Faction C A R N E A | The Festival

[Tarre Priest]

The start of this Carnea, a festival in which the clans would celebrate the coming of the Law of Manda’lor. 30 days, and nights of feasting, drinking, and knocking boots, would commence. The mandalorian Clan of Priest was hosting such an event. It mattered not where people were on the surface of Mandalore, all that mattered was that the people, Mando’ade, participated. As it came down upon the Alor’s shoulders, to carry and host the event, I would have to start such a thing. Never in my life did I expect to be doing as such. Yet times change. People change. Even with the missing, and presumed dead Iron Father now gone, it was a place where some who do miss him, could remember him, and others could move on. Seeking to bring about a new Manda’lor to take his place.

The Alor'ultai, having taken place not so long ago, was a meeting between the remaining alors. Those who were called by one of their own to bring forth the contests, competitions, and tests that would show who among the Mando’ade would become the Manda’lor. Many sought this position for power. Others took up the mantle to lead their people to safety, yet it rested on my shoulders, that while I may not necessarily want the responsibility of carrying such a title, I still would compete. For my people, to rebuild what had been destroyed by the Sith so many years ago. It was a personal thing. I wanted to help my people however I could. If that meant taking the reins, then I would.

Climbing atop a Bes’uiik, it lifted into the sky over the large formation of makeshift buildings, the congregation of our culture was here in full display. Ships dotting the planet surface and even more in the skies above. All waiting for it to be transmitted, that this Carnea would begin.

Standing atop the Iron Beast, Holoprojectors mounted on it so that those who were not on the ground with me, were able to see it from their ships above. All the clans were here. And so, I did what I could to make some kind of speech for these people.

“To all Vod! Clans of many names, backgrounds, and cultures before. An Alor’ultai has convened. Your leaders congregated to discuss the failings of our Iron Father. May his soul be with Manda. However, our leadership is now without our head. Our Manda’lor. The Sole Leader of our culture, our way of life. For years there has not been one to claim the seat of Manda’yaim. The missteps of the Enclave, the scorcher, and infernal ones have left our people in shambles.”

My helmet played over those who were on the ground. Kindred paying attention to my words. Even as sweat went down my brow beneath the helmet, it would now show.

“Today, we celebrate! We dine off of the shields of our fallen, and we drink from the skulls of our foes! We prepare for the tests ahead of us! Clans Priest, Ordo, Varad, and Garon have claimed their right to these trials. Champions among them have been chosen, Alors stepped forward to claim this title. Over these 30 days, they will be tried, weighed, and measured for their strength, knowledge, and capabilities. Support them! Aid them! For they have a monumental calling ahead of them.”

Raising my hand to the sky, I did my best to try and hype up those who attended.

“Brothers and Sisters! Join me and the Alors, the Clans, and learn what it really means to be a Mandalorian! Be it by the plate, tankard, or a good bed to bump uglies!”

Just outside Sundari
In transit - Writing as Chaaj Priest

The Har’angir Priesthood, being led by myself. As well as others who should join us, were making an assault on our planet’s home. For years the city of Sundari has been infested with Sithspawn, creatures of foul creation, and remains of the Empires who destroyed our planet. While my Alor was speaking, drinking and eating with the Carnea, I would fill his role of Strike Team Leader for this venture of taking back our city. I remember the words spoken to me less than a half an hour ago.

“Chaaj, can I trust you do to something for not just me, but for our clansmen, and the people of our generation?”
“Anything brother.”
“I need you to lead a team to Sundari.”
“Its infested. Why go there?”
“How better to represent our people, to show them that we are still strong and capable, by providing the people a gift of our capital, a clean place to stay. Beds to sleep in, a table to call home.”
“A liberation of our past.”
“Exactly.”

A smile came to my echani face underneath the gold and white helmet. Holding the Ripper rifle in my hand, with the other holding the strap above my head. The Dropships inbound to the capital. Our aim? To clear out the city of any that stood in our way. To give a gift to our people. To make anew our culture. Taking back what had been stolen, broken, and perverted by others. A stronger foundation for our people to bounce back from.

“Priesthood, Drop in 30 seconds!”

OOC THREAD​

 

[Marek Rekali]

From Clan Rekali there was no contest for Mand'alor. It wasn't what the company wanted. But they were to pay homage to the world and the Tenets. Marek had made space and time, as did many of the younger Rekali to be in attendance here. To be here for the Carnea. And how would it be seen if they didn't attend?

Surely the Clan could support their own parties with the money brought into the clan from its various ventures. But the ceremony here was what was important.

And the challenge.

That was why Marek opted to take the Clan Priest approach and head to Sundari. Sithspawn were sighted. And where better to show the others of Mandalore the capability of Clan Rekali than on the field of battle against beings strong in the Force?

