A Lone Call [Mandalorian Gathering]

[Garza]

I stood there for a moment in silence. I felt as though I were walking up to the chopping block. The Will of the Universe holding its hand out to determine if I should be removed, or be released. I could feel it in my bones. It was with the single words of the being that could only be known as Malok that I looked astonished. I was surprised that the being decided to follow me. As well as others that began to speak up. Saying they would follow in the footsteps of myself and Manda'lor. I could slowly feel a smile forming on my face.

Yet it left me as the only man who could possibly inspire any kind of fear in me stood forth. My heart laxed when he spoke that my words were never truer. With his turning to Malok, who held the banner of Manda'lor, he retrieved it. I looked at the symbol that had once been emblazoned upon many armors dating back to when we as a culture were born. My eyes left a moment to the man's face. He then gave me a promotion.

He spoke of becoming his Warmaster. The right hand man to the leader of the Mandalorians. I looked around for a moment. Trying to see anyone who didn't wish this. Anyone who wanted to say anything against me. Yet even when I looked over to the droid that would outlive us all, he too gave support for this new banner. I smiled and ducked my head a little. Of all the things I wanted, it was not a promotion. What I wanted was my son to return to me. My son to see that he doesn't have to fight on his own. That he can be something more than just what he believes. I closed my eyes. Breathing in a moment before nodding my head.

"Yes. I accept the title of Warmaster in your name."

In my heart, I didn't accept it for just my leader, but I accepted it for my son. I needed to find him. If I needed to become of a higher status to do it, then so be it.

"I will do everything to see that we are brought back from the brink of death."

[member="Kad Tor"], @HK-36 @Nolan Detta, [member="Aedan Miles"], [member="Vilaz Munin"], [member="Artemis Lux"], [member="Mesh'la Dral"], [member="Malok"],

 

[Keira Priest]

It had been months.

Not long ago Keira had walked away, forsaking everything she had ever gained and abandoning the galactic stage in order to live a normal - or, well, mostly normal - life with her family. And for awhile, things had been just that, her life nothing short of the typical and mundane after years spent being tossed from this to that warzone with no sign of recompense. It had been a welcome change, and she had reveled for some time in the ability to choose for herself the simple things, and it was the average life she realized she'd been taking for granted for far too long. It was easy to live beyond the day-to-day, planning her life in the span of weeks, months and even years as opposed to every twenty-four hours.

But then recently, a call had come. After the fall of the once proud vode, after the dissolution of the Crusaders and the collapse of the Clans, another had made their call known. It was one for those who remained and dared to still call themselves Mandalorian, or had once done so in the past. It was a banner she fit under one way or another, and so the warrior that resided somewhere within had stirred from her slumber, awakening after too long a time spent dormant. The internal clamoring didn't waste time in making itself known, directing its honed focus towards those that remained of what had once been kin. That warrior wanted them back. It wanted somewhere to belong, brothers and sisters to fight alongside again.

For awhile she had suppressed it, but eventually she had been forced to temper that inner voice. And so she too had risen, taking that warrior's hand in her own and melding the two of them so they once again became one, whole rather than rended apart. One breath, one heart and one soul. It was easy, she found, to become who she had once been, and it seemed the mantle of a solider had never been too far out of reach. It was natural to don the weight of her armor again, and the familiar pull of her weaponry in its sheathes and holsters was reminiscent of an old friend. It felt good. She felt whole.

Arranging transport to Concord Dawn had been simple after she explained to her husband and children just what her destination was and why. It was a well-known Mandalorian planet, and the apparent new homeworld - at least the temporary one - of what had once been her people. When her shuttle touched down everything was deathly silent, and she remained seated for a long few minutes as if she was remembering who she was and what it meant to call herself vode even after everything she had done. Slowly she approached the gathering, helmet still concealing her features, voice slightly mechanical beneath the helm,

"Su'cuy."

 

[Strider Garon]

Why?..........

