Clans

[J3C0]

Valerie stood to the side of a small room, within it were half a dozen warriors and combatants. Some wore heavy armor, others wore robes and still others wore nothing but thin armor weave vests. Valerie looked at them all with a measure of contempt, all but one.

He wore green armor, Mandalorian armor.

That was a detail Valerie had noticed the first round of this little tournament. The Mandalorian had been entered in the Tournament of the Gods, the fight for glory, the fight for the right to claim you were the greatest. It was a pursuit that many Mandalorian found glorious, that many found honorable. Valerie Vizsla was among those. That was why she was here, that was why she had come to this sector of religious nut space.

To speak to this Mandalorian.

She had not recognized his clan symbol, nor had she ever heard the name before, Rodarch.

It was strange to her, she was not greatly educated in the other clans. She knew a few, Skirata, Fett, the big ones, this one however, Clan Rodarch escaped her completely, but the man had fought honorably, more than that, he had won honorably.

That was enough.

“Malik.” Valeria said the name as she approached him, her eyes and intent hidden behind her helmet.

 

[Malik Rodarch]

A familiar ringing dominated the ears of Malik Rodarch.

Whether it was due to readjusting to above sea-level pressure or if it was the rattling his head had done inside of his helmet was neither here nor there. He didn't care. Elation was the name of his game, he had just won another hard-fought round of the Tournament of the Gods.

Each opponent had been a slice of something different, the first was a monsterous Sith with a weapon longer than he himself, the second, a fellow Mandalorian who was well-equipped to disable any opponent rather than kill, and the third came in with jet packs and missiles, jet packs and missiles.

So it only made sense that after each round he celebrated with a different drink. The first time, Menkooro whisky. The last, Old Janx Spirit. Now after the quarter finals he had moved onto beer, Shtööhb. Given that this was a beverage that was a little lighter, even our dearest Mullet got some in a bowl, just as a special treat. Not that he deserved it, the little git had spent most of it carrying Big Rhonda the shotgun in his mouth.

At this moment in time the armour was off, sitting by the stein on the table beside him, the bold insignia of the Rodarch Clan proudly on display for all who entered to see. His right sleeve was rolled up, large gash in his elbow displaying the deep wound he had suffered in battle.

Mullet noticed her first, feline eyes looking upwards at the approaching woman as he supped from the bowl of amber liquid. Malik only noticed when she spoke, looking up and finding himself mildly surprised that the feminine voice came from behind that helmet.

“The one an' only,” he chuckled, looking over the woman with amber eyes, “what can I do ya for?”

[member="Valerie Vizsla"]

 

[J3C0]

[member="Malik Rodarch"]

The armor was a dead give away, the accent told her nothing.

She herself carried a Concordian accent, so did her sister Bestala and her entire family. The Vizslas were Concordian of course, and the language stuck with them pretty hard. It reflected in her own speech and most could identify her as a Concordian the instant they heard her speak. With Malik? She had absolutely no idea.

Her eyes flickered to the creature besides him.

She had no idea what that was either.

That showed just how ignorant Valerie was, even about certain parts of her own people. She frowned slightly, but shook her head. It didn't matter. She was here to learn, to recruit, and to help grow her clan once again. She could learn later, she could ask him all sorts of questions. For now they had only limited amount of time.

“You're Mandalorian.” It wasn't a question.