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

[Arla Rodarch]

Tuur Rodarch

The young Alor, Tuur of Rodarch, stood and listened as Baal addressed the gathering of Alors. She could see what she saw quite clearly, confident in herself as only someone so young could be. The chanting, the barbarian tones, the elemental core of controlled violence. It was very proto-Mandalorian in Tuur's view. Rule of the Strong. Eternal conquest.

Brash by nature she wanted to speak out, and retort, but her newfound responsibility for her entire Clan made her cautious. Tuur had to consider that she now spoke for Rodarch. A situation like this one was volatile. The eyes of all the Clans were on this place, this time. Better not to speak at all than to enflame the situation. She could speak if she needed to.

Tuur wondered how some Mandalorians could have come so far and learned the wrong lessons about their history. She saw figures like Mandalore the Ultimate as cautionary tales, as examples to avoid, not to follow. The true exemplars in her eyes were those like Shae Vizsla and Canderous Ordo. And Boba Fett, in some of the tales told about him. You could never be sure how much truth there was in the old tales. Thats all they were, stories.

The Mandalorians needed to write a better story. To learn from their mistakes, and to build something that improved their culture, helped their people, and put respect on the name Mandalorian forevermore. Perhaps that could begin here, in this place, among the chanting and the impassioned declarations of ancient laws. Perhaps. Mirax was also silent on the subject, wandering back over to sit down beside Tuur. She would wait, and see.

Mia Monroe Baal Varad Ordo Preliat Mantis Jenn Kryze Mig Gred Gi’Yarr Shale Careena Fett Ssakai

 

[Ordo]

​

Ordo stepped toward the Rodarch Alor and pulled his CM-Fragstorm from His shoulder and handed it to her with both hands.

"Tell Arla Rodarch to hang it over the bar mirror." He said as He turned toward the ring in the sand.

He had no place doing this. There was no need. But the barking and posturing reminded Him a lot of another demagogue and He wasn't going to stand around for that a second time. He would have to hold back. These weren't sith, no matter how much they snuggled up to jettiise, He hadn't abandoned honor quite yet.

He didn't waste time. He didn't plod purposefully. He walked into the circle and pulled his Beskad with one hand and extended his vibro blade from His guantlet with the other.

"Mando'ade don't have houses." He said in response to the arutessii nobility term, "Shame on your fething face. Come on, opportunists. Come shame me."

Mia Monroe Baal Varad Mig Gred Preliat Mantis Gi’Yarr Shale Tarre Priest Jenn Kryze Careena Fett Raona Cadera Ssakai

 

[Mig Gred]

Mig could help but eye Baal under his helmet. Baal would likely notice the armor's lighter design compared to the others as he walked up, the many blades he had without any obvious blasters, and the outsider that the Gred alor had brought with him instead of another member of his clan. Mig wasn't sure what to say to this vod. What do you tell someone like this. He wanted a Mand'alor, and sounded like no one was leaving until he got one. Mig looked at Halgen, the old cyborgs clunkier cybernetics whirring as he looked back.

"Don't look at me. I've got no advice when it comes to your culture's quirks, lad." Mig smirked under his T-visor, something that somehow seemed to be conveyed past the armor. Mig could already tell him and other alor would be like oil and water. He stepped over and looking at Baal.

"You act as if you couldn't survive without a Mand'alor, Baal. As important as they are, when push comes to shove, to survive you can't just hope they'll solve everything. Years building up a smaller fleet just to have the Sith attack. Wrecked havoc on Concord Dawn. Barely surviving enough to spend years in the black. Rebuilding older ships, stripping others for parts, creating new ones that could serve as both home and warship, defend entire fleets of civilian vessels with a storm of flak. No Mand'alor helped with that. Vod, tat , and others who had no where else to go. We couldn't even get enough beskar for our armor without making work arounds because of the dar'jetii . And now.... One of the largest fleets of any clan, and still we don't have one home." Mig stepped forward though, with Halgen keeping his head on a swivel just in case something went wrong. Mig notably didn't go for his heavier, unbalanced family Trayc'kad, his clan's weapon. Instead, he pulled an Echani vibroblade, given to him by Kat Decoria long ago. It seemed like he was possibly proving a point, or thought he'd need the lighter, faster blade for this fight. Migwasn't going to mention everything now. It didn't matter at this moment. Instead he just looked at Baal, continuing to speak in his oddly calm demeanor.

