The King is Dead. Long Live the Queen (Mandalorian Empire)

[Darth Carnifex]

A fierce desire to inflict suffering fixated his attention squarely on the Mandalorian who had murdered his son, but that sort of devotion to a singular task blinded him to the destruction that was wrought in the wake of [member="Rach Vizla"]'s death.

The concussive wave hit him first, knocking him off his feet before the emerald flame licked at his flesh. Though he felt nothing, the smell the burning flesh filled his nostrils with its acidic odor as his ears were practically deafened by the cacophanus roar of the explosion. His back slammed against one of the ornate windows that bordered the room, the glass cracking under the pressure and impact of his body before finally shattering outward into the streets and plazas below.

Carnifex followed the shards shortly after.

Without the Force he fell unabated, spiraling down like a titanic missile towards the rigid ground below. He reached out for purchase and found gain on a ledge that jutted out from the palace's structure, though the effort to grabbing and maintain his grip on the stone wrenched the ball joint of his shoulder right out of its socket with a gut-wrenching pop; though again he would feel none of it. He hung there for a moment, composing himself, before sliding down the sheer face of the wall to land on both feet at the bottom. With some effort he managed to jam his shoulder back into place, rolling the joint to ensure there was no loss of mobility.

A quick keystroke on his wrist communicator sent out a beacon that could only be picked up by a transceiver if it was specifically attuned to look for it, and it just so happened that the astromech [member="Goran"] was waiting in the wings for such a code.

"Rendezvous with me at these coordinates."

 

[Baiko no Kaho]

“No!” Baiko heard her shout come a split second after [member="Karsan Calnov"] fired his shots. Her eyes widened.

Ancius Zambrano hit the ground. Baiko’s heart thudded in her chest. This was quite possibly the worst outcome imaginable for the Mandalorian Empire, to have their only ally’s son die, unarmed, in the throne room of Sundari. Baiko dove for the boy, pulling his body away from the tumultuous crowd.

She checked his pulse, putting her hands to his wounds, but… her touch began to feel the residue of Ancius Zambrano’s life memories. She did not see them, but could have, if she’d pushed. He was dead.

“Oh no… n-GRAY!” [member="Gray Raxis"] went bolting after [member="Dorn Skirata"].

She had no time. Baiko rose and rushed after [member="Gray Raxis"] and [member="Darth Carnifex"], damage control the only thing on her mind… when [member="Kaden Mantis"] stabbed [member="Rach Vizla"]…

… and Baiko, armourless Baiko went flying clear out the same window which took Dorn Skirata and Gray Raxis.

 

[Goran]

Well, there it was.

The Signal.

Proper noun, yo.

What followed must have been quite a sight for the little boys and girls of Mandalore.

The huge, hulking armored form was unusual even on these streets. It wasn't fast, exactly. In fact, it was painfully slow. The average humanoid could outrun it with a light jog. But what it lacked in speed, it made up for by not giving a single solitary kark, and also by weighing the better part of three and a half tons.

It might have been the mythosaur painted on the right shoulder that gave people pause. Or perhaps it was the clan emblem, scratched but still visible, on the left. Goran's original clan had long gone extinct, but it kept the emblem anyway.

More than likely, however, it was the four linked E-webs, hooked up to its massive left arm that sent a pretty clear signal that it was not to be messed with. The gigantic rifle sitting over its right shoulder might have had something to do with it, too.

Goran's good luck couldn't hold forever. As it neared the rendezvous point, a stranger in armor painted with insignias it didn't recognize tried to get in its way.

Well, this was as good a time as any.

"Halt!" the stranger shouted, brandishing a blaster rifle. The fellow was brave, Goran would give him that. He stepped within a few feet of the behemoth. "This area is- why do I hear guitars?"

The opening riffs of a song Goran found on the shuttle began to play from hidden speakers. No point in having armor the size of a heavy cruiser if you couldn't install a bitchin' sound system.

Before the stranger could react, the Shard cocked back its massive songsteel fist and rammed it into the poor fellow with enough force to dent the front glacis on a tank.

"ONE PUUUUUUNCH!!!!"

https://youtu.be/QImBolnTVH8

Well. Hopefully [member="Darth Carnifex"] was smart enough to realize that his backup was here.

