Kelhav
Brent piloted his ship toward the glowing orb that hung in the deep blackness of space before him. His modified Dynamic-Class freighter plied the stars as gracefully as ever. It was an older model from a time long forgotten, the plans recently rediscovered, the design renovated and built anew by Clan Warnel shipyards. It had the space needed for bounty hunting, supply runs, even raiding, and it served him well. The beams of light from Kestri's star pierced his forward view-port, illuminating the cockpit of his vessel.
The yellow-dwarf star that lit this system was not familiar to him, nor was Kestri, his target. Brent had never been here, had no real reason to come here, but that was changing. Mand'alor the Anointed trusted these new Vode enough to integrate with them, and Brent trusted Mand'alor, so here he was. Flying through the vacuum of space to a world that was never even on his radar. He was not sure what his hopes were when he arrived, but he did have one pressing matter he believed could be rectified here.
Brent looked over at his co-pilot's seat, where his T-Visor helmet sat, staring at him. The crack that ran up the visor would be an easy fix, but it gnawed at him. This helmet was a memento from the Crusades, when his people burned brightly across Mandalore and the surrounding regions. Whole worlds, religions, and ideologies had fallen to the Neo-Crusaders. But that was gone now.
His people had burned bright, too bright, and they had been snuffed out, not by the enemy, but by themselves. Mandalorians craved conflict in an ever-revolving door; they always wanted it, needed it, to stay alive, to fuel their warrior culture. But that same conflict would burn those Vode away until they were but a shadow of their former selves. Years later, decades even in some cases, their numbers would replenish, and they would sail the stars again, burning their enemies. But it was not yet that time.
So this helmet, a memory from another time, would be shelved. Brent's armor was of a modified Neo-Crusader variety taken from his ancestor on Dxun. It deserved a helmet worthy of it, a Neo-Crusader helm.
Brent had been sent here by another Vode from the Covenant and told to meet with
Romul Saxon
. He did not know the man, had never come across him, but he hoped he could help. This would be the beginning of integrating with these new Mandos, and he was curious to see how it would pan out. Brent's thoughts kept him busy as his ship descended into the atmosphere of Kestri, settling at a nearby spaceport in the City of Tor Valum.
