Faction The Alor'ultai | M A N D A L O R I A N S

[Baal Varad]

MOUNT EFREETI

​

Meraxis, one of the kitchen staff for Clan Vereen, had his feet up on an ottoman as he shoveled turkey into his mouth. Fresh from Dantooine. Absolute bliss to his mouth, if only he could fit more in. Perhaps unhinge his jaw and just wrap it around this juicy, cooked, oiled turkey drum. He looked at the comms to his left from his seated position, observing a holocreen. The frequency, the data had been scrambled for a majority of the week. As far as they understood it, there were "brown outs" happening in the North. The power grid was pretty unstable with the loss of several reactors back into the hands of resurgent Graug and raider control. For Meraxis, though. This was a lazy night. A night in. There were too many defenses her in this stronghold, and Clan Vereen - who currently held the northern border road to Sundari - didn't expect any threats. Still, though, they were forced to stay behind their tall walls. They just didn't have the number to take on the Graug or the pirates right now.

The holoscreen fizzled, static.

"-RIEST.

SKIRATA.

VIZSLA.

CHORN.

RODARCH.

SPAR.

ELDAR.

SAXON."

A robotic voice was rattling off names. Meraxis's hand began smacking the right side of his boom tube. "Damned tech."

"PRIEST.

SKIRATA.

VIZSLA.

CHORN.

RODARCH.

SPAR.

ELDAR.

SAXON."

Meraxis tapped his commlink, directing it to the gate guards down at Central. "Hey, flip on the tube, are y-... yeah. Just repeating all the known Clans on Mand'oa, yeah. Keeps cycling? How long has it been going fo...oh okay. Wait." The chanting stopped for a second, though an image of an unremarkable face was attempting to push through the static of the video. It looked very robotic in nature, but was holding still, silent, the chanting had stopped. Blue pixels on the screen sat motionless, flickering occasionally as the sound of static permeating the otherwise empty room Meraxis sat in. He slid his bowl of food to the right, attempting to change channel. They were all like this. All stuck. All invaded by some rogue droid, it looked like. Some malicious netrunner, some hacker. Meraxis slapped the side of the tube again, and almost on cue, the voice began again with a different tune.

ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. AALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.LOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA. ALOR. KA'RA.

Meraxis sat mortified. The almost gregorian chanting was haunting. It wasn't just one voice, it was a choir. Almost singing it in a tenor's voice. Alor Ka'ra? Ka'ras were... not really a thing anymore. If it was what Meraxis was thinking anyways. Was this the Graug again? They'd never done anything like this, or demonstrate the capability to do it. Had to be raiders. Had to be some sort of propaganda, attempting to use their Mandalorian culture against us. It wouldn't work... His commlink rang. The young Vereen answered it immediately. "Yeah. Channel 8020.9?" Meraxis hastily flipped the channel. "Yeah, I see it. Looks like grid points. Yeah. Right. Yeah it's coming out to .... Mount Efreeti. Huh. Weird. Yeah

Hanging up his commlink, he immediately dialed his supervisor. Or tried, at least. He was immediately sent to holomail, a busy signal.

---

At Mount Arreat, Baal's gauntlet clasped around his communication's tech's shoulder. "They'll be here before long. Continue to send the location, continue to summon the Alors." Looking out a the horizon, Baal crossed his arms.

"It is time the Alor Council met."​

 

[Raona Cadera]

​

The Kharn Segara dropped out of hyperspace above Mandalore and slowly made its way down to the surface. Raona stood on the bridge of the old light cruiser and watched as the dagger-shaped vessel cut through the cloud cover over the old fort. Mount Efreeti. She'd thought about making the location her base of operations during the early days of her rebellion against the Mandalorian Imperials, but something had drawn her to the old city ruins of Keldabe instead. She wasn't sure if the Mount Efreeti would have been the right move for her then. A single location where her and her rebels congregated was bound to be turned into a mound of trinitite, like the white deserts of Sundari were now.

With the rapid coming of a new Mand'alor she'd thought the planet in good hands and had taken her small fleet; her single Imperial light cruiser, some Imperial transports, and a handful of Mandalorian fighters - and set out to wipe the remaining Imperial influence from the sector. Now she wondered if leaving her home to the Great Butcher and her accomplice had been a good idea.

She was one of the first to arrive. The message she'd seen had called for Alor, of which she was definitely not. But the old man Gilamar had given the clan to was content with roaming the stars and playing at merchant. She thought her quest would have been to bring honor back to the Cadera name after the collapse of the Mandalorian Empire, but it seemed she would be pulling double duty. She looked around, her black visor obscuring her emotions.