 

[Mav Halo]

Against the numbers that seemed to fill the throne room, death would be inevitable. Only in fables of old did one man stand against the many without paying the ultimate price for his defiance. After the life he had led, fighting across countless planets and a sea of endless warzones, it was somewhat amusing that he would find his in the heart of Manda'yaim. A wayward son finally returned home.

A rueful grin twisted at his bloodstained features, a laugh threatening to tumble past those battered and torn lips as he continued to fight his way towards the dais, paving his way with the glorious dead and the soon-to-be. The throne had been broken, for that his heart sang, but there was still work to be done.

Always work to be done.

There was a clang as his beskad caught in the gorget of a clansman. Munin Loyalist, Vizsla rebel... It was becoming hard to tell the difference in the haze of battle. All that mattered was the absence he felt in his hand as the blade was torn from his reach, the tide of bodies crashing into him once more and shoving him back the way he'd come. A blow careening off the side of his unarmoured head in the confusion and fray. And for a split second, he could taste the sweet air of Vhettiya. Feel the crisp morning chill on his skin. Hear the sounds of a home that hadn't been his in countless years.

The smile deepened and then it was gone, swept away in a rush of searing heat and blinding green light that gave way to a familiar and all embracing darkness. His final thoughts dwelling on the closing lines of a tale his father once imparted.

And Death appeared before him, ​

armored of blackest night and said,​

"It is time."​

​

To which the warrior smiled and replied, ​

"What took you so long, vod?"​

 

[Lemon]

Fett held his ground with righteousness and pride. He knew his cause and he would see it out. The Pretender would fall, the palace would be broken just as the throne was. Everyone was an equal in Mandalorian society, this mere girl didn't seem to catch that, and to have them as Mand'alor was insulting. The Munin Warriors persisted, only to meet an identical fate to those that came before. Death. It was the ultimate equalizer. In time this would end, and who would be left standing was entirely unknown at this point. For now, the true Mandalorian stayed his course.

Vilaz's dogs of war seemed to cease their attacks, at least for the time-being. Given up on facing the same man who killed countless others of their Clansmen. In the moment of reprieve in which he held his Carbine and Blaster Pistol in each hand, it was then that Australis made his appearance. He spoke his words, and perhaps he was right. The man was taller, significantly so, older, and from a clan he could not recognize. None of that mattered, however. The mind was the most important aspect of any warrior, and rest assure Fett would not break. He feared no mand.

The Bounty Hunter wasted no time on words and transitioned into direct action. The blaster pistol fired in quick succession, in the direction of Kaine, as did the carbine that found itself also wielded as if it were a pistol. It fired, but slower in it's rate and with more of a sting. Yet beskar was strong, resilient, just like the people that wear it. The Mandalorian strafed left throughout his attack, standing still would be pointless in a time like this.

An explosion detonated with aggression, green washed over the room as Fett stumbled yet retained his footing, where as others had fallen if not died from the explosion. Rach Vizsla met his end, he died a man who believed in his cause, and so did Kalad Shysa. It was an odd day when a Fett, Shysa and Vizsla fought together - known well for holding a strong disdain for each other. Their bodies had failed them, yet their minds would live on.

We are born to die. We live to be remembered.​

​

[member="Kaine Australis"]​

 

[Briika Munin]

Spoiler

Speed RPers, you lot! Geez

Really? Seriously, right now?!

Yep... Mother Nature called and she would not be forgiving if Briika didn't tend to it like yesterday. It would mean that [member="Vilaz Munin"] would have to fight this fight on his own. Any ways her riduur's trigger happy self had gotten him into the present situation he was in. It could get the Akaan out of it as well, well hopefully. Who else would scrub her back while soaking in the tub?

The Baar'ur quietly slipped out of the Throne Room and made for the public fresher just down the hallway. She was washing her hands at the sink when there was an explosion.... not from inside the palace, but outside of the building, rocking it. Briika exited the fresher quickly and went over to the nearest window to peer out over the Sundari skyline.

Not again?!

The dome had a huge crack in it and the TSAC had been hit by something powerful. Debris and dust in the air made it hard to visualize just what had happened, but it could only mean one thing... big trouble.

The petite blonde sprinted back down the hallway to the ornate doors of the Throne Room donning her buy'ce as she did and pulling her slugthrower pistol from its holster. A gauntlet hand reached for the brass handle and pulled the heavy door open when from inside a blast went off. Next a huge wave of energy hit Briika in the chest followed by licks of green flames at her beskar'gam that sent her flying backwards skidding onto the tiled floor like a rag doll; the back of the Bree's helmeted head slamming downward.

