Private A simple drink, a violent delight.

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Onderon, Inner Rim

The Snoring Katarn was a small, squat bar, little more than a single floor tall with a domed roof made of lightly stained sandstone that blended in beside taller structures on both sides. Its tattered sign, an ancient creature, half asleep and with one eye open, swayed in the soft wind. An open door released a smooth spiral of song notes that fluttered out over the sound of light chatter and pleasant merriment from those within.

Itzhal was not the first Mandalorian to step through the door, his boots creeking on the weathered hardwood, the boards layered with a rich gleam. His gaze travelled across the room, over the faded torchlight from scones in the wall, past figures armoured in Beskar'gam nestled into luxurious booths lined with red velvet, and towards the back, where a soft-edged spotlight illuminated a bar filled with an array of drinks lining the wall.

Slowly, Itzhal made his way over towards the bartender and the line of stools that orbited his domain. A few glances headed his way before he was summarily ignored by those curious enough to look, dismissed as just another Mandalorian on a planet filled with them. Few of them would ever understand how deep a victory that conclusion was for him, emboldened by the fact that his people had not only survived but thrived. Even here, on a planet that only months ago had been rattled with the shift of the magnetic poles and an entire break in law and order, the world had gone on, and the people lived on.

It was worth celebrating, though, as he looked across the room towards the section of the bar with a screen above and the patrons gathered around it, he figured it was not the only thing they had to cheer. Knightly figures, dressed in a wide array of armour and fabrics, flitted across the screen, highlights from the feast of Iron and Honour that had occurred only a few days ago. He watched for only a moment, amused as the display showed the Grand Champion and their final tilt against the Queen's brother, even as he looked away, he felt the impact translated through the cheers that followed, the patrons' unaware of the eerier silence and worry that had followed the moment, replaced by another highlight.

He ordered a drink, light and non-alcoholic, as he waited for his fellow Mandalorian to arrive.

Tags: Adelle Bastiel​

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

The Snoring Katarn, Onderon
Tags: Itzhal Volkihar

The bar was well worn and looked like it had seen empires rise and fall since the beginning of the town's origins. Adelle crossed the street, more than a little tense. She and bars did not often get along. There was almost always a bar fight with her at the center of it, despite never throwing the first punch--usually. Still, this was where the elder Mandalorian Itzhal had said to meet and she had won the gamble. Maybe this time, she could have a drink in peace and quiet.

Patrons crowded the bar, many of them watching the holoscreens playing highlights from the jousting on Nessantico. Adelle didn't look: she didn't want to see her own lackluster performance played publicly. She did get a glimpse of the young noble getting unseated before the highlights switched over to the duelling arena, showing highlights from the shirtless match between the Mand'alor and a Jedi Knight. That got some rowdy cheers.

Adelle scanned the crowd, looking for the armor Itzhal had worn at the jousts himself. She finally saw it at the bar counter, the man sitting on a stool with an air of steady patience about him. She moved from just inside the door and quietly made her way through the crowd, the dim interior light glancing off her armor. Walking in the armor came a bit easier nowadays and with the ease came a slight swagger that did not exist outside it. Something Adelle had noticed and could not explain.

She came up to the counter and took a seat on the stool next to Itzhal, nodding at him before removing her buy'ce. "Su cuy'gar. It wasn't easy finding this place. A favorite haunt of yours?"

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Onderon, Inner Rim

Scarred and calloused fingers caressed the delicate frame of a glass, the drink inside a clear oasis that turned crystalline at the edges, ice-cold against the warmth of his bodysuit and the skin beneath. A few cubes of ice, bobbled near the top, shifted by the ripples of the metal straw that his other hand stirred errantly, his attention focused elsewhere.

In the background, the screen continued to play more of the tournament, a spectacle for those uninvolved, but noticeably less so for one who had stood among the crowd and the energy that loyal patrons of this bar could only imitate. Still, the attempt was noteworthy, even if he glanced between them and the bartender, uncertain where the line between rowdy and spirited was on this occasion. He shoved the thought away before he found himself focused on work, rather than a simple night of entertainment.

One arm leaned against the bar, releasing the drink as he tapped away at the tune from a nearby jukebox, its wooden frame littered with old nicks and scars from a lifetime of harsh handling. His buy'ce released with a soft hiss of the seals, detached with a whispered word and the right touch, before being clamped to his hip with a metallic whine, as his free hand swiped aside the silvered curls that clung to his forehead, then just as quick returned to tapping notes against the bar.

