Campaign Call to Banners | COV

[Romul Saxon]

Saga of Iron and Ash I​

The Storyfire had been lit.

Kestri had been crippled by galactic turmoil, planetshift chaos, and the insurrection of mutated Vong, all of which had caused the Mandalorian Enclave - once the bastion of Mandalorian culture in a hostile Galaxy - to crumble. The cycle continued, seemingly unbroken. Mandalorians had once more scattered to the stars. Few remained on their frozen once-homeworld.

But those who had remembered. Carved their way through the Vong, recharted what had been lost, and rebuilt what had been broken. Kestri rose, forged anew. Reborn, the Mando’ade of Kestri looked to the stars. Ryloth and Dressel reminded them that this Galaxy was not the one they once knew. But they, too, had changed. Once, Kestri had been a safe harbor, a last haven of the Mandalorian people. Now, it was a frozen cradle for a burning flame.

The fleets were ready. But it was time for the Clans to coalesce. By common consent of the Rekav’dral, Zavar Kelborn , Tra’verde of the Iron Covenant, had sounded the horns on Kestri. Secret communications had been transmitted to all outposts and coverts friendly to the Iron Covenant. The Iron Covenant was to be convened in the halls of the Rekav’dral to initiate the rites of embarkment as the first Mythos Fleet launched to strike at the heart of the Mandalorian’s sworn enemy: the Sith.

But truly it was to answer an even more ancient call, one that every Mando'ade of Kestri and those who had answered its secret summons. The desire to prove themselves and write their story in the eternal annals of the galaxy. To become legend.

Do you dare?

Objective I
The Ritual​

Smoke from the fires of the Bloodforges rises through Tor Valum as smiths hammer out weapons and armor. Cookfires still burn as warriors enjoy their final meal before they depart. Final preparations are being made before the Mythos Fleet embarks for the stars. Before the combined Rekav’dral council, all Mando'ade who wish to join the Mythos Fleet's crusade have been summoned to pledge their beskad and blaster to their people. The ritual of embarkment is not taken lightly; by uttering the words, one covenants themselves and their life to the Fleet’s campaign. Join in the revelry with your fellow warriors, prepare yourself for the yet-unsung saga ahead, and consecrate your steel towards the Iron Covenant.

 

[Rath’Kandos Farr]

" Tʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs ɴᴏ ʙᴇᴀsᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ I ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴀᴍᴇ "

The great hall of Tor Valum echoed with the ringing of hammers from the Bloodforges and the low murmur of warriors sharing their final meals. Smoke curled thick through the air, carrying the scent of scorched metal and roasting meat. Torches and cookfires cast long, flickering shadows across riveted durasteel walls adorned with trophies of fang and bone.

Rath'Kandos remained motionless like a statue in the distant corner of the room, trying to keep his scent from becoming apparent. Working in the beast pens on Kestri requires a strong resolve, and getting beskar'gam dry-cleaned is no easy task, so the unpleasant smell clung to him from his curved horned helmet down to the sturdy mantle resting on his shoulders, all the way to his armored boots.

He had answered the Iron Covenant's call, but as he looked over the assembled Mando'ade, fighters from various clans and factions that were now claimed to be united, he felt his jaw clench under his helmet. Old rivalries were not easily forgotten. He had faith in very few of them. Many had shed the blood of his kin in years past, and that memory lingered bitterly on his tongue.

Still, the Mythos Fleet prepared to sail among the stars, and the Rekav'dral council waited.

 

[Siv Dragr]

G U N S L I N G E R
Kestri
​

Tag: Rath’Kandos Farr

So the time had finally come.

Siv had watched from the shadows and played his part as Kestri had slowly rebuilt her strength. He remembered returning to the world after his travels, to find Tor Valum in the midst of rebuilding, his son barely alive in a bacta chamber. That seemed so long ago.

He cast his eyes about the Bannerfall as he walked through the upper district of the city. Snow was falling lightly, flakes wafting about as they reached the flickering flames of cookfires and candlebras. Torches; some would consider them ancient technology, but fire was one of the simplest things to procure, and yet its warmth was not received ungratefully on Kestri.

Siv remembered coming to this world for the first time. Indeed, the frozen world was not a kind home. She demanded much from the Mando'ade who made her home. But she, in return, had forged a breed of warrior harder than Mandalorian Iron.

He swallowed. He felt ready to finally stop holding back. It was time for him to stop running and embrace his destiny.

Siv walked in through the massive doors of the Rekav'dral Keep, built in the ruins of the Iyarsa spire. The massive iron-wrought doors were already open as hundreds of Mandalorians filed inside and about the keep's gargantuan inner hall. At the center, where the Rekav'dral council stood, was a giant hearth fire. Siv could feel the heat even from where he stood. He knew his brother in arms Vren Rook waited there. He would deal with him later.

Casting his eyes about, he saw the symbol of a Clan few heard of. He walked up to Rath’Kandos Farr , nodding his head. "You a beastmaster?" he asked, striking up casual conversation. Siv's armor wasn't atmosphere-sealed at the moment, so the waft of animal furs was noticeable. Still, Siv himself had tended to his clan's Orbak herd many a time, so the smell wasn't as unpleasant to him as it might be for some.

 

[Senec Ahn-Dross]

His father had sent him and Senar Ahn-Dross as representatives of the Clan. Their older brother was in league with the Black Sun so he could not act in the role. Naimes Ahn-Dross was old now, older than he had been when he and had first formed the clan with Cennika Hawk; he was tired. The Alor did not often venture off of his personal ship or meet with those outside of his bloodline or the Vode within his circle of trust.

