Faction Vindication | Open to All Mandalorians | NEO

[Hakon Fett]

TAGS: Yael Kandar

Hakon acknowledged Keir'las Fett 's words without uttering a single word back. Mandalorians were laconic. Silence was a language all its own, and often louder than words. Yet, as the satisfaction of his deed flickered within him, it was soon overtaken by something deeper—a thirst for knowledge, a curiosity that gnawed at him.

His gaze found its source—Yael Kandar, one of the Enclave. The Enclave of which so little was known. They had done what Mandalore the First had once done or the Dha Werda Verda before him—claimed new stars as their home, forged a path in the unknown; that is if Carduul’s tales were true recollections of history. They had kept the Mandalorian people alive and established a hearth in the galaxy’s void. And yet, Hakon knew so little of their story. The recent war, their brief challenge to the Galactic Alliance, had come and gone too quickly. He needed to understand. He needed to know what had happened.

With purposeful steps, Hakon moved toward Yael. He offered no greeting, no prelude—none was needed. Instead, he tilted his head, curiosity flashing behind his visor.

“Where did you fail?”

It was not an accusation. It was a question that demanded an answer. The war had been brief, its end abrupt. And in the answer, he sought more than just a story—he sought the truth of what had become of the Enclave, and what lessons lay within their defeat.

 

[Caeos Prahl]

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The walls reverberate with verde chanting and proclaiming, such was the racket that it made the elder question the choice to approach the Clan Hall. These were men and women in their youth and far be it from her to judge but a feeling once quelled in her own younger years rose up. Uncertainty. This hall had been in ruin, the last time she had been in Sundari. It was the third and likely final time she would step foot on the surface of home. Nigh half a century ago she had fled Mandalore for the sake of her young charges-barely a foundling herself when the Sith had come. A second time when they had walked upon it’s glassed surface and picked petty fights with raiders. Who would be king of the rock? Caeos Prahl chased the Fett Clan’s banner with slow steps across the hall, she recognized few helms amongst the gathered.

Still but she had to wonder if her own wayward child was amongst them. Something stiff about the woman’s gait as she lingered along the edges of the crowd to observe the declarations of loyalty. The Crusade, how many had tried before them, the woman’s hidden brow wrinkled deeply. They showed greater promise then all those who had come before and Caeos prayed to greater wills that they did not pass like a burning comet. Her kin would flock soon enough, Ketra had taken her late buir's place and with it more younglings had come in to the fold.

Caeos could not help the weight of time that sunk deeper in to her shoulders the longer she stood however.

She was too old to die well but she had been a being of service in arts unperfected by hunters, one of craftsmen, one that built steady pillars for them to stand upon. A heavy and exacerbated sound escaped the woman as another speech raised in honor of their kin, only knocking her gauntlet to her chest to honor their words, their blood, their mission at heart. Caeos was not sold, but she knew Volker’s blood had run hot and so only naturally their son too, might. Golden visor searched helms, too many bodies pressed into the hall as another cry resounded. A banner lofted high by a warrior in equal color a beacon in the sea of beskar. By the time she had all but wormed her way through the verde, she hummed. She had caught sight of him in her peripheral, there was no mistaking it. Looking at a worn and familiar beskar’gam of Kurze, she remembered the man well and thanked him silently where ever he may rest.

Yet it was her son who wore it now, too much time had passed and something welled in her chest. The woman raised a hand to catch the young man’s shoulder. She may seem the stranger she feared, but still her grip was steady as she gave a firm tug at his arm. Years, and she was part to blame.

<”How long now has it been my ad’?”> No malice echoed from her, only the truth-too much time had pass.

Trajan Fett

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