The old man laid his eyes upon the concordian homestead. His face shielded by his T visored helmet as he piloted the swoop. The question of why had rang through his mind for the longest time. The very word had plagued him with confusion, fear and anger. His last memories were of his violent end back on Mandalore at the hands of a death watch assassin. Death had reached out to him, embraced him like a long lost love and yet here he was, drawing breath and cheated of such sweet release. His brother, Garrus, was to be blamed in hijacking the mandalorian from his warrior's death, his ascension to the manda and the glory of the infinite battle of the after life and shoulder to shoulder with lost vode.

The swoop came to a halt among the other vehicles. Strider was robbed and here he was once again in the plights of the mortals. Why.... Why? Why couldn't Garrus just have let him die. I am no fekking savior, were the departing words he had snarled at his kin as Garrus gave him the location of this gathering. He had been given updates on the mandalorian clans through out his recovery, ti was the same story over and over, but now the threat of the grand empire he had once helped acquire had shattered. The galactic Influence of the mandalorians have faded into history........... It happens, that is the cycle of life in this harsh universe. But one thing has always stayed true. The Mandalorians never cease to exist.

Strider un straddled his swoop and walked towards the homestead door. Removing his helmet before entering, exposing his long jet black hair that was held back by his worn out red head band. Not comfortable with the theatrics that this exposure would cause, he halted before entering the room. Nobody had known he was alive, his brother made sure of it for security reasons. it took a long time for the old man to recover from death and Garrus did not trust anyone with the truth. Especially with the tenacity of death watch.

Garon took a deep breath, then marched into the room. He had been to many gatherings and new exactly what the purpose was. A rally call to regroup the stubborn warrior culture and give birth to a direction as a united front. Garrus told Strider he was needed here. Though death had been snatched from him, it seemed he was also not allowed to retire him peace either. He knew he would steal the show the moment he had stepped into the room. What does one say to all those that thought he was dead. For all those he had promised leadership and greatness too. The questions would flood the room and divert attention away from the main goal of this meeting. Plus, what does one say in such a moment?....

Strider looked around the room, his grizzled features sternly giving everyone a proper eye ravaging. "Well........." His voice finally broke, raspy and labored from injury of the past. The very scar of the wound that should of ended his life was hidden underneath the turtle neck of his armor's body glove. "What a sorry bunch of besom I see" He gave a grim smile. Maybe death can wait...... for now.

 

[Judah Lesan]

Aden had been gone for a couple of years... the world had believed he was dead, or at least those he'd been close to. When rumors that his father was still among the living surfaced, he did something rash. Aden went looking for him. He'd been working while Mesh'la and his newborn son were still with Graad and Briika. He'd learned they had since split, and that Mesh'la had moved in with her mother.

The call to gather had come, and Aden was Mando'ad before he was anything else. His past was going to come back and hit him in the shebs, though home is where he needed to go. He always swore he would never let his son grow up without a father in his life, but so far that's exactly what he had allowed. It was hard, but the young warrior knew what had to be done. The call would be answered, and he would seek to reconcile with Mesh'la whom he was certain had declared their riduurok broken. It was within her right to do so, as it was his to demand he have his son, but that was not the way to do things.

He pulled in on his speeder bike and unstradled it after coming to a stop. His silver and blue accented armor was in full view, and as he made his way in, the sniper rifle he carried with him everywhere was slung over his back and shoulder. Aden followed [member="Strider Garon"] into the meeting. His buy'ce was was removed and his eyes went directly to where Mesh'la had been standing.

They pleaded with her to listen to him when this was over. She didn't have to, but at least for the sake of their son he hoped she would seek him out when this was done, or let him come to her without running off. Aden was already preparing himself for the lecture he would receive, and whatever physical forms of anger came his way. Whatever happened he deserved it. For now he stood, quietly.

[member="Keira Ticon"], Kad Tor, [member="HK-36"] [member="Nolan Detta"], [member="Aedan Miles"], [member="Vilaz Munin"], [member="Artemis Lux"], [member="Mesh'la Dral"], [member="Malok"],

 

[Alleycat]

The whoosh of the door and heavily booted feet quieted the room. Mesh'la turned her golden head to see the first person entering; a female Mando'ad the young medic did not recognize in her full beskar'gam off hand. The lightsaber hilt dangling from the vod's utility belt told her [member="Keira Ticon"] was a Force user though.