"Are you the one who set that call?" she asked, the T of her visor squarely locked onto black and gold-clad Mandalorian. She nodded to the two Mandalorians that had come with her and they departed back the way they had come.

 

[Arla Rodarch]

Mandalore
Mount Efreeti

​

The newest Alor of Clan Rodarch recieved the message without comment. She was young to be elected as clan chieftain, but she was capable. Tuur Rodarch decided to attend the gathering, and see the call of Clan Varad.

Traveling by swoop bike across the desert sands, with only her companion, some would say pet, Whoopsie, named Mirax, for company, the young woman pondered the call. She avoided predators where she could, stopping twice to let Mirax feed on Graug and other nasties. Tuur was of the desert, and was content to chew local leaves and dried berries from a pouch. The heat didn't bother her either, not even under the noonday sun.

Tuur arrived at Mount Efreeti, where she hadn't been before, and took in the landscape. It was different, but it was Manda'yaim. Their people's spirit was strong here, as it was many places on the ancient home world.

The caller had named eight clans, and she was here as the new representative of one of them, Rodarch. Tuur had only recently succeeded her buir, Archimedes, who had died on the Tion mission, striking at the heart of the Sith Kainate, the Malsheem superweapon itself.

Proudly displaying the panther sigil of her house and clan, Tuur removed her helmet to expose her dark skin and darker hair, cut short in the fashion of one who wore a helmet often. Her face was stern, as she was already a hardened survivor of battle, and of the wasteland. Such that her clan had asked her to lead when her buir had fallen. She would not let them down.

"I am Tuur of Clan Rodarch." the young woman said to the others present, by way of greeting. She was young for them to have heard of her, and she didn't know them from the big battle at Sundari. Mirax walked happily beside her mistress's boots, making her noises, but mutedly, as if trying to behave herself.

Raona Cadera Baal Varad

 

[Preliat Mantis]

Breathe, breathe anew.

His head turned when it activated.

The Alor Council.

What a time to be alive.

Preliat turned his head back to the stars, the unending wave of darkness superseded with lights of stars beyond reach. And pulled the throttle forward. He wasn't an Alor, no. But he was above all else, curious.

 

[Gi’Yarr Shale]

|| ODYSSEY ||

~all the roads lead to Him~

OBJECTIVE: answer the call
TAG: Arla Rodarch | Baal Varad | Preliat Mantis | Raona Cadera ​

MOUNT EFREETI

ALOR KA’RA. ALOR KA’RA. ALOR KA’RA ALOR KA’RA. ALOR KA’RA. The frightening chanting broadcasted through Clan Shale’s Alor communication device, that has since been shut down, still rings oppressively in my ears, devotedly accompanying throughout the process of God’s Grief landing on the planet’s rugged surface.

ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. I’ve only been Alor for mere months, left a crumbling clan by a father who drove me to exile in what feels like a lifetime ago. Clan Shale has been left wandering across the galaxy after we lost our influence in Rishi Enclave and the Mandalorian Enclave politics. The call to Mount Efreeti was the first of a long list of challenges Clan Shale would have to face in the coming years. It felt wrong, smelled like a trap, sounded like a nightmare. Yet the message had managed to spill out to the rest of the crew. Mentally exhausted and morally dwindling, they call for the voyage to make a stop in what could be a fruitful discovery. High risk, high reward, they say.

ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. The walk to the mountain was almost as nightmarish as the caller’s chanting. In what can only be explained as a dust storm, I recounted all the decisions I’ve taken that drove me to this exact position today. In the climb up the mountain I tried to assure myself that this is just a start to something wonderful.

ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. By the time I reached the exact coordinate point, I have subconsciously recited the chants in my head, over and over. Beyond the insanity are three figures, two normal-looking Mando’ade, the other dressed so barbarous, even more than members of some wild clans in Vlemoth Port.

That must be the one who made the call.

My eyes traveled to scan the two Mando’ade. I would’ve guessed that they are Alors of the so-called big clans the barbarian called for. Or maybe, they are just like us. Desperate clans seeking salvation in the unknown.

My gaze then shifted to the barbarian, studying his gestures, wondering how his call had captivated Mando’ade from all over the galaxy. Including us.

“Alor Gi’Yarr, Clan Shale.”

