Faction The Path Ahead I New Mandalorians

[Jenn Kryze]

The Battle of Onderon is over.

A pyrrhic victory, secured through the courage and undaunting defiance of the New Mandalorians. The Queen of Onderon is dead, the capital of Iziz ruined, and the loathsome foe yet hides upon the moon of Dxun, ready to withstand a siege amidst the ancient bastion fashioned by Mand'alor the Ultimate's warriors, thousands of years ago.

For all of this misery, however, the world still turns, and the struggle goes ever on... now that the dead have been mourned, the living must collect themselves, and make ready for the next chapter in their righteous stand. For they are no mere bounty hunters, nor deluded brigands cloaked in their own false conception of honor.

They are the New Mandalorians of Onderon: those harbingers of a new age and forgers of a new Mandalorian tradition to light the Galaxy anew!

They now make ready for war...

Objective I - Sworn by Oath

The New Mandalorians are a people defined by their commitment to traditionally chivalric ideals; although all prospective members are offered cin vhetin, the subsequent erasure of their past deeds in the eyes of House Kryze comes with the expectation that they will prove their new commitment by keeping to their word from that point on. As such, many choose to publicly declare their allegiance through the swearing of an oath, made upon their honor as Mandalorians. In the wake of the fierce fighting on Onderon, newcomers are directed to the highest point in the highlands, where Pollux, Alor'ad of House Kryze, awaits those with the heart to make a solemn vow.

Objective II - The War Council

Although her rule as the Alor of House Kryze and the Duchess of the New Mandalorians is absolute, the exemplar of the Owl ever seeks to embody the virtues of her people's aliik, chief of which being its wisdom. To rule with an iron grip is one thing, but to rule justly is another altogether; as such, any would-be advisors have been called to the Round Table to bring their counsel to the Redeemer.​

 

[Pollux]

The Sword of Dusk hoped the warriors before him would prove to be worthy protectors of the Duchess' so-called Age of Renewal.​

​

Some called his survival on Tython miraculous, though the duelist did not see it so. Many had fallen during that fight; brother fell against brother in a bitter struggle, Kryze drawing steel against Kryze. Khamul Kryze and his fanatics yet drew breath, and would doubtlessly prove to be a constant thorn in the House's side; the chivalrous warrior's objectives had been a failure. That he yet drew breath only allowed him to gaze upon his failure as a commander, quietly requesting to be reassigned upon his return to Onderon.​

​

A request Jenn had denied him. ​

​

"One's oath is a powerful thing, my vode", intoned the swordmaster. "It is alike beskar'gam, wrapped around thy souls, protecting thy faith and integrity. So long as you live by your oath, then naught may claim victory over you; therein lies true nobility. Not in titles, nor finery, but the measure of one's worth, in the face of insurmountable odds. Thou'rt Evaar'la Mando'ade. The greatest warriors this Galaxy hath ever beheld, and the noblest. Thy strength, put to the protection of those who may not defend themselves."​

​

Drawing the Ukatian sword he called his own, the Guardian of Vows watched the dying light of dusk reflecting upon the blade. Much like himself, it was a knightly thing, a symbol of one's station as well as an implement of death. A reminder that Mandalorian culture was far less impermeable than one might think. If they opened their hearts, and allowed themselves to feel the same respect and consideration for other cultures they all but demanded from outsiders, then they could become so much more.​

​

"Thy oath is thy own, kindred. You may relate its phrasing to the Pillar under which you have chosen to tread; whatever the case may be, let all assembled here know your devotion to our ideals. Speak from the depths of thy heart, with passion and honesty, and let honor guide the way. So speaks Pollux, Alor'ad of House Kryze."​

​

 

[Jenn Kryze]

Beskar'gam​

For a moment, Jenn looked to the light filtering through the windows and into the communal space she had summoned the advisors to join her in, and wondered for the umpteenth time that day if she had made a mistake. Should she not have taken Pollux's place, and ensured that all those swearing their vows would do so before her, their sole ruler? She who had found the courage within to stand up against evil, and lead righteous souls away from the brigandry and murder of the Mandalorian Enclave as it collapsed in on itself?​

​

Alas, even a sorceress like herself could not be in two places at once, and so she had to make choices. Concessions. Weighing her options, and acting on whichever one seemed best. Although she feared some may take her absence at vows to be an ill omen, her attention was required around the Round Table, listening to the advice and concern presented by her people, that she may keep a finger on the pulse of the House. Though she held no qualms when it came to asserting her power and influence, keeping herself honest was a struggle - made all the more accessible thanks to the input of those who kept their feet on the ground.​