"You want a Mand'alor, I won't deny you a contender. Win or lose, I get to see something important. y clan doesn't usually care about who wins a duel, though. But I have a question for you, Baal. It's been a long time since I could read the old ways in full. Am I allowed any gift from the Manda, or should I hold some back like I would for an alor duel?" He wasn't going to be specific. He wanted to see what Baal would answer. He had made the call it seemed. He had called on the duels. What Mig wanted to know though, was what did this man think? Yes, there was the loud the chanting, and his own calls. His sense of authority from being an Alor. Mig wondered how he earned the title, or if any had challenged him since. Either way though, he was ready to see just how a potential new Mand'alor would hold themselves in a fight.

Ordo Mia Monroe Baal Varad Preliat Mantis @Gi'Yarr Shale Tarre Priest Jenn Kryze Careena Fett Raona Cadera Ssakai

 

[Tarre Priest]

The call was to bring about a new Mandalor.

Ordo stood up, and so did Mig. Even while others asked more questions, valuing what was being brought forth, I knew damn well that if an Alor calls for such a fight, a brawl in which Mandalor would be chosen, that there would be bloodshed. Breathing in deeply, I grabbed a hold of the Hammer upon my belt loop. Drawing it and holding it with my right hand. My thumb sitting just over the activation of its vibration generators.

Tilting my neck from side to side, audible popping noises came from it. A release of this from my neck and a shuffling of my shoulders to limber up for a fight.

"At haran ti ibic. Ni cuyir o'r."

Ordo Mig Gred Baal Varad Mia Monroe Preliat Mantis @All you other fools.

 

[Baal Varad]

​

"Mando'ade don't have houses."

The Ordovian Alor stood in the circle that Mia Monroe had drawn. The Cannibal King did not join, but stood and gestured to the man while looking to his soldiers.

"Dis one did not know these Southerners slept on the streets! Tuk tuk tuk tuk."

The Varadian soldiers stirred with a few chuckles and laughs, despite the seriousness of the Alor'ultai looming upon the group.

"You act as if you couldn't survive without a Mand'alor, Baal.

"You want a Mand'alor, I won't deny you a contender. Win or lose, I get to see something important. y clan doesn't usually care about who wins a duel, though. But I have a question for you, Baal. It's been a long time since I could read the old ways in full. Am I allowed any gift from the Manda, or should I hold some back like I would for an alor duel?

"OOO OOOO OOO. ROHAK. ROHAK. HISSSS. OOHF. OOOHF. OOOHF. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ROHAK. ARASUUM. ROHAK. OOOOOOHF OOHF HSSSSSSS. 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."

It was clear Clan Varad's only retort was to bark and hiss and grunt in Clan Gred's direction. Baal remained silent, ignoring the questioning of his culture and the importance of the Mandalore's Head Of State and principle leadership, the Mand'alor.

"At haran ti ibic. Ni cuyir o'r."

"Tuk tuk." Baal's tongue clicked with each syllable. "Is dis the will of the Alor'ultai?"

He bent down, running his hand over the circle, wiping his hand through a portion of it.

"A circle drawn in the dirt by the one who lost the Iron Father. 'De Strongest Shall Rule'? And what is to happen next, me, the big man, and the boy from Clan Priest trade flesh, blood, beskar and insults until I pluck the big man's last feathers? Tuk tuk tuk tuk, no no no. Clan Varad will fight only by the will of the Alor'ultai. Clan Varad sees no glory in fighting in the night, under a dim flame by the Mountain. Dis is the way of the Traitor, the Usurper, the Wolf. Failed leaders of a failing Sundari. Dis is not my way. Dis is not the Varad way. I appeal to the Alor'ultai, speak. See the dishonor the Iron Father has brought us, this is no sacred circle.

This is akaan'a. Clan Varad calls for the Alor'ultai to demand the festival of the Carneia. Thirty dawns of lust, violence, and worship. Thirty moons of contests and feats of your 'strength'. By de end, and by the will of the Manda, we may have found our new Sole Ruler. Not here in some circle of dirt."

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

 

[Preliat Mantis]

​

Preliat did not move or say anything when Ordo , Mia Monroe , Mig Gred , or anyone else made their claims, their long winded speeches. Preliat hated it. Had enough of it. He heard it time and time again.

He stepped forward, unfurling his hands from in front of him, moving his shawl past himself and over his shoulder.

