Faction Solstice of the Mando'ade | The Enclave & Mandalorians

[Siv Dragr]

W A N D E R

Location: Shukur Kyr'bes Tavern, Tor Valum
Tag: Vren Rook | Tawnita Wren | Maex Bralor | Kale Onara | Thonn Rokkal | Nix Avyena

Siv nodded back with a smile towards Kale, but that smile did not reach his eyes. For some reason, he felt cold despite the warmth of the hall. Cold, and numb. He drowned himself in Tihaar as the conversation waxxed and waned. Wren, Rook and Onara were all making small talk while they waited for their ordered drinks, but Siv did not join in. The conversation was background noise to him, and as he stared into the bottom of his mug of Tihaar he heard the echoes of an army stomping through the mud of Mandalore, the calls and snarls of Graug warlords, the hiss of a lightsaber.

"I think I need some fresh air," he said suddenly and brusquely, inclining his head in brief apology as he stood and tossed a couple of credits onto the table next to his almost-drained flagon. He saw Thonn approaching them, and nodded with the same respectful smile he'd given to Kale, but as soon as he moved past the man his smile was gone.

The air outside of the tavern was cool, chilly almost despite the hermetic seal that kept the mostly-underground city from becoming uninhabitable with Kestri's frozen climate. It was a welcome respite from the packed heat of the Shukur Kyr'bes Tavern though, and Siv relished it for a second, inhaling slowly with his eyes closed before he placed his helmet on his head, sealing into the rest of his armor with a small whoosh, and the Mandalorian set off down the crowded market street.

In the Solstice, the Ji'yr Market was notably more packed then it was even during normal peak hours. In the alleyways and vacant spots between regular shops, vendors had established stalls to sell their wares under shaded awnings made of bright cloth in a multitude of colors. Savory aromas of spiced meats and mead wafted through the air. Children scampered through the market underfoot, shouting and laughing as they wove between the adults twice their height. One of them nearly bumped into Siv, but dodged at the last moment and ran to catch up to their playmates. They'll be slippery as an adult too, Siv found himself thinking, light and quick on their feet. That they would be a warrior was inevitable; all Mandalorians were warriors when they came of age, and to survive in this time one had to be able to fend for themself now more than ever.

Between two small market stalls was a large awning from which the skull of a Ji'yr Rekr hung, easily identified by the horns and tusk that protruded from the cranium and jaw respectively. Siv had heard rumors of the ferocity of the native Kestri beast, and found himself walking over to the stall from which it hung, enticed by the display of savage valor. When he got there, though, he realized that it was not a warrior's treasures but a metalsmith and his wares. "Will you be wanting something?" A voice thin and surprisingly young came from the short Mandalorian who stood behind the stall's counter. He gestured behind him, where racks of blasters, beskads and other weapons hung their metal gleaming in the fires of a small stove that served as the stall's heating unit. "All made by the Order of the Forgemasters," the youth added nervously as he tracked Siv's gaze, apparently somewhat intimidated by Siv's stature. "The finest quality, I assure you."

Siv pursed his lips, though underneath his beskar helmet he knew that the other Mandalorian wouldn't be able to see his facial gesture. "What clan do you herald from?" He asked finally, after a moment of silence passed between them.

The youth seemed caught off guard by the question. "My clan. . . ? Oh. I'm -- I'm a Beviin. Veldor Beviin. I don't recognize your signet, though," the boy added with uncertainty as he stared at the bloodbat crest on Siv's shoulder plate.

Siv looked at it then back at the youth. It had been a long time since Siv had seen a Beviin, not since his days as a boy on Mandalore. Those Beviins are likely all dead, he reminded himself, but a boy meant hope for the clan's future. "Dragr." He stated in response to the Beviin's question without preamble. The smith nodded, probably not sure what to say, but Siv spared him any further small talk. "That vibro-spear," he said, nodding to the weapon that hung in the right corner of the stall. "Is that beskar?"

The Beviin seemed relieve that the talk had shifted from clan heraldry and back to weapons, something that the smith was no doubt more comfortable with. "It is," he said as he turned, lightly picking up the spear from its rack and bringing it over to Siv, holding it lightly and horizontally in his outward palms. "Inspect it for yourself, if you want."

Siv did, taking the spear in hand and lightly running a thumb along its hard metal schaft while he turned it slowly, the telltale silvery reflection in the light meaning it was surely Mandalorian Iron. "This is good craftsmanship," Siv admitted. "Did you make this yourself?"

"N-no," the boy stammered, apparently embarrassed. "I'm. . . just an apprentice smith. Most of the time I'm working the bellows, or forging the more mass-produced blasters and other weapons. This is a unique weapon, probably crafted by a master smith or even a Forgemaster." He took another look at the vibrospear. "Actually, this one. . . this one was crafted by her."

With that sort of inflection in the apprentice smith's voice, Siv didn't need further clarification on who he meant by her. The enigmatic and mysterious leader of the Enclave herself. . . the Quartermaster. Siv had met her several times, even worked directly under her command. But she still remained just as much a mystery to him as she did to near every other Mandalorian in the Enclave. Still. . . this was some good craftsmanship, and if his fights on Mandalore and the Malsheem were something to go by, he'd need better melee weaponry. "I'll buy it," he finally said. "And a beskad, if you have one."

"D-do you have the credits?" The Beviin asked. Siv frowned under his helmet. That boy would have to learn some confidence, and probably spend some time outside of a forge to do so, if he wanted to get rid of that stammer.

Siv fished in his pouch and finally procured a cured leather sack, clinking with credits inside. He tossed it to the apprentice smith, who quickly caught it and turned to a side counter to carefully count the credits. It didn't seem to take the apprentice that long, and soon he handed Siv back his notably-lighter pouch. "M-may the Manda smile on your future. . . Dragr," the youth stammered, bowing in thanks, and Siv set out from the stall with a new vibrospear and beskad in tow.
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[Vrun Ryssic]

Location: Tor Valum; Kestri.
Tags: The Quartermaster | Open.

A slow reverberating rumble rolled up through the Trandoshan's throat, scaled lips parting at the sides as he let out a complacent growl whilst casting his reptilian gaze across the crowded Pavilion set at the base of the Iyarsa Spire, where those seeking an audience with The Enclave's leadership had gathered, Vrun Ryssic having taken up a position to the rear of the great enclosure to study, listen and learn.

The Children of the Protectors had established a foothold for themselves back upon Manda'yaim, offering Vrun a taste of what it meant to be among their people. These were one of the numerous groups that had come about over the past years, even within the Trandoshan's small fifteen years of life within the Galaxy; Yet Vrun did not hold favour over one particular caste in comparison to any other. Life as an unmarked Trandoshan Hunter was rarely afforded the loyalty of others, and from first impressions, it seemed that these Mandalorians held similar values within their own, as he himself lived by; Honour within oneself, pride within their own kind, unmatched prowess within the field of combat or the Hunt in Vrun's case.

Yet he was not learned of their ways, and quite possibly understood far less than he presumed.