It was lights out.

Well, at least she didn't pee herself in the process.

 

[Zef Halo]

Tunnel vision. All focus on the immediate threat, that of Mantis. He noticed his flamethrower had unaffected the man as he in turn jerked his arm up and fired a salvo of blaster fire from his wrist. Caius took it. Bolts hitting his energy shield and thick beskar'gam. He was a tank. If Mantis did not acknowledge that, he'd be run through by its tracks.

Left arm went up and blue energy flared in his grav glove. A gravitational force would pull at Silas while Caius' beskad holding hand would twitch at the opportunity to impale the Mantis.

A moment after using his grav glove, everything disappeared after an ear deafening explosion. All senses went numb.

There was nothing great about death. No last words, no will left behind.

Just infinite darkness.

A large Mandalorian body was hurled along into one of the walls from the concussion wave and vaporizing effect. Only dust remained where there was once a live Mandalorian.

A soft wind picked up craddling the dust away.

The birds still migrated south.

The sun still rose.

The galaxy still spun.

[member="Ronan Vizsla"] [member="Rach Vizla"] [member="Kalad Shysa"] [member="Vilaz Munin"] [member="Silas Mantis"] [member="Yasha Mantis"] [member="Ember Rekali"] [member="Kyra"] [member="Koda Fett"] @Everyoneelse​

 

[Shia Kryze]

A faint thud shook the palace behind her and Shia groaned. Someone had gone and done something really, really stupid.

No response from Baiko meant trouble, and meant no airspace clearance, which meant if she took of she'd be braving the planetary defences to chase some braving the planetary defences or...

... rubble flew down past the open mouth of the hanger.

Or they'd think she was the bomber.

She suddenly considered people might have been blown out with the blast, if they had any sense they were falling slower than high-velocity rubble. She marked the trajectory, the system instantly snapping back with an estimated detonation point - what sensors did Merrill put in this thing? Then flipped the repulsors to maximum and the thrusters into a curious notch marked 'Em-Overdrive'...

... and spun a corvette out of the hanger like it was a racing swoop, surging up and into the path of the falling debris and people.

Sure, it was a long fall... but it was a lot shorter than the fall to the streets of Sundari below.

She was too close to the palace for it's automated defences to target, but despite that she didn't so much as feed power to weapons system. She liked living, she particularly liked living through this... insanity.

She'd hadn't believed the old timers when they told her this happened every, single, time. Now she did, she knew she wanted little part of it in the future. Mandalore needed stability to survive, not... whatever this was.

 

[Lemon]

The old man made his approach, whether he was a former Mand'alor or General, it mattered not. All that counted here were two men willing to kill each other for no discernible reason. The man was fresh to this Mandalorian Empire, and he held no informed opinion yet only followed what he believed to be right: the herd. Although, anyone who respected what it meant to be a Mandalorian would of stood with Fett, Vizsla and their allies who seemed to succumb to their wounds, or the explosion. Too many innocent men had died today. Whatever the aftermath was today, let it be said that Yasha Mantis failed to rally the clans.

As Australis advanced he found himself right before Fett, but he wasn't kneeling at all and retained his footing. The Bounty Hunter had been quick to react, witnessing the beskad begin it's movement. A swift and strong kick made it's way to the wrist of the arm that held the weapon, intending on keeping it away. All the while his right hand released it's grip upon the blaster carbine - catching itself with it's sling - before sending a crushgaunt adorned fist into the direction of Kaine Australis' helmet. Planning on striking the bottom left side of it.

[member="Kaine Australis"]​

 

[Lina Ovmar]

Calina banked left and hard, careening away from the incoming fighters, cursing repeatedly as the fire rained down from all sides.

"Mara! Where the hell are you?!" she yelled into the void. Fear closing about her chest. she did not want to die, not now and certainly not like this. Shields down to ten percent.

A Pau-city blockade runner reverted into realspace in front of her, and Calina found her heart in her throat, her strangled cry of relief lost in the scream of alarms.

Shields down to five percent.

The blockade runner own defences flashed out, pushing the fighters back off her tail as she pushed the shuttle to its limits towards the blockade's hangar. Fire and smoke erupted behind her as she passed the hangar bay shields, hitting the deck hard and skidding across it before coming to a grinding halt.