​

"Thank you all for coming, my vode. As you know, I have called you here to discuss the future of our House; our place in the Galaxy, and the actions we should take. Let no-one here doubt their place among us; no matter your past allegiances, may you have once been a Crusader, a Protector, an Imperial, a follower of the Sith... you are now my warriors. The New Mandalorians."​

​

Marking a meaningful pause, her eyes went from one helm to another, letting the gazer of her visor (as well as the Jaig Eyes etched above it) remind all those in attendance of the piercing nature of her gaze, unseen as it may be. So too did her voice settle into its near-hypnotic rhythm, a melody woven from words; the longer she spoke, and the more agreeable others tended to be... an effect mitigated by those aware of her nature as Ersansyr, and possessing the strength of will to deny the pleasant nature of the Duchess' alluring song.​

​

"Our first order of business shall concern the fate of the Crusaders we vanquished during the defense of our home. Some of our smiths believe we should return the beskar'gam of the fallen to their aliit, for it is their sacred legacy; others have petitioned me for permission to melt it all down, and thus reinforce those suits already in our possession. Likewise, the delicate matter of the bodies themselves must be handled. Are we to give them a Kryze funeral, brought upon the pyre and returned to ashes? Should we see those remains returned to their loved ones? Or, as some of my Nite Owls have counselled... shall we make an example of them?"​

​

Tense silence followed, if for but a moment. Silence broken only by a drawl from Karrys, personal pilot of the Nite Owls and oldest supporter of the Alor.​

​

"Heads, spikes, walls, I say."​

​

​

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

Amidst the throng of Mandalorians arriving on this day, Itzhal was one of many, though more distinct than most, with armour that suited a relic of a bygone era. The heavy plates of Beskar draped across his torso, a mixture of dark black that called for a Justice that would never be obtained, the victims and perpetrators long passed, and a crimson red that struggled to remember those lost, their blood a burden that would never lessen, glinted in the light, their metallic sheen a testament to both the durability and craftsmanship of an armourer long passed.

Upon his shoulders, held straight despite the weight that assaulted them, pauldrons formed part of the formidable shell that stretched further outward, extending protectively around his outer arms. Their final touch reminiscent of a guardian's embrace, the last protection of people lost to memory.

His gauntlets were much of the same style, thicker than most of their common counterparts, as was expected from a time when Beskar was plentiful and its people were free to flourish. The weapons and equipment, however, were new and bright with a sheen that contrasted against the carefully maintained and cared-for armour; the shine only buffed in for the special occasion.

He hadn't had time to properly work the extensive modifications required for the intended missile system attached to his leg plates, though such would come in time. In the meanwhile, his armoured greaves were attached to empty slots, their reinforced plates appearing thicker for the extra protection that he couldn't remove, despite how unnecessary the additional armour was without the attached weapons platform.

In a world of sleek and modern armour, where shards of faithful iron were scavenged and worn with great care before they were passed down for centuries more, he stood apart.

Yet, not so much that his presence overshadowed the intensity of the attention directed towards Pollux Kryze. Their voice was laden with a solemn gravity, reminiscent of the heavy, unrelenting burden that rested upon Itzhal's shoulders. It was only fitting, given the gravity of the moment—a moment when souls stood poised to stand if they dared to acknowledge the reason they'd come here in the first place.

For the sake of a Galaxy that roiled in anguish, yearning for champions to rise and fulfil its desperate hopes.

Observing from a perch near the back, Itzhal stood, one hand pressed against the edge of a boulder, cool air whishing against the back of his neck. His helm tilted slightly as he found himself curious about who would be the first to make their vow as if the words would mean something to him, as if he would even hear them when all he could think about was how to shape the words that spoke to his soul.

Tag: Pollux​

 

[Haliat Kryze]

Beskar'gam

This all remained so very strange to him. Strange, and yet, he wouldn't go so far as to call it wrong. Indeed, even as he'd taken his seat, he would not deny that something about these surroundings resonated with him a way he could not easily put into words. There was unquestionably a grandeur about this place, as much as could possibly be conjured amidst the humble settlement which the wilds of Onderon had thus far yielded to its newest tenants. But somehow, despite the readily apparent skill and care which had gone into the crafting of this table, despite the elegance of its carved patterns, it didn't seem nearly so showy or forbidding as he'd expected. In fact, one of the first things he'd done upon laying eyes upon the Round Table of House Kryze was to remove glove and gauntlet alike, in order that he might experience the craftsmanship with unadorned hand, trace the intricate grooves with callused fingertips.