The second nearly took her breath away.... It couldn't be. He was dead! Right?! She'd seen the large blood stain pooled on the floor of the Oyu'baat. Though there stood the old Hound of Keldabe himself, [member="Strider Garon"] in the flesh, or rather his battle weary armor honoring him from all his years as an Ori'ramikad. Tears welled up in the petite blonde's bright blue eyes as they looked upon Stri'buir kindly. She flashed him a small smile before he greeted his fellow Mando'ade gathered.

The next to follow made Mesh's jaw nearly drop, then clamp down tight as mixed emotions clouded the girl's previous sweet demeanor; mostly anger and indifference was displayed. Of course, whereever Strider was if he was alive and seemingly he was by arriving with a heartbeat, his youngest known bastard son, [member="Aden Dral"], would be close by. Mesh'la totally ignored her wayward ex-husband and father of their two-year old son as he stared at her. She turned her head and eyes back to where [member="Vilaz Munin"] and [member="Xander Carrick"] were standing, but not without sharing a certain look with her uncle, [member="Kad Tor"], first.

[member="HK-36"] [member="Nolan Detta"] [member="Aedan Miles"] [member="Artemis Lux"] [member="Malok"]

 

[Grrwunhoooll Agaburry]

" Mandalore... is gone?" The statement escaped his mouth with some mental effort. One could say Saverok was attempting to make this emotional but that was a lie. He did not care at all. There were chunks of his memory missing and blurred things were fuzzy and whatever concept of self he maintained was now fractured. A crack down the middle if a literal one could be seen. The call for Mandalorians to rebuild a start anew tickled his humor but also made him jealous. Why couldn't his own kind do the same after the Sith Empire destroyed his homeworld? Reliving the past? Body could endure for a millennium but the mind was fickle. Saveroks true intentions for going to Concord Dawn were jaded and truly unknown.

His actions and viewpoints were his own.

The back ramp of his ship slammed down in a way that showed the ships true age. Adorned in Duranium armor from head to toe Saverok stepped out with a eager haste. Behind his mask his eyes shifted left and right and his mouth spoke words that made little sense. " Drowning... hope, Cleansing... fear... El'dogra. Flames.. gone. Embers..... Ember...Embers. Reignite the embers and fan the flames." he said to himself walking to the group rally point.

With a simple twitch of the head the paranoid words ceased and a question was then stated but as if by another from within.
" They will accept me, cant say the same for you." Saverok sneered and twitched again to growl at himself as if offended by the statement

[member="Malok"]
[member="Mesh'la Dral"]
[member="Aden Dral"]
[member="Strider Garon"]
[member="Keira Ticon"]
[member="Xander Carrick"]
[member="Vilaz Munin"]

 

[Garrus Garon]

...Garrus Garon had kept his brother alive due to necesity not because of a sense of practicality sentiment though he would admit that if Strider were dead he would have missed him. The ruse had been one of perfection such that anyone close to Garrus hadn't had any inkling that he might had yet been keeping his brother alive somehow, some way. When the time had come and Garrus had been assured by the Medical Droids he'd assigned the singular role of keeping Strider that his brothers recovery was nigh at its pinnacle the Mandalorian had raised the Hound of Keldabe from the grave like a phoenix rising from the ashes and set him to his task with what he hoped would be a new vigor and sense of purpose to accompany him. Garrus could only hope after that and wait to see how events would play out now that [member="Strider Garon"] had returned...

------------------

...the Warrior had given his brother the coordinates for the gathering however Garrus never had any intention of allowing Strider to go alone. Mandalorians they may be but precious few had offered their condolences to him when Strider lay dead for all anyone knew. Indeed, Garrus did not consider many of the Mandalorians warriors at all likening several of them to opportunists and little more than children. He knew that Strider might need his assistance which is why he followed close behind his brother, always just out of reach and lurking in the background....