She felt the familiar lurch in her stomach that told her they'd jumped to hyperspace. Some one clambered through a hole in the shuttle, the hiss of a fire extinguisher reaching her ears. Slowly she unpeeled her hands from the controls, and covered her face. Emotion welled up inside her, relief she was alive, terror of what came next, fury that she had been discovered. All of it seemed to tumble from her at once and she dissolved into tears.

~~

 

[Malok]

After pain, lightness.

After lightness, Ascension.

As the eyes lulled to a close...as the heart stuttered to silence...as the heat of warrior's blood went cold...something abandoned its shell. This was not its end - but rather a simple page upon a vast chapter. This presence went by many names - spirit, essence, and the like - and it moved instantly between the veil. In passing, good memories would dance before their eyes: visions of happiness. Of loved ones. Of triumphs. Final worries would peel away. Most would soon not care about affairs of the mundane, no matter how vital they seemed mere moments ago.

But the wrath of a Vode. It was a crimson stain upon the journey to the Manda. It was a ball and chain which clung to the spirit and halted warriors from moving onto the Great Battlefields. And thus, as those who fell to the squabbles of the Hell Wolf's rise, they would find no shining light at the end of a tunnel. They would find no shining gates or choruses of glistening spirits. They would no rest.

Only Blood.

Here, the heavens were crimson and literally rained down hot blood upon those below. The earth was as flesh - pallid and cold. Within these Wastes would the warriors find themselves. And before them sat a man.

He wore beskar'gam, same as they.

He was among the dead, same as they.

And his hands were outstretched, warming over an emerald flame. He looked up from the dancing depths and motioned for them to draw near.

"Come. Rest. You've quite the journey ahead."

[member="Caius Fett"], [member="Rach Vizla"], [member="Kalad Shysa"], [member="Kyra"]​

 

[Silas Mantis]

He felt himself being pulled, as if by some jetti, towards a blade. On instinct Silas readied himself to block and further assault, but also fired off his repulosr pack in an attempt to break the telekinetic hold. A simple thing, he didn't even have to think about doing it, and it was that instinct that kept him from becoming ashes on the floor of the palace. But it did not save him entirely.

As a flash blinded him, concussive force flung him back, and flame washed over him briefly, Silas' world went dark. Hurled like a rag doll sickening cracks rung out only to be drowned out by the roar of the detonation, and once it subsided the Mandalorian was far too battered to call for any help. But a several thoughts swirled in the depths of his mind.

Where was his niece?

Where was his son?

Silas Mantis' eyes shot open under the scorched buy'ce, and he lifted up his prosthetic as a signal. He was alive.

 

[Ronan Vizsla]

A familiar heartbeat stopped.

Ronan froze.

Rach.

Time slowed down to a screeching halt, adrenaline rushing through his veins and Vizsla broke every instinct he had. In this moment he could have killed Yasha, she didn't know what would come roaring in a second, he did. He could use it and rip her head off, while she was off balance. But... that other heartbeat roared in his ears, unarmored, unprotected, stupid and his.

Vizsla shifted his body, turning around his axis and the explosion ripped through the room. Acidic fire erupting from Rach's chest and everyone caught in its immediate wake was incinerated immediately, the shockwave followed next and Ronan leaped. Instincts born from a thousand battles were ignored as the Mandalorian wrapped Tamara in an armored embrace and together they were sent flying as the fire roared across the back of his plate.

Pain.

The roar continued, in his ears, against his armor, holding her and protecting as best as he could. "My little runi, I set you free... you didn't have come here." But she did, didn't she?

Her father's daughter.

All around the explosion had its effect. People ripped to shreds, thrown around like ragdolls, the fire raging, pain, suffering. It felt like hours, but it couldn't have been more than a few seconds. The fire was raging, but the sounds were coming back into focus. He looked down on his daughter and slowly he rose, helping her back up. Beat up, but alive.

What next?

Ronan looked over his shoulder.

The palace hall was in chaos. The fighting had stopped... for now anyway, but it would restart again. This was the crux point... here, in this moment, as chaos took over and everyone was falling, dying, crying, hurting. Yasha was recovering and he could still take her. His hand went to the knife deep into his flesh between plates, pulling it out with a hiss and throwing it down to the floor. They had been so close. But Rash was gone, Shysa, Fett. Many of Yasha's were gone, incapacitated... but this was different now.

