Faction Communal Theater [New Mandalorians]

[Drego Ruus]

Communal Theater​

To a Mandalorian, eating was a sort of ritual of the culture. Mandalorians were soldiers, and as such they often did things as a unit. As a group. The clan-grounds of House Kryze were a community of habits, much like any other. But while a city like Coruscant might find habit in rush hour, or diner small talk, the Clan-Grounds found habit in a different type of entertainment.

The concept of theater was one that, while old as the stars, was not one absent in Mandalorians culture. Poets sang songs about the times of old, veterans shared tales of glory, and bards told foundlings myths of legend.

Today was no different. As the sun dipped towards the edge of the Ondereanian Sky, the habits of the clan-grounds fell into place. People get ready for the evening feast, ready to see what the hunters and warriors managed to catch. While by no means was House Kryze reliant on such practices, it was a test of skill that most mandos couldn't help but fall into. There was a sense of pride of killing your own food, providing those who couldn't with fresh grub.

Drego, was one of those. He had spent the day out in the wilderness, tracking down a Fambaa through the swamp, he had finally cornered it and killed the damn thing.

He had spent the last hour dragging it behind his walker, then cleaning it.

The beasts were easy to tame, but tough to hunt. Not the greatest glory, but food on the table for months if kept right.

Finally, it was ready though.

"Gal, ori'skraan, riduur, yaim' dab'ika, Vode." Drego called out, as the tables were finally set.

The grub had been set, buffet style, the beer kegs had been set up, and the storytellers were warming up.

It was time for a feast.

 

[Athena Faar]

It even felt like home. Athena's recent acceptance by the Kryze Clan was one of welcome and promise. Onderon itself was not unlike part so her homeworld, Haruun Kal, with its deep jungles. The Korun warrior quickly began forays into that thick jungle, familiarizing herself with the flora and fauna. She was raised in such a place, and like her people, possessed gifts, some said they were of the Force, that worked in mysterious ways upon the wildlife. It wasn't long before she was able to tame a Grefna with those abilities, and her mount-in-training carried her into the forest to hunt.

She wished to bring something to this feast. She had attended a few since her arrival, but mostly observing, learning how the Kryze practiced their traditions. This feast, she would offer a little something. A trained jungle hunter from childhood, she was able to secure the colorful pelt of a Pritarr. It was a significant feat in her eyes, as those predators seemed to have a system of communication that spread alerts and warning across a large area.

Athena's intent on snagging the feline predator meant she had only killed a few plump ground birds. But they were dressed and seared in a Korun recipe that she wished to share with her new vode. The largest part of the feast was the massive Fambaa the one called Drego had brought down. With her armor adorned in the orange and red pelt of the pritarr, Athena joined her new vode at the tables, piling a big hunk of the cooked meat onto a metal platter and securing a mug of beer, her mouth already watering for a swig of it. She was also eager for the evenings activities, which would surely teach her more about the clan.

 

[Thyros Saxon]

While others had joined the festivities by hunting for food to fill the tables, Thyros had set his sights on something he considered far more important—perhaps even essential. That being alcohol, a long-time companion he had come to rely on throughout his years wandering this lawless galaxy.

As he drank, he couldn't shake the strange sense of distance he felt from the celebration. It had been a long time since he had taken part in such an event, and though the atmosphere was unfamiliar, he couldn't deny the faint sense of wonder it stirred in him. A crude smirk tugged at his lips, the motion pulling at the scar that crossed the right side of his mouth, giving his expression an almost sneering edge. Whether it was the warmth of the gathering or the alcohol taking hold, he couldn’t quite tell if the feeling in his chest was his cold heart thawing or just the liquor doing its work.

With a slow lift of his glass in an impromptu toast, he turned to the person beside him, ready to share tales of his brutal days as a gladiator.

 

[Tyto Ruus]

The old man was not one for hunts anymore. At least, not in the tracking of huge beasts. Tyto nonetheless admired the young and the willing who had the spirit to do so. Though his Morellian blood had slowed the march of time on his biology, Tyto Ruus was still a man slowly swinging past his prime. The grey hair and sore joints were proof of that. He studied the fambaa, butchered and cooked, caught by Drego Ruus .