Maybe deep down we all are desperate for a saviour.​

 

[Baal Varad]

​

​

"I am Tuur of Clan Rodarch." the young woman said to the others present,

Baal was crouched on the ground, his feathered helmet placed close by, He was not in his usual adornment of spiked armor - the Mandalorian was rather unshielded, unguarded, though nearly thirty soldiers branded with the emblems of the One Eyed Demon King stood behind him. His escort, for sure. The soldiers carried an assortment of blasters and weaponry, looking ready for battle, carrying well the name of the tribalistic barbarians they were - Clan Varad. Baal's eyes were to the soft sand beneath their feet at the base of Mount Efreeti, his hands rummaging through the sand and dirt, letting it fall beneath his fingers. He was not feigning disinterest. He was not wearing an all knowing smile. He seemed meditative, solemn, intent. His mind moved with purpose as his body offered the growing gathering no threat, crouched down, kneeling. Something the Mandalorians were not bereft to do - many Council gatherings spawned utterances of "We do not kneel". Clan Vereen, specifically, was known by those words. Yet the Cannibal offered no such ego, no such pride, no such disdain towards his colleagues. Baal remained slow, still, defenseless yet threatening all the same.

A transmitter droid, nearby, was echoing the same call of a few other transmitters scattered among the Varadian camp. "Alor Ka'ra." It was a name that invoked the meeting of the gods, but it was interpreted differently throughout the various cultures of Mand'oa. Alor Ka'ra. A meeting of the Great Clans. A meeting of their Chiefdoms. A meeting of the strongest powers Manda'yaim employed at her defense. Many had knowledge of Clan Varad's barbaric ways - the Old Ways, traditions that preempted even the Taung's arrival millenia ago. Alor Ka'ra. It was a meeting adorned by the Gods. It was a rarity, because only an Alor could call for an Alor Ka'ra. No Varadian in memory had ever called for one. They were known to be recluses among the various tribes of Mandalore.

Black eyes shifted from his crouched position to this "Tuur" of Clan Rodarch. Even the other Alors would be stranger to Baal. He had been in the North. He had not been down to Sundari since his birth. Clan Varad were recluses. It was known. "Tuur," Baal quietly responded. His black eyes shifted across the others joining the council, and to the distance as other troupes, battalions, and envoys left the Black Gates and other locations to head in the direction of the transmission.

"Where is Ijaat?" Baal dripped some sand on the ground, his eyes shifting back down. Docile. Submissive. Pliant. Lies. His voice seemed to sing the words, as many in attendance knew the answer already. "I would have words with our Sole Ruler."

The chanting did not stop as Baal spoke. One's ears would have to adjust to the transmission as Baal sat crouched, playing with sand, the deepened choir, almost demonic chanting continued.

ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA.

 

[Arla Rodarch]

"Alor." Tuur nodded her head and lowered her eyes in greeting to the chieftain of Clan Shale.

"Whoopsie!" said Mirax in her appealing little voice, the only sound she was capable of making. She sounded happy, but Tuur knew her companion was not. The young Alor suspected her friend was far more intelligent than she let on. The question of Ijaat's whereabouts posed by this wild looking Mando'ad from a Clan not known to play well with others was crude, but to the point. Mirax wandered off, while Tuur appraised the wild man of Varad carefully.

Current affairs and local gossip being what they were, people in Keldabe and Rodarch Yaim had talked of nothing but the Mand'alor's disappearance since the news had been made public. Tuur was surprised that even out this far people didn't have comlinks and HoloNET, but she supposed some people just didn't care what happened where they were not.

"Ijaat Mereel is no longer among the living." Tuur said, somewhat of an imprecise definition, but the tale of the Mand'alor disappearing into thin air under the noses of his own personal security forces wasn't a palatable one. It was simpler and easier just to paraphrase. The result was the same. Dead or gone, he wasn't coming back. There was no Sole Ruler.

Baal Varad Raona Cadera Gi’Yarr Shale Preliat Mantis

 

[Mia Monroe]

The chanting reverberated through her buy'ce, setting her skin rippling with goosebumps. It stirred something primal awake within her as she approached, her heart hammering in her chest with anticipation. He was far taller than when she had last seen him, a head and shoulders if not more above her. When had she last seen him? Before the war?

Had she ever been this close to him?

The former Mand'alor, halted her approach and began, instead to pace around those already present, studying him from a distance. As she had always done. She had not expected this of him, but then that in itself was foolish. They say the apple never falls far from the tree and his parents were hardly lacking in ambition.

Annoyance sliced through her curiosity as Tuur declared Ijaat dead. "Missing, presumed dead by many." she corrected, realising now she had spoken she would have to step forward. She moved forward, clocking a familiar set of armour to her left. Was it Fenn again, or had the manda felt the timing was right to spit the Wolf of Mandalore back out into the world. A question to be answered on a different day. She reached to remove her buy'ce, her sapphire gaze settling upon Baal Varad .