A glance over at Tamara again.

She would die, if he continued this. This... path. Two minutes ago Ronan had been satisfied with his own death, acceptive of hers, because Clan came before everything.

Yasha would destroy everything, wouldn't she? But then again. The Mandalorians had been destroyed so many times over history, three or more times over the past decade or two.

Fully turned to the so-called Hell Wolf, Ronan kept himself between that chaos and Tamara. "Words turned to violence by the hand of a single aimed missile." Ronan called out to Yasha. "They will start again, they have to, anger for their lost ones will keep them going." He scowled, brow furrowing, but that stance protective over Tam would tell Yasha he wasn't doing this for himself or even for Clan Vizsla now.

He had been ready to die, so had been the ones following him into the room.

Ronan wanted to fight and it took every inch of his self-restrained not to pull out his beskad again to start the violence again. "We can stop it... together. At least for now in this moment." He stood straight, but every bone in his body hurt. Something had cracked inside of him. A rib? Multiple ones. His armor scorched black, part of his hair burned away at the back, angry.

There was pain.

But there had always been pain and blood, maybe it was time for something new. "You. Me. A circle of blood. You win, I and mine leave you to your empire. I win. You renounce your claim."

​

[member="Darth Carnifex"] [member="Calina Ovmar"] [member="Gray Raxis"] [member="Preliat Mantis"] [member="Karsan Calnov"] [member="Silas Mantis"] [member="Vilaz Munin"] [member="Kyra"] [member="Adora Namadi"] [member="Teagan Stoirm"] [member="Koda Fett"] [member="Sel Wyrick"] [member="Jor Kvall"] [member="Strider Garon"] [member="Liset Vereen"] [member="Joanes Quez"] [member="Tal Vizsla"] [member="Amanda Kryze "][member="Atin Alo'ran"] [member="Beskadala Ordo"] [member="Briika Tor-Munin"] [member="Yasha Mantis"] [member="Caius Fett"] [member="Dorn Skirata"] [member="Kervo Namadi"] [member="Baiko no Kaho"] [member="Kaden Mantis"] [member="Quoron Viszla"] [member="Ember Rekali"] [member="Darth Metus"] [member="Draco Vereen"] [member="Lady Kay"] [member="Rach Vizla"] [member="Kalad Shysa"] [member="Tamara Wren"] [member="Caius Fett"]​

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The Crestfallen now idled above the front courtyard entrance to the Sundari Palace, its wings locked in a vertical line as its guns were aimed towards the palace itself. The Dark Lord strode beneath it, his gargantuan ally thundering behind him as he reentered the palace, intent on seeing this power struggle play out.

In his favor.

His Sith robe had been exchanged for armor, and his lightsaber hung from his belt. He still could not call upon the Force to give him extra strength, but even without it he had proven to be a capable and cunning warrior; his lightsaber would afford him extra reach. Any Mandalorian that attempted to stop him would find that his patience, while vast, was not infinite, and their broken and sundered bodies would litter the hall behind him as he stalked back into the throne room just in time to hear [member="Ronan Vizsla"]'s challenge to [member="Yasha Mantis"].

"To the victor will go the spoils, and I will treat with whomever proves themselves mightiest. Be it with you, Yasha, or he who casts you down." He and [member="Goran"] would ensure that none dared interfere with this fight, through lethal arms if his message was not clear enough.

 

[Yasha Cadera]

“We sensed thy power in thunder-bolt and sea,​

And in our new-found jealousy for thee,​

Forged our own fetters, called them by thy name,​

Limped through the centuries—and whose the blame?”*​

Instinct honed in the Netherworld had Yasha jump away and curl into a ball as [member="Rach Vizla"]’s explosion rocked the throne room. She smashed against a pillar, tumbling to the ground as a sharp crack sounded in her rib. Limp on the floor for a second, Yasha rolled to her feet and held out her hand. Where was [member="Kaden Mantis"]? Where was [member="Baiko no Kaho"] and [member="Gray Raxis"]? She saw [member="Silas Mantis"] begin to move, and let out a relieved sigh.

Her wolf hammer veered back into it, and Yasha held it aloft, waiting for the inevitable next threat. The throne was in ruins, her people dying because of a single rocket, which started this mess.

“Vilaz, you fool.” Yasha hacked, staring through the cracked and crumbling transparisteel of her buy’ce. She ripped it from her head and let it tumble to the ground. Broken. “You’re not allowed to die until I kill you myself.”