His legs stood him tall, just rising above the circle of the other Mandalorians gathered. Preliat turned his head towards Baal, then to those that made a claim- or a challenge of combat.

"Pity."

He said simply, quietly, looking up to the mountain that Baal kept speaking of.

"The galaxy looks at us with such pity, such disregard. We have lost our way. Our place, our souls."

His eyes did not leave the mountain for a spell, watching it intently before turning his head back to the gathered.

"A duel, a fight in the dirt does not determine strength of character or rule. I invoke my deeds to commend him for such a suggestion. We shall have our contest, our trials, our feats. Not a scrap in the dirt. Not just the strong shall rule-

But the worthy."

Preliat then approached them all.

"There will be no Sole Ruler chosen amongst the dirt here. Come, brothers, sisters. Let us return to the old ways."

For once, Preliat advocated peace.

 

[Arla Rodarch]

Tuur Rodarch

Tuur listened to the various elders speak, and kept her own quiet. There was little someone so young could add to the discussion. She was intrigued by the concept of 30 days of feasting, as such things were rare on Manda'yaim. Deciding she couldn't keep her buir out of things any longer, Tuur lifted her buy'ce from her belt, so that she could sent a quick private comm to Keldabe.

"Buir, you'll want to be here." Arla would want to be here. Tuur not wanting her here was for personal reasons, and this was important to all Mando'ade. She had no right to exclude her buir from events. "On my way." Came the quick reply from her mother. Tuur put her helmet back down again, and listened.

She looked a little askew at Baal at the mention of the word lust. Was there to be a contest of that nature? She must have missed that part of the laws of the ancients. There were certainly conflicting accounts on various legal topics, but she could not recall any mention of fornication in the annals.

Strength and spirituality were mentioned more often in Mandalorian histories, and those Tuur knew well. She was an orphan of the cataclysm, raised by her aliit. She was young, but she learned fast. Wise enough to keep her mouth shut when the old ones were talking. Tuur wondered how many people Clan Varad had here, and how they managed to feed so many for so long in isolation without much contact with the outside. She supposed it was possible, there was a lot that could be concealed on a world like Manda'yaim.

She looked over the barbarians, trying not to think of them as cultists with their chanting and their tribalistic manner. She wondered how much use they would be in modern battle. She wondered where they had been when the Sith came to Sundari. All of Clan Rodarch had ended their isolation and concealment that day, putting aside their years of hiding to ride forth into battle against the Sith.

There were many questions, and with thirty days of feasting and, well, festivities proposed, there would be many opportunities to get answers, from Clan Varad, and other Clans represented here too.

Baal Varad Mia Monroe Tarre Priest Ordo Preliat Mantis Gi’Yarr Shale Careena Fett Mig Gred Shuklaar Kyrdol Ssakai Jenn Kryze

 

[Gi’Yarr Shale]

|| ODYSSEY ||

~all the roads lead to Him~

OBJECTIVE: decide our stance​

MOUNT EFREETI

One by one representative of the clans arrived, most showing strong and unique characteristics. The rugged Korso Rook . The brash Mia Monroe . The preachy Mig Gred . The wise Preliat Mantis . Mouthy Ordo , who seems to be familiar with the Alor of Rodarch ( Arla Rodarch ). And of course, the one who called for Alor’ultai, the barbarian Baal Varad .

The prospect of a festival of competitions, carnal feasts and camaraderie enticed me greatly. After all, how else would all these different clans hope for a strong, united Manda’yim, if not by forging our bonds through proceedings that completely encapsulate the entirety of Mandalorian culture.

Wild, festive, violent, yet without the waste of Mando’ade life.

“My father declared for fanatics in a crusade against the Galactic Alliance. They decided to waste their energy on aruetii businesses. I saw Mando’ade killing their vode, on the side of the Crusaders, and worse, on the side of the Alliance.”

Clan Shale’s allegiance to the Enclave, and their overzealous war against enemies they’re not ready to face, has brought nothing but calamity to our clan. We lost our influence on our domain, we lost access to our factories, and we are forced to take an exile from our ancestral home of marshes and swamps. Hubris does bite our clan back on our butts.

Yet worse exists in this galaxy, those Mando’ade who fight for the Alliance. It’s disgusting to kill your vode over petty disagreement, but it’s even more ludicrous to do so to save the life of aruetii.