"I am Mia Monroe, Ltulitr Butu'r of the Protectors. Ijaat's second."

Arla Rodarch Raona Cadera Gi’Yarr Shale Preliat Mantis

 

[Ssakai]

TAGS: Baal Varad | Mia Monroe | Arla Rodarch | Raona Cadera | Preliat Mantis

Aboard the Senzanko, the same message rang across the comms. A message from once-holy Manda’yaim herself. The helmsman of the ship took note of the call, apparently toward any and all alor’e of the diasporic Mandalorians.

“Lord Saizin!” The helmsman called to his own alor, seated center on the bridge, “Mandalore calls to us. It calls for the clans.”

Kenji Saizin sat in his pseudo-throne on his ship’s bridge, contemplating the message that blared across the communications channel. The Inusagi-born Mandalorian felt every part of his gut and experience practically scream at him that this message screamed of a trap. Yet, he felt duty-bound to answer.

“Hikaru.” He addressed back, “Set course to Manda’yaim! We shall meet this address in kind.”

The freighter-turn-command ship leapt into hyperspace before being vomited out at the planet of his ancestors. A desecrated holy site. Kenji took notice that there appeared to be other ships and forms gathering on the surface as they did a quick scan of the planet. Thus, he followed suit, landing his ship next to the others.

The landing doors opened with a hydraulic hiss, gases spewing as violent vapor. Kenji stepped down from the Senzanko, adorned in his armor. Mandalorian, for certain, but stylized in a way that evoked the ancient saburai warriors of Inusagi. A stern T-visor scanned itself towards the others before joining them cautiously.

”A call was sent out.” He spoke plainly, ”I am Kenji, Alor of Clan Saizin, and I come in response to this summons.”

 

[Ordo]

The wind swept across the barren ground in steady gust as He arrived at the source of the transmission. The cold beskar face of His T-shaped visor covered His scar riddled visage as He looked over the gathering and gave a solitary nod to those He knew. The sandy ground rasped under his heavy boots as He moved close. An old CM-Fragstorm shotgun hung from a sling over a braod shoulder as He slowly scanned those present.

"I'm standing for my clan." He said simply. There was no sense mincing words before the gathering was ready, so He wouldn't.

He settled for marking ranges in His buy'ce and working on memorizing faces and names. Most were young. And this was the future His generation had left them. Shameful. He cracked stiffness from his neck as He waited and hoped they would be ready for Him to fade away again soon.

Baal Varad Arla Rodarch Mia Monroe Ssakai Raona Cadera Preliat Mantis Gi’Yarr Shale .

 

[Korso Rook]

Fusion glass cracked underneath a scorched langskib hull until the terrain gave way to less radioactive sands. Megafauna remains lashed to stern spoke of another successful hunt. Two songs had ended, the fallen's meager beskar still laid out awaiting return to the clan's forges. Surviving crew scaled the rigging in armor scavenged from dead cities. Old engines whined in protest as they powered down.

Korso hurled his mythosaur axe down into the dunes. Expending a short burst of precious jetpack fuel set the wasteland chieftain down within reach of its long haft which he pulled free with a grunt. There were steps nearby carved into Mount Efreeti by ancient hands. He began the ascent in silence arriving just in time to overhear talk of the missing Mandalore.

"So it is true."

A cracked visor slowly panned the chamber as if searching for threats. Whispers had reached even his nomadic clan out in the badlands of political unrest. Among mandalorians that was often code for civil war. Korso possessed only the crudest ambitions for glory and honor. Tradition alone brought him to this sacred place.

"Korso," his voice was a guttural rasp, "Clan Rook."

Many clans heeded the call to reclaim their homeworld. Korso's people never abandoned it. Stubborn to an extreme only possible for devout mandalorians they had endured every humiliation, evading Sith and Imperial warlord alike out in the deep wastes. His armor bore the scars of those dark years. Draped over his helm a snarling mutant canid skull descended into a thick fur pelt which made the langskib captain look even more savage.

"If Ijaat has gone to the eternal battle, then who dared summon the alors?"

Baal Varad Raona Cadera Arla Rodarch Mia Monroe Gi’Yarr Shale Preliat Mantis Ssakai Ordo​

 

[Mig Gred]

Mig held tight as the Echo's Light came in for a landing. The sythe winged courier carried the Gred Alor, along with Halgen Nal, the Keed who was usually marshal of the town Clan Gred now called home, but today he was acting as backup, just in case.