Watching as The Quartermaster greeted and listened to their people's words, the Trandoshan's head tilted slightly to the right, focusing upon the interactions between the leader and her people. Vrun was not among their kind, thus he did not feel it acceptable to stand among those in search of an audience; In his eyes, this would have been an act of disrespect unless approached first for conversation between their leader. She seemingly one of apparent prestige among her kind, whereas he was not, despite his aspirations.

Furthermore, he silently questioned what they would make of his Apparel. Both his Vambraces and his Hunting Attire was fashioned out of Beskar, though it wasn't rightly earned as the Mandalorian Custom might decree, whatever such a thing involved, Vrun had otherwise obtained many of his gear through conquests of the Hunt. The Scorekeeper had seen fit to reward him handsomely within his young years, yet there was still much he had to learn and the Trandoshan Hunter who stood among these people, was not yet at his apex, unlike so many warriors who had been fortunate enough to call themselves Mandalorian.

 

[Leea Pandac]

Objective: A Crimson Dawn

"That's not exactly what I-"

Leea decided she wouldn't rise to the bait, Zlova seemed to have a habit of trying to push her buttons. Although the Mirialain sometimes wondered if the Twi'lek was just touched in the head. Leea almost imagined that Zlova could have been quite happy on an eternal crusade of slaughter or something similarly warlike. Perhaps that was ungenerous of her to think such thoughts, but Zlova was... a polarizing sort of person. All Leea managed was a tired shake of the head before Talohn arrived. Quickly the trio began their walk to the building.

The sights around were amazing and gave yet more proof to the amazing recovery of this city. If this was indicative of the planetary situation overall, then this place would rebound very well from the travesties inflicted on it. The marketplace they passed through was filled with such wonder, at least when considering the state of this place not too long ago. "It's almost like nothing ever happened here." Her voice carried with it no small amount of wonder at the growth and change. She had never seen a battlefield that had avoided total devastation, much less seen one that would so quickly convert to this new development.

When Talohn, at last, asked his question, Leea had prepared herself, having interrogated herself for a long time leading to this day. "I am ready as I'll ever be." This is my choice, and I've made it. The young soldier felt the pit in her stomach, and understood that it was the nerves of the moment, but this did not help her overcome it. Indeed, it only made her a little concerned that she should try to find some way to avoid this feeling when they came face to face with the Quartermaster, lest it put her in a position to make a fool of herself. But what more could she do? Emotions were an area of relative inexperience, more often than not having had to lock away or otherwise inhibit to function effectively on the field of battle. Now, she had the free time to attend to these emotions, further, she found herself having to handle with greater care these natural parts of her that might easily lead down roads she did not want to travel. Darkness lay in pushing away emotions, and Leea refused that path.

Walking through a fairly sizable room, Leea noted a diverse collection of people. It was impressive to the Mirialan just how many different people of so many different walks of life would follow a similar path. A mighty trandoshan caught her eye, hulking and covered in metal. He seemed to be watching, perhaps waiting for something. The scaly skin and vertical slit eyes sent shivers up her spine. She had never seen a specimen of this particular species before, and Leea was reminded of why they were considered such fine hunters. She wondered how much it would take to stop something like this one, if he went on a rampage. Certainly, more strength and armament than she could ever hope to possess, let alone the strength of will to compete with that alien mind.

When they stood before the leader, Leea was relieved at least to see that even Talohn wasn't entirely certain how to speak. Zlova appeared far more confident, more than Leea could imagine herself being in this scenario. Well, she would have to find out soon enough. When the twi'lek had concluded her fairly impressive speech and demonstration, Leea found herself in the unenviable position of racking her mind for ways to make herself stand out in any particular way. Zlova was a Sith, which may not have won her any good points overall, however, she had power and a clear skillset that ensured she had a part to play. What do I have? She could not answer this fast enough. For silence fell and Leea floundered for a moment.

Awkwardly she began, "My name is Leea Pandac... of Makeb... I am- I plan... I wish to become a Mandalorian... Like Talohn..." Each step felt sudden and unconvincing to her ears. She gave a sigh as she struggled for anything more. Her shoulders sagged a smidge as she continued in an honest statement, "I am not a great warrior and have few exemplary skills... But I desire to grow and learn. Talohn introduced me to a way of life, a family, that I haven't known in... in a long while. I am prepared to fight or whatever else is necessary to prove myself as worthy to be a part of this culture, this brotherhood. Talohn has told me that this is my choice, that this life is mine to design, and I would forge it under the seal of a Mando'ade if I have your permission." The words had rolled faster than her mind had been able to keep up. Under different circumstances, she might have been somewhat annoyed at the stranger verbiage she had spoken, but it felt fitting in this context.

Talohn Atar Zlova Rue The Quartermaster Vrun Ryssic

 

[Keldab Dragr]

Location: Tor Valum, Kestri
Attire: Keldab's beskar'gam
Companion: TSN-44 (Tracinya)
Tags: The Quartermaster , open

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Keldab was nervous. Understandably so.

He hadn't communicated with any of his own kind for so long. He hadn't donned his armour for so long. Ever since the young man fled the genocide in his home planet, in that fateful, and so bittersweet day, Keldab hid. He hid in the most unlikely places, often taking jobs doing the only useful thing he knew how to- assassination. Keldab was a skilled marksman, finishing his verd'goten with special praises in that area. It was his best specialty, and so he took to sniping his victims.

When the Sith came to Mandalore and destroyed everything, taking what mando'ade that survived the war into those ghastly concentration camps, he and his remaining family and friends had been taken also, and for a long year and a half they suffered under the oppression of the Sith.

When he finally managed to flee, Keldab knew he had to hide his identity too. For three years he hid. Working as a simple assasin, as if he wasn't a mandalorian. He'd forsaken his people, his brothers. And for what? For the sake of his own survival. His family had been slaughtered. He had to keep clan Dragr alive. But what kind of alive was that? Where he couldn't even don his armour in public?

No. After all this time, Keldab needed more. He would never be able to find peace, he would never be able to find the slightest sense of emotional healing if he didn't have one thing. Revenge. That was imperative. He needed to avenge his fallen brothers, his sister, his mother. He had to avenge his clan, his best friend, Mandalore. He had to avenge himself.

Keldab was nervous for this was the first step he took into his old life. What would the other mando'ade think of him, he who had forsaken his own only to come back from the apparent dead years later? Would he even find anyone who remembered him? Everyone he knew was either dead or disappeared, potentially gone. But those he met today would be his brothers too. They were all Mando'ade after all, and it was high time they struck back.

 

[Faison Kelborn]

Spoiler

Invited by Avelion

It had been a long, long time since Faison had been amongst his brethren. The last time he could think of was when he fought for Krayt Company back during the Great War, when he had lost so much - including a part of himself. He always seemed to rehash the events of those days, from the botched insertion into hostile territory, to his step-father's corpse burning from an incendiary artillery round he just barely escaped himself. After that, he wasn't much for company, but that was a story to be unpacked (again) at a later time. Not only was it long overdue for him to be among his... people again, but it was also long overdue for him to do something about this armor. Scratches, dents, scorch marks, his armor told a story forged in battle across nearly two decades to varying degrees. The only pieces that weren't so visibly impacted were his vambraces and shoulder pads, both sets of items forged in beskar - the only real tokens he possessed in remembrance of his father. They still bore a slight shine, with a few superficial scratches barely visible, depending on how the light shone upon them. The rest of his armor was duraplast, in varying degrees of disrepair. He definitely needed a new breastplate, and he wouldn't mind adding a flame thrower for one of his gauntlets...