His rune inscribed staff across his back and his inscribed blaster pistols on his hips, Marek held one handle to steady himself. There would be celebration when the fight was done.

Chaaj Priest

 

[Laphisto]

Laphisto found his way to the festival and began to mingle to a degree. As he looked out amongst the other Mandalorians, he couldn't help but feel a bit out of place. After all, he had fought against them during the Mandalorian wars all those years ago. While he bore the sigil of clan ordo, it mainly was in remembrance of his friend. to pay homage and respect them. When he first got unfrozen from carbonite in this era, it didn't take long for him to be mistaken for a Mandalorian. And he never corrected them. Ris always considered him a part of his people even while they were on opposite sides of the war. And it just felt wrong to correct people otherwise.

But now, here he was, surrounded by Mandalorians, pledging his support to the Alor of clan Ordo in their stake for Mand'alor. While he was accepted into clan Ordo by Ordo some time ago when he helped them on the planet of the same namesake, it still felt strange to be here. When he first arrived, he was saddened to see the planet in its state. The once great Veshok trees he remembered seeing were long gone and turned to dust and glass.

stepping forwards through the crowd Laphisto sought out other members of clan ordo, in hopes of finding himself a friendly and familiar atmopshere

 

[Ordo]

Old eyes watched from behind the black beskaristeel of his 'T' shaped visor as His clan marched. The clan did not parade into this festival. It was not a common tradition among their clan. Since ancient times the clan had always claimed the rights of leadership via martial combat. Leading raids and leading defense of their home was how they gained rank, or they could challenge a commander that they felt was failing and win via regulated duels. It was traditions for them, it was known, and very few would argue a loss and even fewer would debate who was in charge afterward. Many who failed miserably at their duties would commit suicide to regain their honor, but that tradition had long since been abolished as required, though it would always be honored as a sacrifice to the Manda. Ordo sat aboard the clan transports, of which their were many that had arrived from the large war fleet in high orbit, and gave His orders to the commanders.

"...and if any of you shame the clan, by fighting without official challenge and acceptance of a duel, I will personally return you to the sands and your families will find someone fit to wear your beskar'gam. Are we clear? Honor the traditions of others as you honor your own. This is our way."

"AYE, ALOR!" the Mandalorians replied as one.

"Good. Go enjoy the festival and if you see clan Priest members thank them for their contributions. Dismissed." Ordo finished His speech before gathering his own things and meeting the Field Marshalls and Rally Masters.

"I know it isn't ideal but set watches and keep people rotating through the festival. I want a few sharp eyes on scanners at all times. Send drones to watch and monitor the surrounding area. This place may have been picked for the games and festivities but there are still, dragons, graug and those hydra monsters out there. along with whatever those twisted dar'jetti cooked up. Keep vigilant. If anyone can hold their booze and keep watch it's us."

"Aye, Alor." they each echoed.

"And if you bring home new clan members from around the festival I won't complain, but keep your weapons clean. You know what I mean."

With that He left them chuckling and punching each other's shoulders as He left to grab some food and drink Himself. It had been a long time since he had grabbed a bantha burger. It sounded amazing.

Tarre Priest Marek Rekali Laphisto Arla Rodarch Baal Varad Mia Monroe Mig Gred

 

[Shev Skirata]

The sounds of heavy drumming and various melodies assaulted the air like like the angry flailing of a newborn babe as Shev walked between tents. His eyes scanned foods and confections that he had never seen before as he walked. He had brought his weapons as always but he kept his carbine slung behind him over his tan long coat. the beskar saber was on his back beneath the rifle and he found himself completely unsure as to where he should rest his hands, so he hooked his thumbs in the loops of his utility belt and just strolled around. There were more people than he had expected. Far more than he had seen in one place even during the battle for this very place. He had nearly died here...repeatedly, and had crashed his junk Y-wing into a massive mega fauna sithspawn that had been a true planetary threat. He had killed the thing with the help of many other pilots. They had won. Now they were singing, dancing, and he wasn't sure what that pile of people in one of the tents he passed were doing, but it was something they would have been able to do if they had lost. Shev felt pride for that, even if very few people knew he had taken part, and that pride was something, new.

He stopped at an open air bar set up along the route and bought a netra'gal and sipped it through his helmet straw as he continued to watch from the stool mounted to stall. This was a good thing, regardless of the Mand'alor contest and whatever that would produce. This whole festival was something they needed as a people. He could feel it.

 

[Leddie Gred]

Leddie and her friends had come with a few other clan members and aruetii'vod aboard a few Gred ships that were now in orbit, the Trayc'kad-01 Squadron led by Concordia. They definitely didn't look as much like a united group. Even with time they were still definitely a mixed bag. Her jag'buir was still worried. She could tell that much before leaving with the squadron. Either way, she'd be with the others Including holo-projections of a few of the Central AIs there too. Cordy may've stood out a bit among her siblings, preferring to project herself with a beret and fatigues to armor. Still, the opening speech wasn't something most of people from Clan Gred were use to, Mandalorian or otherwise.