Wood. Nothing more, just plain, ordinary wood. The same stuff that beings of his kind had made use of since not so long after they'd evolved the intelligence and manual dexterity to craft plane and saw. That something so humble, so unassuming and ancient had been chosen to bear the weight of their future, the future of a people ordinarily so inextricably linked in identity to cold metal...

It felt right. Haliat just couldn't have possibly have anticipated ever being offered a seat at such a table. For so long, he was master unto himself and himself alone. His course was his to dictate, with no need of rhetoric. And yet, he sought to influence none. That this should be his purpose now...he wasn't quite sure what to make of that. But while he thought it over, here he sat. And when the pilot made ready use of both seat and voice, it was time he must do the same.

​

"Heads, spikes, walls, I say."​

​

​

"You'd have us mutilating corpses? Have we nothing better to do?" ​

​

He meant no derision against the speaker, despite his distaste for the proposal. He presumed Karrys' counsel came from a place of anger, anger he could well understand. Long had the pilot supported Jenn herself, and that likely suggested support for her vision. If Karrys believed in what this could all grow into, then this was home. Home had been attacked yet again, and jubilantly so. It was natural to desire vengeance of some sort. And while this did not move Haliat himself, this was an assembly of warriors. He would have to do better if he meant to forestall that course of action.

"What purpose would it serve? To unnerve the Crusaders, compel them to future restraint? I think we all know it would do nothing of the kind. It will only enrage them, enhance their lust for the vengeance to which they feel perpetually entitled. And if enraging them is the point, exacting some vengeance of our own...I, for one, am not interested. Let their dead, and any more dead to come, be payment enough. More violence inflicted on those past caring is not simply beneath us; it's useless. Their gear, on the other hand...that is not useless."

​

​

| Friendly | Jenn Kryze
​

 

[Drego Ruus]

Tag: Pollux​

"Thy oath is thy own, kindred. You may relate its phrasing to the Pillar under which you have chosen to tread; whatever the case may be, let all assembled here know your devotion to our ideals. Speak from the depths of thy heart, with passion and honesty, and let honor guide the way. So speaks Pollux, Alor'ad of House Kryze."

An oath to this new group.

It was a hard sell to someone who had been burned by so many. The Enclave, turned into something unworthy of the armor. The Protectors, fallen into squabbling and discord. The Crusaders, a group that had cast him out from his own home. His brief meeting with the A'lor of House Kryze had opened him to the idea of the New Mandalorians, but the thought of swearing an oath so soon was a daunting one.

Still, Drego Ruus, A'lor of the newest clan in the galaxy, stood amongst the crowd doing so. If he was to swear an oath, he would do so on behalf of his clan. Not for himself, but for those under him.

" Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la.. " The former Warmaster spoke. He still held that title on his armor, the mark of the Protectors still clad across his shoulderplate. Even if they were gone, even if the Crusaders had taken his planet, his home, his foundling, he stood still for what the Protectors had idealized. "If I am to devote myself to this New Way, I stand by that. What I stood for when I founded Clan Ruus. That a man should lead the way, not burn it down. A real man, a real mandalorian, leads those behind him, in front of him, and beside him to glory. Real Glory. Glory found through honor, through kindness, and thus through victory. That is my oath, to stand by the ideal I had set out to find."

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

Perched upon his solemn obelisk, one foot pressed into the rough stone of the ancient boulder, Itzhal stood vigil as those who intended to join the New Mandalorians took their vows, each a promise to be better than what had come before. Unburdened by the hate and disgust that had turned the Crusaders against the entire Galaxy, his fellow Mandalorians searched for a new way, something worthy of pride rather than the constant bloodshed of warmongers and monsters determined to leave their mark on the Galaxy in blood and nothing else. As though to leave the stars less than when you began was ever a mark of success.

The Taung had been many things when their race flourished, but amongst all others, they'd forged a legacy that lived to this day because of how many they'd allowed to join. It was only a shame that so much of their warlike nature had bled into the belief of what a Mandalorian must be rather than what else they could become. He'd heard enough of strikes against civilian populaces and the like to be disgusted by what had become the largest warcry of the Mandalorian people as if there was something worthwhile in testing themselves against the weak.

Under the murmur of another vow, Itzhal felt his hand clench in frustration as the voices of a thousand helpless people screamed over the comm lines, unable to escape the green death that descended upon them. With another exhale, he forced the memories away.