...the Heavy Beskar'gam he wore denoted him as belonging to Clan Garon. Dents, nicks, scratches and discoloration covered the armor from the top of the helm all the way to the front of the toe plates on his boots. The Mandalorian had seen many battles and had been a victor of countless conflicts and truth be told he rather enjoyed the idea of working his farm but here he was flanking Strider. The Helm was removed and held under his left arm in the crevice of his armpit for safekeeping. A Beskad was worn across his back with the hilt extending up over his right shoulder and the blade crossing diagonally over his back from the upper right to the lower left, the heavy sword was normally wielded in two hands but Garrus was physically capable of dueling with it with just one such was the extent of his physique...

...raising his right arm he put his hand to his chin and rubbed slowly, saying nothing but listening to everything while he lingered back behind Strider. In this gathering it seemed likely that Garrus Garon would be a silent observer unless he was absolutely required to take action in some other fashion. He stood in a quarter stance with his left foot forward and angled slightly ahead of the right with that foot pointed outwards in what was a fairly standard ready stance. Scanning his surroundings Garrus retained an acute awareness of what was happening around him...​

 

[Darth Metus]

One by one, Mandalorians entered the Homestead.

Little by little, the elephant in the room was growing cramped. Faces, old and new, were appearing now - but Malok did not know them from Adam. Yet despite this, most were looking for answers. Although the spirit of rebirth was present in the room, there was no mirth. It was as if the words "why" and "how" were written upon their foreheads. Malok could sense the turmoil - albeit faintly. Yet, the Ma'alkerrite held his peace. With his hands now empty, he folded them behind his back and watched. A new Warmaster was appointed in [member="Xander Carrick"]. Direction was beginning to form.

Creak!

The door slid open and a duo stepped forward. All eyes slid towards them - more so than before. Apparently whomever was at the front was a known face, given by the response. He seemed to personify the current atmosphere of the room, at a glance at least; and his gruff tone seemed to match this. Malok was...woefully ignorant of Mando'a at the moment. In fact, he was ignorant of all that it meant to be a Mandalorian. To this end, he quietly muttered to an adjacent vod for translation. Assholes? Malok's nostrils flared. Sure, he just walked in. Sure, he wasn't present for Carrick's promotion.

But by his understanding, the Mand'alor was their liege. Their King. No one in ApeX would dare stroll into a room and collectively call Malok an nerf herder. No man should be so brazen in the presence of his King. Call it an inability to take a joke, but Malok stepped forward. He did not shove. He was not rude - not even to [member="Strider Garon"]. But his voice was as thunder.

"Did you just refer to our Mand'alor...as an nerf herder?"

 

[Vilaz Munin]

"Then you best prove to me that those words will come true," the Sole Ruler said to his newly appointed Warmaster in regards of Xander promising to bring the Mandalorians back to their righteous place in the Galaxy. Their place as being feared warriors that could belittle legions of Jedi Masters and Sith Lords. Their place as being an awesome reckoning force that gave panic to those that heard the name "Mandalorian".

Then the homestead begin to fill itself with life. Faces both new and old began to appear, and there was little room to be share. There were more people donning the symbolic T-visor helmet outside of the homestead, yet they would stand proud and still and would try to understand what was going on inside of the Concordian Homestead as they would accurately telephone each other. It had been a while since he had seen Keira and Garrus' face, but the one that did surprised him was the one of a dead warrior that seemed to have cheated death. He had heard the reports thought never seen the body, but ancient reports said that Strider was dead and had marched on with the fallen.

Impossible.

"Calm yourself, Malok," Vilaz addressed to the behemoth that was amongst them whose voice roared with thunder as he defended the Munin from Strider's comment.

"And aren't you suppose to be six feet below dirt, old man?"

@Malok @Garrus Garon @Saverok @Mesh'la Dral [member="Strider Garon"] [member="Aden Dral"] [member="Keira Ticon"] [member="Xander Carrick"]

 

[Ardgal Raxis]

To say Ardgal was still a Mandalorian--or that he had ever really been recognized as one before--was a stretch. At one time he had been a general, a warrior in his own right. He had been a commander in the clan Raxis, a leader with honor, nobility, and among those who knew him, he was a decent man with a penchant to maybe one day be something greater.