“How are we supposed to stand together as a strong, united tribe if one of us is willing to kill our own vode over petty morals, beliefs, and ideologies?”

I looked at Baal Varad ’s eyes through my buy’ce, studying his expressions and trying to make judgment with the limited information. His words, while rustic in presentation, exudes wisdom in meaning. The question is, am I to ignore the big red flag blatantly displayed on the cover? ALOR KA’RA, ALOR KA’RA, ALOR KA’RA.

“As long as no Mando’ade life is wasted, Clan Shale accept the Alor’ultai. May we find the one whose worthy of leading our tribe, may we forge a blood bond and swear our allegiance only to our kind.”

No more jetii businesses, no more dar’jetii businesses, no more aruetii businesses. Just the Tribe of Mandalore.​

 

[Exton Stole]

His grey eyes went wide behind the visor. Exton looked at the circle on the ground and grimaced. It was as if somebody poured gunpowder down his throat and lit a match behind it. How could he pass up an opportunity to become Mand’alor? He couldn’t. He hesitated, but he stepped forward. In the circle, he looked at the others. His horns itched. It was an ill omen and he presumed a portent of his life to come.

If he wasn’t mandalorian, if Clan Cabal wasn’t on its last legs, he would’ve walked away with his tail tucked. Yet Mandalorian and Alor of Clan Cabal he remained. He had something to prove, frustration to rid himself of, and a future to change. He wanted to go to his happy place, the battlefield. He would settle for a circle today.

Through all the chanting, he could hear the voices of Clan Cabal in his mind. All the way from Raydonia it was the voice of the future, of potential, of animated youth. And in an instant the voices turned. He was reminded he was an elder at only 30. They had lost so many so quickly. It made him angry. The more he thought about it, the more his heart burned, his teeth ground, and his eyes stung viciously. His clan was a group of children waiting for blasters, farmers waiting for war, potential waiting to be squandered or utilized. At that moment, Exton knew himself to be the catalyst for more. His horns itched no longer. He would not hesitate. He pulled no beskad, only kal. The pommel of one held a tiny figure of the symbol of Clan Cabal, a Sullustan Ash Angel.

“May all of you burn, like Clan Cabal has. And may you rise from the ashes just as we will.” He readied himself for violence but the moment was cut short. The chanting. The incessant chanting that was only broken by Baal Varad’s archaeism. It grated Exton not just to listen to Baal’s tuks, but also to be thrown from one end of a solution to another. What did it matter how the next Mand’alor was chosen? It had been done so many different ways, and in so many different times. Exton was of the mind that you left the past in the past but he acquiesced. He had no reason to care about the method, just that it was done.

“Have it your way, or the next. It makes no difference to my clan. Let the Mando'ade and Manda'yaim herself see and judge who the next Mand'alor will be.” He said sheathing his kal.

Before he stepped out of the circle, he took off his helmet. He locked eyes with Ordo , Mig Gred , and Tarre Priest , then glanced at everybody else. His gaze lingered on Baal Varad . A smile cracked on Exton’s face. An involuntary tick, one that said he still didn’t know what to make of the man. His only certainty was that he liked him least of all those gathered. And Like or loathe, something told Exton, Baal would be an important piece of the puzzle as far as the future of Manda’yaim went.

Exton would tell his clan what happened here, even if many were too young to engage in the festival in any way he deemed meaningful.

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

 

[Mia Monroe]

Thirty days.

Mia closed her eyes. Thirsty days of this? Of mandalorians old and young testing each other. Thirty days of drinking, fighting and posturing. It was beyond absurd, but if it was what the alor'utai wanted, then it would happen, regardless of what she thought. She could hardly avoid it. "I'm too old for this shit." she muttered, before removing tugging her sword from the earth and returning it to the sheath on her back.

"You better hope that our enemies are not interested in striking at us while you hold your dick measuring contests." she began wearily. "Clan Ordo took a swing at Dromund Kaas in recent weeks, make no mistake that they will be coming for revenge. If they do come in the middle of these festivities, you better be ready to set aside whatever differences we have to fight, whether a mand'alor has been chosen or not. We have people to protect."

Malum had deterred them once, he would not be able to do so again, of that much she was certain. He gaze flicked to Preliat, a frown creasing beneath the her visor. Since when did the Wolf of Mandalore discourage a fight for determining who was worthy? She folded her arms across her chest.

"Is this what the alor'ultai wants?" she asked those that had not yet spoken.