“Hark! Through the world that sound of weeping goes:​

Isis for Osiris, Ishtar for her woes— ​

Must all the gods thus die, and we atone?​

Who then shall mourn for thee, thou Great Unknown?”*​

Panting, a hand on her stomach, Yasha stared at @Ronin Vizsla. There was an ache behind her navel, nauseating.

“I don’t strive to this position for glory, Ronan. I take it because the people need to survive. Because civil war has torn us apart and there’s few of us left who can. I don’t need a throne or a Palace. All I need is a round table with equal chairs. I don’t feel vengeance toward you!” Stumbling on a piece of rubble, Yasha eyed her associates in the room. [member="Briika Tor-Munin"] was on the floor, alive.

“Do you realize the Dark Lord’s son just got killed and vaporized in our throne room? Do you have any idea of the hell about to be thrown on our collective heads? If we continue fighting amongst ourselves, all that will happen is an easier target for those who will sweep through here with a ferocious vengeance. I refuse to squabble. We will unite, even now, Ronan. And to prove the quality of the woman who would claim Mand’alor…”

Darth Carnifex returned. Oddly enough, the cleanest area in the throne room was the immediate blast radius of Rach’s dead-man bomb. Standing tall, Yasha rubbed her lips with the back of her crush gaunt, smearing blood from her nose across her lips and cheek. She looked to [member="Darth Carnifex"] and dared not shut her eyes but look upon his fury as an equal.

“I always intended to be challenged for it. Agreed. You and me, Ronan Vizsla. One circle… but when I win, you join my Empire. Enough derision. You will not bow your knee, but nod your chin and fight under the Mandalorian Empire’s banner. You and your own. If you win, I will renounce my claim and leave Mandalore to its’ fate.”

Might and mercy. ​

The Resol’nare condense into three words. ​

“Why, why, and why this blood forever streaming?​

Drenched is the world, intoxicated, dreaming:​

The sated earth went sick with blood, and still​

From shrine to tower, from tower to temple went​

That shrill, reverberating call, “Repent!””*​

​

* Portions from A.C Dalton, Flame & Adventure​

 

[Lemon]

Fett was no fool. Taking him for one was a mistake, and if Kaine truly believed as such and acted accordingly he would find himself dead. You always had to be careful when facing a Fett, and especially this one. He had proven himself as the best bounty hunter in the galaxy and a true Mandalorian. Make no mistake, he was feared for good reason.

It was unfortunate that Fett's fist whiffed through the air, narrowly missing the helmet in which he intended to strike with the full force of a crushgaunt adorned hand. Yet he could find solace in the fact his kick had diverted the beskad, leaving him safe from that vile weapon for now. He moved with momentum, and had accounted for such a fist to miss it's target. It was during the combat in which these actions came to him, it was his instincts and training. That was all that mattered, it was what made a warrior who he was.

The Bounty Hunter swiveled in a quick motion at the same time in which Kaine raised his arm. His head narrowly avoided the flame as licks of flame met his helmet. However the beskar's and undersuit's properties made it entirely ineffective without any prolonged exposure. Though it was then that he snatched for the arm over his shoulder, intending on gripping tightly with an unbreakable crushgaunt grip that would then be thrust downwards with the hopes of ripping the larger man over his shoulder to have him crash down onto his back. He may have been heavy, but the Mandalorian was deceptively strong. He could carry such a weight, let alone drag it over his shoulder.

If the grapple type attack was successful it would offer a moment of pause, and perhaps then Fett would notice Ronan and Yasha in their challenge. A deal had been set, and he would honour it no matter the cost. For this wasn't his decision anymore.

[member="Kaine Australis"]​

 

[Tamara Wren]

It all happened in a pair of heartbeats.

In the space between where one man's ended and one woman's began, green hellfire filled the room. Everything slowed down, frozen in that instant. Tamara had come here, knowing that it was very likely she would die, and probably at her father's hand. It had taken every bit of strength to make that decision, to step through that door knowing as she did just what she was offering. Her life, in return for the unity of her family. To come back, chin up, and turn herself over rather than be dragged back like a child, kicking and screaming to face her punishment. To walk toward death with head held high. As a Mandalorian. As a Wren. As a Vizsla.

Not like this. Not in brimstone and flame.

Her hand tightened on the vibroknife as green fire reflected in her eyes.