Leddie looked around. Tarre Priest was a good speaker it seemed like, but she remembered her jag'buir mentioning to keep an eye out for Arla Rodarch . As the festivities began though, Jari gave her a nudge, chuckling a bit.

'Well you Mandos have always known how to start a party, haven't you? Also realizing how tame Greds are. But hey, they want a party, we can provide, ain't that right?" The Zygerrian Mandalorian beside him, Yarla, shook her head with a smirk.

"Love, you really have a one track mind don't you?" Leddie just snickered, getting a eying from her human friend.

"Just how I unwind. Come on."

"You sure they'll like it. Not exactly the most traditional, and a lot of vod here seem.... Ver much that." The quiet one, Galos, signed something to her, and Leddie just looked surrpised. "I'm not being to cautious!" Soon, Cordy overhead, popping over to the younger Mandalorians.

"Don't worry tat . You'll do fine. And if they don't like it I'll remind I'm part of a 1400m star destroyer." She chuckled a bit, looking at the organics there. "But still. If you're not in the games, why not introduce them to a bit of music?" Leddie smiled a bit. Funny how a program could give such solid advice. The young group started to head to where the drinks were, guessing that's where anyone who was going to do some playing would be headed too. Cordy chuckled. Might as well keep an eye on them before the games.

Near the bar, the group set up, Jari quickly smiled, nudging Leddie to start a song for a change. One around how the clan faired after Hammerfall, met each other, and the struggles of life in the fleet. Leddie and Galos, through signing, focusing on the invasion, and its effect on them; Jari his parents finding the fleet when they needed a home; Yarla on her dad being given a chance after being taken prisoner after a slave fleet raid, and Marsk about his folks running from another Sith invasion. Along with how at times nowhere felt like home. Cordy meanwhile appeared at the bar, Making it look like she had a drink in her hand.

"It's good to be able to do this somewhere that isn't Tanaab."

Spoiler: music

Marek Rekali Shev Skirata Ordo

 

[Efret Farr]

Immersing herself in other cultures had always been an escape.

It was even more so on this day, and would continue to be for as long as she remained on Mandalore. Maybe she would stay all month long; she couldn’t say what her own plans were quite yet, just that it felt somehow comforting to be this close to the Dark Empire's heartland.

She would only know for sure if the visions were quelled for now when she slept, but at least the waking panic that they left on her soul had stripped away as soon as she had broken through the atmosphere of this capital planet some hours ago.

She was not advertising that she was a Jedi. Though she donned some spacer clothes instead of her robes, her lightsaber was hidden in her small crossbody bag. It always paid to be prepared for violence of course—she knew that out of all the cultures in the galaxy, Mandalorians would respect that—but she was also prepared for a trip to Lorrd following the festivities. She didn’t know if she could find one, but she wanted to at least look for a Lorrdian gemstone.

Maybe that would give her an edge over the Dark Side Elite who was apparently as obsessed with her as she was with him.

That was a problem she could, would, come back to in a few days to a few weeks. For now, she would celebrate the Mandalorians’ way of life even if she had very little to likewise celebrate in her own life. There was food and drink to be had, in which she hoped to find vicarious joy, but she didn’t want any part in the third activity that the festival had to offer.

On her way to find something to eat, she neared an open air bar. After she stepped under its awning and took a seat at an unoccupied table, a server approached to her to take her order. "Cassius tea and a slice of uj'alayi, please," she signed, the unit clipped to her shirt's neckline projecting a computerized voice that interpreted the movements of her hands.

Jadar​

 

[Laphisto]

Laphisto stayed close to the others of clan Ordo, his arms crossing over his chest as he looked around. He tried not to use force around Mandalorians as often as possible, so he was subjected to being mostly blind for this festival. Unless he genuinely needed it. Either way, he saw it as a way to hone his other senses to let him get acquainted with the sounds of the Mandalorians around him.

While he didn't arrive with the others of clan Ordo but instead arrived in a Lilaste Corvette—in case things got heated and he needed an excuse to leave—he was still the leader of the Lilaste order. While his order was welcomed into the Mandalorian protectorate as full members, that didn't mean the order still had its ongoings in its little sector of space.

At the mention of taking shifts for perimeter checks, laphisto raised a curious brow. This was a Mandalorian gathering. Anyone with half a bantha brain would recognize that attacking this gathering would be a bad idea. But he didn't question the order. Pulling himself forwards he moved to join the others of clan Ordo, opting to go on watch. he wasn't the most social and he had enough time standing out as it is.

Ordo

 

[Baal Varad]

​

“Brothers and Sisters! Join me and the Alors, the Clans, and learn what it really means to be a Mandalorian! Be it by the plate, tankard, or a good bed to bump uglies!”

