be said for swaying influence, keeping such beloved public figures close.

Taking his opportunity to survey the room, he offered a respectful nod to the Jorhaa'ir of the Mandokarla, Runi Kuryida . They had, admittedly, few interactions and the Guildmaster feared he had come off as disrespectful in his indirect references to her at the Kestri Summit. In another life, he may have counted himself amongst their number, but in this life, he needed their support. Volo could only hope that their shared distaste for Romul's warmongering would prevail.

Turning his gaze further, he would attempt to meet that of Aloy Vizsla . Individually, they were strangers; the Karjr Guildmaster hadn't even a rudimentary understanding of who she was, of her history or her role within her clan. He could, however, deduce things. She stood with the Vizslas, and wore their armour, so her clan was apparent. She stood close to a more familiar face, Tae'l Vizsla , who had distinguished herself in one of the Guildmaster's many eyes.

Curiously, her armour bore markings to another group. An assemblage calling themselves the Nite Owls, one of many he had familiarised himself with upon first taking his position. Though he could not, from his position, make out any markings to denote rank, Volo took a guess at her seniority based at how she stood at the forefront of her Clan. Should she meet his gaze, he'd offer a polite and respectful nod to her as well.

Had she the same knowledge for Mandalorian Cultural Groups as he, then she might recognise the red of his visor as the mark of the Mandalorian Protectors. A loyal faction with a rich history, and a lifelong duty to serving and protecting the interests and culture of the Mandalorian People. Looking closer amongst his entourage, she'd be able to pick out a gathering of Protectors, all of them individuals, all of them distinguished by the same red visor. He had their support, as their grandmaster and Cabur'alor.

Drawing his gaze around, the Dragr allowed his eyes to close behind his helmet, slowing his breathing as he tried to relax. A roiling discomfort had found its place in his guts, and he could wager a guess as to what it was. After a moment, the discomfort seemed to ease.

"Today, we decide our future. Tonight, we hope not to suffer for our decisions. Tomorrow, we reap our first crop, be it pure or spoilt." he breathed out, audible only to those in his immediate vicinity but spoken to nobody in particular. The tension was thick in the room, uneasiness and discomfort flowing like tears at a funeral.

There was a great deal of anxiety for their future, some cowered in fear of a return to tyranny, others scrubbed away dirt that was never there just to be considered. He would not allow Romul to maim their nation whilst he learnt to rule, and imposed his stubborn, old-headed, warmongering dogma. He would find the balance, even if it meant carrying the weight of a nation on his shoulders.

Especially if it meant carrying the weight of a nation on his shoulders.​

​

​

​

 

[Eldris Ravenwood]

THE BLIND MAN
TAG : Siv Dragr | Vren Rook | Eldris Ravenwood | Aloy Vizsla | Runi Kuryida | Romul Saxon | Gwyneira Vizsla
LOCATION : Council Chambers, Kestri
THEME : Theme
- - - - -

The Arkanian let his gaze fall across the room, hands clasped tightly behind his back and shoulders squared.

A great many people were gathered in the Council Chambers that day, and whilst he could not feel it, only a fool would be unable to guess at the weight upon their collective conscious. They were charged with electing a replacement for the beloved Quartermaster, a new leader for their people.

It was, by no means, a task that should be taken lightly. The peoples decision today would determine their future, good or bad. Some felt that burden more than others, a fact he could prove effortlessly, without even searching the masses. Of course, that wasn't because he was a superior physical specimen. He had the eyes of a jai'galaar, in spite of the blind appearance given by his pedigree.

More likely than not, many in the room did not know him. Did not know the intricacies of his character. While he was a hero amongst the people of Vlemoth Port, the revered Lord Arbiter, he was nothing more than another envoy to the Guildmaster in the eyes of many here. They, of course, did not know that it was he who had mentored the Guildmaster, turned him from a tribal savage into a true leader.

A true spymaster.

He was the man's senior by a decade or so, though his prestigious pedigree hid it well; he looked no more than thirty-five, no less than twenty-nine. He carried a simple sword at his waist, hidden by the flowing shoulder-cape of his black admiral's uniform, a choice of style mirrored in the shorter, more practical shoulder-cape of his old friend, Volo.

He was here at the Dragr's request. No doubt, his friend aimed to win the vote, or else his carefully worded missive was worded too eloquently to convey the plainness of wishing for a friend's support. Not entirely impossible, even the strongest stone is not impervious.

Eldris had no business at the gathering by himself. No doubt, his vote would not be taken seriously by whomever was counting; he hardly looked the part of the Mandalorian, with his distaste for the impracticality of beskar'gam. Yet, even if he were to be taken seriously, he had no clan to call his own, no house he swore fealty to.

He had too few allies to form his own, too few allegiances for duty to guide him, and too much pride to willingly serve another vod. It was that same pride that kept him from his place amongst the inferior, clanless rabble that found their own congregations within the chamber.

Ravenwood offered a polite hum of complacent acknowledgement to whatever philosophical ramblings his old friend was spouting now. Even he felt the pressure, it seemed.

With loyal hearts and wise minds, the Enclave would not be so easily doomed to the tyranny of another warmonger.

After all, the day was still young.​

​

 

[Tytos Saxon]

S H A M A N
​

Tag: Romul Saxon | Aloy Vizsla | Runi Kuryida | Gwyneira Vizsla | Volo Dragr | Eldris Ravenwood | Siv Dragr | Vren Rook

The Manda Provides.

Tytos Saxon was a Mandalorian first, and a member of Clan Saxon second. Since the first moment when he had shown a connection to the Force as a small child -- a time now long past -- he had trained in the discipline of the Mandokarla to learn the ancient and spiritual mysteries of his people. The life he had devoted to being a guide and protector. As the eldest shaman among Clan Saxon, his advise on spiritual matters had been sought by the leaders of Clan Saxon from time to time. While they looked to their Alor for leadership, the Alor looked to him for counsel.

And now he was here, amidst the gathered throngs of the entirety of the Clans assembled, a pebble in a roaring river. And they still looked to him for guidance. For approval.

Tytos was no politician, nor would he lend partisan support in a matter such as this. Though he stood by his Clan, it was not his place to lend his support to one candidate or another who vied for the Quartermaster's throne. He was simply there to watch, advise, and keep the peace. That was his role as Shaman. No matter if it was Romul Saxon or some other successor, Tytos's only true loyalty would remain the same: to the Mando'ade. His people.

 

[Runi Kuryida]

Runi scanned the crowd with her eyes for a moment. Many had gathered in the wake of the summons. It was good that so many cared for the future of their people and believed themselves, or someone they knew, worthy to inherit the responsibility of leading their people into the future. Defeat could crush an Empire, but apathy crushed the soul of a People.