Just in time for Drego Russ to take their place as the former Warmaster began to speak, his voice strong and reliable like the man it came from, their words retelling the ideals he'd once told Itzhal months ago. To lead the way.

With his oath given and another murmur of silence that waited to be filled, Itzhal took a step forward, his ancient armour unbending as attention turned his way.

"This Galaxy is no stranger to suffering; for almost a hundred years, disaster after disaster has crippled our hope for something better than what came before. The Alliance hobbles on in constant warfare with its nearby neighbours; the Sith and their many Empires turn and roil in a desire to hurt and destroy all that is not theirs, and now even our own people would turn our purpose to endless conflict, crusades as if the Galaxy has not suffered for long enough."

His darkened visor, shaped in the iconic T, roamed across the crowd as if in search of someone who would defy his statement. Softly spoken, his words were carried to the others by the whisper of the winds and the silence that embraced the solemn peak.

"Pirates roam untouched beneath the notice of giants, deserters and malcontents of the lowest rungs press their displeasure upon those weaker than themselves—a hundred thousand problems, more than the eye can see. Injustice spreads across the Galaxy with every misdeed unchallenged, so I find myself with a problem that must be faced," his soft-spoken voice began to harden as he turned his gaze towards Pollux Kryze. "There is evil in this Galaxy, and my purpose is to face it."

With an inhale that seemed to raise his chest, visible underneath the plates of Beskar, Itzhal raised one gloved hand to slam against his chest plate, a thunderous crack against the quiet.

"I am here because I wish to be more than just another set of eyes watching as innocents suffer, to be one of those who would sanction their torment through inaction. Mandalorian Iron has protected me countless times; our armourers and weaponsmiths have given me those tools, so I shall be the shield needed for others," underneath his helmet, Itzhal felt a smile slip across his worn face, the expression strange after all this time. "And one day, when people look upon my efforts, they will see the path paved with every soul saved and future provided for because I will not leave this Galaxy in ruins; I will not leave it burning in the shape of some forsaken claim to gods or blood feuds, or whatever excuse those who would desire death may claim. No. I will leave it behind better than when I arrived."

He tilted his helm away from Pollux, his words spoken but hopefully not yet dismissed, as he looked amongst the crowd. His attention focused upon those who had already sworn themselves to something more than just themselves—to their people, to their legacy, to be better.

"I cannot do so alone. I come here looking for a path with those who acknowledge a shared vision of a better place than what we have created so far. To have the might, not to crush others beneath our boots, but to raise each and every individual higher than ever before."

Pulling his hand away from his chest plate, Itzhal raised both hands towards his helmet, a hand on either side as the seals released with a hiss before he pulled the buy'ce off, his silver and grey locks waving in the wind, aged lines and pained furrows were drawn into skin that had paled underneath the cover of beskar as steel blue eyes stared upon the other Mandalorians.

"My Oath is simple," Itzhal declared, his voice harsh against the wind that had gathered. "It is to be better. To be the armour to those who are innocent, to find evil in this Galaxy and face it, to lift those who would stand beside me and those who would need it."

"And I will fail," he whispered, the admission a secret shared between those who would make their own vows. Blue eyes, cold as ice, stared across the other visors and the armour that marked each of them. "Evil will strike, and I will not be there. Innocents will suffer, and I will not be there."

His buy'ce was turned towards himself, the darkened visor quiet in its judgement.

"But I will arrive, regardless. I cannot save everyone. This is the consequence of such a vow, to know I will never be perfect, to know that it is insurmountable, and yet I will leash myself to it regardless because I believe in trying. And if I cannot bring hope to those I have failed, then I will do my best to bring them Justice."

"You know my face; you know my armour. There is nowhere I can hide from that which I have promised. I am Itzhal of Clan Volkihar, and this is my vow."

Tag: Pollux Drego Ruus​

 

[Anna Carden]

Jenn Kryze | Haliat Kryze​

The imagery of the Round Table, with its grandness and the concept of being involved in important decision-making, was still quite unfamiliar to her, but she didn't let it show as she took a seat. Jenn opened the council with a simple speech, before directly going into one of the things they are discussing today.

The Crusaders, of course. The mention of them brought the feelings of failure back into her head, but it was not until the mention of making an example that Anna stiffened. Judging by the silence that followed, it seemed like everyone else also had to think twice about the business. The Raven wasn't fond of 'striking fear and terror' approaches, however effective they might be.

It reminded her way too much of the Enclave.

