Embrace Violence
Amidst the shadows of Botor, and far away from Concord Dawn and the weakness of the Mandalorian Empire, Clan Munin, a far more violent and tumultuous clan of the Covenant, gathers. Clans are called, representatives of all Mando'ade are welcome. No violence would be had here. Ships descended on Botor, some not seen in many years. Clan Elders gathered, torches lit, and the night was tense with revelation.
Feydrik walked forward, removed his helmet, and placed it at the foot of the elders. They returned the gesture, removing theirs. He knelt down in front of his elders, his betters, warriors great and old and wise, tested and true. They said their ancient prayers and anointed him, and doused his armor with the ancient oils. The old ways were still there. Clan Munin remembered. Vilaz was dead. The clan needed a leader. They had their elders. The elders knew what they were to Munin, knew what they were called to do by the Manda. Vilaz was a soldier, a warrior, a great one. And there was no hate, no anger in how he died. He met his end in battle.
How much more fitting, than a man such as that?
The elders retrieved a freshly-forged helmet for their new Alor, the Beskar still warm from the forge's heat. Beskarsmiths, the finest in the Empire and the Covenant, constructed it with such care. It was a mark of prestige to receive a new helmet. Feydrik's eyes opened finally, and he rose to a stand. He took the helmet as it was presented to him, flames from the torches around him casting him in a dark, powerful glow.
He balanced it in his hands for a moment, staring at his reflection for only a moment. Then, he pulled it over his head, and the visor clicked to life, a bright fire in the visor. They constructed it especially for him.
"Clan Munin speaks." One elder said, and took a knee before Feydrik.
"And we have chosen." Another said.
"To death or glory." Another Elder presented Feydrik with a pair of freshly-forged crushgaunts, more fearsome than the last. Feydrik took them gracefully, ever appreciative of the work his brothers and sisters did, especially as gifts to him.
There were no challengers, no disputes in the clan. Clan Munin was strong. Clan Munin was united. Feydrik looked over his Clan, raised his hands, and a chorus, a thundering cascade of voices, screams so loud that it shook the very stones that they stood upon in their new home. Lament for their lost leader, dreams of shattering their foes, and fire-forged warriors who fought with their new Alor all shared a voice, thunderous, monstrous in it's savagery and it's noise.
No other person besides a Mandalorian could even remotely imagine that noise, that cry of war. The cry of their lost brothers and sisters, the ashes of the Taung still clinging to their skin centuries upon centuries later. Clan Munin rallied, they cheered, they bowed and prostrated themselves. Feydrik walked among his Clan, some laying gifts at his feet, others striking him hard across the chest and back, eager to congratulate and welcome their new Alor.
Feydrik stood for a while amongst his Clan, his people, and then turned to the gathered guests, the gathered people, onlookers, Mandalorians all.
"I am Alor Feydrik, of Clan Munin."
"Now, Clan Munin, friends, guests- I bestow upon you my first gift..." And with calculated theatrical flair, lights and torches illuminated a great feast, drink, and trophies aligning the banquet tables.
OOC Note:
All Mandalorians are welcome to be here and react, but remember, there's hundreds of Mandalorians there so any troublemaking will probably be met with a fucking turbolaser or like eighty wrist rockets.
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