The Speaker of the Mandokarla reached out to one side into the open air. A long, metal-wrought spear with a sword-like head materialized in the Shaman's grasp. Slowly she lifted it two inches and set it back down on the ground without putting any strength into the action. A ringing of small bells sounded from the sides of the room. <"The Leader of the Enclave has Fallen in Battle."> The spear rose and fell a second time, and again the bells rung. <"The Leader of the Mandalorian People has Fallen in Battle."> Thrice the spear rose and fell. <"You that have gathered walked in her footsteps. You that have sheltered in their shade are basked in scorch once more. Is there any that has come to forge a path through the desolation? Is there any that has come to shield their People? Is there any that seek to give for their Brother, and their Sister, until the Manda takes them?"> Every word was delivered in crisp and clear Mando'a.

<"Let those that would claim the duty of steward and champion step forth. Let the multitude see and know you; for it is not my favor a leader must curry. Let the Will of the Children of Mandalore be made known this day, and a new dawn sweep away the bitter void."> The spear lifted and struck the ground three times with no ringing of the bells to accompany them.

For Mando'a Purists:

Alorir be Urltima ganar Trattok'or o'r Cayatr. Alorir be Mando Adate ganar Trattok'or o'r Cayatr. Gar ibac ganar joruur kemir o'r kaysh daukdauka. Gar ibac ganar lirsa o'r etie usmraor cuyir id'aban o'r cretaya gupu sto. Cuyir ogir e ibac ganar olaror at nau'ur kad a jupayr adol kupu'ya? Cuyir ogir e ibac ganar olaror at lirsa etie Adate? Cuyir ogir e ibac tarja at dinuir par etie Vod, bal etie Vod, akay, 'kay va Ka'ne hiibir etid?

Rala mies yaa mateh sraya'nr dabr be e'ya'na'yr bal srumayata'yr lyekr ulhyu'u. Rala iniha haa'taylir bal kar'taylir gar; par bic cuyir va ner riye a alorir enteyor lu'au. Rala Malyasa'yr be Adiik be Manda'yaim cuyir gotal'ur kar'taylir ibic tuur, bal a evaar'la madior cata be'chaaj ahra'ase tra.


Silence wound fall over the crowd then. it was thick in need of only the sharpest knife wielded by a worthy hand to peel it back so that the Mandalorian People could breathe once more. The Speaker stood, spear in hand, motionless in wait for an answer.

Romul Saxon | Aloy Vizsla | Gwyneira Vizsla | Volo Dragr | Eldris Ravenwood | Tytos Saxon | OPEN​

 

[Volo Dragr]

FATE OF A NATION
TAG : Siv Dragr | Vren Rook | Eldris Ravenwood | Aloy Vizsla | Runi Kuryida | Romul Saxon | Gwyneira Vizsla
LOCATION : Council Chambers, Kestri
THEME : Theme
- - - - -

"Rala mies yaa mateh sraya'nr dabr be e'ya'na'yr bal srumayata'yr lyekr ulhyu'u."

Volo Dragr did not wait to step forward, did not hesitate, did not spare a moment to think. There was no time to wait, nothing to cause him hesitation, and not a thought worthy of its own moment. This meeting was not a matter of politics, rather, it was a matter of the heart and soul of a people. He would not gain their confidence by entering more glamorously than another, nor by being more cordial.

He stepped forward in earnest, the heavy thud of his metal legs meeting the floor broke the veil that followed the Speaker's silence. In any other matter, he may have shown more consideration, taken more time to consider his path.

Such hesitation was absent when called to be judged by his people. To serve and protect was not a matter of choice, but of duty; and one could not hesitate in their duty.

All the same, as his gaze rose to meet that of the Jorhaa'ir, he found himself wanting. He felt as though his choice to step forward, to be judged by his brothers and sisters, meant more than duty. He came as he was, but to lead a people, he had to be more. He was truthful, but he was not honest. He was pure of soul, but not whole.

To better his people, he must first better himself. The Guildmaster could not be the Quartermaster, just as the Quartermaster could not be the Guildmaster.

Breathing deep, he knelt his mind and heart down, gathering the shattered remains of his once pure soul. Like a smith repairing shattered armour, he pieced his soul back together. As with all broken things, there were pieces missing. Pieces lost in times long past, pieces lost with every beat of his heart, scattered to the winds with every breath.

Lost as they were, he could not serve his people with a broken soul. He could not be judged by them, could not inflict a thought upon them, if he did not face the same judgement as them in death.

He needed more, and knew where he must look.

Calling upon the Demon, he began to fill the gaps of his soul with that of his constant companion. Accepting him, for the first, as a part of him rather than a curse. In a way, it was odd that they fit together so well, like two halves of a puzzle; it was also odd to be so separate when you fit so well together.

But mending himself was only one aspect of his immediate changes, for there would doubtlessly be many more to follow in his lifetime.

For too long, the people of the Enclave had known the Guildmaster of the Karjr to be a faceless spymaster, an unseen spider continually weaving its web. Of course there were exceptions, but all exceptions must become the norm.

Reaching both hands to his helmet, he pressed his thumbs against it to disable the lock, a soft hiss escaping as he breathed his last of the pressurised, treated, air. Holding his helmet under his arm, he reached for the amulet that hung around his neck, and pulled that free too.

For the first time, the Enclave could now look upon him unmasked, physically and spiritually; Volo Dragr, Guildmaster of the Karjr, Spymaster of the Enclave, Keeper of the Demon.

"I would take the duty of stewardship of the Enclave. I would be its champion; its sword and shield, its voice and its hand." He declared, looking around the chamber so that all may see his face, and he may see theirs in turn.

There was not an eye he did not meet, not a gaze he turned away from. He would make his claim before Romul, and he would make the most of it. "I am Volo, of Clans Dragr and Skaigh. I am your Guildmaster, I am Cabur'alor of the Manda'cabur, and I ask you to judge my worthiness as your leader, your shepherd."

Though he had spoken his piece, he was still not done looking around the room, and would not deprive any of the chance to assuage their curiosity.​

​

 

[Aloy Vizsla]

Tag: Volo Dragr \\ Runi Kuryida \\ Romul Saxon \\ Gwyneira Vizsla

Volo had indeed met Aloy's gaze. The fang-mawed helm of the nite owls, still bearing the white handprint atop it's dome as a symbol of her position as "Hand of the Mand'alor", steadily turned to observe the crimson-visored Mando'ad.