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

 

[Jenn Kryze]

Beskar'gam
​

| Location | Mount Efreeti
| Objective | Speak... a little more truly.

Jenn could feel a headache coming on, and no amount of recaf would be able to help it pass this time.​

​

Thirty days. Thirty days of- whatever this was supposed to be. Another pointless display of posturing, chest thumping, and whatever else a gathering of traditionalists could think of to decide upon a Mand'alor. Watching so many of her peers step forward when the notion of a duel to determine the sole ruler was presented all but filled her with disappointment. There were none among them she could respect. None she could regard as someone worth bending the knee to. It was only when Preliat Mantis spoke the first few words of wisdom she had heard since her arrival there that she cared to make her voice heard.​

​

"A great duelist does not a good ruler make", spoke the siren simply, an approving nod following her words. All this talk of the old ways was almost enough for her to give up on the whole thing, and turn her back a little more firmly this time on those who yet looked upon Manda'yaim as something they could save. Stubborn determination had ever been a quality of her people, but there were times where she found it truly and utterly farcical.​

​

The Alor, usually so composed, could not hold back a barking laugh when the twice-failed Mand'alor Mia Monroe called it a dick measuring contest. A crude way to put it, but frankly apt- she couldn't have put it better herself, and, for once, she found herself appreciating something spoken by Monroe. Then, she waved a hand towards Gi’Yarr Shale somewhat dismissively, her strict adherence to her usual stance of silent observation and measured evaporating as she found her heart filled with-​

​

Disdain.​

​

"Ah, yes. Putting loyalty to our people before one's own morals and beliefs - truly, a fantastic lesson to take from the Enclave's fall into brigandry and murdering. So good of you to admit you believe in nothing."​

​

She shrugged, then, outright flippant in her demeanor, from her words to her body language. Jenn had never made a secret of her staunch independence from the Protectors, nor of her diplomatic ventures when it came to the Galactic Alliance. No longer was she but a humble metalsmith of her people, content with her station in life; with the mantle of Alor came a responsibility to speak her mind when she disagreed, rather than walling herself in obedient silence and blind loyalty, just as she had under the Enclave for so many years.​

​

Let the Cannibal King and his warriors honor the old ways with their (admittedly terrifying) devotion. She would treat this gathering of the Clans as an opportunity; a chance to gauge the character of those present, and how best to treat with them once all of the ceremonial crap was over with.​

​

Leave it to her to find some inkling of diplomatic opportunity even when she found herself completely out of her element.​

​

​

 

[Baal Varad]

​

"You better hope that our enemies are not interested in striking at us while you hold your dick measuring contests."

"Worry not, Liberator, even the dickless are permitted to partake in the Carneia."

We have people to protect."

"Tuk tuk." Clan Varad began chuckling again, clicking their tongues in Mia's direction, Baal looking back at them before joining in himself. A bold stance to protect people from the Mando'ade that lost the Iron Father and had a long history of civil war and violence on her own people.

"Ah, yes. Putting loyalty to our people before one's own morals and beliefs - truly, a fantastic lesson to take from the Enclave's fall into brigandry and murdering. So good of you to admit you believe in nothing."

"I have not been dis far south in some time, tell me," Baal's black eyes rest upon Jenn. "Is dis way of speaking common, why duz a verd speak dis way. Sharp tongues and bitter half insults, when the fate of all of Manda depends on this Alor'ultai. Perhaps this is why you lost the Iron Father. Perhaps the tongues of children ran him off from his throne!"

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

 

[Arla Rodarch]

​

"On my way." Said Arla into the comm, and hit the purge button for the tank. Bubbles flowed and gas hissed as the bacta-rich fluid was pumped out and the cold and stale air replaced it. The smell of bacta would take Arla weeks to get out of her sinuses. The priority comm from Tuur came to her even sequestered in the healing tank. Tuur had gone to Mount Efreeti to answer a cryptic call of Alors. It would seem she had gotten in over her head, or she would never ever have sent for her mother. Arla was proud the young woman put sense ahead of pride. She'd make a good Alor. "On your way where? Not the shabla Oyu'baat again, i'll tell ye." said a gruff female voice. The woman it belonged to held a huge syringe, wielding it menacingly.