The voice of Tarre Priest, one of the Contestants and Champion of his Clan, boomed across the sunscape through speakers. Manda'yaim was embracing her people tighter today than ever before, on this greatest of days, and Tarre Priest had the honor of introducing it. What a worthy, great honor to even be in place to announce the festivities - the retaking, recolonization, re-greatening. But more importantly, this was the start of the CARNEA, a time in which the Mandalorians would fight through fire, beskar, and blood to name a champion. To name Sole Ruler. To name the greatest weapon and greatest protector of Sol Manda, Mand'yaim, the Great Mother.

Sole Ruler. Such a rough translation in Basic. It held so much more meaning for the Mando'ade. It meant freedom. It meant love. It meant an absence of fear in Manda beskar. It meant strength in Manda, and strength in culture, strength in unity was greater than any beskar spear.

Strength in people.

After she stepped under its awning and took a seat at an unoccupied table, a server approached to her to take her order. "Cassius tea and a slice of uj'alayi, please,"

Baal flipped a coin to the bartender, sitting at a table in the same open air bar located at the Sundarian makeshift town.


TAL MA'REEK. BAAL. VARAD. MA'REEK. BAAL. VARAD. MA'REEK. BAAL. VARAD. MA'REEK. BAAL. VARAD.MA'REEK. BAAL. VARAD. MA'REEK. BAAL. VARAD.MA'REEK. BAAL. VARAD. MA'REEK. BAAL. VARAD.MA'REEK. BAAL. VARAD. MA'REEK. BAAL. VARAD.MA'REEK. BAAL. VARAD. MA'REEK. BAAL. VARAD.MA'REEK. BAAL. VARAD. TAL MA'REEK. BAAL. VARAD.MA'REEK. BAAL. VARAD. MA'REEK. BAAL. VARAD.MA'REEK. BAAL. VARAD. MA'REEK. BAAL. VARAD.MA'REEK. BAAL. VARAD. MA'REEK. BAAL. VARAD.MA'REEK. BAAL. VARAD. MA'REEK. BAAL. VARAD.MA'REEK. BAAL. VARAD. MA'REEK. BAAL. VARAD.MA'REEK. BAAL. VARAD. TAL MA'REEK. BAAL. VARAD.

BESKAR BESKAR BESKAR AHOOO BESKAR BESKAR BESKAR AHOOOO.

Voices trembled the earth with warlike shouts, the blowing of flutes and the beating of drums. Black and gold flags bearing the sigil of the One Eyed Demon Mythosaur raised, signaling the portion of the parade when House Varad would march by. All the Champions', and even some major clans that were being represented in the games, Clans had been ordered to march in the Parade. It was a glorious honor to represent your sigil and your banners for such an auspicious day.

"Oh, I love dis part." He slid his feathered helmet to the side, leaning over the table to talk to the woman, the barkeep, and other tourists. "I love when dey say my name, how can you not love dis, hm? It is a DAY OF JOY! Dis is Manda celebration, these Priest southerners make good wine!"

Baal seemed in great spirits, slamming back a full cup of ale. They didn't really drink in the north, despite the accusations. Sure, alcohol was mixed into their water and goods to prevent tooth infection and other ailments, but it was more to keep Varadian soldiers healthy enough to continue the battle in the frigid northern wastes. While Baal might have a massive tolerance to alcohol, he had never in his life tasted alcohol like this.

"I love dis," he said, sprawling his arms out wide as if to give a big hug. "I think my parade is leaving without me! But Harangir help me, I cannot part from this wine, it would do no good, tuk tuk tuk."

 

[Garrus Garon]

No grand parade would be held for Clan Garon, its members lived a spartan lifestyle befitting the Warriors and Mercenaries of old just as Strider, the former Alor had proclaimed. Though leadership had changed hands precious little else had occurred. When the representatives of Clan Garon had arrived it was with precious little pomp or fanfare.

Amidst the makeshift buildings erected for the festival of Carnea those of Garon gathered at low tables and with fire and hearth to warm them. Holoprojectors and screens illuminated the area providing entertainment amongst the Vode. Pitchers of Ale were abundant as were meats, spiced and prepared over the flame. Laughter could be heard but also the grumbling of old men who lamented the same old problems.

As for Garrus Garon himself, the Warrior sat at the head of one such low table with legs crossed in front of him. He wore the Beskar'gam that had protected him throughout innumerable battles and his Beskad was worn too, sheathed over his back diagonally to that its handle came up over his right shoulder while the heavy blade crossed down to his left hip. Beneath his Buy'ce he maintained a grim expression that went unseen from onlookers.

Glancing to one side the mechanical voice of his helms commlink remarked in a scratchy tone...

"My Brother would have liked it here."