She did little more than study, however. By his markings, which were uniformed with those who surrounded him, She could only assume that he was of the Mandalorian Protectors. An order she had once recommended be reformed to Mand'alor the Reclaimer. It was... good to see that someone else had, in the absence of their self-proclaimed leader. While it was true that the Protectors and Clan Vizsla had a somewhat... strained history, That was all in the past. Aloy herself had taken a liking to their Supercommando Codex some time ago, after all.

She merely nodded to him, after this brief observation, though he held her attention after. Even if she no longer held his.

Rala Malyasa'yr be Adiik be Manda'yaim cuyir gotal'ur kar'taylir ibic tuur, bal a evaar'la madior cata be'chaaj ahra'ase tra.

Though she had little time to study the newest of orders now sharing a city with her people, Aloy was still able to recognize this woman as Mando'karla. The thought of having an order of Force Users within their walls was rather... unpleasant, given the many, many incidents in her life where the force was to blame. However, she couldn't deny the need for "Holy Women" and "Holy Men" within the more religious sects, such as the Children of the Watch, which her daughter had unfortunately joined some years ago.

So for now, at least, she gave this woman the respect that a guest should to their host.

Then, The Protector stepped forward...

I ask you to judge my worthiness as your leader, your shepherd.

"Hmh..."

He either had guts, or ambition... Bravery, the act of committing to a task no matter the fear it inspires, was something their people could use. Ambition however, had seen Mandalore fall time and time again. Admittedly, she liked the man thus far. He didn't waste time with cordiality, but neither did he make a dramatic entrance like some sort of warlord.

Aloy abruptly pushed through the gathered crowd, lingering just at the very edge as not to present herself as a candidate, but still enough to garner attention to herself. Though, it was only Volo whom she wished to take notice.

"I am Aloy of Clans Vizsla and Kryze... House Vizsla wishes to judge the worthiness of your claiment; Volor Dragr...!"
Her cybernetic foot clicked and whirred she stepped forward to put emphasis behind her words, as did the outstretched jabbing outward to gesture at Volo Dragr, shining Beskar reflecting in the light in cracks of porcelain-styled duraplast, tinged with little floral patterns in delicate but already worn gold.

It was time to start the most intense Interview of both their lives...

​

 

[Shai Maji]

KESTRI | TOR VALUM
TAGS: Runi Kuryida | Aloy Vizsla | Volo Dragr | Gwyneira Vizsla | Tytos Saxon |
GEAR: In bio

THE MARK HAS BEEN MADE​

Standing off in the corner with her crimson gaze narrowed, Shai watched as the meeting went through its motions. It was a difficult situation to find a leader capable of picking up the reins from the Quartermaster. Were she in a better position, she would have stepped forward… but her reputation was destroyed. Her title and clan, stripped from her. She was nothing now. Most people in the room either looked down on her or wanted to pop a bolt in her head.

That wouldn’t stop her from still speaking up, though.

”Ma, what’s happening?”

Shai’s gaze shifted to the five year old Shistavanen next to her. ”We’re pickin’ a new leader, Yuri.” She explained gently with a smile. ”Something bad happened to the last one and we need to find a new one.” Yuri fiddled with her helmet as he sat on the chair beside her, eventually managing to lift it high enough to slip it over his head.

Shai snickered at the sight.

”Why?” His muffled voice muttered underneath. ”I’ll explain when you’re older.” He looked up at her, almost falling over with the weight of the helmet. ”When I can say ‘shit’?” Shai snorted as she shook her head. ”Yeah, I’ll tell you then. But for now, don’t worry…” She bent over and pulled the helmet from his head, staring right at him with a firm look. ”And don’t say that word.”

”I know. When I’m te-seven.”

”Ten. Don’t think I forgot our deal, twerp.” She chuckled as she ruffled up his mane.

"I would take the duty of stewardship of the Enclave. I would be its champion; its sword and shield, its voice and its hand."

"I am Volo, of Clans Dragr and Skaigh. I am your Guildmaster, I am Cabur'alor of the Manda'cabur, and I ask you to judge my worthiness as your leader, your shepherd."

"I am Aloy of Clans Vizsla and Kryze... House Vizsla wishes to judge the worthiness of your claiment; Volor Dragr...!"

Shai immediately twisted to look at the center of the room upon hearing that name. That voice. Aloy was alive. Alive and on Kestri, no less. The last time she saw her friend, the Union had just collapsed and the Shistavanen was adrift, just like her sister in battle. Her old commander.

She glanced at her pauldron, where the Nite Owl’s insignia was embossed into the gilded piece along with the mark of the Forgemasters. If circumstances were better, she would have sprinted over and likely tacked her into the ground out of sheer joy.

But for the moment, her friend was treading a dangerous line. Shai had no illusions that the typical Mandalorian Diplomacy would show its face in the meeting, though she was going to make sure it didn’t come down to that.

This was not the time for it.

”If either of you even think about swingin’ fists or drawin’ blades, I’ll blow a hole through both of you myself!” Her voice bellowed from her corner, startling the kid next to her. ”If you sit still, I’ll give you caf and a piece of candy.” She told her son, earning a firm nod with wide eyes from Yuri.

”Challenging his worthiness here and now ain’t gonna prove jack-shit. Winning a fight don’t mean you got what it takes to lead the Enclave. That goes for both of you.” Her firm, crimson glare shifted from Aloy to Volo as she pushed through the grumbling, cussing crowd.

”And to be fair, neither of you got what it takes to lead this bunch of infuriating crazies. Y’all know the story of the three dogs and the bone, right?” Her arms folded across her armoured chest as she came to a halt in front of the crowd with a wink. ”Good to see you’re still kickin’, High Five.” She quipped with a warm smile as she looked at Aloy.

 

[Vulcan Krayt]

Location: Kestri, Tor Valum
Objective: Meet with fellow Mandalorians and decide on leadership
Equipment: Sword, M.I. Beskar'gam Mk.1 M.I. 'Pulsar' Jetpack M.I. Model 6 hybrid pistol
Tags: Open

Vulcan had finally arrived at the meeting place, and most of his ordinances were left outside in a lock box 2 feet above his head so he couldn't reach them. He had been coached by his fellows to be rational and well-behaved. He even put hair products in his hair to de-fluff it slightly, so now his hair smelled of cinnamon and pomegranate and even more uncombable than ever which meant, that endeavour was an utter failure.

The meeting was well underway as he had entered, good he didn't miss anything. The atmosphere is sombre and confused. The Enclave was without a leader and the stakes are higher than ever, he was a little young to be considered for it, but he could be a decent leader. Chaotically, think how many fights they would win.

"Remember, behave rationally today. Less of the usual you, and more of the sane you or you will be removed to the next room." His fellow vod coached as they stood and listened. Vulcan sighed in annoyance. Deeply offended by the whole arrangement.