He doubted anyone would ever see him as more than a tool to their ends. Madman's memory of the Mandalorians was spotty after his "conditioning" had altered him greatly, but what he did remember wasn't exactly fondness and welcoming. He was ready and willing to let bygones be bygones if anyone else was.

He uncrossed his arms from over his leather jacket as he listened to people swear their fealty to this man. Ardgal didn't know as much about this Carrick as he would like, but he knew enough. He seemed decent as they came--but the scientists who had corrupted him had seemed that way too. The warrior clenched his fists, driving his nails into his palms to sate the low buzzing burn of his flaring fibromyalgia.

The pain made it challenging to hear with these caterwauling sentimentalists had to say, but to be frank, Ardgal didn't give a fly feth. Nobility was just a guise use to flaunt criminal actions, loyalty was something that would always be betrayed, and family--well that was just an excuse to batter down someone else's door and steal their crap, now wasn't it?

A paycheck was a paycheck, and as jaded as he was, Ardgal had mouths to feed that looked up to him.

"As long as you take care of mine, I'll take care of yours," he said with a nod, "I am good for my word as long as you are good to mine." He gave a shrug before giving into brutally blunt honesty, "You fail to do that, me and mine are out of here."

Maybe there was something noble left in him, maybe there was something good left, or maybe he really was just the mercenary shell his conditioners had made him into. Only time would tell.

 

[Drof'del Tavor]

Drof'del had returned to Concord Dawn, but on a different occasion. He had returned to visit his old home place. Where his life began, and in a sense ended. He had arranged a shuttle to take him by there for a few moments so he could have his last moment at the homestead.

The home held up well and showed little sign of aging and deterioration. Drof'del rummaged through his old belongings and took personal effects with him, as a way to "preserve" his family. He had a hard time holding on to the past and it showed today.

The old combine harvester was rusted and broken down in the middle of the field. The home remained almost untouched, but Drof thought to himself "I don't think i could live here again, at least not now. I miss you buir, I have avenged you but I feel lost, grant me strength and help me see in these troubled times"

He felt his holocommunicator go off, and with it contained a message from a man- Carrick. Underneath his helmet, his ears perked up with intrigue. His smile was half-cocked as he saw an opportunity at first to make money, but he listened to the message again. Vode. It was a call to arms so to speak. Drof would be a fool not to heed the call.

In what seemed like moments, he whipped around and hopped back into the shuttle where the pilot had asked "Alright, where to?"

Drof smiled again and thought for a moment "Well, i need you to take me a couple miles out, dont worry about the wait or pickup, its my last stop. One way trip". He had requested the pilot take him to the source of the message he had received moments before. The pilot obliged and took him to the homestead where others were gathering.

A couple minutes later his stop had come and he jumped out of the shuttle, with his blaster carbine slung over his back. He proceeded into the homestead and could see a few figures within the building
"I got a call, to serve with fellow Vode, I am here to answer that call, and potentially make some money"
Right then he knew he socially messed up, social gatherings was its own anxiety to him, he stood solemnly- awaiting. Humbly.

 

[Strider Garon]

The prideful are so easily offended, though what did they have to be proud of? Strider's dead panned glare locked into the temperamental ape. 'Come on, do it, strike me down and finish what death watch started'. He inwardly prayed in his thoughts, giving the beast a smirk. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Garrus stalking in the shadow behind him, knowing full well that his brother won't let him rest in peace. He sighed and broke the challenging lock with [member="Malok"] and focused on the Mand'alor, [member="Vilaz Munin"].

"Seems death did not agree with me!" He rasped, stepping closer to the sole ruler. Strider tilted his head and slowly leaned into the mando redneck to close the distance to keep words slightly private. " You have failed!............" His words were like serrated daggers with a slight sigh of disappointment at the end " We all have failed!" Placing his mighty grip on Vilaz's shoulder pulling him into a brotherly embrace "What do you need of me........ Manda'lore?"

As he embraced the current leader of the mandalorians, he could see his ex daughter in law in the slight distance. His own eyes battled with tears, though his son was foolish enough to let her go, she was still daughter to him. He kept note, he would have to catch up with her after this meeting was concluded.