Sweetness burst across his taste buds, wrapped in a refreshing chill from the lemonade that he savoured with careful sips. Curled into the side of the bar, Itzhal's gaze travelled across the room, unhurried as it trailed over the doorway and each individual that entered, until, only a few minutes after he'd arrived, he spotted the one he was looking for.

Striding forward with a slight swagger that shifted with the weight of the armour around her thighs, Adelle Skirata's Beskar'gam was a simple design, relatively unmodified from what was common for a modern Mandalorian, with the shapes of the plates and their alignment not unlike what Itzhal would expect from a mass produced piece of the forgeworks, refined and adjusted in the later stages, as was traditional during hectic periods, or when the individual had not fully settled upon their final design. It had been several years before he'd settled on his own, and even then, he could not claim to be finished; over a thousand years of progress had brought a couple of advances.

With one more sip before she reached him, Itzhal raised his hand, "Su cuy'gar, take a seat," He waved towards the stool beside him. "I wasn't sure what you might want or when you would arrive, so I figured it was just best to wait."

Exposed in the dancing light of the flickering flames of the nearby fireplace, faded laugh lines crinkled as the Morellian looked around the room, his expression just a tint too soft to be nostalgic. "I guess you could say that in a way. I'm not sure if you heard of them, but a group called the New Mandalorians used to be headquartered on this planet. I stumbled across them, a mission that was bigger than just myself, and two clients who wanted the same thing done, each with mercenaries of their own. At the time, I was wandering from job to job, trying to get my footing in the Galaxy after some time away, and well, I wasn't exactly interested in the old warmongering that so many of our people insisted on bringing back. Duchess Kryze and her vision for our people, reaching out and helping, was something of a keystone in that time."

Around the edge of his smile, a bitter edge grew, a faint sadness in the corner of his eyes as he twirled the straw between his fingers. "As all things do, however, they got pushed out when bigger factions got involved. The Galactic Alliance turned their attention to the world, and well, we faced either chaining ourselves to an aligned world or packing our bags and leaving for elsewhere. In the end, we decided to leave, a hard choice as it was, it needed to be made. Some people decried it as cowardice, and others grew despondent, figured what was the point if we couldn't even hold onto a single world, as if the New Mandalorians had ever cared about territory when their whole focus was helping in a Galaxy determined to tear itself apart."

"Me, I ended up on the same planet as the Mandalorian Empire," he said, with an amused shrug of his shoulders and another sip of his drink. "Technically, I'm an ambassador, at least that was the original intention, though I can't say I've done much of that recently. I haven't heard anything in that direction for some time now. If the rumours are true, most of them have left for this Empire or fallen back into old habits. All of which is a long way of getting to the point; one of them recommended the place, and I went once or twice. It wasn't till the magnetic pole flip, however, that I really started coming here. The bartender happened to be helping with some of the relief efforts, and I was dropping supplies to a few hubs."

Tags: Adelle Bastiel​

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Tags: Itzhal Volkihar

In hindsight, Adelle should have perhaps ordered a drink first and then asked her question.

She had expected a much shorter and simpler answer that would have allowed for an order to be placed and a drink enjoyed with the conversation. But she still listened to his story attentively, leaning her elbows on the counter and occasionally making eye-contact to let him know she listened. His story hit a few chords in her: finding a leader that believed in more than just constant war, in building a better legacy, after drifting from job to job and just surviving.

His mention of the Galactic Alliance got a wry smile. A larger galactic government taking over, hostile or not, pushing the smaller faction out, and now it was an ouroboros. She had taken a job from them just before they collapsed, the leadership scattering like dust in the wind. She never did get paid for that job.

The New Mandalorians caring about holding territory seemed at odds with the Resol'nare to Adelle. Wasn't the whole point of the armor, the language, the perpetuation of the culture and ideals about persisting in spite of a lack of territory? Wasn't it about the perpetuation of an idea rather than a specific world and a specific people? Hadn't the Taung been the original Mandalorians and hadn't they very nearly died out?

Adelle raised her eyebrows when Itzhal said he'd been an ambassador to the new Mandalorian Empire. Currently an ambassador or not, that was influence she'd never wielded. Not even in her old Order. She'd never been appointed to the Council and there were reasons she'd never been assigned a diplomatic mission with government representatives.