<"I'm not a baby."> He muttered snidely under his breath, offended that he needed a chaperone at all. <"I don't need a nanny.">

A few minutes in, there was already someone willing to fill in, there looked like there would be a fight for the position The Quartermaster left. Shai was here and Vulcan perked up almost instantly. So, he slipped away from Zeeb, the chaperone and headed toward Shai, keeping away from being trampled. It looked like every single clan was here.

<"Shai!"> He calls out making a beeline to his comrade, he hadn't been angry at her, he was but not to the degree the others were. A slippering was more than enough.

 

[Gwyneira Vizsla]

As everything transpired, and the potential for a fight broke out, Gwyneira sighed. She pushed herself off the wall and jetpacked towards the center of the chaos. She landed, hating to admit that she agreed with a traitor, but...

<<"Gwyneira Krayt, Clan Krayt, House Vizsla.">>

She introduced herself, standing alongside Shai Maji of all people. Now was not the time for her hate. There were far more important matters at hand. She fixed her gaze on Aloy Vizsla , <<"If all you think about is fighting and battle, you are unfit to rule. While battle is honorable, and weapons are a part of our religion, being a leader is way more than that.">>

She passed a glance at Volo Dragr as well, before turning to address all the crowd, <<"My fellow Vode, we must be careful in deciding our leader, for we decide the fate of the Enclave with it. We must choose a leader willing to take risk and fight for us, but we cannot choose someone reckless and bloodthirsty either. We must focus on more than warfare as well. How does this individual feel for our welfare? Our lives? Our culture? And preserving us, when our past is sacked with attempts to erase Mandalorian culture or destroy us from the inside. My brothers and sisters, I encourage you to choose with care.">>

She then turned to return to her creepy corner of edginess, playfully patting Vulcan Krayt 's buy'ce as she passed.

 

[Kale Onara]

In one of the dark corners of the room where the meeting was taking place was a Mandalorian warrior that was silently watching the meeting to decide the next Enclave leader, indeed perhaps the very future of the Enclave. When the call came for those candidates who wish to claim the title. He stayed silent. One, he didn't feel worthy of such a position. At least not yet. Two, he didn't want the position. All he wanted right now is for the new leader to emerge so that he could get his orders on who the next target was. As he began to brood about the next target, the cold dark hatred in his heart was rapidly spreading everywhere into his body, mind and soul. And this wasn't just a run of the mill anger promising to vanquish a foe in revenge for killing a fellow vod. No, no this was a special kind of hatred. Burning, freezing, all-consuming. Once he got confirmation that the Quartermaster, the great leader of the Enclave had been killed. She had been up on the shipyards while he was on the ground giving the Maw hell.

Once the initial shock of her death wore off, it was replaced by a cold flame that soon grew into a freezing conflagration that was now burning straight threw him. And then they got word of who was responsible for the death of the woman he had to come regard as a surrogate mother as he regarded his mentor as a surrogate father. He lost his mentor in combat in which his mentor had taken the enemy with him with a thermal detonator.

But the Quartermaster......

She had died but the enemy that killed her, a Sith Lord named Darth Mori, was still alive and well.

Darth Mori... Just thinking of the name spurred his hatred even further. While he was already at war with all Sith everywhere, he was now in a total war against this Darth Mori. He wanted the Sith dead but Darth Mori? Darth Mori he wanted worse than dead. He would now dedicate his life, his very existence to her complete and utter annihilation. He didn't just want her dead, he wanted her broken. He wanted to take everything she possessed away from her. He wanted to break her body, her mind, her soul. All of it. He wanted it all and then perhaps he would then kill what was left. This was now the goal of Kale Onara. Whatever else had to happen, he would see it done and Force help anyone who got in his way of that goal.

 

[Romul Saxon]

W A R M A S T E R​

Tag: Tytos Saxon | Runi Kuryida | Aloy Vizsla | Gwyneira Vizsla | Volo Dragr | Eldris Ravenwood | Siv Dragr | Vren Rook | Shai Maji | Vulcan Krayt | Kale Onara

Romul observed the proceedings silently, brooding. Dragr had been the first to claim the seat as he had expected. Dragr, whose only experience in leadership was filing reports brought to him by bounty hunters and spies. Romul thought Volo Dragr as nothing more than a pretentious schemer, hungry for power.

The Quartermaster had been more than a leader. She had been a mother. She did not command the Mando'ade through any rightful claim to power, even eschewing the traditional title of Mand'alor, but through the respect that every Mandalorian carried for her. Whoever led would need to command that same respect, should the Enclave remain together.

"I would speak," Romul said quietly aside to Gallius. His lieutenant interpreted the request and stepped forward, a massive halberd in hand. Raising it with one arm, he let it drop down with a massive CLANG that reverberated through the chamber. He brought it up and dropped it again. CLANG. Again. CLANG. The warriors of Clan Saxon followed the call, banging their own weapons and adding their echoes to the clamor. The assembled Si'kayha who had chosen to stand with their Akaan'alor added their own noise to the din.

Then Romul stepped forward, and the noise ceased, leaving the chamber in silence. He let the silence hold for a long, tantalizing moment, looking around at the thousands -- no, it had to be millions -- of Mandalorians assembled in the impossibly large chamber. Then, at last, he spoke. "Vode," he rumbled, "I have born many titles. Akaan'alor. Alor. I have received hundreds of commendations and thousands of scars and scratches from conquest, victory, and defeat."

"Victory, and defeat," he repeated. "I would speak to you all plainly. We have suffered a great, no, our greatest defeat since the Sith burned Mandalore twenty years ago. And we have suffered a great loss besides. The Quartermaster was one of our people's best. Dare I say, the best. The shipyards, our fleets -- these pale in comparison to the void left by her death."

"When the Sith laid our people low, there were some who tried to remake our Empire that had fallen. They looked to the past to find our salvation. But whether they were the Union or the Crusade, they failed. Only the Quartermaster had the wisdom to see that the answer to our future did not lie in our past. She had the wisdom to see that something new must be made, and thus the Enclave was born."

"Now we stand at the same precipice, the same crossroads. Others would look toward the past. I could sit here and speak of my countless campaigns. But I will not. I speak of the future."

His voice grew in power as he spoke. "Now is not the time for half-measures. Now is not the time to shrink from the Galactic stage. The Sith drew blood, yes. But we shall ensure that their worlds will soak in it. This Brotherhood of the Maw has been left to run rampant across the galaxy for too long. For too long we have said little and done less about them. It is time that the Mando'ade unsheaths their beskads and leads the vanguard against the Sith. To avenge our ancestors. To avenge our Quartermaster."