As it happened, she was right. About one thing at least.

That wasn't how she died.

He slammed into her, enveloping her as best as he could in that armored embrace. There was no confusion as to who it was- she'd known the sight of that armor as well as she knew her father's face. The only confusion was the why?
And something else.

They landed heavily, and she grunted- pain of course- hair smoldered, skin blistered, the weight of his armored form slamming into her and the explosion itself. It was a small enough sound, easily lost, easily overlooked. Her eyes wide, she looked up at his face. She the confusion in hers was writ clear as day.

"Papa?"

It wasn't a question that it was him, but again that why? His comment confused her- the pain did not, but it was easy to overlook in the shadow of green flames and bigger pictures. She hadn't received the message that rescinded the kill order. She didn't know that, there in the end before [member="Ronan Vizsla"] turned toward his own death, he had lifted the threat of hers. If not forgiven then at least stayed. She'd come all this way to say one thing to him, and regardless of how this all turned out, she'd say the only thing that mattered.

"Papa I'm sorry."

There was so much more to say but no time to say it. They survived the blast- not unscathed- and as he stood slowly, offering her a hand, she reached up to grasp it. Her right, deformed, fingers fused, grasped his wrist. Another time that would have been enough to tell him something was wrong, but his attention was all on Yasha and that, Tamara knew, was for the best. Her left forearm curled around her middle as she stood with nothing more than a grunt.

As Ronan and Yasha squared off, his attention where it needed to be, that was where she drew a silent but ragged breath. Stepping back, letting the growing crowd once again swallow her, she let the vibroknife fall, swallowing hard. There was enough noise to easily mask the clatter. The entire length of the blade was crimson, stopped only at the hilt. The weight of him bearing her to the floor had turned the blade inward, and she didn't have to look down to know the blood was starting to drip.

Moving back slowly, she only stopped once she reached a wall and there she leaned heavily. Face pale where it wasn't blistered from the blast, she tilted her head back, gasping slightly. Far enough back, enough of the crowd between her and her father so he didn't see. Didn't know. He couldn't not now, not with this. He needed all of his attention for what was coming.

Left palm braced hard against the injury, applying pressure. She didn't know how bad it was, but her knees shook.

In the end.... perhaps her father had killed her after all.

 

[Goran]

Goran knew better than to stop all the little side duels going on. That wasn't its problem.

Boss wanted to leave these two fighting for the helm? Cool. It could do that. Hopefully, one of them wasn't an utter lunatic who'd try to ban all Forcies again. If not, well, it hadn't ruled out killing the winner.

It didn't want the top spot itself. For starters, there was no way that helmet would fit on its chassis. More importantly, it knew it wasn't fit to lead, not the whole of the Mandalorians. It was terrible at politics, diplomacy, and anything not directly related to killing something. Once upon a time that would have been qualification aplenty, but apparently, Mandos were more sophisticated these days. They even built palaces.

Back in its day, this would all go down outside the Oyu'baat while everyone got shetfaced. The new guy to take the helm would mumble a couple of words while trying to set any broken bones or staunch any bleeding, and then they'd all go back to getting hammered. Those were the days.

But times change, and Goran knew that the Mandos it had come to know were well and truly gone. Best it could do was preserve the good old days in its head, and maybe cull the occasional fanatic.

In the meantime, it stood a few steps behind [member="Darth Carnifex"] and tried to look menacing. For dramatic effect, it even coaxed a few extra metallic noises out of its weapons. Sinister mechanical clanking echoed across the room, along with an ominous hum as the E-webs warmed up.

 

[Adora Namadi]

Today was supposed to be a nice day. You know, a day to recuperate from the last few days of work, a day to just relax. A nice, easy day with a little celebration on the side. After all, how often does one welcome a new Mand'alor? Indeed, this would be a day for the books, a day in which absolutely everything would work out and everyone would be all smiles.

Then Adora woke up.

Something was amiss, that much she could tell. The girl could feel it in her joints, so much so she was tempted to ask her sister to check the cybernetic for adjustments. That sensation haunted her throughout the morning, turning her usual energetic to more of a nervous flight. She found herself downing several more cups of caf than usual, checking over supplies with a nervous vigor like she'd know she'd forget something the girl would later find herself needing most. Surely there was nothing to worry about, right? She could just go down to the throne room and everything would be a-okay.