...he referred, primarily to the abundance of drink and women that were available to couple with knowing that Strider Garon had never lacked for female companionship. Of the Brothers, Strider was the more adventurous and well known of the two; Garrus preferred to stay close to the farmstead when hadn't visited the Great Arena or likewise to engage in one bloodsport or another.

Dasu'r Garon was the legacy of his brother now and champion of Clan Garon, a son that he had taken the time to raise instead of answering the next call for adventure. Funny, Garrus was still capable of being surprised by his brother even now that he was dead. Enough of that though, Garrus would not ruin a night with sentimentality.

Reaching up, fingers splayed he pressed both hands over the visor of his buy'ce then slowly unlocked it from the rest of his armor before pulling it from the crown of his shaven head so that he could set it down nearby. Once that was done he took a cup and pitcher, poured himself a drink until his vessel almost overflowed and pressed it to his mouth before tipping it backwards as he took ever increasing gulps...

"Good wine!"

...he called loudly, lowering the cup and wiping his mouth his hand before reaching to pour himself another drink.

 

[Dasu'r Garon]

The Avril, an antique gunship, cut through the atmosphere of Mandalore, its hull gleaming under the brilliant sunlight. Inside, Dasu'r Garon felt a flutter of anticipation. His green hues watched the sprawling landscape of his ancestral home unfold beneath him beyond the viewport. Mandalore was once a planet of rugged beauty with multiple different biomes that included desolate plains and towering cities, all steeped in the rich history of the Mandalorian people, all but dust and ruins now. The planet now shows the plethora of devastating war scars its people have earned upon it.

Dasu'r adjusted his armor, and the green and yellow beskar plates reminded him of his heritage. The festival of Carnea awaited him below—a celebration of Mandalorian culture and valor, marked by grand feasts, vibrant markets, the camaraderie of clans, and, most importantly, the selection of a new sole ruler. This year, Dasu'r was particularly eager for the festival, not just for the revelry but for the reunion it promised. His uncle, Garrus Garon , a revered and feared warrior, would be waiting for him at one of the vendor's tables, watching the precision.

As the ship descended, Dasu'r's mind raced with memories of stories his father told him: tales of glory, sacrifice, and the unyielding spirit of their people. He could almost hear Strider's deep voice, filled with wisdom and a touch of ...dark...humor, guiding him through his training and life lessons. The thought of his father brought sadness, but the anticipation of seeing his uncle again filled Dasu'r with excitement and resolve.

The ship landed with a soft thud, and the ramp lowered to reveal the bustling streets of the festival. Dasu'r stepped out, the sounds and scents of Carnea enveloping him immediately. He navigated through the crowd, his eyes scanning the rows of vendors, each stall brimming with exotic goods, armaments, and delicacies with tables for the spectators to enjoy food and drinks.

Finally, he spotted Garrus at an empty table laden with only a pitcher and a cup. The elder Mandalorian's bald head was a direct indicator of his location. A subject that Dasu'r was not brave enough to bring to his uncle's attention. Instead, he walked towards him, sitting across from the older man and placing his helmet on the table. Dasu'r looked at the parade and saw the many mandalorians marching with their sigils crested banners, with clan Garon's not flying amongst them.

"Ai wondair if eet was wizé of us not to participate een ji pomp?" His Rylothian accent asked a question that he already knew the answer to. The Garon spartan ways would not be broken, not even today. It was an ode to the hard lifestyle of the warrior farmers. Dasu'r could not deny that at this moment, surrounded by the lively spirit of Carnea, he felt a profound connection to his heritage and a renewed determination to honor the legacy of his clan and his father. A chance his uncle has honored him with as the clan's champion.

 

[Aisha Garon]

Another ship descended to the surface with precision, the thrusters gently stirring the dust as it approached the meeting point. The blue markings on the vessel stood out vividly against the dull metal, resembling the fierce stripes of a raxshir, the sabercat of Shili. The ship's hatch opened with a soft hiss, and its occupant took a moment to steady herself before stepping out. Unsurprisingly, another Mandalorian...but a Togruta one at that!

Aisha Garon's helm scanned the area, her silvery visor settling on two men se recognized on features alone: Garrus and Dasu'r, her uncle and cousin respectfully. Her entire aura was one of nervous apprehension. It had been years, if not a decade or more, since she had seen any of her fellow Clan Garon. She only knew of Dasu'r by word-of-mouth alone.

"Haar’chak!" She cursed under her breath, “Very well, let’s rip this bacta patch off.”

She carefully walked over to the Garon men, avoiding the crowd as best as she could. Once she was close enough, she stopped and had her helm stare directly on them. She beat a fist against her chest plate as a form of salute to her kinsmen. And to them, she could be identified as one of their ilk, as she displayed Clan Garon's crest on her pauldron, albeit as a silvery signet. She reached up to her helmet and removed it, a hermetic hiss releasing as the seal broke. Her face looked back at them, stoic yet with a sense of uneasiness. Her heart pounded in her chest.