“Nicely done, vod.” He nodded with a grin, “Seems like a great victory.”

He gathered himself a plate of the succulent meat and a tankard of the spirits being offered as drink. The site of Mandalorians gathering together in such a manner was something of a refreshment. Civilly, at that. Too often, he felt those kinsmen who joined the Crusade or even the remnant heretics of Khamul Kryze lacked something the Duchess’ faction offered: genuine community. Not the thrum of warriors awaiting the next raid. Clans and kin intermingling, sharing each other’s company. With his refreshments in hand, he took a seat nearby.

“Now…” He smirked among his company, “Story or song? The drink flows well, a fresh kill fills our bellies. This night seems perfect for a ballad of victories past.”

The half-Morellian looked about to any of the younger folk with a wise eye, knowing that amongst Mandalorians, there was always a story to tell.

“Or of triumphs new.” He added in before a sip of his wine.

The old man, in his 85 years in this galaxy, was a font of stories. Some great, some horrible. Some fighting as a Karjr in the defunct Enclave, or in bloodied arena of Vespaara. Indeed, the atmosphere was ripe for the swapping of tales.

 

[Haliat Kryze]

Evidently, Haliat Kryze had proven conspicuous in his absence. Jenn had noted as much once, in private, and while she had framed this as a choice of his which she would respect, Jenn was not the entire House save in the symbolic, abstract sense. It could be somewhat difficult to parse exactly what had earned him a sour disposition out of this bunch, particular when you didn't especially care to begin with, but he was reasonably certain that his tendency to stand apart lay at the root of SOME of it. Nobody liked to be snubbed, after all, and while this had never been his intent, the sad reality was that intent was harder to read than action. Particularly when that action was absence.

He wouldn't say he'd made any truly radical changes in response. He shared the common belief that action was the truest measure of a man, and the important work still lay out there, beyond their fires and palisades. Even so, he couldn't simply pretend nothing had changed when the Alor had honored him with elevation to the ranks of the Nite Owls. To some degree at least, his conduct would inevitably reflect upon her, and he had no wish to tar either of them with the appearance of disrespect to any of their brothers and sisters. Least of all the newest among them. And so, here he was.

He certainly wasn't here in any sort of dignified and ceremonial sense. His helm and cape had been laid aside. He still bore the sigil of the Nite Owl upon his pauldrons, of course, but that was simply a matter of paint job. And he didn't anticipate being remembered as the life of the feast. His lack of any real enthusiasm for the violence he'd dispensed over the course of his life sadly meant he was seldom inclined to revisit any particular occasion even on his own, never mind in hopes of any manner of accolades. But he'd come, he'd brought his contribution to the table with him, and now he stood aside with a mug of dark ale in hand, ready to make the newcomers as welcome as he might.

"Words seem a domain you know well Tyto Ruus ." Smiling softly, Haliat raised his mug in brief salute before helping himself to a draught. "Pray, it seems fitting you choose."

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

Itzhal Volkihar entered the feasting grounds with little fanfare to his name, a slight nod from those who had seen him before and the rare acknowledgement from those who hadn't. He was hardly surprised; his recent initiation and preference for off-world tasks had provided little opportunity for him to integrate himself with the local population beyond a shared duty.

Up till now, the distance had been something of a comfort, like the presence of an energy shield pressed against his skin, a protective layer that seeped slow-acting poison in place of the promise of death scorched deep into the bones. People weren't meant to be alone. Itzhal knew it as well as he knew the names pressed into his soul, their memories a duty and burden that only he could carry. Sometimes, he remembered their smiles and joy, with laughter in the air and stories that had been told over a dozen times. On some days, he considered those the worst memories.

The presence of absence that only he remembered.

On other days, they were the thoughts that kept him moving. The soft-spoken voices of far too many men and women who told him to reach out, not just to remember but also to live.

Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum.

It was one of those voices that let his boots glide across the rough dirt floor. His gaze trailed over the expansive array of Mandalorians, lingering on several familiar pieces of armour attached to warriors he'd seen in passing yet rarely spoke to. The rugged presence of Drego Russ was not included; for all that, he was instantly recognisable, battered as his armour appeared despite its functionality; he'd been one of the few that Itzhal could claim to have spoken with, though that had been before either of them had joined. Not that it would change much. A man like Drego Russ did not change easily.

Nor did Itzhal.

Settling into a seat after he'd taken a couple of pieces from the feast, Itzhal sat down at one of the tables, not far from the sound of conversation, including bloody battles and 'heroic' tests. If he didn't speak to the Mandalorians nearby, he was just preparing for the right moment. His helmet seals took longer than usual to disengage, his fingers meticulously gliding over the edges of each one, feeling the cool metal beneath his touch, rigid and unyielding without the proper access. As he finally pried the buy'ce away, his pale face emerged, revealing harsh furrows around his eyes and thin scars concealed by the trim of his grey beard and the short-cut hair.

Tags: (coughs I'll add people when I'm interacting with them more or they interact with Itzhal coughs)​

 

[Karrys]

All we ever seem to do is feast and drink. ​

Not that Karrys disliked the revelry by any measure. It gave her a chance to slip off the beskar'gam and into something more comfortable, attracting the curious looks of those vode who found the notion of walking about without one's armored shell bizarre. As far as she was concerned, it was better to be comfortable in her impeccable outfit than trudging along in the crimson perfection of her armor if she could help it. Was she proud of being a Mandalorian? Certainly. But unlike so many of her peers, she refused to let that define her. She was so much more than merely the culture she had chosen for herself.

For now, she contented herself with the simple task of carrying a small wooden crate under her arm, containing six bottles of wine. If they had ever been marked as being issued from a specific vintage or planet, such text had long been removed. With her fangs hidden and her eyes a placid blue, she cut a rather elegant, if innocuous figure. A human. Little else. Setting down the small crate onto one of the tables put up in the agora and under the open sky, she helped herself to a bottle, her eyes dragging over to Tyto Ruus and Thyros Saxon as she walked by. New faces abound, these days; clearly, the Duchess must have been doing something right, for new arrivals to flock to her banner.

Then again, perhaps Karrys had never noticed them before. Jenn kept her ever-so busy at times, flying her from one diplomatic meeting to the next. A good thing, then, that such meetings often took place on lovely worlds like Naboo, Hapes, or Ukatis. Places where she could lose herself into a soiree, sample the local culture, and leave before anyone had time to ask her too many questions.

Or before she got too attached.

"If it isn't our dour duelist", greeted the pilot of the Nite Owls with but a slow lift of her brow. "I can't recall when I last saw you... well, anywhere outside of the combat zone. One would practically think you a martial ideal, eschewing all sorts of worldly pleasures."

And, with but the slightest of smug looks crossing her features, she worked off the cork of the bottle of wine and offered it to him.

"You are a Nite Owl, now. You won't escape socializing with the rest of us forever."

Haliat Kryze

 

[Haliat Kryze]

Ah, alas. He'd have been content with simply securing and holding a good spot, that he might show welcome by his presence more than his drive to be the center of attention. In fact, such had been his aspiration, evidently not destined for fruition. But he was not overly put out so much as bemused when attention fell upon him all the same. Most among Jenn's following were generally content to behold him with either detached courtesy or outright indifference, perhaps skewing a bit more to the former of late in light of his recurring presence by the Alor's side. The exceptions were generally a bit more passionate, often those who knew something of his views and responded with naked contempt and anger. Frankly, he'd half expected something of the sort to define his relationship with the pilot, given the context of their first real conversation across the Round Table. One's feelings on the public display of severed heads was hardly the usual stuff of rational academic discourse.