The wounded Marshal of the Journeyman Protectors shook her head, flicking some of the greenish crap out of her hair. "Business." She said, in a tone that held only grim determination. The old woman, her doctor, tsked, but put down the syringe. Then she came over to help the still injured Journeyman Protector down from the tank. "You'll want your beskar'gam." She said, moving to help the Marshal dress. Between them it didn't take long. The doctor didn't bother with more words or threats. Arla left without another word, and headed for her fighter. She needed to get there quickly, and there was no faster method.

Schmetterling took Arla from Keldabe to Tuur's location in little to no time.

Clad in her proper beskar'gam, and wearing her usual accoutrements, Arla trudged up the path to where the noise was coming from. Through the wonders of modern technolody and a little slicing, she was able to replay the feed from Tuur's helmet cam, and recap what had happened up to her arrival.

She saw Mia and Ordo, Tarre and Mig, Jenn Kryze, and many other elders and vode assembled. Arla also spotted Tuur and Mirax, but stood apart from her daughter, wanting to give the young woman the space and respect as her Alor. That still felt strange, but Arla respected Tuur too much to shame her or belittle her, despite their rivalry. Arla kept her helmet on, as much to hide the bruises all over her face, as anything else.

The Journeyman Protector addressed the gathering, not bothering to introduce herself. It was what she said that would matter, not who she was, her rank, her position, her name, her record, it meant shab at the end of the day if one did not back it up.

"Mia's right. We can't all hang around here for thirty days. But i doubt it will take us that long to either come to a consensus, or kill each other off." Arla looked around. "Jenn's also right. This is no time for posturing." She tilted her head. "Baal has raised good points. Mandalorians should be united and respect the ancient traditions. Clans Cabal and Shale have each expressed their desire to choose a Sole Ruler.""

Okay, you stated the bleeding obvious, Arla thought to herself. "We have among us many who could be a worthy Sole Ruler."

Arla was being very cautious. She had wished to remain neutral. This was a delicate situation, but it was also an important, possibly even pivotal one. She owed it to her people to try to make sensible suggestions the vode wanted to follow.

Keeping them all happy was far too much to ask, but if she could find a way to bring begrudging acceptance to any one candidate, and through that unite the vode, then she would feel she had done the right thing by her people. It was not for her to say who the candidate should be, though she had her opinions and preferences. Whoever was chosen to lead, she would swear an oath to defend with her life, at all costs, as she had for Ijaat.

She chose not to nominate anyone, for that was a difficult burden for any Mando'ad to bear. Arla considered that a step too far in terms of neutrality. She wished to keep her influence on the gathering, and especially whatever choice was made for Sole Ruler, to a minimum.

"What matters is that we select an individual to represent us, and that we respect that rule, as is our tradition."

Let the Alors decide who they would swear to follow. And do it in a timely fashion. Whoever it was would have work to do.

Baal Varad Mig Gred Jenn Kryze Mia Monroe Tarre Priest Raona Cadera Ssakai Exton Stole Careena Fett Exton Stole Preliat Mantis @Gi'Yarr Shale Ordo

 

[Mig Gred]

Mig looked at Baal. A month long ceremony. While he respected the call to not fight here, and a dislike of Ra, and that was madness with what the galaxy looked like. He the heard the chanting. It didn't have the bite they might've hoped. He had heard it all before, whether it was him being a Force Sensitive, or his Clan's more tentative nature. Mig then looked at the others. Mai and Arla he agreed with, and Preliat he couldn't argue with either. Only reason he eve stepped forward was to test the others. It was important to him. He wasn't sure about Baal. Not yet. He would slide the Echani vibrosword back in it's scabbard though, and removed his helmet to reveal his face, scarred from war.

"Mia's right Baal. Dar'jetii are knocking at the door of attacking the galaxy, including us, again, and I don't know about anyone else, but I have more than my clan to keep safe too. Preliat's right too. I mentioned the winner wasn't important. It was how." He then walked to the others who didn't exactly agree, with Halgen followed, looking at Mig before speaking in Huttese.

"Are you trying to get us killed, lad? There's a lot more of them than us." Mig looked at his friend, smiling and responding in Huttese as well.

"Have a little faith Halgen. You're as good in a fight as any of us." He then looked back other Mandalorians there.
"I have to be honest. Too much is at stake for me to agree to the Alor'ultai. It'll mean nothing if our enemies just walk in and lay waste to us again. Times change. If we can't adapt with them like before.... We might be done for."