"You sure about this, lad. You seem... untrusting of all this." Mig just chuckled, shaking his head.

"I'd think of anyone you would've appreciated caution." Halgen just eyed him, cybernetic arm roughly whirling.

"Yeah, but usually this many of your folks aren't involved."

"Never scared you before, Marshal." Not like the man could really argue that case, though why Mig brought him instead of another Gred was beyond him. As the pair walked up, Mig would look at the others there. He recognized plenty, but also a lot of new faces to the Gred Alor. He figured he'd keep things simple, looking at the others around.

"Mig, Alor of Clan Gred. Don't know who sent out the call, but here to answer it."

Baal Varad Raona Cadera Arla Rodarch Mia Monroe Gi’Yarr Shale Preliat Mantis Ssakai Ordo

 

[Careena Fett]

[ Theme ]

C a r e e n a _ F e t t

| Location | Mount Efreeti, Mandalore​

| Objective | Investigate​

​

It had been some time since Careena had made her presence known in the sector, and perhaps even longer since she recalled a meeting of Alors. Curious to say the least, but a request that intrigued her enough to warrant her attendance. Having arrived on the back of her Basilisk Dha Prudii, the Alor of what remained of Clan Fett swiftly disembarked, boots crunching against the ground of their once great home world, having traced the signal to its source. It seemed she was not the only one to answer the call as her gaze fell upon several Mandalorians - some familiar and others not, but she recognized their clans nonetheless.​

​

Careena was never one for words, and instead crossed her arms over her chest as she kept to herself, listening to the words of her fellow Mandalorians and gauging the value of their meeting. She required no introduction as the emblem on her armor was more than enough to tell them who she was and represented, and those who did recognize her would know her name. Would it be a call to arms perhaps? Or would it just be another meeting to posture oneself for political power and take a crack at the title of Mand'alor?​

Baal Varad | Raona Cadera | Arla Rodarch | Mia Monroe | Gi’Yarr Shale | Preliat Mantis | Ssakai | Ordo | Mig Gred ​

 

[Exton Stole]

Exton said nothing. He'd been quiet since he left Raydonia, and almost silent since becoming Alor of Clan Cabal. It was the smallest clan of those gathered so he said nothing. Action was worth more anyway.

While they talked, he planned for the future. Ambition pushed to the forefront of his mind while their introductions, and questions of the location of Mand'alor fell on his own deaf ears. No one could or would help Clan Cabal now. Not missing or dead leaders, not the pillars of a fallen empire, nor some grim reaper bastard dressed for carnival. Only the clan could pull themselves out of the pit they'd fallen into. Or did Exton have it all wrong. He was sure he didn't, but he'd take a second opinion from family in the future.

He stared at the others from inside his helmet, this time present but still silent, only breaking concentration to wonder how long they would talk and when and if words would end and lead to violence. It was his first council. He hoped it would be exciting and, at the very least, somewhat entertaining.

Baal Varad | Raona Cadera | Arla Rodarch | Gi’Yarr Shale | Preliat Mantis | Mia Monroe | Ssakai | Ordo | Korso Rook | Mig Gred | Careena Fett

 

[Tarre Priest]

Alor Ka'ra

It was a calling, a rite in which the Alors that were available to show, required to show face. Yet it was being called from one of the most unique places. One where it had been considered by the Priest clan to form a location in which our forgers could produce some of the highest quality of equipment for the Mandalorian protectors. Yet now, being called to it, only showed that our aversion to such a place in its current climate of the dust storms and deserts, show that we were right to not be here. Someone else had already called it home.

A shuttle was being brought down from the Forge of Iron, where the Priesthood were along with me. Currently, Chaaj Priest was on a different mission for me. One to recover artifacts. As he was well suited to work on his own. The murmurs of the Priesthood, as a whole, seemed to be wondering what was going on. Ever since the Civil war many years ago, Mandalorians have been in smaller groups. Sure, the Mandalorian Empire, later the Union, were a larger political force, but it was known by now that they had been near-puppets of the Sith. How this happened, who it happened to, and what took place during that time was up for debate on various levels of rumors or conspiracy theories.

Now is different. This was the first time in a long time the Alors had been called to a singular location. The beacon being sent up, of course our sensors were active in case others should show up who were not Mandalorian in origin. Yet even as we landed, there was a murmur from those who had gathered. It was clear that this new face I had never seen before had done such.