“Uncle.” She nodded to Garrus, before addressing the green-hair, “And I’m unsure what to call you yet. But…you are definitely his. You look so much like Ba’buir.”

A twinge of sadness overtook her features for a brief moment. She had known his time would have come eventually. And to Mandalorians, death was not an end, but merely another beginning. She prayed she'd one day be reunited. Nonetheless, she stood there, awaiting their judgement. Aisha Garon, the one of their Clan that forsook the constant feuds of her people to act as marshal on a backwater world. Foundling brought from the hell of Er'Kit's slave pits, an Owl of Aloy, and granddaughter of Strider. After all of these things, would her clansmen still brand her as worthy of their kinship?

Garrus Garon | Dasu'r Garon | OPEN​

 

[Garrus Garon]

If Garrus saw his nephews approach from over the rim of his cup as he quaffed another container of wine provided by the hosts of the festival it didn't show. When he set the cup back down Dasu'r Garon had already joined him at his table and was removing his helmet. Glancing in his nephews direction, the resemblance to his brother apparent Garrus looked back in the direction of the banners flying as the precession of Clans marched.

When he looked back towards Dasu'r only indifference showed on Garrus features however after a moment of what was either contemplation or indigence that he let simmer he'd have answered...

"Do you think pomp and pageantry mean anything on the battlefield? When iron is drawn it's your actions and not your sigils that will keep you alive.:

...while he spoke he found a second cup, took the pitcher that he'd left nearby and poured Dasu'r a drink before refilling his own. As he sat the pitcher back down he'd continue...

"Most of the time it's the same Clans that you hear droning on and on about past failures that you see marching with their sigils in the wind."

...and there were plenty of those whether they be full Clans or individuals belonging to them. He didn't much care for the endless discussion or sharing of blame which he'd found have become commonplace whenever the majority of Alor were present, they all thought they had something to prove or something to say. Garrus imagined it was better to keep quiet and let actions speak for themselves. He'd never gone out of his way to draw attention needlessly.

Lifting his cup, now on his third he'd only take a sip of the wine this time before lowering it as he remarked...

"I do like this contenders for Mand'alor though. Baal Varad ; I've always liked the Varads even though some consider them a disreputable clan. Don't know Tarre Priest but his clan makes good wine. Good enough for me. Ordo , strong warrior and honorable; I'd lose to him if it came to that."

...in truth Garrus mostly enjoyed the fight, he wasn't particularly interested in leading. It may have been enough for him to have whomever the Mand'alor know that crack their bones if it came to that. No matter though. Not yet anyways.

Eyes strayed towards the contents of his cup, he watched as the liquor it contained swirled as he shook it slowly. When he heard Aisha Garon he would have looked up and called out...

"Ahhhhh, Aisha. Come take a seat, have a drink."

 

[Leddie Gred]

Cordy looked over curiously at the parade going by, hearing the parade go by, and Baal’s own remarks. Her avatar shrugged, speaking up as the music from Leddie and her friends died down from the parade.

“I mean, parades are nice and all, but not something I can exactly experience right.” The AI remarked, as the other walked up. Leddie looked at the bar.

“Can I get something… watered down honestly.” The Zabrak asked. She already knew some of the looks she’d get, but it always brought back the memories. Still, she was going to try and have some fun. The rest asked for their drinks too, with Cordy looking at them before hearing the old man discussing the members vying for Mand’alor. She flicked to another projector, getting a bit closer.

“Don’t know how much stock you put into what some vod would see as a glorified Gred computer, but they all have their points. They all seem to have their pros and cons. Honestly not sure how the Alor would react to Baal. Mig puts a lot of stock in not getting people killed, and Baal seems more… spirited.”

Garrus Garon Baal Varad Dasu'r Garon Aisha Garon Ordo Efret Farr

 

[Tyonna Arkose]

It wasn't often that Tyonna left the Singing Mountain -- and leaving Dathomir completely was rare.

However, Tyonna had decided to come to the festival to learn more about the Mandalorians. She had recently met some of their clansmen on her home-world. Normally, she held technology in low regard, but the ways of the Mandalorians still prized skill. That had endeared them to her, somewhat. They did not rely on instruments and suits of armor alone. Though, the beskar did give them quite an edge, she had to admit.

Dressed simply, she stood to the side as the parade wound through. There was raucous laughter and shouts, music, and striking clan symbols on display. These people were full of spirit today. Tyonna did her best to take it all in without completely overwhelming herself.

Making her way towards the vendors, she ordered a spiced-caf and looked down the row of stalls for something to eat. The witch knew little of the Mandalorian culture, but what better way was there to learn? Now, she needed only to decide...

Tag: open

 

[Jadar]

"Are you familiar with that near-human female?" Droid asked.