As he mused over the different things he needed vs. wanted, he left his ship's berth within the 'starport' near the city, and made his way to the market district. A festive mood was in the air, and he was tempted to remove his helmet to breath it in first hand. Before doing so, his eyes caught sight of a tavern along the route. He was a simple man, with many imperfections alongside his positive qualities. One of those imperfections he needed to resolve at some point was his pervasive thirst to the point where the pain couldn't be felt anymore, or at least to the point where he was, daresay, quite civil with others. He stood there for a moment, warring within himself as to whether he wanted to get sidetracked from his responsible errands that brought him to this world. No sooner had his form moved through the entrance of the establishment had he resolved that there was no harm in one drink, and he wouldn't stop to think about how many times in his life one turned into two, or even seven. 'Strange how that happens.' He mused to himself as he rested his forearms on the bar. It wasn't until he did so that he finally removed his helmet, showing his weathered, craggy features. He noticed a group of armored hulks off to the side cajoling one another in a manner akin to men (and women, as it seemed) who shared battlefields together.

Last he heard, The Enclave fought a bitter campaign to liberate this world from a pocket of Yuuzhan Vong who saw fit to roost here. If half of what he heard was true, they all deserved far more than a drink within a tavern. He caught the eye of the bartender, ordering a pint of ne'tra gal just as he heard stray bits of the group's conversation. 'Engine coolant? Are the drinks really that bad?' He mentally chided himself for not checking a bit closer before ordering something, but he also knew that he drank a lot worse before. Hell, maybe it would even cleanse his liver a bit of what he had previously ingested in his life.

Vren Rook

 

[Vren Rook]

TAG: Faison Kelborn | Tawnita Wren | Kale Onara | Mia Mereel | Thonn Rokkal | Siv Dragr

It was a good evening.

More and more Mando'ade drifted in through the door. Another warrior whom Vren had fought alongside of - Thonn Rokkal if he recalled correctly, joined their little gathering. The Karjr also saw some armours he did not yet recognise. It was good. Word had started to spread about the new beginnings on Kestri.

Vren was slightly worried about Siv Dragr for a minute as his friend had grown quiet for a spell before getting up abruptly to step outside. Vren watched him go for a second. They all had their demons. Vren had many of his own. After all, one of them showed up on his doorstep not too long ago and was now seated next to him. But their demons were their own to face. So, even though he was worried about his friend's sudden departure, he turned back to the group and the tavern at large. He enjoyed seeing all the different beskar'gams that floated around.

There was one armour in particular that drew Vren's attention. The Crescent Falcon of Clan Kelborn looked back from the pauldron of an unknown man. Vren tapped Kale on the shoulder and motioned with his head towards the newcomer.
"Now there's a sigil you don't see every day." he said. He vaguely remembered the Clan from the olden days on Mandalore - solid, skilled Mando'ade.

Good warriors to have at your back.

Vren got up, ruffling Tee's hair as he passed and headed over to the bar to meet the newcomer.
Howdy, Vod." he said as he walked up with his drink. "Vren Rook. How is that glue? Drinkable?" he introduced himself before he inquired about the stranger's drink.

Looking at the man's armour, it looked like someone whacked him with a flame thrower that accidentally discharged at the end.
"You uh....look like you've been around. If you ever need that patched, I know of someone that could help." he offered. "In the meantime, you're welcome to come share a drink with us." He motioned at the group at their table. This was what tonight was all about - this annual celebration of the Enclave's existence - bringing vode together. Tonight more than any other year.

The celebration of new beginnings.

 

[Faison Kelborn]

The barkeep delivered his drink in due course; a deep, dark drought with a frothy foam head at the top. Faison wasted little time taking a longing pull from the mug, letting the thick brew fill his mouth and throat. After a few prolonged moments, he slapped the pint back on the table with a third of its contents missing, and brought his hand up to wipe the film remaining on his lip. It was then that he heard the voice of a man behind him. His muscles tensed, and his head quickly snapped to the source of the voice, if for no other reason than pure instinct. Clearly, life had been on the rough side for Faison, and he mentally sighed at the blatant indication of that fact. He longed for a time where he could relax and not constantly be on edge. Even on his ship, alone in the blackness of space, he found it hard to truly let his guard down. Was that normal?

It took mere moments for Faison to grimace at his glaring lack of decorum, if such a word even applied in a watering hole full of warriors. He gave the man an apologetic smile, easing his stance and realizing his left hand (which was visibly blocked by his own body from the perspective of the friendly stranger) had drifted suggestively close to one of his blasters at his side. He attempted to casually rest the hand on his lap instead as he swiveled in his barstool and raised his pint to the man, who identified himself as ' Vren Rook '. Howdy Vod? Faison pondered. One didn't hear that simple combination of words very often, as if to fuse two very different cultures into one simple greeting. Of course, he wasn't the authority on what was quintessentially Mandalorian either. Sure, he was raised in the Mandalorian way of life by his birth father, then by his step-father D'aryc. He knew the Resol'nare, and the skills & customs that made a boy into a man, and a man into a Mandalorian. He was one after all, that fact was undoubted. But he hadn't spent an abundance of time around those he would call his own people. D'aryc did make it a point to keep in touch with a few kinsmen of Clan Kelborn, and Faison kept in touch with many of his peers through that connection during his adolescence. Many of those young men and women formed the same company he served within. For the first time in his life, he felt a sense of belonging and comradery. Those years helped him to fully embrace the identity of what it meant to be a Mandalorian, rather than simply acting like one. Then the majority of them died. Those who didn't - well, he wasn't sure what became of them actually. Maybe he should fix that...

Tangents aside, it would be accurate to say that Faison's exposure to what was 'normal' socially among his people was limited. He had spent most of his life on Corellia, and his blood was equal amounts Corellian as it was Mandalorian. For all he knew, his accent and mannerisms would be just as glaringly distracting to this man as his was to Faison. Of course, Vren wouldn't notice anything at all if Faison didn't speak. He knew that wouldn't be a good start to his sojourn here. "Faison." He replied curtly, but not unfriendly. "Faison Kelborn." He repeated his slight, somewhat uncomfortable smile, and glanced at the glass in his hand. "It's... actually rather good. Maybe I've just been without a good drink for a while." He looked down at his armor as Vren commented on its clear signs of use, and arched an eyebrow, followed by a slight nod in agreement at his observation. That was why he came here, after all. If Vren knew someone that could get him a good deal, then why not push his comfort zone in an effort to be, surprisingly, friendly? This time, Faison's smile grew a bit more genuine as he nodded at Vren's offer to join his group for a few drinks. "Sure, why not?"