A nod given to all who were here. Mia, Mig, even Careena. Knowing her from years ago now with the Death Watch and Crusades. Such small groups that tried to do something, yet faltered when it came down to it. And of course, a familiar armor also showed up. Yet it wasn't them. The posture, the way they carried themselves? It was not Fenn Stag. Yet different. Maybe a member of the group of his? Either way, My eyes drew upon the almost ancient traditional looking armor of the man who attempted, and succeeded in summoning us today.

For now, I would be silent. Letting Mia speak, as well as others. For it was in my best interest to gather knowledge, before speaking and asking the same questions that others were already posing.

Careena Fett Mia Monroe Mig Gred Preliat Mantis Exton Stole Korso Rook Ordo Ssakai Arla Rodarch Baal Varad Gi’Yarr Shale Raona Cadera

 

[Preliat Mantis]

The Wolf listened, intent on seeing what the old ways were truly about.
​

Posturing, claims, bold declarations of their leadership.

Preliat paced around the room, eerily quiet. Despite his size, he seemed perpetually low to the ground. Perhaps it was the shape of his armor, or the way that he walked. But each step was a testament to his tenacity, his ferocity. A coiled snake in the grass rattling. An animal at the edge of the campfire, just out of reach of the fire's light.

He was chosen to be a Cuir Rekr for many reasons, but one of the many is that he was so simply unnerving to most people. He stopped pacing and went near his old friend Ordo - a man with a complicated relationship with life, death. And the two had a complicated history. But bygones were bygones. But perhaps not for everyone.

The Wolf turned his head towards Mia Monroe , speaking with some claim to authority. Another, he did not recognize or know. Many he did not. But he knew of the Cannibal- the rumored, Cannibal, that was. He found some similarities to himself. But a stark difference. The man was a calculated thinker, a dreamer, a possible leader- masquerading as a savage. Preliat was a savage masquerading as everything else.

The Topic of Ijaat was one to be spoken of. The Liberator- intent on keeping him alive, spoke that he was missing.

Which caused Preliat to chuckle. A deep, unsettling sound for someone to hear. Preliat did not laugh much.

"Better to think of him dead and move forward. Clinging to a missing Mand'alor does us no good."

Kyr'am spoke and then folded his hands in front of him, his golden-brown shawl pulled over his left shoulder, covering most of his body. He leaned his head back, electing to listen to what was to transpire. And avoid the monologuing.

@I'm not tagging all of you.

 

[Ordo]

Better to think of him dead and move forward. Clinging to a missing Mand'alor does us no good."

He watched as more and more people arrived. Alors. Chiefs. Leaders all. His old grey-green eyes scanned them all behind this lifeless "T" in His helmet. He lingered on a few that He knew better than others. The whirring of servos, the whine of engines cooling down and the wind were the only sounds that He really needed to focus on.

"I took Ijaat Mereel." He said calmly, "Move on with council."

The hooked a big thumb into the belt of His H-harness and looked to the faces He didn't recognize. It was far more than He expected even though He should have known. He felt the stares from the other Alors and interested parties but ignored them. He had already paid them what He owed. So, again. He waited.

Baal Varad Mia Monroe Arla Rodarch Mig Gred Preliat Mantis Korso Rook Tarre Priest Raona Cadera Gi’Yarr Shale Careena Fett Ssakai Exton Stole

 

[Jenn Kryze]

Beskar'gam
​

| Location | Mount Efreeti
| Objective | Answer the summons

Jenn's quiet retreat from the affairs of the Mando'ade was not quite as complete as most believed. Perhaps she could never truly turn her back on her people, no matter how infuriating they could be at times; perhaps it was nothing more than cold pragmatism, a quality honed through the many trials she had gone through ever since she took the mantle of Alor and wrapped it around her shoulders.​

​

No, even as her efforts to truly set down roots on Onderon continued, her eyes and ears kept a careful watch over Mandalore - and its so-called Protectors. These discrete warriors were her kyramud; assassins who embraced the shadows and abandoned the pursuit of glory, choosing instead to dedicate themselves to her cause through a path of secrecy. Some were but driven souls devoid of the appetite for infamy their people was so well-known for; others, repentant traitors who sought to wash away their crimes through humble and dutiful service to the Alor.​

​

And when the ominous call came from Mount Efreeti, they were quick to inform their Alor of the gravity of the situation.​

​

Immensely displeased as she was with the notion of being summoned, the siren weighed the opportunity presented before her. Would it be another disappointing moment of chest-thumping by the more traditionally-minded of her people? Most likely. But on the off chance that something worthwhile would come of it, she would bitterly regret her decision to ignore this gathering of the Clans... and, if nothing else, she could always see if Khamul or his spawn dared to try and represent Clan Kryze.​