"What?" Jadar asked sharply. "No. Why?"

"You are staring." Droid said. "Your physiological response indicates that you are speaking the truth. However-er-er-er your tone and pitch of voice coupled with your haste to respond suggests a defensiveness that exceeeeeeeds the amount expected from my queer-queer-query."

Droid was…well…a droid…sort of. His exact nature and means of creation are in reality convoluted, needlessly complicated, and honestly not well thought out.

He was an amalgamation of an amnesiatic Shard, an abandoned and somewhat looney protocol droid and a centuries old Jedi training droid to be specific if not exact. Droid was also Jadar's closest companion and had been for close to twenty years, ever since the day Jadar had found and rescued Droid from a long abandoned and forgotten Jedi temple.

"I'm not staring." Jadar told Droid.

"Attempt at deceit de-de-tected. Attempt adjudicated as feeble. Jadar, of my many systems in dddddire need of upgrading or repair, my optical sensors are not among them."

"Fine. It's just that…" Jadar's voice trailed off. Why? He couldn't really say. He was being silly. "…I can feel The Force. All around her. In her."

"You think she is a Jeeeeeee-di?" Droid asked.

"I don't know." Jadar answered.

She could be Jedi, she wasn't really dressed in the traditional Jedi way but neither was Jadar. She could be Sith or some other kind of Darksider but he could not sense the Darkside here. Not in that way. There were as many reasons for a Force user to be here as there was stars in the sky and no good reason for Jadar to stare.

No reason other than it being something like two years since he had be around other Force users and longer even than that since he was around any formal Jedi.

Jadar should say something. Introduce himself. Droid was always saying that Jadar needed more sentient friends.

But what if she is a Jedi and she's keeping that identity a secret for a reason? Well maybe Jadar could help.

Jadar was busy arguing with himself about whether or not to say anything to the stranger he had been unable to take his attention from when he heard Droid.

"Nice vocabulator." Droid said jovially to the woman after she placed her order.

"What what what what what model is it? Clearly m-m-m-m-m-more func-functional than mine."

Efret Farr

 

[Ordo]

"Alor, our part of the parade procession is about to begin." A voice said from behind the big mandalorian as he stood watching two vode arm wrestle for a dance with a third vod.

He took a deep pull from the bottle of Tihaar he had acquired from a random tent along the thoroughfare.

"Kark." He grumbled before he shoved the bottle at the young Rally Master, "Better be seen then, wouldn't you say?"

The young Twi'lek Ordo nodded and took a sip from the bottle and shook his head.

"Probably for the best, Alor." The Rally master said, "You made our Fieldmarshall's get dressed up for it after all."

"Yeah, I did." Ordo chuckled then took a serious tone when the Rally Master began to chuckle also, "Secure that happiness or I'll have you walking behind the parade sweeping the dust straight."

The Rally Master fought his face straight and stood at attention.

"Aye, Alor!" He said as he slammed a fist to his breast plate and grinned again.

Ordo shook his head and grumbled something about young people as he made his way back to his Fieldmarshalls.

"Ready karkers?" He asked as the eight besu'liik took their positions.

He walked straight to Tchuck'tuk, The young bull rancor he had bonded with when they had regained the support of the Witches of Dathomir.

"You ready you pretty bastard?" He asked the big bull who bent low for a chin scratch, "Me either. Let's get this over with and get back to eating and drinking."

Ordo hauled himself up onto the Rancor's back and signaled the procession to begin.

Firework loaded rockets shot into the air from jetpacks as Rally Masters took to the air on jetpacks before the front Besu'liik began their march up the main street. The thumping of bass drumbs marked time as the front lines extended ahead and Ordo put his Buy'ce back on and followed in the middle of the pack. His bandoleer of lightsaber trophies hung across his simple grey armor and he pulled his beskad to let it rest on his shoulder as they marched.

He saluted the vode as they marched every so often as the Fieldmarshalls on the besu'liik shot spurts of flame into the air at intervals. He promised to give a show for his clan, and he hoped they at least felt the pride they deserved at the display. He was just planning on finally finding that burger that he had been looking for.

Tarre Priest Dasu'r Garon Garrus Garon Baal Varad Tyonna Arkose Aisha Garon Efret Farr Jadar Arla Rodarch Evelyn Rekali Mig Gred Laphisto

 

[Efret Farr]

Of course, she couldn't hear any of the many noises of her surroundings naturally—from the music to bar patrons chatting and laughing rowdily to the parade chants—but she knew from her other physical senses that channeling the Force to hear would lead only to overstimulation.

She smiled at the de-feathered Mandalorian who had taken up a seat nearby. When he mentioned the marchers saying his name, she glanced over her shoulder at the street before returning her attention quickly to him so she could continue reading his lips. "I'll watch over it for you," she offered, careful not to call him brother. Her habit was to refer to refer to everyone by either title or friendly epithets. However, when it came to Mandalorians, best practice was tricky. She, as an outsider, was not aware of an individual's rank or position, and opting to call them her kin would be culturally inappropriate if not individually offensive. "A good drink is best enjoyed after a long march in the sun, wouldn't you agree?"