He had to admit, a part of him wondered what Vren's angle was. At first glance, the man appeared to be genuine, and jovial enough. But in Faison's experience, no favor ever came for free. There was quite a troublesome Toydarian mineral merchant on Malestare that taught him that valuable lesson in his time. But, given the atmosphere, Faison sensed the risk was fairly low. Worst case scenario, he would always get up and leave if something untoward was afoot. Best case scenario, maybe he would actually acquire something he probably needed more than armor - friends.

 

[Kale Onara]

Kale Onara removed his helmet to reveal a handsome and a surprisingly youthful looking face though his eyes showed his finely honed, battle hardened soul. The true soul of a Mandalorian warrior. He took a deep drink of his flagon as Thonn came up to the table. "Thonn! Slide that table over here vod and join us." The table they were sitting at was a bit small so they needed more room, but hey it was a celebration so no problem there. Always plenty of room for their fellows. Kale took a good drink from his flagon as Siv became quiet. Kale watched as Siv got up and left. The rather pensive look on his vod's face was concerning but in the end Kale figured that in the end everyone had a right to privacy and if Siv had something he wanted them to know about, he'd let them know. As he finished taking another drink, Vren nudged him and pointed out one of the warriors at the bar, "Yes indeed. And judging by that armor, he's no blue milk sop."

Kale watched Vren get up and ruffle Tawnita's hair like a kid. He figured she might be annoyed at having her hair ruffled and got a mischievous grin on his face. He waved both Thonn and Twanita close in, "Hey sister. I don't suppose you've got some funny and perhaps embarrassing stories you'd like to tell us about our old burc'ya while he's busy over there?"

 

[Thonn Rokkal]

It was the first he’d seen of Siv beneath his helmet. He’d no idea if this was a rare occurrence or not; it was the first he’d seen the man outside of any operation they’d embarked on together. Thonn was without helmet himself, never having donned it for the solstice. It was an active decision, and dressing down the battle attire just really helped it sink in that this place, here, had become home.

Siv had looked happy enough from afar, but there was something noticeably offputting about the smile once he drew closer. Thonn was about ready to ask before he stilled himself and did away with the urge. If he was wrong, it’d be awkward. If he was right and something was bothering him, well, he sure wasn’t good at sorting stuff like that out and then it’d be real awkward.

As he sat down and saw all at the table he recognized Vren there among them as well, another vode whom had fought by his side. Another who well deserved the round of celebratory drinks they shared for the occasion. Vren looked kind of off too, but Thonn had already had this sorta internal debate and remained committed to not asking about it, opting instead to down another swig of tihaar. He managed to keep a straight face throughout with a little effort.

Kale doffed his helmet, and it was the first he’d seen beneath that too. He’d always figured he was a bit older, by at least a decade more than he looked to be. Thonn was even younger himself, having yet to even hit thirty. At times, and given the risk’s he’d taken, it seemed a small miracle he made it this far. Though there was some surprise in Kale’s age, there was none whatsoever about his battle-worn look. He looked every bit the brave warrior Thonn had seen in battle without the mask.

“With great pleasure, Vode! And on great occasion!” He called out with exuberance, tikaar in hand. It looked a little crowded, but drinking with company was among his hopes in arriving in the first place. Thonn made his way over, pulling a seat over to a decent spot to join them before taking another swig of his drink. He too noted the man Vren had headed off to speak with, and he had to agree; the man looked no stranger to battle in the slightest.

At the gesture, Thonn leaned in; at the suggestion, he responded with a wide grin and a stifled chuckle from his lips.

“Hah, I hope you do. Preferably both. Or just the latter. C’mon, tell us somethin’ good?” He added, endorsing the request with an eager, mischievous grin to Twanita.

Vren Rook Tawnita Wren Siv Dragr Maex Bralor Kale Onara Nix Avyena

 

[The Quartermaster]

T H E
Q U A R T E R M A S T E R​

Objective: Guide
Tag: Talohn Atar | Leea Pandac | Zlova Rue | Vrun Ryssic

The next warrior that approached was no stranger; a Cathar veteran, Talohn Atar. The Mandalorian bowed his head, and the Quartermaster did the same in return. "I do," she repilied, not warm or cold. She could see the Twi'lek force user with obvious Sith markings next to him, but also the mythosaur pendant that hung around her neck. Rather than jump to accusations, she would wait for Talohn to explain his companions. She nodded her head towards Leea, and at last turned to look at the Twi'lek -- Zlova Rue -- directly. She heard him mention another, 'Monari,' but was more intent on hearing what this Zlova Rue would say. She could sense the sudden tension that had swept through the assembled Mandalorians at the sight of the Sith-looking Twi'lek, and prayed that Talohn hadn't done anything unwise by bringing her here.

She listened to Zlova's introduction. She did not claim to be Sith, but rather a member of the Confederacy's force sect. The Quartermaster did not know much of the Knights Obsidian beyond what was presented in the public eye, but she did know that there had been no Confederacy Knights above Mandalore on that terrible day. "Any warrior may join the Mando'ade, should they prove themselves with honor and courage," she stated, as much addressing the surrounding crowd of Mandalorians as the Twi'lek that stood in front of her. "It is our way. And if you never raised a blade against the Mando'ade, then there is nothing to apologize you for. Should Atar deem you worthy, you will be considered a full-blooded Mandalorian in the Enclave's eyes."

"The same is true for you, little one," she continued, turning to Pandac. "Not all Mandalorians are legendary warriors, though all Mandalorians must fight. Some of us are smiths. Craftsmen. Engineers. Artisans. All skills contribute towards the rebuilding of our culture and our legacy. I believe you will prove yourself worthy, the both of you," she concluded, bowing her head once more to them, before beckoning for the next to approach.

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[Romul Saxon]

V I G I L

Location: Nuna'a Memorial, Tor Valum
Tag: Jhira Mereel | Sergeant Omen | Ijaat Mereel

Romul looked down at the tiny sprite of a warrior, full of energy simmering beneath the somber surface. For a veteran like him, he'd learned to judge the character of a soldier that stood before him, and it had become a passive trait that he instinctively employed. The crest of Mereel was emblazoned on her armor, a crest he had not seen since the Seven Day's War. "Lake Htagir stands a dozen or so kilos west of the city," he replied. "Last I heard the waters were still being combed for unknown life forms. I would be wary of the lake's depths."

More Mandalorians had come and payed their respects. The paper lanterns that the Mereel had set down flickered brightly under the canopy of the Grulyr Cebatr tree. He spied several in the blue armor of the Si'kahya, and another who had the look of a Fett about him. And then there was the armor and face that few remembered, but those who did would never forget. The excesses of Mia Monroe and tyranny of Ra Vizsla flashed in Romul's mind as if he was back on Mandalore during the catacylsm.

Ijaat Mereel.