The signs of something amiss were there before she got close to said room. The sounds of fighting could be heard from a fair distance away - too much so to be mistaken for the sounds of revelry. When at last she did push her way into the room, only a gasp of horror could she emit. Chaos was perhaps the only word that could accurately describe the monstrosity that the throne room had become. Bodies, Mando and guest alike, decorated the floor along with rubble and who knew what else. The throne that Adora had grown quite fond of - at least from a decoration perspective - was destroyed beyond repair. All around, friends were turned against friends, allies and others turned on to each other in grizzly battles. Not exactly what one could consider a good time.

At first, Adora had every inclination to just shut the door and ignore everything she saw. It would've been easy, too. Too easy at that. And yet a brief of heroism stilled her boots, kept her feet firmly planted within the room's boundaries.

And then she saw her.

An unfamiliar face, granted almost everyone was for the forced shut-in. Regardless, there was just something about the situation as a whole moved Adora into action, compelling her feet to weave through the bouts, narrowly avoiding a few close calls herself. Perhaps the woman's relative youth was what spoke to the other - she couldn't be more than a couple years older than Adora herself. Perhaps seeing someone so similar in stature in the heat of battle, and suffering because of it, pushed what courage Adora possessed into taking its grip on everything, steeling her nerves. For whatever reason, Adora made her way to the injured woman, muttering curses as she went.

"D-don't worry, I have some experience." Her words were rushed, shaking hands grasping for what medical supplies she had on her person. Bandages filled her grasp as her brain sifted through years of useless information that just happened to come to the forefront of her mind when it mattered most. First was...was...gloves2 She had that, right? Yep, there they were. Slipping them on took a bit longer than expected, at least it seemed to in her panicked state. What else was there...Oh, yeah. "Hi, I'm Adora." It seemed ridiculous, trying to hold a conversation in this catastrophe, but she needed to keep this woman with her. "What's yours?"

With gloves on, bandages in hand, she worked on at least slowing the blood flow.

[member="Tamara Wren"]​

 

[Vilaz Munin]

Right​

​

or wrong.​

​

Two words that would be used in what Vilaz had done here today. Some would agree that it was wrong as it lead to bloodshed and lives reaped from those that called themselves brother. Or others would counter that it was right as in the past those that challenged for the mantle would be greeted by bickering and talking, making no progress in declaring a warrior that they could follow and entrust their lives, families, and clan to. Yet debates wouldn't change what happened here today; they could only learn from the words spoken and the actions executed.

The events today would go down in history, and it was up to future generations to learn and see if they would repeat the doings of their ancestors, or make an alternative route.

Warriors of their respective clan killed or fell. Didn't matter what clan they came from, but they all bled the same; breathed the same; but most importantly, they shared the same name and culture.

Then from the violence a bomb erupted sending a concussion wave before unleashing green flames that vaporized anything it touched. Bodies, both living and dead, disappeared, armor surrendered to the flames. Some were fortunate that the shockwave of the blast sent them away from the flames or that their armor, all disintegrated, protected them from its licks. For Vilaz, the concussion wave of the bomb sent him flying backwards which stopped when his body hit a pillar of the throne room. His left front was the victim of the impact as he could feel his ribs cracking and his shoulder numb. He could use it, but it was limited.

The warlord looked around the room and only saw death. Ashes, blood, corpses and weapons littered. His mind began thinking the lives lost, the consequences it would bring, if he should have done that...and then they went to his wife. His beloved wife. He got up, right hand over his left ribcage, and somewhat limped around hoping his HUD would tell him the location of his lover which it did. He limped as fast as he could, some pain surging up, until he fell on his knees next to his soulmate. She wasn't moving and he was panicking. He took off her helmet to show her beautiful face to see her eyes closed and blood coming out of her mouth.

Don't die...please. Don't leave me.​

​

Then he checked her digital life support readout and saw that her vitals were somewhat good. She was still breathing and her heart still pounded. The Munin's nostrils breathed out in relief and his heart felt like it was about to escape. The warrior then picked up his beloved, which were several attempts yet making sure she wouldn't fall down, and swung her right arm around him. He walked with Briika, her feet dragging as they moved and head limped forward from being unconscious. They needed to leave. He didn't care who was Mand'alor or not. Not right now anyways.

His main priority was taking care his wife and getting them to their ship. From there he could figure out what to do next.

[member="Briika Tor-Munin"]​