When the drumming in the parade started in earnest, Efret turned in her seat once more. She could feel them beating in her chest, vibrating the air in her lungs. The sensation was slightly uncomfortable but overshadowed by great vicarious pride in a people, a religion, a tradition that wasn't hers. When the firework rockets brushed the sky with vibrant streaks of color, the proceedings reminded her of her province's annual Elephant Festival.

Nirrah, Efret's guide condor, beat her wings on the Jedi master's other shoulder in excitement.

The partial protocol droid approached them at this point and made his compliment to her, then asked a question. Efret, however, wasn't sure what had been said as she couldn't read Droid's lips for they didn't move.

"I'm sorry. I read lips. I can't understand you. Do you have datapad compatibility?" After she finished signing, and as her vocabulator continued interpreting, she pulled a folding datapad out of her bag. If Droid could pair with her display screen, he could communicate with her via text output.

Baal Varad Jadar​

 

[Arla Rodarch]

Mandalore
Near Sundari
Objective : Watch the Clan's entrance from a familiar place

​

The first sounds that would carry to the festival from the approaching Clan Rodarch would be the marching soldiers. They sang as they marched. "Rodarch! Rodarch Clan!" ancient chants which hadn't been sung since the Cataclysm. Stomping in step, they made a loud and proud noise as they mached to the gathering. They were the vanguard of their aliit, and they were exultant. This was a celebration of unity, of Clan pride, and the always humble Clan Rodarch had long been lacking for a chance to show its own.

"Alor Rodarch!" The warriors chanted as they separated, forming a clearing between their ordered ranks. A roar split the air, and the ground cracked. The whole area rumbled and a deep bass thrumming cut through into everyone's bones. Then a massive beastly head broke the ground apart as it roared its bulk up from under ground and into the air of Manda'yaim. The Trinitaur was a fearsome beast, not to be stabled or domesticated, and only ridden by the most daring of experts. Tuur Rodarch rode high on the back of the beast, saddled behind the creature's massive head. "Alor Rodarch!"

Arla watched from atop a nearby outcropping, having agreed to mind Mirax while Tuur participated in the ceremony. The little creature was behaving herself, allowing Arla to relax and watch the spectacle. The Clan was putting on their very best show for their young new Alor.

As Tuur dismounted the Trinitaur, the assembled warriors fired off fire rockets, which lit up the sky and silhouetted the beastie and their Alor. The huge beast reared up high trying to eat its rider, but she flew too high, and too fast. The Trinitaur dove, and disappeared back underground with a grunt.

The Rodarch Alor, Tuur, flew down to join her warriors, and together as one, Clan Rodarch entered the festival. "Rodarch!" they cried "Rodarch Clan!", offering greetings to their fellow Mando'ade.

The marshal watched quietly, proud of her daughter, and enjoying the moment for her fellow Clan members to shine, and to show their worth. They had more than earned it. It was fitting that this location was the site of their first celebration. It had been the site of their very first battle together. A battle they had one, though one in which Arla had paid a very personal cost. Leddie had fought with her that day, as had many others. She wanted to go down and find her young Gred friend and share a drink and pay their respects.

But for now, she was content to watch from afar. She was standing not far from where she and her fellow snipers had held off the Sith beast hordes. It had been a good place for a scrap. They'd all fought well that day. Soon enough, she'd join the party. But she was content for now to enjoy some quiet contemplation and let others take centre stage.

Baal Varad Mig Gred Jenn Kryze Mia Monroe Tarre Priest Raona Cadera Ssakai Exton Stole Marek Rekali @Gi'Yarr Shale Ordo Efret Farr Jadar Tyonna Arkose Leddie Gred Garrus Garon Aisha Garon Dasu'r Garon Shev Skirata Laphisto

 

[Shev Skirata]

Shev watched quietly as Clan Rodarch moved down the lane shortly after clan ordo went by. He watched their Alor from the safety of his armor. She was really amazing. And she had a jetpack. He really needed to get a jetpack. Maybe she had built her own? She could give him some pointers. Maybe he could ask her to do blaster maintenance together, or go hunting. He had been alone a long time. Maeve had been a long time ago. It wouldn't be wrong.

Right?

He followed the parade almost unconditionally. Slowly and methodically as if tracking a bounty. When they stopped to disperse he waited for the young Alor to look his way and gave a nod before he lost his courage and went toward another open bar.

"Good job." He said to himself as he signaled for an ale and pulled the straw from under the chin of his helmet again. "She had to be impressed. Your nod was impeccable. Idiot."

Arla Rodarch