The infamous Mandalorian knelt at the tree, paying his respects. No one else seemed to recognize the man, not that they would; these were warriors whose blood was still green, who had been toddlers and infants during the era of Monroe and Vizsla. Saxon was one of the few left alive who remembered, but as his eyes narrowed he knew that Mereel would not know him. Saxon had just been a minor commander from a minor house, who'd fought to protect his home -- he'd only ever seen holos of the legendary Mereel, and he doubted that Ijaat would even know him. That was confirmed when Ijaat turned and nodded to the Mereel that stood beside him, but made no recognition of Saxon. That was good. He'd heard the Quartermaster make mention of Mereel's return in passing, but it seemed the Enclave had accepted him. If the Enclave had deemed him reptenant, then Saxon would seek no repayment for the blood that had been shed that day, though his heart still burned with a fire. "You know him?" He heard himself asking the young Mereel that stood beside him.
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[Jhira Mereel]

Mourn Together

POLITICAL REGION: CIS Space, The Enclave
LOCATION: Nuna'a Memorial, Tor Valum, Kestri
TAGS: [ Romul Saxon ] [ Sergeant Omen ] [ Ijaat Mereel ]

Jhira couldn’t help but wonder just what weapon the man-mountain would best wield upon the field of battle. With that breadth of shoulder, no weapon would be beyond him. Yet there was a leanness to him; he was not muscle bound. Neither stance nor build revealed a favored weapon to her, nor did his ornate Beskar’gam show signs of wear. Regarding her steadily, he answered her question not merely in detail, but also with critical information. Lake Htagir did not sound like a safe place to take her family. Jhira flashed a small smile, and looked away, trying to think.

The ebb and flow of mourners brought only strangers, until Omen’s distinctive amor appeared. Walking with care, holding a large jar, Jhira’s first thought was that he’d brought some of his own Tihaar to offer. Yet no; he cradled it too tenderly, and the words etched upon it seemed to wound him more bitterly than any sword. She looked away from his grief, lest the weight of her gaze disturb him.

And her gaze snagged upon the Clan Mereel badge.

Froze there. She meant to speak, truly. But she could only study that sigil, as if expecting it to evaporate away once more, and the thick red cloak to fall to the floor as though it had held an apparition, not a man. Slowly, her gaze took in the warrior behind the sigil. Complex, exquisitely formed armor; she could not even fathom how many times the metal of the yellowed pauldrons had been folded. Hundreds of times? Thousands? Etched, shaped, feathered to fit like a glove. Beskar’gam, in truth. Iron Skin. With care, with exquisite care Jhira memorized the white echoing, the glue frame of the visor, the precise olive of this armor.

The traditional blade was rendered alien, with the addition of a glittering jewel with deadly runes upon it. That, and the metal itself; nearly as rare as the mythosaur bone hilt. Maybe even more so. The sigil, the True Mandalorian’s sigil, centered the hilt. So many messages, in that one blade; Jhira could not decipher them all.

A quiet, grave nod the Mereel warrior offered to Jhira. He’d been tending to those mourning here. Tending properly; with a memory or story, whenever possible. Her fists clenched, with the effort of not bursting into intemperate speech; so many questions crowded her heart that, clouded her eyes, that she could not get a single one out.

The man mountain asked her a question, freeing her from frozen paralysis. Yet there was a tension there, and his gaze remained locked, predator-sharp upon the Mereel warrior.

“No, I do not,” she offered quietly. “but it seems we are kin.” A soft wonder lingered in the false-calm of the words. Looking between both warriors, she offered. “I am Jhira Mereel—” there was a pause, a flash of pain, before she continued on. “It’s an honor to meet you both.” Hungry for kin, for belonging, for settling once more into a world of Clans and families and kin on a thousand worlds, her curious, aching gaze danced between the two men.


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[Talohn Atar]

Talohn smiles widely as he watches Zlova and Leea speak to the quartermaster. For Zlova, he's unbelievably glad conflict didn't break out. For Leea, he's proud of her. Proud that she has the will to make this choice, and even prouder that she has the will to speak it aloud. She would be a good mandalorian someday. She had a lot to learn, but having willpower in spades was an excellent start. He seems satisfied with the Quartermaster's response as well. Though, he slightly knew this is how she would react. She was wise, and more than ready to accept any warrior that could help the mandalorian cause. Zlova was a potent force user, and could help them quite a bit if she was allowed amongst them. Not to mention Talohn just enjoyed being close to the lethan. She was a strong woman that didn't fear the judgement of others, and carved her own path. She was what his people called a muo dom riru'a, and people like that didn't come along very often. It made sense that Talohn had such interest in her. The personality traits she had were highly respected in his culture.

When she says that they would be deemed full blooded mandalorians in the enclave's eyes if Talohn deemed them worthy, Talohn nods. "More than worthy, wouldn't have brought them here otherwise. Zlova here is as tenacious as she is beautiful." He then steps up between Zlova and Leea once more, playfully ruffling Leea's hair. "Leea here needs some work on the combat front, but in my opinion, she's one of the best pilots around. She can maneuver the corvette I drive like it's a regular starfighter." He chuckles. Zlova gets a wink. "Your introduction was thrilling. Everything with you has to be an adventure doesn't it?" He states teasingly.

Now his attention goes to the quartermaster. "Speaking of adventure. When we fought those pirates a little ways back to make that food supply deal." He digs around in his satchel for a few moments before pulling out the rusty old handle that was being used as a lever for the power supply. "I ran some tests, the metal is too rusted to tell at a glance but.....this is beskar. For sure. When I found it...it uh..." He scratches the back of his neck, unsure of how to place his words. "It spoke to me, pleaded with me to be taken." Even as Talohn holds it, the faint glow of a crystal can be seen inside through the rust, dimming in and out like a barely living heartbeat. "It's made from beskar...so I was wondering if you'd know anything? Cause this is no normal blade handle. I can tell that much."

The Quartermaster Zlova Rue Leea Pandac

 

[Ijaat Mereel]

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The two off to his left spoke, partly in reference to him, partly to themselves. The way the younger looked over to him had caught his attention, and he smiled under the visor of his buc'ye. She was likely distant kin, and too young to remember their glory before the fall. The fortress on Concord Dawn that Ijaat barely ever stepped foot in as A'lor. And many here wore hand-me-down armor, still glorious, but a step in a different direction than what he wore. The smiths of the Enclave were learning, fast. Most of the diaspora was. But few would be to the level of the gar'buir, thoughr their Quartermaster and some of her disciples were as good or better.

Offering a nod again to Jhira, he reached up to remove his helmet. Some thought removing it was some sort of bad juju. In his small part of the greater Clan, his father had taught it was a sign of peace, and intention of goodwill. Keeping his hands from weapons, as he had sensed a tension within the Saxon warrior that he would be wise to respect and pay due to.

Bowing his head to both, he tucked his helmet into his side in the crook of his elbow and smiled.

"We are definitely kin, if that is your name. I was once A'lor of the Clan, and am glad to see our family is not only old fogies and has-beens. My name is Ijaat Mereel, and I'm pleased to meet you both."

His eyes lingered on the younger woman for a moment, not unkindly or in a challenge, but almost in relief. And his words were heavy and slow as he spoke this next time, though what from was only as he finished his sentence.

"Truly, I thought I might have been the last after what I did. I am glad that is not so."