"I will lead this charge. I do not claim titles, not Mand'alor nor Quartermaster, other than the ones I already bear. I do not seek power nor glory, but only to continue the work that our buir began, and see it finished. What say the Mando'ade?"

 

[Red Mobius]

Wearing: Hide of Nar Kreeta

Armed With: Master of Ceremonies

Objective: Bear Witness


Two Days Earlier...

Clan Mobius, from it's very inception, had emphasized the art of scavenging their equipment, recycling and retrofitting where possible. They never rejected new and better gear of course--but they made sure to always store the old stuff away, kept nice and preserved. A hundred vaults on a dozen backwater planets with no name but in Clan Mobius' databases as permanent storage sites.

For example, old but still working Major power sources were jealously guarded, especially if their power could be siphoned and stored in energy cells.

Clan Mobius had been restoring an old Space Defense SpaceGun for the past few weeks, towing it into orbit over a planet they had a mine set up on. They tended to look for veins that had lots of precious stones, because those could be sold off at a premium or kept for themselves to refine into weapon lenses and focusing crystals, even as parts to essential circuits and power sources.

Red had been doggedly fixing or replacing every worn out part to its main Reactor. The Station showed signs it had been inhabited previously, and not too long back. It looked like sudden power failure and an attack had forced an evacuation of some kind...

No matter. One person's trash is another's treasure.

She stood by in a shielded observation chamber while other members of her clan made final checks in shielded suits before they gave her the thumbs up and she began start up safety checks before turning the Reactor on at low power output. They didn't need power to any except the most essential sections, such as shields and life support. Red studied the readings, increasing the power output in very small increments to study the stress on all the parts she had replaced...

No fluctuations. Steady output. Looking like a Job well done so far.

Red locked in its current power output, signaling the other clan mates to head to decontamination. Than she headed up to the barracks section where The Clan had congregated the most, quickly making it suitable for habitation. They were already putting up the portable fusion generators. The Light glowed weakly due to the low output. The Clan never minded low lighting. They took that "Warriors of Shadow" thing seriously.

"I'm keeping the power output low for now, friends..." Red said. "But all the essentials, as long as power is diverted to the proper sections, should be fully working."

Her clan acknowledged, paying her Curt respectful nods and Red nodded back and headed over to her bed she had singled out, grabbing a change of clothes and heading to the shower.

Everyone whistled in the shower stalls, each separated from the other by a physical partition. Not always the same time, and never in unison.

Red was covered in suds, vigorously running her fingers through short blonde hair.

"Hey, Ge'Tal!"

Red swiveled her head in the direction of the clansmate Norton, a stocky short human whose head barely went above the partition.

"Yes, Norton?" Red inquired politely.

"There's gonna be a big old meeting of our people soon. Quartermaster bit it against a Sith Lord."

"I know, but it's not like any of us is looking to be Mandalore..." Red said, scrubbing more of the soap from golden locks.

"We still gotta go. Future of our People, Ge'Tal. Too important. Our Clan has kept it's head down long enough..."

Red wasn't sure how to feel about that. Clan Mobius didn't seek glory like many clans did. Notoriety was gained mainly through accident. The Clan sold refurbished military gear to less well off clans at a significant discount. Or acted as scouts and engineers in Enclave operations. Always low key. As little a splash as possible.

What had made the Leadership change their mind? Why were they suddenly dusting off the old smelting facilities? Ramping up production on everything?

It was simple when you kept quiet. Less chances for rivalries. Less chance of being caught up in the squabbling over succession.

All she knew was she had been on triple duty as of late.

"Yeah, but here's the problem. What if they pick a leader we don't like?" Red asked.

"We don't have to like 'em, Red. The only question is this: Are they good for our people?"

"But what qualifies as good for our people?" Red asked.

"Whatever allows us to prosper at the expense of our enemies." Norton answered cheerfully.

Red paused at his answer, soap sliding down her face before she resumed scrubbing.

What counts as prosperity? she wondered silently.

"How many of us are going?" Red asked.

"Your Uncle's going, definitely. Maybe you should go. Good experience for you. Hasn't been a meeting like this in ages." Norton suggested.

Red had fully rinsed the soap from her hair.

"Norton... there's something I've always wanted to ask about this clan that I haven't before..." Red said quietly, leaning closer.

"Why have we always been so low key? How did that start?"

Norton blinked.

"It's really more a question for your Uncle, Ge'Tal...but I suppose there's no harm in letting you in on a little bit of the skinny, eh?" Norton asked rhetorically. "It's all ancient history. Water under the bridge, they say. 'Cept it's the sorta water no one wants a sip of even after it's been sanitized. Mind you, I only know barebones details but..." he trailed, leaning closer to Red.

"You ever hear about The Cult of The Brain Demon?" he asked in a whisper.

"Should I have?" Red asked.

"I'm not surprised." Norton snorted. "But we was enemies with 'em, a long while back during the Plague. The Alor, at the time? He was one of the only people to face it's leader and survive. They terrorized the Mandalore System. It took a significant effort to drive them out at a time when Hypermatter Fuel was extremely expensive. We thought they were all dead but they resurfaced at Panatha when The Enclave hit it. They're working for that psychopath that destroyed The Silver Rest at Kashyyyk, Darth Xiphos."

"Do you know anything else?" Red asked.

Norton shook his head.

"Sorry. I only learned that much because I just happened to be in earshot during a holoconference The Alor was having. And then only for a few seconds. Hey, uh... listen...you never heard that from me, ok?" he asked, whispering.

Red nodded...

A few hours later.

Red walked a bridge composed of pure fire, yet felt no heat as she traversed the fiery surface, the sky around her a blood red. In the distance, she saw rivers of molten metal, all surrounding a great Arena in which she saw the great throngs of Mandalorians, all naked save for their helmets, all with hands outstretched, each reaching for a helm that looked suspiciously like that of The Quartermaster , hovering over them and soaked in blood, the red lightsaber of a Sith driven through the top.

Red walked the bridge to that great arena in a haze. It was a vision. She hadn't gotten one this powerful in a long time. It scared her. They always scared her. She never understood why she got them.

She saw strife, and anger, almost like they were physical elements. She saw pillars splashed with blood. Turbolaser blasts rang down around her.

At the end of the bridge, waiting for her, she saw a hidious, emaciated abomination that resembled a purple togrutan with no face...

Red blinked and she realized she was fully armored, holding her hammer, and tumbling onto a fellow clan mate. She felt heat fly over her and realized when she tumbled she had evaded an energy blast from something.