Senec had answered the call for Clan Ahn-Dross.

He stood amidst the masses of Vode who caroused, drinking and engaging in feats of strength while the heat of the forges grew hotter.

It was his destiny to accompany the Mythos Fleet as it departed on its crusade.

He stood near a cookfire with a drink in hand, bringing it to his mouth and drinking deeply. It was strange but on a ship, standing on the deck plating he felt more at home than on the earth of any celestial body even Kestri. Clan Ahn-Dross was born on the ships and not down on the land, theirs was a small but powerful bloodline. At one time their Alor had been among the most potent blades in the galaxy.

Regardless of heraldry Senec felt uncomfortable, even awkward. The symbol of Ahn-Dross was not pressed into the pauldrons of many at this gathering.

Looking out over the faces and among the bodies he sought something that would distract him, face or a voice that he could focus his attention on while his mouth filled with the fire of the drink he was swallowing.

Aside from his beskar'gam he wore a vibroblade on his right hip, attached to a utility belt and his buy'ce had been clipped over his left hip.

[OPEN]

 

[Belok Karr]

BELOK KARR​

OBJECTIVE 1
TAG:
GEAR: Concussion Rifle Scattergun Warhammer

The cold on Kestri had a way of settling into the bones, even through armour. It never quite left you. Belok had forgotten that, or perhaps he had chosen to.

The signal reached him days before he acted on it. Calls like that could be considered urgent, but Belok didn't believe you threw yourself behind them on a whim. You answered them when you were ready to stand behind the answer.

The weight of the hammer rested across his shoulder as he walked, steady and unhurried, boots crunching against frost and stone.

There were others here. Clans gathering, colours worn openly. His own extensive family tree of Karrs had never settled on a colour scheme. Each picked their own. They were a tight-knit group, which was why he was still hurting from recent loss.

Belok said nothing as he passed the gathering mandalorians. His armour was worn and scarred in places. Each told their own stories, better to be written in beskar than in flesh.

He wasn't in the mood to tell those stories. Instead of finding a fire for warmth and food he found a forge that needed spare hands and set to work.

 

[Rath’Kandos Farr]

" Tʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs ɴᴏ ʙᴇᴀsᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ I ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴀᴍᴇ "

A figure moved through the crowd with with deliberate ease and stopped a short distance away. This newcomer was none other than Siv Dragr , his armor marked by genuine combat experience rather than mere display. He bore no visible weapons at the ready, yet his posture spoke of a quiet confidence that Clan Dragr always seemed to have.

The man gave a respectful nod, his voice cutting through the ambient noise with casual directness.

"You a beastmaster?"

Rath'Kandos rotated his helmeted head deliberately, the horns glinting in the dancing firelight. He examined the stranger for a moment, allowing the question to linger. Up close, the difference in scent became apparent: Siv bore only a slight hint of travel and cold iron, in stark contrast to the pungent odor that clung to him.

"I prefer the term beast handler," Rath'Kandos finally said, his voice coming out low and gravelly through the vocoder, tinged with the metallic rasp of his helmet. "You cannot gain the respect of a beast by treating them like a slave, as they will leave you the moment they sense any weakness." He had learned this lesson the hard way while training a rancor mount in his younger days; the cursed creature nearly devoured him when he was injured by a reek.

Around them, the great hall continued its restless pulse, the distant ring of hammers from the Bloodforges, the low murmur of rival clans forced into uneasy proximity, the crackle of cookfires and the soft hiss of snowflakes melting against hot stone. Torches cast flickering shadows that danced across fang-and-bone trophies on the durasteel walls.

"And you?" he asked, tilting his head just enough for the curved horns to catch another glint of firelight. "What do you think of the Iron Covenant. Is it worth the cost of exposing Kestri once more to assault. There are many still amongst us who recall the flame of the Galactic Alliance bearing down on us." The air between them hung thick with smoke, roasting meat, and the unspoken tension of the gathering. At the far end of the hall, the Rekav'dral council prepared to address the assembled Mando'ade.

 

[Darion of Myrkr]

Among all these brothers and sisters who bore distinguishable colors and sigils of clans, there was but one who bore nothing but the plain, monolithic gray beskar'gam of an ancient Crusader model.

Darion was a child still when his vanquished clan had surfed the stars to join the Neo-Crusaders as they carved a path of glory and conquest, of fire and blood. He'd never seen his kin ever so happy as they were being Crusaders; as if it had been a calling to their souls; and when the Crusade fell, so did their spirits as they returned to what they had done before - the monotonous but honest labor of mercenaries.

Now, he was among new brothers and sisters again, and he wondered if he would feel that calling as his clan did when the Crusades were summoned. He wondered if this was his place of belonging. No, do not think. It gets in the way. It always does. It muddies the mind and dulls the blade. No, he would trust his father's parting words and he would walk the way of the warrior as he always did.

He stepped through the throng of warriors unhurried and unpurposed. His gear, all but the greatbeskad sheathed over his back, hand long been carefully stowed away aboard the frigate he would sail across the stars. A Republic frigate he'd managed to seize during the Incident on Ryloth.

A rising pillar of smoke caught his attention and he drifted toward the forge, unslinging the sheathed blade from his back and held it in his hands.

"Brother." Darion called out to the man who had a moment ago joined the forge to work and offered him his greatbeskad. "I ask of you to sharpen this blade for there is much blood to be spilled."
Belok Karr