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[Vara Rasha]

THE FOUNDLING
Kestri | Tor Valum
Equipment: In Bio
Tags: Vren Rook | Romul Saxon | Celt Saxon | Carduul Akahl | Brent Warnel | Jaikell Wyrvhor

Myrkr​

Who dares wins.

And Vara?

She dared.

The young one was not found wanting when The Call was sounded, despite the bundle of doubts in her mind, dulling her eagerness. Concerns. Fears she could not bring voice to, even in the solitude of her home. Slowly, they began to thread into her mind. The echo of her unhurried footfalls melted away in the sound of the revelries, and joined the hundreds of her kin at the gathering.

Was she enough? Could she hold this vow she was about to take? She had to. There was no galaxy where she did not. Failure meant damnation and she could not bear that on her shoulders. So the path ahead was clear.

But a demand for a sacrifice this was, as much as a call for war.

What part of herself would she see sacrificed? What would she lose?

Who, would she lose?

Her sharp ears swept back at the thought of it alone. Her head snapped back, crimson gaze cutting through the armored profiles of her kin. She sought him. Her beloved.

But she couldn’t see him.

A small noise poured from her lips, barely a breath. Her snout worked back and forth in the same beat, sampling the air for his dreamy scent, but only the mouthwatering smells of roasting meat and rivers of ne’tra gal tugged at her focus.

No matter.

The Harpy shook her head, chasing away the uncertainty of what the future held for her. She tucked her helmet closer under her arm as she made for the closest keg nearby. The merriment in the air was unmistakable. Stories exchanged, laughter shared as heartily as a thirsty sip of mead. Inexpressible kinship.

The warmth of it burned hotter than flame. Even when she bore no sigil of a clan, even when misbegotten, she still felt it in her marrows.

In spite of those who would prefer otherwise.

A handful of leering she caught at the corner of her eyes. Her tender closeness to Yuri Maji , the Son of the Traitor, hadn’t gone unnoticed for long, after all. Her lips peeled to a crooked smile in thought. Let ‘em seethe, she reaffirmed her stance as she helped herself to a drink. Foam threatened to spill from the large tankard in her hand as she raised it to her lips.

One singular thought echoed in her mind as the sticky, dark ale wet her lips.

A promise to herself. Her doubts put to rest.

I dared. I won’t falter now.


​

 

[Juno Wren]

JUNO WREN
Kestri | Rekav’dral Keep | Great Hall
TAG: Siv Dragr Jaikell Wyrvhor Carduul Akahl Romul Saxon Celt Saxon Brent Warnel Vara Rasha Zavar Kelborn Belok Karr @Everyone Else

​

It had been years since Juno was last on Kestri. Glory had called her away, glory and wanderlust, the desire to carve her name in the annals of the universe, and see everything that the galaxy had to offer.

And she had, to certain extent. Not even twenty years old, and she had written her name into legend for single handedly capturing the head of the Hutt Space Consortium. Then she had fought Kyrel Ren, and though that battle was celebrated as a victory, at the time it had felt like anything but.

Then came Star's End, and all that she had accomplished, her growing legend…was lost. Forgotten to the annals of time, swept beneath the weight of a galaxy full of chaos and conflict.

And now it was time to inscribe a new legend. A new beginning.

The great hall of Rekav'dral Keep was stuffed to bursting with Mandalorians when she entered. The council stood before a massive hearth in the center of the room, the flames climbing up and up, and around them was a sea of Mandalorians, every single one armed and armored.

This is the Way.

Some of them, she knew, or knew of, rather. There was Siv Dragr, who was famous even when she was a child. There was Vren Rook, a veteran of a thousand wars. And there was Romul Saxon, a mountain pretending to be a man. Carduul Akhal and Jaikell Wyrvhor had been part of the crew that helped her escape Mytus VII, but of those whom she had fought and bled with, on Argovia or Rothana…

They were nowhere to be found. They were either dead, or lost, or forgotten. Like I was. She would drink for those who were no longer with them, and drink again for those that survived.

But that would come later. There was talk to be had now; declarations from the council, and oaths from the gathered.

The Voidbrand spoke first, and something he said spoke directly to her soul. "To live beyond our lifetimes, we must become the wind that carries the flame."

She could not have put it better herself.