On the verge of freaking the feth out, she rolled over saw some strange, humanoid robot thing covered in bronze armor. The feth was it?

She saw something in its chest, a bronze orb, spinning, surrounded by strange blue energy.

WItchcraft! Red realized, pulling her fellow member out of the way of its torso blast at the last second, though both caught the edge of the blast and went flying. Her weight made her realized she had her hammer. She had a special relationship with the Hammer.

(Cutaway of Thor in various scenes killing people with the hammer)

She looked around, and realized with a start this was one of the cargo areas that had been marked "RESTRICTED" when they had come here. Guess she knew why now...

She dived as the next torso blast from the strange automaton ripped into the hull. She recognized the other Mandalorian, he was one of the advanced teams that went in to scout for booby traps. His name was Tormik, and he had managed to draw his heavy Blaster pistols and begun firing at it to distract it from firing on her again, and Red ran, trying to flank it as it fired on Tomrik, drawing to close the distance so she could literally beat it to death with her hammer.

As it charged up another Iron Man-like chest blast Red trough her near solid beskar hammer and its built in repulsorlift tech kicked it, flying right at its head.

Near Solid Beskar smacking into your face at high speed isn't just a more predictable, reliable result than trying to play the stock market, it's the power of several Eli Roth's armed with a Louisville Slugger.

The impact decked the automaton, sending it tumbling as her Hammer flew back into her grip via a return function built into it. It pulled itself to its feet and unleashed a stomp to the ground that sent out a powerful wave of energy that sent Red flying.

Tormik opened fire again while Red hit the ground, hammer tumbling out of her hand and she was heavily disoriented. She scrambled, still woozy as it began to charge up another blast.

The blast that was emitted ripped open the deck and caused a massive fire and she barely evaded it, the edge of her blast scorching her armor the minor shockwave flinging her forward and smacking into safety railing, her hammer was flung away to where she couldn't reach it.

"Ge'Tal, the shotgun!" Tomrik yelled.

Red, pulled herself up barely evading the crashing fists of the bronze automaton, and spotted the shotgun, an old pump action with no stock but a simple sling. She dived for it as Tomrik fired once more to distract it.

"The Core! Shoot the core!" Tomrik yelled.

Red began opening fire on its chest as it charged up, mere seconds from annihilating her, this time it actually freaking did something. It was brought to its knees.

Red looked for her hammer, and then saw someone who wasn't there.

It was a Mandalorian in bronze armor, this time The Mandalorian was a woman, pointing at a pathway behind a large number of crates.

Red did not question the Mandalorian who wasn't there and ran to look, spotting her Last Son of Krypton-grade banhammer embedded in the wall and pulled it out, because she was very attached to her banhammer, and petted it affectionately for a split second before rushing to her friend's aid, making a dead charge right for it as it started to rise, leaping onto it, already bringing the hammer down on the core, in a glorious attempt to ban it from its cursed witch craft based existence.

She brought the hammer down on that core again and again, smashing into it. The outside showed no signs of damage, but as she crashed her hammer down on it, the automaton weakened and then she at last actually managed to knock it out of its chest, finally dropping it as she jumped off.

Tomrik walked up to her.

"I don't believe it...a Zeffo Guardian...what the hell was it doing here?" Tomrik asked.

"What brought it to life?" Red asked.

"It was in one of the crates. I walk by it, and it woke up. But what were you doing here?" Tomrik asked.

"There was an alarm..." Red answered quickly. I happened to be up and I came running."

"That's not possible."

"Huh?" Red asked.

"Ge'Tal...the circuitry is heavily degraded in this section. You noted it yourself when we first took control of this place. You couldn't have heard an alarm, and the walls here don't transmit sounds, even with the racket we were making. And what were you even doing in this section? Barracks are on a completely different level."

"I had been mulling over a problem I encountered earlier with that damaged fang fighter we salvaged. When we first sweeped through this place, I spotted some storage containers holding Dallorian Alloy. There's a heat degradation problem on key power couplings. They were overheating with age. Thought I would head back to this section when I encountered that problem. Stupid mistake, really. Should have brought it back to the repair bay but I was in too much of a hurry at the time..." Red answered, thinking up an excuse on the spot.

"A happy error then. But that still doesn't explain the alarm you claimed you heard."

"Maybe it was just something that sounded like an alarm... Maybe my ears were playing tricks on me. Refurbishing 'is' exhausting work. Plus this station's old anyway. Something could have just dislodged in the walls. Maybe it was a mynock nest we missed. Riddle for the ages." Red answered quickly. "I'm glad you're alright, whatever the case."

Tomrik stared at her. There was an uncomfortable silence that lingered about 12 seconds too long.

"Eh, thanks, Red. Thing had me on the ropes. If you hadn't walked in and tackled me when you did, I'd have been splattered all over the room."

"We better call it in. Warn everyone to watch out for artifacts." Red handed Tomrik his shotgun.

Tomrik shook his head, his red and white armor gleaming.

"Keep it. You gained honor in scoring the finishing blow on this construction of sorcery." Tomrik espoused.

"I wonder what you did that pissed it off..." Red wondered, searching the crates.

"Tommy... there's nothing in these crates..." Red realized, pulling out scraps of rusted parts...

Tomrik's head tilted to one side as he examined the Fallen Zeffo Guardian.

"Ge'Tal, look!" Tomrik exclaimed, bending down and plucking a little silver key that had been fixed to its arm with clear plastic tape of all things.

(Zelda unlocking theme Plays)

Red went over to examine it.

"If there is a Key, it must have the lock close by..." She noted, and they both started searching until she came across a loose bit of plating on the deck and pried it open, revealing a single keyhole. She gestured and Tomrik tossed the key to her and she turned the key.

The plating in the middle of the deck parted to the sides, revealing a staircase.

"This didn't show up in the scans..." Tomrik noted, stepping down as red quickly joined him.

Red saw all that glittered and she smiled under her helmet.

There was a flag of The Galactic Empire draped over one wall, and stacks of ingots in flat, utilitarian safe deposit boxes. Some were Haysian Smelt, others were Cortosis weave Durasteel ingots. Precious stones.

"Must have been some Moff's rainy day money..." Red said, going to a small crate filled with white bottles. She plucked one out and examined the label.

It was a bottle of ultra-rare White Membrosia.

"Well, no question what the Zeffo thingy was protecting. I'd set up a death robot to protect my rare alcohol too." Red joked.

"Nah. This is fluff, Red. We're expected to find it..." Tomrik grumbled. "You don't use a Zeffo Guardian to protect paper weights and liquor."

"Well, then what do you use a Zeffo Guardian for?" Red asked, looking under the flag, and by pure luck spotted a secondary key hole.