But no, Karrys had proven neither dismissive, nor vitriolic. Playful, if anything. Willing to go out of her way to initiate a back and forth. He wasn't entirely certain what the woman was playing at, but he would admit it was...refreshing, in a way. Worth the effort of returning a serve.

"If it isn't our dour duelist", greeted the pilot of the Nite Owls with but a slow lift of her brow. "I can't recall when I last saw you... well, anywhere outside of the combat zone. One would practically think you a martial ideal, eschewing all sorts of worldly pleasures."

"Ah, just so. And he happens upon our alliterative aerialist. It has been some time. Omitting the War Council as well...since after Iziz, perhaps. At least, I presume that was you I saw in the crimson. Your style is more eclectic than most here. As to my strict adherence to the warrior's ethos..."

At that, he turned briefly to set aside his ale on the nearest table. You always incurred the risk at one of these things of someone walking off with your drink, but he was confident in his ability to find a replacement if need be. Well, a second replacement. With a nod of thanks, he accepted the offered bottle and briefly considered the small issue of an appropriate vessel...then shrugged and simply took a long pull from the bottle itself.

"As I explained to a guest on that occasion, there's not much of a warrior without food and water. And this...is technically mostly water. And quite fine, though you may have just placed fine porcelain before a Gamorrean. Thank you. So..." Pausing briefly, he helped himself to one further drink - It seemed rude not to accept generosity in full at a party. - before passing it back with a smile, subtle but unrestrained. "Think me shy, do you?"

Karrys

 

[Karrys]

Now this ought to be good.​

Karrys was far more experienced than some assumed her to be at first glance. Youth had a way of fooling others, after all, and hers had already stretched across eras; as far as she was concerned, it could keep on going for eons, still. Not that she would ever admit as much to this current lifetime's batch of comrades-in-arms. They might take offense at the notion that she found them amusing; Mandalorians had never been known to appreciate such consideration, no matter which creed they followed at the time.

With experience, came knowledge, and perhaps even a little wisdom, though few would ever suspect the flippant pilot to be capable of such. Not with how she spoke, nor acted. As if the Galaxy held nothing she should regard as sacred. And with that knowledge, came the desire to be surprised, to find herself with more than predetermined outcomes everyone around her was too stupid or too short-lived to grasp. Conversation was a fine art, in that way, something that kept her attention, if only for a time. The manner in which Haliat expressed himself rather reminded her of herself, a few lifetimes ago, when she still cared to couch her words with a modicum of pomp, rather than the wanton disregard she held for propriety in this iteration.

"Beskar'gam is our second skin, or so I keep hearing - but it seems that many of our vode have forgotten a very important word in that sentence. Second, skin. And if I am going to be feasting, drinking and fucking tonight, then I intend to be comfortable."

The slightest of smiles followed her declaration, melding playfulness and her usual sense of smug satisfaction, of innate superiority. Just enough of it to rub people the wrong way, but never quite appearing improper for it. No, that was what her more crass choice of language was for, clashing against her ostensibly well-read vocabulary besides. It almost seemed as if she took a malign pleasure in joining the rest of the unwashed masses in rolling around in the mud, if only to mock the high society so often sneering down on humble warriors.

So it was that she watched the good duelist drinking directly from the bottle, the a certain approval present in her eyes. Good; he understood the assignment. There were times where she would extravagantly pour the ruby red liquid within a glass and swirl it about perfectly before taking a single appreciative sip, but by and large, she was more than content to simply snatch a bottle and chug it down as if she were not, in fact, consuming an expensive vintage rich in aroma.

"Oh, to hell with all of the snobbery of sampling, the proper way to savor the vintage, and all those techniques the highborn use to look down on people with simpler palates like yourself. It's wine. Arrogant fops waste their time tasting it instead of drinking it. Let the nobles sniff and swirl their goblets. I prefer to swallow my wine like a common rube."

Taking the bottle back, she not only helped herself, but demonstrated as well. For a young woman (ha!) who easily could pass as a noble herself, she certainly held an unquenchable thirst, and a terrifying ability to drink up vast quantities of some of Ukatis' best wine. When she finally lowered it again, she gave her compatriot an undoubtedly red smile, all too pleased with herself.