Ordo Mia Monroe Baal Varad Preliat Mantis Gi’Yarr Shale Tarre Priest Jenn Kryze Careena Fett Raona Cadera Ssakai

 

[Baal Varad]

​

Dar'jetii are knocking at the door of attacking the galaxy, including us,

"You misplaced our Alor of Alors, like a child loses pieces to their dejarik board, Arasuum. How you not understand this is law? Only an Alor'ultai can dismiss a Mand'alor. Why are you so brave to speak now.

Dis one does not understand, you think we do not have time, yet Manda'yaim's laws dictate we must. Dis one heard no call. Where was your voice before now? So bold now. Too busy choking on dar'jetii, rest of galaxy, tuk tuk tuk. This is why Manda'yaim feels neglected. This is why Scorcher and his Graug lay waste to the North, unchecked, untouched by all these strong, tough verda.

Dis one wonders why you call yourselves Protectors. What is protected?

We focus on us. We owe only Manda'yaim our attention, the Galaxy, no no no, what is this nonsense."

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

 

[Mig Gred]

Why are you so brave to speak now.

This clearly got to Mig. His fist clenching, and to anyone looking closely the sight of sparking arcing across his fingers. Where was his voice until now? Oh maybe he should've been quiet, and Halgen would put a hand on his shoulder to try and calm him down, but he would just look at Baal.

"You know, I learned something after floating through karking space for years. From Ra, who probably would've killed much of my clan if we didn't live on Concord Dawn then. From that demagolka Australius. From surviving. You ignore a problem, you pay for it ten fold. Might be a week, month, or even years later but you pay for it. And it's a lesson I had to learn the hard way. As for where was I.... Trying to keep my clan, and the people we picked up along the safe. People I care for like my own clan. That's what I was doing. Ignore the rest of the galaxy all you want, but trouble has a way of finding us eventually, and I'd rather try to stem it now than later." He looked down, finally noticing his own fists before taking a breath, trying to ease himself.

"I had to watch my homeworld burn. We fought, we got who we could out, but we... I couldn't stop it. If I can stop it anywhere else.... Then I don't really care what you, or Clan Varad think." Mig looked more determined now. Years of being beaten down had made him slower to act, but he had learned how to solve problems, to figure out which ones were more important. This... this wasn't as important right now. Not in the long run. Especially not when it was obvious not everyone would agree on how to do this to begin with.

Ordo Mia Monroe Baal Varad Preliat Mantis Gi’Yarr Shale Tarre Priest Jenn Kryze Careena Fett Raona Cadera Ssakai

 

[Dasu'r Garon]

------800kms SW of Keldabe------

The Avril, an antique Mandalorian gunship, hovered a few hundred meters above where the Garon homestead once was. The gunship's rear loading hatch opened, exposing the Avril's cargo bay to the war-torn planet's dry, dead air. Dasu'r unbuckled himself from the pilot's seat, exited the cockpit, and descended toward the cargo bay. He could hear the whines coming from Duchess, the family's pet strill, which had stood vigil over its previous master's dead and armorless body. The young green-haired twi'lek hybrid entered the cargo bay, his emerald eyes glancing between his father's lifeless body, Strider Garon, and the strill. His heart sank with grief and sadness once more, not just for himself but for Duchess, who had been a companion to Strider for a hundred years as Das had only been a son for the last twenty.

" I know sei muchi! I know!" Das gravelly rasped in his Rylothian nasally smooth accent. They both lost a father, and the grief was easily conveyed between the two of them.

Das walked past his father, who lay on the steel sled with only a cloth covering his privates. The young man noted that even in death, the elderly Garon looked like a formidable beast of war. It was a shame that the glory of a warrior's death eluded him, with only the cruelty of time finally ending the infamous Strider peacefully in his sleep. Not the way the old man had boasted about how he wanted to go. There were a few fantasized theories on how he wanted to go, either being on the field of battle in some violent manner or in some brothel with some young prostitutes riding him to the end. Neither came true, and here he lay on the loading sled of his own ship, his trusty strill and one of his children seeing him off to his final resting place.

"Olaror!" Das commanded Dutchess to his side and away from the sled and Strider. The strill obeyed instinctively and hurried to Das' side as he pressed the unload button on the command panel that brought the steel sled to life. "Ret'urcye mhi buir!"The sled then dumped Strider's body out off the loading ramp, having the corps free fall and crater into the desert ground below.