She put the key in and twisted it.

The floor beneath them parted open, revealing a second set of stairs.

"See? Distraction..." Tomrik said proudly.

Red went down the steps, hammer at the ready, prepared to Eli Roth anything dumb enough to attack.

She realized it was a small hangar. If she had been pleased by secret treasures before she was ecstatic at what she saw and ran over to it.

It was a Royal Guard TIE...

"No. No way. Am I hallucinating?" Red said to herself in an unguarded moment.

"No. No you are not..." Tomrik said amazed, taking his helmet off, revealing an older man in his late thirties.

"I...I never thought I'd see one...not up close, anyway..." he muttered.

"It's a Royal Guard TIE. One of the greatest starfighters ever. Personally commissioned by Palpatine, supposedly..." Red muttered, her other big passion surfacing.

"And I even like the Color..." Red remarked at its ruby surface. (ALEX-ANDRIA!: 90 XP)

"That thing's staying good and stored for now. No joyrides."

"Awww..." Red muttered.

"Trust me Red, this is the kind of asset you only pull out in your darkest moment. You don't just go casually flaunting a Royal Guard TIE about..." Tomrik chided. "Besides, you aren't even anywhere NEAR skilled enough to be flying this beastie. Most experience you have is with Z-95 variants. This thing'll chew you up and spit you out."

Red sighed. "I guess..."

"We'll hold onto it for you for now..." he promised. "And if you're gonna fly it, it's gonna be under supervision..."

Red nodded, suddenly glum.

"Look on the bright side..." Tomrik offered, giving her one of the White Membrosia bottles.

"At least we can drink to your good timing."

"True..." she said, opening the bottle and offering him first swig, which he graciously accepted and then took a swig herself.

"Oh, my, that's sweeter than Black Ale!" she remarked. She then stumbled backward and Tomrik caught her.

"Strong like a Motherfether too." she chuckled.

"No kidding. Let's go find some glasses..." Tomrik muttered. Red nodded and followed him back up the steps, feeling invigorated, noticing her wounds seemed to be healing slightly faster...

Present...

Red and the rest of Clan Mobius had entered the chamber discretely, taking seats in the back. Her clan preferred to read a room first before talking. Red had rarely seen so many Mandalorians gathered in one spot. Saw a lot of famous faces. Or infamous, depending on how you looked at it. They were there a half hour before everyone really started talking.

Red saw the warmaster, Romul Saxon addressing everyone as to why he would be best. She knew little of him beyond his reputation for lethality, and that he had successfully scorched Panatha. She spotted Mandokarla such as Runi Kuryida and immediately sought a seat more nestled amongst her clan, not wanting to get near one if she could help it.

They frightened her.

She tried not to pay attention to how much the design of the chamber matched the arena in her earlier vision. That was a can of worms she was NOT prepared to address.


Aloy Vizsla

Siv Dragr

Gwyneira Vizsla

Vulcan Krayt

Kale Onara

Eldris Ravenwood

Tytos Saxon

Vren Rook

Shai Maji

 

[Shai Maji]

KESTRI | TOR VALUM
TAGS: Runi Kuryida | Aloy Vizsla | Volo Dragr | Gwyneira Vizsla | Tytos Saxon | Kale Onara | Red Mobius
GEAR: In bio

THE MARK HAS BEEN MADE​

Shai was taken back by the sudden appearance of her kiddies next to her. A grunt escaped her as Vulcan crashed into her, though her arm was quickly wrapped around him as a laugh escaped her. ”Good to see you too, my boy.” She quipped as she smiled down at him.

<<"Gwyneira Krayt, Clan Krayt, House Vizsla.">>

Her gaze hardened a little at the words. She and Gwyn were doing an amazing job of avoiding each other for the sake of everyone’s sanity and health after the young woman shot up her office. She made sure to send the repair bill to her, Eliz and Kranak’s address when it was all said and done. Though the frustration was still as lively as ever.

”House Vizsla?” She spoke up as she grabbed hold of Gwyn’s arm, stopping her from taking off. ”You might wanna reconsider your words, kiddo. No way in hell the clan I rebuilt will pledge allegiance to a weaker clan.” She growled as she glared at the woman. She was expecting an earful from Kranak after the meeting about that, though even he couldn’t deny that Clan Vizsla was a shadow of its former glory. ”And if you think you can patronize me, one of my best friends, or anyone else in this room, you’re gonna wanna go back home and take a look in the mirror.” She let go of her firm grasp around her bicep as she turned her attention back to the group.

Perhaps Mandalorian Diplomacy was going to be needed with this meeting…

She was about to continue when Romul Saxon stepped forward and raised his voice for the entire hall to hear. Her frown was unwavering as she watched the man, still holding Vulcan against her side.

"Now is not the time for half-measures. Now is not the time to shrink from the Galactic stage. The Sith drew blood, yes. But we shall ensure that their worlds will soak in it. This Brotherhood of the Maw has been left to run rampant across the galaxy for too long. For too long we have said little and done less about them. It is time that the Mando'ade unsheathe their beskads and lead the vanguard against the Sith. To avenge our ancestors. To avenge our Quartermaster."

"I will lead this charge. I do not claim titles, not Mand'alor nor Quartermaster, other than the ones I already bear. I do not seek power nor glory, but only to continue the work that our buir began, and see it finished. What say the Mando'ade?"

”The Sith ain’t our only enemy, Romul.” She perked up without hesitation. She looked around at the rest for a moment. ”What about the Empire, huh? Whe about the aruetii shabuirs that donned our people’s iron, trespassed in our home, and tried to kill our people?” Her glowing, crimson eyes hardened as she turned to face him.

”The Maw is weak. Pathetic. Hell, I faced their ‘Shadow Hand’ on Rothana, gutted him and shot him off a cliff. All we gotta do is figure out a path through Exogol’s shroud and we can end them once and for all. But the Empire ain’t them. They look down on us. Always have. If we give them half a gap to put a foot through the door, they’ll do the same to us as the Sith did twenty years ago! We’ll be seein’ Imperial Star Destroyers over Kestri if we don’t do something.” She turned to look at the others gathered around her.

”Can you guarantee vengeance for that, Romul? Can you guarantee that the Empire will see our ships and Basilisks over Bastion and regret the day they thought they could grab ass with us and get away with it?!” She faced him once again.

”If you can promise to us all, right here and right now, that the Empire’s debt will be repaid in full… well then, you got my vote.” Her arms crossed over her armoured chest as she watched him and the others around her. She hated the man’s guts and would rather smash his face through a brick wall than support him, but there weren’t many other options.