Thankfully, the tension was quickly broken as Haliat expressed his opinion respectfully, one that she strongly agreed with.

She nodded at Haliat, adding. "It doesn't cost much to honor the dead. They are also children of Mandalore." Respecting the different paths that the Crusaders walked was also the least that they could do. "I, for one, think that we should return their remains to their aliit." Perhaps one day if she were to fall in a battle, her enemy would have a heart to give her the same courtesy.

Pausing, Anna looked around, waiting for others to voice their thoughts on the matter before continuing. "Now, on the subject of their beskar'gam," She already felt like people were going to look at her weird for this, but nevertheless, this council was held so that Jenn could hear everyone's voice. "I believe we acquired them fair and square through battle. It is not tradition, but we need them more than ever."

The Mandalorian with red right pauldron closed her opinion after looking at everyone at the table. "However, I am not opposed to returning them."

 

[Haliat Kryze]

Beskar'gam

​

. "Now, on the subject of their beskar'gam," She already felt like people were going to look at her weird for this, but nevertheless, this council was held so that Jenn could hear everyone's voice. "I believe we acquired them fair and square through battle. It is not tradition, but we need them more than ever."​

Haliat, for his part, did not remotely look "weird" at Anna or her suggestion, unless a recognition of support he'd not been entirely sure of could be counted as such. Even that, of course would have been lost behind the opaque faceplate of his helmet, which was why he had promptly removed it as soon as Jenn had concluded her opening remarks. The full regalia, he presumed, suited some common idea of the weight and gravity this meeting called for, and of course there were those of their number who never removed it before living eyes to begin with. Hal, however, did not generally make a habit of carrying out conversations with his face hidden unless he was actively engaged in battle...well, or if he was only talking to someone begrudgingly and didn't think they merited the consideration of knowing they were truly listened to. This bunch, he intended to pay that respect until such time as they'd demonstrated themselves unworthy of it. They were here talking to a man, not a suit of armor.

Thus, his frown was fully in display as he weighed Anna Carden's words and responded.

"Mandalorian tradition has a good deal to say where this planet is concerned. And frankly, most of it offends me to no end. You see I, however recently, am of Onderon. I say it proudly. It means I am heir to a millennia old heritage of tenacity and resilience. The people of this world had no remarkable technologies in the beginning, no vanished people to pass on their ways, and they began at the bottom of the food chain on one of the most hostile worlds the galaxy had to offer. And yet, at great cost of toil and bloodshed, whether by building up their great city or confronting the beasts in their own lairs, they earned a place on this world. To be of service to this world, this people, to earn the right to count myself as one of them, is literally why I first came among you.

"Because the Mandalorian tradition...is to spit on the Onderonian tradition. Our ancestors, time and again, would come screaming down from orbit on their war machines with blood on their minds and on their hands. They would sack Iziz, they would call this world theirs, and they would treat it as their personal safari. Shoot everything in sight, decorate their wall with the skulls, and call Onderon mastered. Now, they've done it again, and how many are dead because of it? So no, if the Crusaders care so little for the tradition of this world, then I am in turn not especially sympathetic to their tradition."

He forced himself to pause a moment, then. That had bordered on a rant, and that was hardly characteristic of him. Then again, he supposed he did have a lifetime of frustration with his people to his name. Perhaps after all this time, in a place where his words were specifically asked of him, it had needed venting?

"Let me say it more plainly. We needn't go out of our way to disrespect the dead. But nor are we obligated to furnish our still living enemy with the means to more effectively kill us in the future. As to cultural significance, perhaps we do have a chance to send a message here. When our wayward kin sing their songs, tell their stories of this campaign, let them remember that for some, this attempt at conquest did not bring glory. It cost families not only their sons and daughters, but their treasured heirlooms as well. So take it, I say. Repurpose it. Let it save the lives we hold dear instead.

"As to their remains, Anna Carden , I support your suggestion in principle, but I fear the practical realities may intrude. The Crusaders, while indeed still in orbit, are presently bunkering down in preparation for a siege. And even if both a truce and a meeting could be arranged, these are bodies decaying as we speak. If we want them in any condition to turn over, they would require preparation. Storage. We would need the assistance of Iziz for such a thing, I think. And even if they were amenable, they have concerns of their own right now. By all means, let us put their effects aside. Weapons, holos, anything we can save until such time as they can be returned to the families. But for their mortal remains, the pyre seems to me a more dignified sendoff."

| Aliit | Jenn Kryze Anna Carden
​