"If you were shy, Lokir would've eaten you alive. I just think you're one of those melancholic saps who writes poetry, plays some sort of wind instrument - going to guess the bes'bev - and has enough running around in their head to write an overtly long treatise on honor or whatnot. You're certainly nothing I haven't seen before, but the way you present all those things? Now that is interesting. You are interesting. If only you flapped those gums of yours more often."

Haliat Kryze

 

[Haliat Kryze]

Ha, so the pilot was looking to add a conquest to her list of deeds rather than simply recount them, eh? Well, that merited both eyebrows raised, a chuckle, and even an appreciative nod. Positively effusive by his usual standards; it was, after all, good to have goals. Karrys could take that as a win if she wished, for he was forced to conclude this was a challenge of some kind. He certainly recognized the expression on her face which followed her generosity of information; he'd seen it on the face of more than one young warrior in the making, typically after they'd scored an unanswered hit during a spar. Admittedly, such a look being sent his way in particular was something of a novelty, for he'd been considered a noteworthy talent in his youth, and it was rare for others of similar age and accomplishment to secure such an advantage over him. But then, his childhood had ended somewhat ahead of schedule, and for all her youthful visage, this was very evidently not some callow, over-eager pup before him now.

He was somewhat less effusive in his response when she both explained and very clearly demonstrated her guiding philosophy on the matter of intoxicants, though the amused half smile remained. Common rube? For all this woman's no doubt myriad talents, he was somewhat skeptical of Karrys' ability to be mistaken for such even if she desired such a thing. And truth be told, their philosophies clashed once more on this point. While he was, in general, more partial to beer, he generally did try and take the time to enjoy the taste before it was gone, particularly if he could secure a pint of something dark and malty. Short of something strong enough to use as either a disinfectant or an engine de-grimer, alcohol really only had one other virtue, and Haliat sought this out only sparingly. It was all too often foolish to dull one's senses when alone out in the wider galaxy; the sight of beskar'gam was often recognized, but not so commonly loved.

And when he was of a mind to indulge so, he was never quite sure whether to pity or to congratulate people like Karrys. A constitution like that was certainly admirable, and surpassingly useful for a hard life, but when you could shrug off a drink like it was nothing, surely it rendered the prospect of actually getting where you hoped to go an expensive one? Ah, but now the conversation had come around to him, and how interesting her assessment was! He took particular mirth in her speculation of him as a musician, glancing down at his belt where the sharpened metal flute indeed hung at his side. A tune was often desired at events such as these, and in that regard, he had come ready to assist if needed.

"Good guess."

He took a half step closer then and leaned just a bit closer into Karrys' personal space, that the moderate difference in their height might allow him to gaze down at her past a smile which had grown subtly fiercer. The woman clearly didn't give a fig about propriety right now, and it seemed a fitting answer to that little smirk of a few moments ago.

"You flatter me, truly. But is that really the sort of thing to hold your interest, Karrys Sky Scourge? More noise to fill the empty spaces? Your tastes are not for me to gainsay, but I have personally found excessive 'gum flapping' a hindrance to all three of your avowed objectives this night."

Karrys

 

[Karrys]

Let's keep guessing and dancing.​

By Karrys' standards, tonight's fun remained somewhat restrained in his answer - and yet she had kept her eyes on him long enough to know that Haliat, wayward son of Clan Kryze, was hardly ever the type to express himself in such a manner. No, he favored that infuriating approach she would sometimes employ herself, yet detest all the same. The dour duelist was most certainly the strong, silent type, all the way up until someone either deigned to ask his opinion, or acted in a manner which called for his intervention. Eloquent, polite, but firm and direct. All too different from her, and how she seemed to enjoy attracting all kinds of attention on herself, positive or negative. Let the flicker-lives hate her; she would outlast every last one of them.