Romul Saxon | Jhira Mereel

 

[Zlova Rue]

When Leea spoke, Zlova was silent and still so that the other woman could speak her mind. Even if the Mirialan had some trouble expressing her thought or 'worth' aloud. The Sith didn't believe in coddling people. Leea would say her peace and it would either be enough or it would not. Though, Leea was part of Zlova's party so if the Quartermaster tried being a smarmy ass -- unlikely as that'd be -- the Twi'lek would step in to correct so abuse. Everyone needed to learn certain lessons on their own, but that didn't mean they always needed to be beaten when they were already down.

As for the Quartermaster's reply to Zlova... Honor. Courage. Sure, she had courage. Decent track record regarding honor. Not that the Lethan to account was being held to account for such things. These were the sorts of things you said to everyone in ear shot. The warm and fuzzy 'I say this so it must be true' verbal recruitment poster.

Then there was the one little consideration the other woman wanted to hold Zlova to account for -- just in case. Had she ever raised a blade against the Mando'ade. Hell of a question. Had the Quartermaster ever killed a Corellian? Did she stop and ask every pale face she met? And don't even try arguing wearing a bucket head counted. There were plenty of fakes out there. "I was not part of any campaign against the Mando'ade," Zlova replied truthfully. Whether she had ever killed one of their membership in her entire life... she'd kill a lot of people. Few of whom she truly remembered or at least regretted.

Then with some words for Leea and the pair together, the Quartermaster bid them farewell. A surprisingly simple exchange not demanding any sort of overly elaborate demonstration or swearing of oaths. Probably went back to the whole 'honor' thing. Prove to be a traitorous Sith and they'd throw you out. Eh, fair enough. So, the Lethan gave the Quartermaster a nod in return. A bow of equal measure, but not more. Zlova could be polite, but she wouldn't show subservience.

"Life isn't worth living if you don't live it to the fullest," Zlova replied to Talohn's tease. A smile spread over her lips immediately afterward. Not that the Twi'lek had sought to goad anyone into violence here. Just hadn't seen any point pretending to be a demur little Sith just to fit in -- they wouldn't have believed it anyway. She was an expert at blending in, but performances only worked when the audience was receptive.

A thin brow lifted when Talohn presented a 'lever' of beskar to the Quartermaster for inspection. Was there a glow coming from it as well? It took a little effort to bite her tongue and keep her hands still. How the Twi'lek wanted to snatch it away for inspection; but he'd presented it to the Quartermaster and Zlova had just managed to not piss her off. Be a shame if the red woman snatched something out of her grasp already.

Well, while they spoke, Zlova turned to regard the green woman nearby. "Greatness and exemplary renown only come in time through hard work; and sometimes they come whether you wish them or not. Seems you've taken another step on along the road today, Leea. Where it leads only you decide, and it need not be as a warrior," as the Quartermaster had said. "Do not rush in blindly like a crazed Sith, but don't dawdle like an indecisive Jedi either."

Talohn Atar | The Quartermaster | Leea Pandac

 

[Tae'l Vizsla]

Tag: [OPEN] Ijaat Mereel | Jhira Mereel | Romul Saxon |

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Kestri. It was kind of like the Vizsla outpost on Roon but... Better? Certainly livelier. She saw children playing, Lively markets and warriors from dozens of clans on her way to the Nuna'a memorial. It was... Happy here. She should feel happy here...

Slipping through the crowd and into the doorway, The young Twi'lek approached the old tree in the center. She was clad in armor of course, Mixed between beskar and carbon-durasteel plates. It seemed high time to use that beskar she had liberated from the New Imperial Order, But this small ceremony took precedence.

Her helmet, A night owl pattern helm marked by blackened handprint on her forehead, Remained on as befit a student of the Old Way As her short time in Death Watch had made her.
Instead of the jagged shriek hawk however, Her affiliations were denoted by the Grey and white color scheme of her armor, Emblazoned with the bright red cherry flowers of the House Vizsla branch painted on her shoulder and breastplate. It seemed that, Despite being a student of the old ways, She was of the newest generation in House Vizsla, Distanced from the ancient wars against Clan Mareel or the controversies of Ronan Vizsla's reign.

She even gave a polite nod to the two Mareels as she passed, Finally reaching the great tree.

The short twi'lek would stand in quiet reverence to this monument for a time, Dwarfed by the towering Saxon behind her, And for just a moment, Her own loss seemingly dwarfed by that of every mandalorian here... Flowers, Knives, Pieces of armor and other offerings or items once belonging to the fallen seemed to litter the base of the tree.


She knelt on both knees at the base of the tree, Reciting her short prayer while removing a sheathed knife from her belt.
<"Echoy'la al va digur. Ni taylir ner srusla">

Spoiler: Translation

"Lost but not forgotten. I will keep my promise"

The knife itself was simple, But sleek. A kal carried by the crusaders of Death Watch in their short but proud if not overzealous careers. She was no elder of course, But Tayl had been schooled by elders through and through. From Stardust Solus Skirae herself to the veterans of the crusade, She had been taught the old ways and traditions of her people since she first emerged from the water, And knew to make the appropriate offerings here.

She held the Kal in both hands, Gently placing it at the base of the tree before an unlit candle, Which she lit with the tiny candle-flame of her primed flame-thrower.

<"I'm sorry, Aloy. I hope we meet again when the time is right">

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[Madlad]

Today, Madlad was stuck with babysitting. Typically, the droid would be cranky about this. This case was only different because Madlad much preferred babysitting over getting dragged to whatever formal introduction party Talohn and his companions went to. Not to mention it was with Monari, the only child it would ever tolerate babysitting in the first place. Currently, the droid had no weapons on it other than the HP-001 pistol at it's side. Talohn had a rule about not carrying anything more following an incident that had half a year's salary in terms of damage costs. Other than the pistol in a leather holster at it's side, it also wore a tattered white cloak about it's shoulders, matching it's white and orange paint job.

Monari, the strange little half cathar half mon calamari, scurried about from shop to shop in front of the droid, always making sure to stay within the droid's vison. In turn, the droid always kept her in it's own vision, prepared to wring the life out of anyone or anything that dared to change this fact. Most seemed to give the droid a wide berth anyways. Despite having no presence spiritually, the way it walked and paced about oozed eeriness and hostility, like some sort of possessed droid from hell. Talohn did have a reputation amongst the enclave. The cathar was far from a superstar, but he and Madlad were a recognizable sight. While Talohn was known and praised for his skill and wits, Madlad was infamous for it's unpredictability and brutality that struck fear into any unfortunate enough to deal with it.

It was at that moment that Monari pointed at some sort of conflict happening at a space vehicle dealership. "It's getting fiery over there!" She giggles. Madlad stops, it's heads craning as it's single lens scans where the child was pointing. A mandalorian and....A familiar face. Madlad could not remember meeting her directly, however, it remembers her face from security footage at the entrance of the ship. A friend of Talohn, it would seem. The droid vocalized a sigh as it's hearing systems singled out the conversation. "Come, Monari. It seems a friend of your father requires aid."