 

[Vilaz Munin]

Maybe death was afraid of you taking her virtue from her.

The Munin thought in his mind, restraining a chuckle. He had always thought of Death as a feminine figure, and the fact that death rejected to take away Strider's life and soul caused him to think that Death didn't want to deal with a hound that was after taking away something from her. But that was all playful thoughts of the warrior, and it was time to be serious.

Then the two warriors gave each other a respectful, yet brotherly hug when the old Garon closed the gap between them. It was unexpected, but there was enough time for the Munin not make it awkward. The two weren't brothers; however, they were brothers in arms as they were excellent veterans that gave Mandalore all their strength and loyalty.

And now just like what Strider had said, he and everyone else failed to protect their home and bring glory to their people. Such a shame it was.

"I need you to unleash your warrior spirit, Strider. All of us need to if we are to go back home and bring the Mandalorians back to what they were," the Munin said as he ended the embrace between the two men. Home was a long ways to go, but they could do it. It was either succeed or die trying, and Vilaz wanted to stay alive to witness the former become reality.

[member="Strider Garon"] [member="Drof'del Tavor"] [member="Ardgal Raxis"] @Malok @Garrus Garon [member="Mesh'la Dral"] [member="Keira Ticon"] [member="Xander Carrick"]

 

[Drof'del Tavor]

Drof'del stood with the crowd and observed the scene taking place. He saw a brotherly hug take place, which reminded him again of his uncle and his brief time with the "Roughnecks".

He examined the room and looked at the individuals involved in this meeting, he could see a familiar face-- [member="Ardgal Raxis"]

He nodded toward the man and proceeded to observe this gathering of warriors- old and new. He had heard the Sole Ruler mention they had to go back home
Was this Dxun? Is that home? If so, everything make a whole lot more sense now

This was a decent sized gathering which made Drof'del hesitant to speak any further. He felt a sense of pride rushing in his veins. He had finally found a place to call home, a family to fight and live with.

I hope your proud buir, Ill make our name noticeable again

 

[RC 212]

[member="Vilaz Munin"]

There was a stir in the bushes just outside the camp. Then they stirred some more. Some folks might've thought it an animal or a bear, but it was not so. Jack had been watching the small gathering through the eyes of an avian circling high above the clearing. Most of them he recognized as old guard, the very best an ancient of the Mado'ade.

After a couple years spent in hiding, it was time to come back. He'd been hunted, he'd been run donw. Many hated the man, and he himself had struggled with his decision. Ra had led the Clans to ruin, just as Jack predicted they would. He'd driven them into a blood frenzy much like the Deathwatch.

When he'd tried to step in, to fight on behalf of the weak and stop Ra, he'd been vilified. They'd taken [member="Gray Raxis"] hand, and disgraced his clan name. Jack had to live with that disgrace, as did every other Raxis that shared his Mothers blood name, before she'd thrown her lot in with the Mandos.

He snapped open his eyes, withdrawing from the trance and strode out of the bushes. With both hands tucked into his belt he made his way through the crowd, weary of anyone who might strike him until he came to Munin.

If memory served Jack right, he remembered Munin was always one of the more level headed folk among the Clans. They'd fought in the Battle of Roche against the Republic at one point, though on different battlefields.

With a swift motion he drew his Besk'ad and laid it on the ground, taking a knee before the man. It was uncharacteristic, and it pained him to do so. Amends had to be made, and if blood was the price, he'd gladly pay that too.

"You know who I am Vilaz. You know what I've done. I have my reasons for opposing Ra and his murderous ideology. I've been named Dar'Manda, and hunted. My family and blood has paid the price. Now I offer myself to you in redemption. I'll take any punishment you deem fit.

Let me serve the Clans again and redeem my Clans name."

Jack took a small knife from his belt and sliced his hand, uttering an ancient Witch incantation. It was a Soulbinding spell, that was a form of Blood Oath, Should the partaker break the Oath, the magics of the void would strike a terrible price on them.

"My blade is my word."

He smeared the blood across his Besk'ad and lifted it with both hands, palms up to the Mandalore.