​

And shove the words right back down his throat.​

​

<We're approaching the landing zone. You sure about this? Could be a trap.>​

​

Karrys' voice, at least, served to ground her in the moment, and keep her from the more venomous thoughts raging in her mind. Ever a steady hand, the pilot was among her most steadfast of followers... and truest friends.​

​

<I'm sure, ner'vod. If I go in there with the Owls at my back, they might get the wrong idea. I have to do this alone.>​

​

<Right. Well, I'll... be on comms. Don't do anything I wouldn't.>​

​

And with that, the ramp lowered, letting the Alor step out. Evidently, she was far from the first to answer the call- which... wasn't exactly a surprise. Those who still called Manda'yaim their home didn't have to plan out a whole journey to even get there in the first place.​

​

Jenn remained quiet at first, her gaze sweeping over the assembled Mandalorians from behind her Y visor. A few faces, she did recognize - much to her chagrin, given her memory of them at the oyu'baat. Her gaze lingered on the only person present to have once held the title of Mand'alor, the Jaig Eyes etches over her helm all but staring a hole through her, before turning to the next person for her to pick apart with that piercing, yet unseen gaze of hers. There were some she had never encountered before, and so she allowed herself an inkling of hope that things might just be productive enough for her to leave with a sense of satisfaction. Or, at the very least, closure. Knowing that she had done her best would be better than finding herself plagued with regrets over things unspoken.​

​

"I am Jenn", she spoke at last, doing her best not to slip into the sing-song voice she found herself employing more and more often. Accusations of trying to twist the minds of her fellow Mandalorians were just about the last thing she needed at the moment. "Alor of Clan Kryze. Dead or missing, Mereel is gone - his fate, irrelevant. We have been called upon. We have answered. Let this be done, then."​

​

 

[Baal Varad]

​

ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA'RA. ALOR KA-

A hand pressed upon the apparatus of one of the transmitters. Silence found the council meeting. Baal nodded at one of the Varadian soldiers that stood with them, as they nodded amongst each other and began turning off the holonet transmission. The chanting would stop. Only the silence of the gathering and the fierce night winds of Manda'yaim would welcome the rest. Black eyes made their ways back to the ground, as the Varadian Alor kept his head bowed to the others. Though his stance submissive, crouched, kneeled, it was clear to most that the very presence of Clan Varad amongst this council was the most threatening gesture they could procure. Savages. Barbarians. Led by a Cannibal King. Sufficed to be ignored, hidden away in the North, fighting the battles against pockets of slavers and raiders while the rest of Mand'oa had been liberating key sites like Sundari and attempting to reestablish some form of government. Clan Varad had spent their time fighting in the wilds of Manda'yaim's bosom.

"Ijaat Mereel is no longer among the living."

Baal's head kept to the ground.

"Missing, presumed dead by many."

Baal's eyes remained upon the sand.

"Better to think of him dead and move forward. Clinging to a missing Mand'alor does us no good."

Baal's hand slowly moved to his helmet that sat nearby, shifting it in the sand, rotating it to look at Mia Monroe and the others.

"I took Ijaat Mereel." He said calmly, "Move on with council."

Clan Varad's soldiers began immediately barking, howling, and hissing in Ordo's direction while slamming their weapons into the dirt.

"ROHAK. ROHAK. HSSSSSSS. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. OOO OOOO OOO. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. HISSSS. OOHF. OOOHF. OOOHF. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. OOOOOOHF OOHF HSSSSSSS. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. OOOOHF. ROHAK. HSSSSSSSSSSS. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. HSSSSSSS. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. OOIOH OOH OOHF. ROHAK. ROHAK. "

Baal beat his chest twice, and held up his left hand. The Varadians silenced on cue as their Alor slowly stood up from his crouched position next to his feathered helmet. Baal spit on the pyre as the circle of the Council Alor Ka'ra's circle continued to grow as Mandalorians were joining the fray to hear their leaders speak. Baal's side, though. Emblems of the One Eyed Demon King, the mythological Mythosaur that awaited all Clan Varad in the afterlife, the guardian of the gates to their eternal battle. They were scattered throughout the pauldrons and armor of the Clan Varad's presence, the visage of the four horned monster clearly seen through Manda'yaims darkened sky. Baal lowered his hand and spoke.

"So da rumors are true, then. The Iron Father has crept off into the night, whisked away by demons. I presume the search for him has been hardened by the Winter's sun, then."

Black eyes moved to Mia.