"It's true what they say," Adelle said dryly. "Nothing brings people together quite like disaster."

As if to punctuate her sentence, another clash between jousters played on the holoscreen. Loud cheers and even jeers, mixed with yelled instructions, thundered after it. She got the bartender's attention and ordered a Corellian ale, a simple request and one quickly filled.

"Is the Empire a successor you believe in?" she asked. "I don't know much about the history of the Mando'ade, sorry. I am a recent foundling. But . . . I want to believe the Mand'alor believes in more than just conquest."

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Onderon, Inner Rim

Until the words had flowed from his lips, Itzhal hadn't realised just how much he had to say on the matter of his history with the world and, more importantly, the New Mandalorians. It was all the more baffling when he considered just how long he'd actually spent with them, a mere couple of months, a flicker in the eye for a man who had lived over a century. Perhaps it was because they had been the first to matter to him in this new era, a clear division between his proper timeframe and this new Galaxy, so different that sometimes it felt like one side had to be a dream, though he could never quite tell which side was the nightmare.

With a chuckle at her joke, the Morellian shook his head in amusement before he gulped down his drink, grateful for the excuse to do something with his hands and the new sensations that burst across his taste buds. He noted the drink she bought, passing credits down the table, where they stopped only inches from the bartender and the Corellian Ale they poured.

Her next question was even more complicated than the last, though ironically, he thought it could be answered in less time as he lowered his hands, the last dregs of his drink nestled in between them. Or maybe not, he had noticed a propensity for tales and speeches in recent years.

"Do not be sorry for that which you are already attempting to change," Itzhal stated, an order for all that it was softened by the smile he offered in the wake of his statement. "So many people are comfortable with settling for who they are and what they know; it is a feat of effort to reach out and learn more, as you said, this is new to you."

He paused then, a furrow to his features as he considered the words he had to speak, "If the question is, do I believe this Empire is a suitable successor to the New Mandalorians, then the answer is no. I do not. That, however, is not a condemnation of what this new Mand'alor has created. The New Mandalorians are, or perhaps were, rigid in their ideals and methods; they desired peace, and although they were willing to fight for it, everything they did was ultimately intended towards the goal. It left little for those of our people who do not fit that mould."

"Nor should it, you cannot please everyone, nor can you cater to everyone," Itzhal declared, a prediction woven into fate from the bones of countless failed attempts. "In that regard, Aether is a greater dreamer than the Duchess ever was. He wishes for a home for us all, and despite my misgivings about the situation, so far, he has done well to keep us together. In that regard, I would argue that his Empire is a much more inclusive successor to the Mandalorian people."

"I think with the Galaxy as it is, and with the collapse of the Alliance, it is only natural that the Empire would expand, though I am pleased it has avoided the atrocities of our warmongering past. I cannot deny some wariness of where the line is to be drawn between the aegis of protectors to worlds in need, and the conquerors that have made our people feared in many sectors. Mayhaps, that is why I remain even in those moments of doubt, because someone must watch, even if in truth, I believe the Mand'alor cares far more for the people who exist under him right now, and their culture, rather than some galaxy-spanning goliath built upon the back of Mandalorians in name only."

With a twirl of the last remaining drips of his drink, Itzhal threw the glass back, only to deposit it on the bartop with a satisfied sigh.

"Apologies, I swear I was more concise in my younger years. What about yourself? I know you worry about our people becoming conquerors once again, but what brought you here, not only to the culture, but why the Empire when Clan Skirata would accept you regardless?"

Tags: : Adelle Bastiel​

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Tags: Itzhal Volkihar

The bartender set a pint of Corellian ale in front of her as Itzhal spoke, the creds quickly swept off the counter and into a pocket. And then the elder Mandalorian asked what brought her to the Empire, to being Mandalorian. Adelle took a slow drink, collecting her thoughts, and discarding the ones that would be too much or irrelevant.

"Loss brought me into Mandalorian space," she said simply. "The Planeshift. Lost my people and couldn't find them again. Ran out of creds trying to find them. I was on Taris when the riots broke out."

Someone there had seen fit to supply those rioters with military grade weapons. She'd heard other Mandalorians talk about rocket launchers and explosives being used in addition to blasters. The grenade at the bar hadn't been just a fluke.