And if the Voidbrand spoke to her soul, then Vren spoke to her heart. "Not only should we spread our fire across the stars as Voidbrand Kelborn says, friends, but we should remember why we are doing it too."

That was perhaps the most important of all. A Mando who forgot why he fought was a Mando who had lost his way. Like Koda.

Then came Carduul. "…The impact we make shall echo across the galaxy and last as a story many will tell…Time and again, we have rebuilt from nothing, and inevitably we shall do so again…" They were powerful words that embodied her core beliefs.

But ultimately, words were just wind. Time would show the truth of it. She had faith enough for that. She had faith enough to move mountains.

Faith in her armor. Faith in her pistol. Faith in her rifle. Faith in her blade. She was draped in faith, and one day, faith would be her shroud as well. But until then…

"This is the Way!" The shout was out of her mouth before she realized she was speaking, her fist held high, pride bursting in her chest.

​

 

[Darion of Myrkr]

He averted his gaze from his blade and looked at the man and asked, "And what is this work you speak of?"

Belok Karr

 

[Brent Warnel]

CIN VEHTIN
Carduul Akahl Romul Saxon Celt Saxon @All Mandos
​

Brent listened as Clan leaders and others spoke to the Mandalorians who filled the area. He procured a glass of tihaar as he stood by Romul, continuing to let the words of these leaders pour over and into him. He listened as Kelborn lit the pyre, saying his piece to those gathered who listened. As Vren Rook did the same. Brent drank, eyes following the movements of individuals who believed their words needed to be spoken to those gathered.

When Carduul stood and spoke, Brent paid closer attention, for here was a Crusader, here was his Mand'alor, regardless of what the others thought.

"Oya!" Brent shouted into the throng, raising his glass high and acknowledging those who had spoken. Acknowledging the words that these leaders had said, these words that would guide them and the Mythos fleet from here on.

Brent watched as Jaikell Wyrvhor approached and spoke his greetings to Romul. Brent had never met or seen the other individual before, but by Romul's greeting, it was apparent he was welcome here.

Brent turned and nodded softly toward Romul after his remarks. "I thank you, and the rest of the Vode here who helped me forge this anew," Brent said, tapping his helmet.

Brent continued to gaze into the gathering of the vode around him. The burning desire that had been with him during the Crusades was dormant. It was there, simmering, but it had not risen. Something was still holding him back, and he knew what it was.

Brent leaned against the side of Romul's chair, talking in a quiet voice to the big man, but mostly to himself.

"I still feel as if I have abandoned my ways," he said as he took a swig of tihaar, staring into the crowd and watching the pyre roar in the background.

"What would a pledge here and now mean when I gave my pledge in another gathering just like this. To vode just like you. Would it mean anything? What are pledges, hell, what is loyalty when it flips so suddenly? My kin died for a cause we believed in, and tonight I abandon them."

Brent downed the last bits of tihaar before setting the cup down in a nearby nondescript area. His hands went to his helmet, pulling it from his belt and staring into the t-visor. The face that stared back at him was almost unfamiliar. Was it his death on Brosi that had changed him? No, he had felt almost free after his rebirth.

Deep down, he knew what it was, the loss of the Crusaders. The loss of the vode who had brought him back from the brink sat with him still, eating away at him after their fall. Carduul was here, Feydriik was alive, Vreegan had shown his face for the first time in ages to him, but that was it. What of the thousands of others? Gone. It was time for something new, he knew it; it was just a hurdle that still needed to be crossed. The past would not die, but neither should he be beholden to it to the point his future was failing.

He turned the helmet around and set it down on his head, the seals squeaking as they closed out the atmosphere from around him. His voice came out loud and metallic as he spoke next, "Cin Vhetin." Brent walked toward the pyre, passing Carduul. As he did so, Brent slammed his fist into his chest, signalling his loyalty for his friend as he continued to the flames.

As the others had tossed torches into the pyre to stake their claims or pledge their loyalty, Brent did not. He pulled a small golden crescent from one of his pouches, his clan's symbol glinting in the firelight. Brent kneeled before the pyre, touching his clan's symbol to his helmet before placing it in the fire.

The metal would not melt; it was too heat-resistant for that. But, in the ashes, it would be born anew, just like Brent.