"Shame upon the House of Sund'ari." To Ordo. "Shame upon the House of Ordo." His eyes moved to the others. "This is not our way, not in da North, not in the South, not in any corner of Mand'oa, this is not our way. You do not let a Sole Ruler go missing without calling for an Alor'ultai. It is not your decision to make, whether Second..." Eyes back to Mia. "....or last." Eyes to Tuur. "It is not your decision. It is not custom, it is law. And to violate the great Earth Mother's laws....tuk tuk tuk." Baal shook his head. "That is akaan'a."

Varadian beskar slammed into the rocky sand again. Clan Varad's soldiers began chanting.

DOOM. DEATH. FOEWIELDER. WARBRINGER. AKAAN'A. AKAAN'A.

Beskar steel slammed into the dirt again.

DOOM. DEATH. FOEWIELDER. WARBRINGER. AKAAN'A. AKAAN'A.

His black silks draped over his shoulder seemed to slither behind Baal as he slowly danced his way towards the pyre, his black hair and eyes bubbling through the heat's visage towards the other Clan Leaders and Mando'ade that had gathered. He paced in front of Clan Gred in their anointed beskar, Clan Kyrze in their hardened metal, Clan Fett dressed in their ancestral lineage.

"If Ijaat has gone to the eternal battle, then who dared summon the alors?"

Clan Rook, dressed in their Neo-Crusader adornments. Every bit as grit, mean, barbaric and hardened as Clan Varad. Perhaps a bit too hard on the tongue, though. Baal's black eyes met the fusion cracked glass of Korso Rook, then held his hand to the heavens.

"The spear of Ha'rangir be my witness, I AM ALOR." Baal roared to the gathering. "This is our way since the Eldar and the first Shadow, since before milk spilled from Manda'yaims great mountains."

"I AM ALOR. I DARE, brother. We do not TREMBLE before the Gods. We do not TREMBLE before the Gathering. We speak. We do not lay silent. We dare."

Clan Varad began thudding ther weapons in on the rocks, sparks striking in the night.

DOOM. DEATH. FOEWIELDER. WARBRINGER. AKAAN'A. AKAAN'A.

"I am Alor. By Mandalorian law, I am the few who can call Alor Ka'ra. By Mandalorian law, I am the few who will know our Sole Ruler. By Mandalorian law, I am the few who dare. I ask this of you, you tell me, where is the Iron Father. You say dis, you say he has left in the night, hand in hand with some concubine, retreated to the Stars. I ask you this, what is to be done, why did the Iron Father's Alors not call for Council, why did the Sole Ruler's lieutenants not set the fires. You ask me who dares. I know not dis game.

But Varad knows Mandalorian Law. In da event that the line is broken, all Mando'ade war procession will halt and the Alors will return home to sacred Manda, to meet in the great Alor'ultai, to discuss the Alor of Alors. No Alor may leave Manda'yaims grip until the Alor'ultai has concluded. This is sacred law, and to violate it is Akaan'a, Arasuum.

I am Baal Varad, Black Sun of the Varad. Alor. By right, I invoke the laws of our ancestors, the Eldar, the Resol'nare.

I invoke the Alor'ultai."​

 

[Mia Monroe]

Rodarch. Mantis. Fett. Skirata. Shale. Saizin. Cabal. Preist. Ordo. Kyze. Varad. Gred.

Twelve clans in total. Only an handful of those had shown up when she had called them to spread the news of Ijaat's disappearance. Something that left a bitter taste in her mouth but what had she expected. Ijaat's withdrawal before his disappearance had shaken the faith of the few clans that had come to the protectors, and her history was infamous enough that no one would answer her call if she made it. This was the bed she had made for herself, and so she would lie in it.

"I took Ijaat Mereel." He said calmly, "Move on with council."

Mia shot her brother a warning look. "If I find out that is true, ori'vod, I will return you to the manda myself." she said in a low voice.

She had the decency to avert her eyes when Baal's called shame upon her, and kept her head bowed throughout his speech, a small smile spreading across her face despite all of it. This, was what they needed.

"As it should be."

Mia drew her beskad from its sheath upon her back, resting its tip into the dirt she began to draw a circle in the sand, large enough for two, perhaps three duels to take place. "All who wish to claim the title will enter the ring. You will prove yourself, as the old ways claim it. The last standing, or the last to bleed, shall be named Mand'alor and receive the blessing from all witnesses present."

The circle complete, she drove her blade into the sand and turned her gaze to Baal.

"All challengers, step forward."

Baal Varad Korso Rook Mig Gred Tarre Priest Preliat Mantis Arla Rodarch Careena Fett Raona Cadera Jenn Kryze Gi’Yarr Shale Ssakai Exton Stole Ordo