Suddenly, the mandalorian blocking Mia's purchase would hear metal footsteps. Then, behind Mia, a thin yet towering droid emerges from the ground. it stood at 6'2, it's metal the intimidating sheen of beskar. Whether he recognized it as the infamous Madlad or not, it was an intimidating sight. Stepping up beside Mia, it leans down to be face level with the store employee, the lens of it's normally yellow eye suddenly changing to a dark red. "is there a problem with her purchase?" It states, that dark voice only adding to the terrible aura that surrounded it.

Mia Mereel

 

[Mia Mereel]

POLITICAL REGION: CIS SPACE, The Enclave
LOCATION: Nuna'a Memorial, Tor Valum, Kestri
TAGS: [ OPEN ] [ Madlad ] [ Monari ]

Mid tirade, Mia froze as heavy, metal footsteps and a creepy, terrible feeling swept over her. The smell of high-grade machine oil and explosives reached her, even before she turned to face the towering, yellow-eyed droid. Garish orange and white paint, a tattered white cloak and a single pistol did not manage in any way to hide the sheer, lethal violence of the thing. That he had a child in toe was utterly surreal. Beyond comprehension.

Make and model were utterly unfamiliar; if pressed, Mia would guess some sort of custom assassin Droid. Only… also a Nurse Droid. Delighted awe flashed through her. What a perfectly Mandalorian combination! The awe didn’t quite banish her fear, but she offered him a bright grin, anyway.

Then the droid’s yellow eyes turned to red, and Mia took a step back. The way MadLad leaned into the vendor made her want to cheer; she didn’t, though. It would have ruined the effect. Maybe. A little?

Maybe she just wasn’t quite ready for the Droid’s full attention.

Leaving the droid to intimidate the vendor, Mia grinned at the little moppet, murmuring quietly, “Hi there. I’m Mia. Your friend is kind of awesome, isn’t he?”

The vendor stiffened, as that looming visage floated before his gaze. Who was this crazy, wild child, that House Verd spoke for her? That this unnatural droid would care? Yet he had a duty; to his own sense of honor, if nothing else. He may not be a warrior, but he was still Mandalorian!

“If House Verd wishes to counter sign for this, than there is no difficulty with the purchase.” though his voice trembled, his knees held, and he managed to take only one slow, careful step back. Hesitantly, as if expecting to have his neck snapped, he offered the data pad for the droid to sign.

House Verd.

OH.

That droid!

 

[Leea Pandac]

Objective: A Crimson Dawn

The green-skinned near-human waited in silent trepidation, she perceived a great deal of value in this one moment. Perhaps it was short-sightedness or overeagerness, there was no knowing for certain, Leea imagined that this was her one shot, her one chance at entering the Mandalorians to continue working alongside Talohn. She had assumed that she would continue to be a pilot, but to fail to be accepted by the leader of the clan... that seemed like a rift that would remain indefinitely and place a barrier before any further fieldwork. Travelling the galaxy was something she enjoyed and hoped to never truly stop; but to be trapped or in some way prevented from going down to planets and partaking in the varied and impressive experiences her Cathar employer often discovered, that was too much. Zlova seemed to have a confidence and surety about herself. Leea couldn't imagine that the Mandalorians would turn down one so well versed in combat and proven many times over. But she had little proof of her own abilities, and that left her decidedly uncertain.

Yet, she was not long in waiting. She had been given the leader's blessing, after a fashion. Leea hardly suppressed a grin of delight as the Quartermaster spoke. This was as close to an official acceptance she needed, and the Mirialan was prepared to capitalize on her new association when necessary and possible. "Thank you very much. I will try not to disappoint."

Leea moved with a half-hearted bow, uncertain on the exact etiquette in this particular scenario. She turned to Zlova, although keeping an ear listening to the conversation about this strange piece of beskar. It wasn't exactly her area of interest or expertise, but Leea imagined that this might be an important thing to learn about. However, Zlova statements soon had her full attention. "Thanks Zlova. I hope I'll live up to the expectation... What is your hope for this path?" She was curious. As a Sith, not to mention a member of the Confederacy already, she could probably have chosen to spend time with Talohn anyways. This particular decision seemed strange.

Talohn Atar Zlova Rue The Quartermaster

 

[Kranak Vizsla]

Celebration, Rest and Recuperation

Location: Kestri, Tor Valum
Local Time: 10:26
Date: -DATA CORRUPTED-
Primary Objective: Get Some Rest and Recuperation For a Day
Secondary Objective: N/A
Equipment: Loadout 1 + Goran’s Stand (Medical Backpack, Paranaor Blaster Rifle and Scatter Gun left behind in his gunship)
Tags: Siv Dragr | Open to others as well!

With a distant, gentle whine of her engines, an old Mandalorian Union pattern M-30S Krayt Gunship -now painted jetblack with no distinctive markings on the gunship- slowly descended on one of the unoccupied hangars of the city’s space port with her landing gears lowered. Dust kicked off from the ground as the large gunship started her descent towards the hangar. The gunship landed and came to a halt a mere moment later with a tender judder, as her landing gears pressed on the ground underneath. The gunship’s engines shutdown a few moments after landing. The sharp whirring and whining of her engines grew deeper and lost its intensity with each passing second, until the hangar fell into silence.

Spoiler: Music

The large rear ramp of the gunship lowered, accompanied with the sharp hiss of her hydraulics. The dim white lights illuminating the cargo hold revealed an armored, tall, muscular human silhouette standing at the ramp’s opening. The silhouette’s glowing white visor depicted the features of a human skull, accompanied with the dim white lights that gave him an unintentional eerie look.

Upon exiting his gunship, the giant silhouette’s features became much clearer from the sunlight casting into the hangar port. The giant wore a full set of beskar’gam painted jetblack, save for his right shoulder pad painted white, with his clan’s symbol stenciled on it; the red flowered branch, indicating he was a part of Clan Vizsla.

A sheathed greatsword rested on the Mandalorian’s left pistol pouch atop his kama. The kama was torn into shreds from multiple angles, either torn by sharp claws or shredded from shrapnel. The Mandalorian’s gam was in no better condition, either. His beskar’gam’s paint job was weathered from sustained combat, with multiple scorch marks, dents of various sizes and claw scratches, mostly concentrated on his chest plate. At some parts, the latter had scraped the paint job completely, revealing the glistening beskar underneath. His boots, the bottom parts of his torn kama, parts of his web-gear and magazine pouches, as well as the flightsuit the giant wore underneath his beskar’gam was caked with dirt and dried blood.

The giant walked down the ramp slowly, looking upwards with his gaze fixed upon the spires piercing the sky. Seeing them from the ground was something else. It made him feel small, which was a feeling he wasn’t really used to. He wasn’t expecting the city to be rebuilt in such a short time. The grandeur of the reborn city of Tor Valum, like a phoenix reborn from its ashes, baffled Kranak. It looked astonishing from afar, through the cockpit viewport of his gunship, but it was even more beautiful from up close, and he hadn’t even left the Space Port yet.

The ramp behind him was automatically lifted upwards shortly after the Mandalorian walked out of the ship, sealed and locked with a series of hisses and mechanical clicks. Kranak stood there for a second, lost in thought; reminiscing about the battle waged for the city.

