Revenchent
Dungeon Master
It was unlike any other place in Kurs'taylir.
Deafening sound thundered throughout the building. It shook the foundations of the building like thunder that vibrated through bone and flesh. It was a rhythmic dirge; a sort of cacophony that was to music as wine was to alcohol. It was something you learned to love, and even then it was still bitter.
Corin listened from his corner of the establishment. He watched the swaying of the patrons from the protection of his buy'ce, the flashing neon lights darkened by his visor-tint. His fingers drummed along the edge of the corner-table,his mind drifting far from the noise pollution.
It was uncommon for any of the Tal'verda to contact outsiders. The clan usually kept to itself, and those that served it practiced a similar isolation. The lands it held were large, but sparsely populated. Those who dwelled in the region of constant snow-blight were a hardy folk that had learned to rely on one another, and be suspicious of strangers. They were a sub-culture within a sub-culture, a microcosm of people normally overlooked by the rest of the Mando'ade, and they liked it that way. They always conveniently remembered the clan and its people when Jedi-killers were needed.
Corin snickered at the thought.
The club, if one could call it that, was the social center of the Tal'verda youth. It was a connection to the outside world that the elders discouraged, and was quickly growing in popularity. With its seizure-inducing lights and its deafening loudspeakers, it was a suitable place to speak of thing better left unheard by the ears of commoners.
Corin had sent a hail to [member="Vilaz Munin"] some time ago. The man did not know him -- few outside of Kurs'taylir did -- but he hoped his last name would garner attention. Being the first son of the last Tal'verda alor usually came with a few perks.
His reasoning for calling the meeting were his own. Of all the clans, only the Viszlas had ever proven to truly be the allies of the Tal'verda. When the Mandalore went missing, the entirety of the north had cried out in outrage. Now there was no Mandalore, and the Tal'verda were missing an alor. Eyes had fallen to Corin to claim his father's position, but the youth had decided the elder council could manage Kurs'taylir and its smaller vassal states. The cause of the Mando'ade as a whole was more important, and thus he had called Munin.
Most clan were spoken off negatively by the Tal'verda. The brief and tumultuous governorship of Corin's sister, a woefully unfit woman with too much Echani blood in her, and political issues revolving around the Tal'verda's unofficial support of the late Deathwatch, had left the clan with few friends. Of the clans, Munin was one not spoken of unhappily by the elders. More importantly, they were patriots.
Content, Corin watched the chaos of the club, and waited.
Deafening sound thundered throughout the building. It shook the foundations of the building like thunder that vibrated through bone and flesh. It was a rhythmic dirge; a sort of cacophony that was to music as wine was to alcohol. It was something you learned to love, and even then it was still bitter.
Corin listened from his corner of the establishment. He watched the swaying of the patrons from the protection of his buy'ce, the flashing neon lights darkened by his visor-tint. His fingers drummed along the edge of the corner-table,his mind drifting far from the noise pollution.
It was uncommon for any of the Tal'verda to contact outsiders. The clan usually kept to itself, and those that served it practiced a similar isolation. The lands it held were large, but sparsely populated. Those who dwelled in the region of constant snow-blight were a hardy folk that had learned to rely on one another, and be suspicious of strangers. They were a sub-culture within a sub-culture, a microcosm of people normally overlooked by the rest of the Mando'ade, and they liked it that way. They always conveniently remembered the clan and its people when Jedi-killers were needed.
Corin snickered at the thought.
The club, if one could call it that, was the social center of the Tal'verda youth. It was a connection to the outside world that the elders discouraged, and was quickly growing in popularity. With its seizure-inducing lights and its deafening loudspeakers, it was a suitable place to speak of thing better left unheard by the ears of commoners.
Corin had sent a hail to [member="Vilaz Munin"] some time ago. The man did not know him -- few outside of Kurs'taylir did -- but he hoped his last name would garner attention. Being the first son of the last Tal'verda alor usually came with a few perks.
His reasoning for calling the meeting were his own. Of all the clans, only the Viszlas had ever proven to truly be the allies of the Tal'verda. When the Mandalore went missing, the entirety of the north had cried out in outrage. Now there was no Mandalore, and the Tal'verda were missing an alor. Eyes had fallen to Corin to claim his father's position, but the youth had decided the elder council could manage Kurs'taylir and its smaller vassal states. The cause of the Mando'ade as a whole was more important, and thus he had called Munin.
Most clan were spoken off negatively by the Tal'verda. The brief and tumultuous governorship of Corin's sister, a woefully unfit woman with too much Echani blood in her, and political issues revolving around the Tal'verda's unofficial support of the late Deathwatch, had left the clan with few friends. Of the clans, Munin was one not spoken of unhappily by the elders. More importantly, they were patriots.
Content, Corin watched the chaos of the club, and waited.