 

[Thonn Rokkal]

Were it not for the Quartermaster, he doubted there could have even been the Enclave, and were it not for the Enclave he doubted he'd have a true home again. Truly, to her, he owed much. They all did. He couldn't deny that without her tireless effort they'd not have arisen to become the force they'd proven themselves to be.

And now she was gone. She had been for a while now, but being here at a meeting to select her successor really drove that in. He watched silently as several others around did. There wasn't really much he had say or add. He wanted vengeance, sure, but no doubt they all did. It wasn't likely anyone was about to argue against it – revenge would be theirs, that much felt assured. There was no way such an act could go unanswered, and Thonn wished for the same answer as always. Blood for blood, and lives for lives.

Even if he had little direction to offer, he could be nowhere else he could be. No one was prepared for The Quartermaster's demise. Without her to lead them, times had become chaotic and uncertain. Despite numerous battles and wars, Thonn felt the future of the Enclave to be threatened for the first time. They were warriors after all. Battle was not easy, but it's what they knew. None knew how to move forward from her absence. They'd need to figure that out soon. The Enclave must go on.

Thonn sat in a corner, giving him a good vantage point of the proceedings. His vode surrounded him, and they all looked about as grim as he felt.

Volo was the first nominate himself for the position, and it was quickly contested for.

"I would take the duty of stewardship of the Enclave. I would be its champion; its sword and shield, its voice and its hand."

"I am Aloy of Clans Vizsla and Kryze... House Vizsla wishes to judge the worthiness of your claiment; Volor Dragr...!"

”Challenging his worthiness here and now ain’t gonna prove jack-shit. Winning a fight don’t mean you got what it takes to lead the Enclave. That goes for both of you.”

Though Thonn wanted to see the contest go down, Shai spoke wisely. That tradition determined the better warrior, but not the better leader. Thonn should know, taking the identity of the former far more than the latter. Matters really just came down to that due to tradition, but there was no tradition involved. They'd never selected a successor before. Thonn didn't think they'd have to for a while yet until the Quartermaster was killed. As far as he figured, that's why they had convened in the first place – to determine what course of action to take. Infighting had cost enough already.

<<"If all you think about is fighting and battle, you are unfit to rule. While battle is honorable, and weapons are a part of our religion, being a leader is way more than that.">>

Gwyn echoed his thoughts entirely, Thonn couldn't have said it better himself. Talking was far from his strong point, he figured he just show support for anyone pushing an agenda he could agree with.

”If you can promise to us all, right here and right now, that the Empire’s debt will be repaid in full… well then, you got my vote.”

"Mine, too!" Thonn quickly affirmed.

 

[Aloy Vizsla]

Tag: Vulcan Krayt \\ Thonn Rokkal \\ Runi Kuryida \\ Tae'l Vizsla \\ Kale Onara \\ Vren Rook \\
Interacting: Shai Maji \\ Gwyneira Vizsla \\ Romul Saxon \\ Volo Dragr

I’ll blow a hole through both of you myself!”

And there it was... The first of many children playing at empire, wishing to throw their weight around. A shame really, that recognized a sound that had once attached itself to the fading memory of a friend. The low and gruff voice of a shistavenen who was once little more than a smuggler to her. Then, one day and a sacred oath later, A soldier. The feint beginnings of a Mando'ad, even.

And yet, she still had a mouth bigger than even the Sons of Mandalore could provide...

<<"If all you think about is fighting and battle, you are unfit to rule. While battle is honorable, and weapons are a part of our religion, being a leader is way more than that.">>

She wasn't the only one either.

Aloy merely tilts her head in response, Her fanged visage firmly locked on the young Arkanian who claimed to be Vizsla. In another day and age, A little princess like this trying to take the name Vizsla would have been the laughing stock of Mandalore. And yet there she was, running her mouth beside The Enclave's prodigal daughter.

"Are you both quite finished?!" She snapped, Ignoring Shai's attempt at reunion after threatening her old commander barely seconds before.

"I came here for Answers. If you think so low of me and my House, Maji, Than you either had the attention span of a Nuna or possibly worse, blind enough to buy into whatever Mand'alor the abandoner was selling you in my absence"

"And you-" She turned to the Arkanian, pointing a cybernetic finger at her, Almost accusatory in nature.

"If you want to call yourself Vizsla, Than Think. Watch. Observe. Do not speak until you have a firm grasp of what you see and hear. Do this, and you will go far in life. But keep up the way you are now, And you will always be just a child to the elders"

It was true that she sounded like a mother scolding her children, slowly shifting to a softer, educational tone as her lesson progressed. But it was a lesson this one would be better off for, if only she took heed.

From there, she simply took a few steps to the side where she had been standing when she called for Volo Dragr to answer. Feedback she still wished to hear. But unfortunately, all she could hear in the minutes to follow was Romul Saxon's speeches...

What say the Mando'ade?"

But the Empire ain’t them. They look down on us. Always have. If we give them half a gap to put a foot through the door, they’ll do the same to us as the Sith did twenty years ago! We’ll be seein’ Imperial Star Destroyers over Kestri if we don’t do something.”
* * *
"If you can promise to us all, right here and right now, that the Empire's debt will be repaid in full… well then, you got my vote."

She crossed her arms, giving Shai a sidelong glance from behind her visor.

"Your prodigal daughter and I are of the same mind than...!" She called out, directing her attention to Romul now with an unmoving 12-parsec stare.

"These are the questions I came to have answered. Mand'alor the Infernal trusted the imperials. Even the sith trusted the imperials! And what has that brought us? It brought the so called "Sons of Mandalore" to our shores! It brought them clean-picked bones on Mandalore, while their imperial governors and entitled nobles lord over Our People. Pathetic as our wayward sons may be. They could have been far more if they did not make the same mistake our Empire had..."

"I have seen empires rise and fall on Mandalore too many times for one lifetime. And how did they fall? Decadence! Misguided ambitions! And misplaced Trust"

She practically hissed while looking over the crowd, Livid with the state she has found her home upon her return. Perhaps her newfound freedom wasn't such a blessing after all, if it would only lead her worst fear made manifest...

"I don't care for your speeches, Saxon! Nor your achievements on the field! Don't tell us what we already know! Tell us what you will do differently! By the Manda I will not serve under another man pretending to be anything even similar to Mand'alor!"

Her cybernetic fist gripped the air in front of her, servos whirring as the metal clenched into a fist that seemed to shiver under it's own strain in that moment.

"Who let the Imperial fleet into the heart of this enclave?! How will you answer the Empire's crimes? How will your newfound authority be solidified? If any of these answers come even close to the tyranny that has the souls of my people crushed time and time again, You won't receive just the absence of a vote..."

"Both of You."

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