Das closed the hatch and looked at the security camera, knowing his uncle, Garrus Garon , was watching the unceremonious funeral procession. "Its done, back to the dirt like the old ways!" He informed before heading back to the ship's cockpit. Laying Strider to rest was not the only agenda this day. There was a gathering of alors that needed attending to.

----------- Mount Efreeti-------

Das, now fully clad in his father's beskar'gam giving him a strong resemblance to Strider, entered the meeting hall of the stronghold. Tense voices and words of violence were heard, which was usual for such gathers, Das was told, and he only took a curious interest in it as he found an open chair reserved for alors only. He removed his helmet, exposing the hybrid's green hair and young facial features. Those who were observant would have noticed the helmet had Strider's earned jaing eyes removed and polished off. "Apologies for my lateness! I am Dasu'r Garon of Clan Garon, here in sted of my uncle and alor, Garrus Garon ! Today, I am the clan's eyes, ears, and voice!"

Those who cared or were in the know would have heard of Strider's passing and those who have not—well, it really didn't matter, only that the title of Alor was given to Garrus.

 

[Preliat Mantis]

Preliat paced around- a rabid animal, hungry and waiting to pounce.

​

Preliat stepped ahead, stopping his pacing to be near and within striking distance of Mig Gred . The two had never crossed blades or fists, but Preliat was willing to take his chances. He unfurled his shoulders, rolling them back, lowering his head- his eyes behind his helmet being at eye level with Mig. Not that Mig was a short man, but Preliat was just unnervingly tall to most. And his reputation, his deeds, the weight of his sins. It made for a very unpleasant person to be cross with you.

"Clan Solus. And you- with the Infernal."

Preliat sized him up. He did not speak highly of the two, Solus or the Infernal, when said out loud. Perhaps it was indicative of how he felt about Mig, or perhaps just the company he kept. Truly, Preliat had only been around Mig a few times- not enough to form an opinion, but one's company was a good measure of one's beliefs.

"Our- homeworld burned, because of the actions of you, and your support of the Infernal. We suffered the wrath of Carnifex because of the Red Coronation." Preliat flicked his T-shaped visor back up to meet Mig's eyes.

"We have all lost a great deal. Do not weigh your losses against anyone else's gathered. You should care what your fellow Mandalorians think, or at least, hear them out. Clan Varad has a right to speak, and you have a duty to listen. I have burned worlds, I have sullied Empires, I have suffered more than you can comprehend. And yet I will stand here amongst my brothers and sisters and listen to them, for fear of another Red Coronation, another Civil War, or another Mand'alor like Yasha come forth. Do not speak ill of your brothers and sisters. We must be better. We must. Break. The. Cycle."

Preliat turned to the Alor of Varad, somewhat across the room. He wasn't terribly impressed with his speech, but he had raised some good points. He was more aggressive and hard-headed than he would have liked, especially one to summon the council and demand the Carnea. But then again, Preliat wasn't too far off from him when he was younger.


Mig Gred

 

[Gi’Yarr Shale]

|| ODYSSEY ||

~all the roads lead to Him~

OBJECTIVE: decide our stance​

MOUNT EFREETI

Just how much more soft and dumb are these so-called Clan Elders can be? One equating not spilling the blood of our vode to the blind crusade of the Enclave. Others lamenting about the oh-so-horrible history of Manda’yaim they all are responsible for.

“You speak of the threat of the dar’jetii, you know how dangerous those demagolka are, yet you refuse to endure the necessary procession to unite our tribe.”

Unity is the only salvation in this cruel galaxy, and the bond needs to be forged in fire.

“You’re either too simple to think that we can just choose the mightiest by wasting unnecessary lives and expect us to follow the kinslayer, or do the democratic nonsense and expect us to follow the opinions of those who have brought nothing but calamity to Manda’yaim, or you are just too comfortable clinging to the power vacuum left by the lack of competent Mand’alor.”

Selfish. Opportunistic. That’s what they are. They don’t care for no Manda’yaim, they only care for the power they have over their own people.

“I’m not gonna spend any more time in this tomfoolery. Clan Shale will attend the Carneia and be part of the necessary processions to unite our people. Until then.”

Without waiting, I ignited my jetpack to make an exit from the gathering. Whether the masses agree or not, Clan Shale will fully support the proceedings, and raise our banner for the rightful Mand’alor chosen in the Carneia.

 

[Teresa Zambrano | Darth Pellax]

wrong char