"A short while after, the Mand'alor offered me and another hunter a contract. He seemed measured, a scholar and not just a soldier. Thinks before he acts but doesn't just send people out to do his dirty work. And I figured if I was going to be in Mando space for a bit, I might as well make it work for me. You live your life following a Code, following a Creed isn't all that different."

Another cheer came up from the crowd watching the highlights, mixed more with insults and jeers now. She could hear a couple voices start to argue, but not in earnest. Yet. Adelle drank more of her ale, slightly worried about the odds of a bar fight happening. The number of times she'd been to a bar and not had some kind of physical confrontation happen in recent memory numbered . . . one. Although with all that invading of personal space Virelia had done, Adelle wasn't sure that didn't count as physical confrontation.

"I'm pleased to see Mand'alor take a different path than his predecessors," she said. "I used to belong to one of the big Force-using traditions. A sect of Mandalorians tried to wipe our enclave off the face of the galaxy. Some crusade or something. I think that's what drew me in to the Empire. The Mand'alor's recognition of Force use as good and valuable. It's been a part of my life for so long it'd be like losing an arm at this point."

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Onderon, Inner Rim

Quietly, Itzhal gestured for another drink from the bartender with a sequence of hand movements that would have otherwise been nonsensical if it hadn't ended with a quick jab towards the bottles of Meiloorun juice stacked in one of the chillers. A bare sliver of his attention, which just as swiftly returned to his fellow Mandalorian, and the story they had to tell, filled with tragedy for all that the details were skimmed over, a scab that could be acknowledged, but neither party had a particular interest in tearing open.

Tragedy always had a special way of intertwining those lost adrift with the Mandalorian way. Her tale was less bloody than his, for all that he could see the pain that lingered in her eyes, banished beyond the reach of her people, unable to uncover the truth behind their disappearance and what remained of them. He'd been fortunate in that regard; devastating as his father's death had been at the time, there had been closure, even if it had been found standing upon a pile of corpses and a single way out.

He imagined in a way Taris hadn't been quite so dissimilar, violent as the reports had been, speckled with rumour and hearsay. It had still been a blow to realise the planet he'd fought to protect during the Gravesong War had torn itself apart, another wound inflicted upon a people who had already suffered so much. Another sin to lay at the Diarchy's feet, if he felt like counting.

There were no winners in such a game, however, not when he deemed to look upon his people's storied past. A history that their new Mand'alor wished to acknowledge and respect, if only to avoid the mistakes of yesteryear.

On the matter of force-sensitives and the previous sect's reaction, he paused, listening to another perspective on the crusaders he'd heard much about, though by the time he'd awoken, they'd been so focused on the outer edges of their territory, they'd had little time to stumble across a figure like Itzhal. He still wasn't sure what he would have done if they had. In a way, it was just as conflicted a situation for the old Morellian as were force sensitives, gifted with abilities that he could not reach or even understand. He'd like to say he was better now, but that was easier to say when he wasn't in the moment, staring down an individual who could and would turn it against him. The best he could offer was that it remained a tool, limited in who could reach for it.

His next drink, a bright pink monstrosity, was delivered with a short exchange of credits, flicked into the bartender's hand, before Itzhal lifted it to his lips for a quick sip. The sharp fruity tang, a burst of taste and delightfully refreshing, as he released a soft sigh of pleasure before he lowered the drink to the bar with a gentle clink.

"My condolences," Itzhal offered, his voice steady, for all that the words felt paltry the moment he spoke. "I hope that you'll forgive me for the impudence, but if you ever desire help finding your people, it would be my honour to help. It is a heavy burden to find oneself separated from one's people, and I would not wish it upon anyone."

He glanced at the arguing figures around the monitor, their voices raised in bouts of both amusement and annoyance, playful taunts shared among friends and distant strangers, gathered together in that moment of belonging. Others were not so merry, a hissed conversation between two barabels, dripping venom with each sharpened word they hurled at each other, separated from the rest of the world by the barest of space between themselves and the opening of their booth. Another, a Zabrak with a green-coloured buy'ce placed upon the table, had gone worringly quiet as he glared down at his armoured companion between the delivery of a new set of drinks. Despite that, for every awkward confrontation that Itzhal witnessed, another dozen defied them with a mixture of blatant joy and hushed contentment.

With a moment of privacy, silently given, Itzhal returned to the conversation, listening to what Adelle had to say.

Tags: Adelle Bastiel​