The last time the giant Supercommando saw the city was through a blaster’s scope. It was completely in ruins. The city’s infrastructure was in heavy disrepair, with the streets laid to utter waste with rubble and debris -sometimes piling up enough to make hillocks- littering the sidewalks and the roads. The derelict buildings were left to rot, their owners long gone. The city’s only inhabitants were the Vong invaders at that time. But that was months ago.

They -a small task force of Mando’ade- had managed to purify the city with fire and blaster bolts from them. Left leaderless with their Worldship destroyed, the remaining Vong forces broke easily and were routed out of the city. The fighting was somewhat fierce, as the Vong did put up a decent fight against the strike teams, but their resistance proved to be insufficient against the Mandalorians that inevitably reclaimed the city. The Supercommando’s left eye twitched, somewhat bitterly from the memory of the battle; with a wry on his face. He was caught in the fatality radius of the bomb that blew up the Vong Worldship to smithereens, resulting in his subsequent incapacitation. His armor had taken the brunt of it, but the blast had shattered his visor, sending tempered glass shards into his face and left eye.

The lively sounds of the city snapped him out from reminiscing about the past. The high definition sound sensors installed inside his helmet had amplified and filtered them out from the unpleasantly loud noises of other ships taking off from the city’s space port or landing. Coming back to his senses, Kranak walked towards the hallway leading to the space port’s terminal with a quick pace. He was here to get some rest and repair his armor, but above all, he had come here to celebrate The Enclave’s anniversary with his fellow vode.

He didn’t have much time to waste by idly standing around. He was on leave and was expected to return the day after, straight back to the Mandalorian Covenant headquarters in Dxun. There was no telling what the Bryn’adûl would be up to next. The Covenant was on high alert. He had just gotten a leave after months of conflict, defending Concord territory from the Bryn onslaught. He hadn’t had the time to maintain his armor until now, like the rest of his vode he fought shoulder to shoulder with for the past three months, after the Battle for Sev Tok.

Spoiler: Music

The giant walked with long strides in the city, trying to take it all in, while trying to find the nearest bar or tavern to get a pint or two of ne’tra gal. The Supercommando rarely drank, only on special occasions such as this.

The city looked to be in a much better state than he thought it would be. The war torn city he saw months ago from a warrior’s perspective had left its place to… magnificence. Though that magnificence was largely owed to its new inhabitants. It may not have been as crowded as some of the cities he had seen in his lifetime, -which certainly was a good thing, the air here was so clean- but it was almost equally teeming with life. The Mando’ade clad in their armor with varying color schemes in the streets were engaged in different activities, all of them seemingly enjoying life after enduring hardships worth two lifetimes, maybe more. But what seemed surreal the most to the giant was the patter of tiny feet in the streets. The Foundlings. They were running around, playing games together. They were living their childhood. While their bajur would certainly be the same as the one the giant -and rest of those that were a part of his generation- had received when he was little, the circumstances of his generation were much, much different at the time.

Most Mando’ade like him of his generation were robbed of this joy. They were all born into an era of despair and constant warfare against those that seeked to erase the Mando’ade and Manda’yaim from the pages of history. Being a Mandalorian was already hard, but the destruction unleashed on the Mando’ade made it harder with each passing day. The joy they had learned to love was battle. Praising one another for their marksmanship after confirmed kills, boasting about their kill counts of the day, all the while taking revenge against those who intended to destroy them. Looking back at it now at the sight of the new generation, it all seemed bleak for the giant. Those were joyful moments indeed, but it all paled in comparison to this. This was pure. Uncorrupt by war and despair.

Feeling weak all of a sudden from the overwhelming emotions, all the while trying his best not to show them, the giant swiftly moved towards a nearby wall as he parted the crowd around him and leaned his back against it, unable to break his gaze from the foundlings. His chest rose and fell with each breath he drew; his arms crossed over his chest. He tried to contain himself but couldn’t, to an extent. Crying silently, tears ran slowly down his cheeks, behind the glowing white visor shrouding his face. The giant stood there for several minutes, watching the children play, losing himself in thought in the process.

<”Parjai.”> The giant muttered to himself. They’ve done it. The Mando’ade not only survived the worst the galaxy threw at them, but are rebuilding now. They were no longer under an existential threat by an enemy hell bent on erasing the Mando’ade. They’ve outlasted their enemy. They paid a heavy price for it nonetheless. Many gave their lives in battle to try and provide a future for their children, for the next generations to come. If only they could see this city and what’s to come, now.

But he knew full well now was the time to be even stronger than before. They had to protect this. They would have to give their lives if need be, just like the vode that came before them. Now was not the time to lay down one’s guard. While the giant didn’t doubt for a second that the Mando’ade can survive anything the galaxy could possibly throw at them now for even a moment, they had to be prepared for the next foe that threatened their existence in the galaxy.

He couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the little ones having fun. The Mandalorian felt renewed after that moment; filled with energy -and most importantly, filled with hope- once more. The giant swiftly stood up straight after feeling better, and continued his stride deeper into the city. He felt he needed that drink more than ever now.

The crowd of Mandalorians in the streets grew as the Supercommando walked further into the city of Tor Valum. He still wasn’t exactly sure at what part of the city he was in, but judging from his surroundings, Kranak guessed he was about to enter the city’s marketplace. There were a number of shops and stalls set up at both sides of the street, with their vendors selling various goods, from trivial things to master crafted weapons and gear. He gave a glance at some of the stalls as he passed by. A couple of weapon attachments had caught his eye. The giant continued on as he made a mental note of the whereabouts of the stalls and the vendors he was interested in with their wares. A long range precision scope installed on a new, modernized NT-242 had particularly caught his eye. He could use a new scope for his own NT-242.

A bright light bedazzled the giant while he continued browsing the wares of other vendors as he continued his stroll. It shone off a bright, metallic surface into his visor. It was not at all blinding, but it was just enough to attract his attention to the source of the glare. He turned his gaze from the stall in front of him and towards the source of the glare, looking over the crowd easily thanks to his stature. It was a fellow vod of almost equal stature compared to the giant; the sunlight was glaring from his buy’ce made of pure beskar, as well as from the spear he held. But the fellow warrior seemed familiar to the Supercommando. He had seen him before, but was not sure who exactly he was.

Deciding to see who it is, the giant Supercommando gently parted the crowd of fellow Mandalorians walking the street around him as he made his way towards the familiar vod. He could see better as he got closer. The Mandalorian was facing away from him, with his cloak covering his back, making it a little harder for the Supercommando to accurately identify him, but his helmet’s heads-up display helped him identify the fellow Vod.

It was none other than Siv Dragr himself! Kranak remembered Siv was a part of the task force that fought for this city. He and the Supercommando were assigned to different squads that undertook varying missions during the conflict, so they weren’t in the same fireteam. But he did remember seeing him and chatting with him a little before the mission briefing.

<“Su cuy’gar, vod.”> The giant greeted him as soon as he was within earshot distance. He would continue to speak when Siv turned around to face him.<“Haven’t seen you after the battle for Tor Valum. How have you been, vod?”> Asked the giant, his arms crossed over his chestplate; his friendly smile was shrouded underneath his helmet's faceplate.