Words flowed from her lips freely, delivered with a certain panache at times and laziness otherwise, but always with a rare elegance, even when she chose a more vulgar vocabulary to get her point across. Getting people all wrapped up around her little finger was easy. The confidence she carried herself with commanded attention, desire, though never quite respect; with respect came all of the drudgery Jenn was dealing with, and the ever-loyal pilot was more than glad to let her friend experience the many responsibilities and woes of leadership on her own. No, she was more than content to stay unbound, free to do so as she wished, to sample whatever and whoever she pleased. Life was far, far too long not to bite into it wholeheartedly.

"People are not so difficult to see through, Haliat. The quiet ones think they make it harder for someone like me to understand what drives them, but they're wrong. Silence can say a million words."

Even as her height disadvantage was brought to the fore, the pilot's aura of utmost confidence remained. Where she once cared to show but the slightest of smiles, studied and meant to convey her usual smugness, it now deepened somewhat, well and truly amused. Approval shone through her gaze, and soon, her body language; a single gloved finger came to rest against his chest, tapping over his heart and against his armor.

"Flattery has gotten me just about anywhere I cared, ner'vod. Gorgeous and handsome people are easy enough to find and to take, you know, but someone who knows just what words to utter to get the blood racing?"

Karrys' tone dropped into a whisper, then, as she took a step of her own. There was hardly much more distance to be covered between them. Just as the melancholic duelist had boldly stepped forth into her personal space, so too did she meet his advance. A true Mandalorian. When she spoke once more, the pilot cared not to lean into the pretense of waifish beauty, her voice taking on a husky intonation.

"They make for a real treasure."

Haliat Kryze

 

[Haliat Kryze]

Hmmm.

He gave these words, as well as the gossamer physical contact which accompanied them - After all, when you touched a Mandalorian's armor, you effectively touched the warrior as well. - their due consideration. He allowed that concentration to show in the furrowing of his brow, in the slight pursing of his lips, and then...then, he righted himself. He didn't back off just yet, no full disengagement, but he did stand straight again to create a bit of distance all the same. This was, by most measures, an attractive woman before him now. Haliat was not insensate to this reality, and he had no reason to try and seem so. If Karrys was as perceptive as she claimed, then surely she'd just see right through it. But that was the real crux of the matter, wasn't it?

Arrogance was not an attractive quality to him. He should know; he had to endure it almost daily, to one degree or another. He'd come here fully expecting more, in a setting where warriors were explicitly invited to wax lyrical about their exploits. To be sure, it was worth something if you could back up your bravado in full, and he could certainly believe that the case here. Karrys may have looked far too young to be either this jaded or as world wise as her words suggested, but he'd learned better than to let his eyes be the sole judge of such things. Haliat liked to think that everybody was more than they seemed, in one way or another, but some were much more. Any Mandalorian should know that much as a matter of ingrained cultural instinct; their avowed historic nemesis looked like nothing more than placid monks in rude cloth robes. Beyond all of that, however, he had his own instincts, well-honed over long years of survival in a hostile galaxy. This woman was dangerous, and no mistake. But whoever or whatever he was talking to, no matter how impressive, none of that would suffice to make this trait on display one which he esteemed.

However, he already knew full well that their personalities clashed on several points, and he could respect that she was at least as forthright and direct in her own way as himself. She may not have been modest, but at least she didn't put on any airs. He was not so stuck up as to insist that he adore every aspect of a person in order for their company to be worthwhile. Besides, nobody had forced Haliat to participate in this little game. He'd engaged of his own volition, and it hardly seemed fitting to retreat at the first off-putting development. But by the same token, that didn't mean he had to simply let Karrys have her own way all the way.

"So! With or without any actual participation on my part, you simply...know me? Well, that's extraordinary. I may not be anything particularly new to you, but I don't mind saying, this is my first brush with omniscience. And yet, if I choose my words wisely, I might yet hope to titillate? Fascinating, but...tell me this, if you would. What, precisely, is meant to hold my interest in such an exchange?"

Karrys

 

[Karrys]

I'm going to have to work for it, aren't I? Soit.​

Resistance was often met with the same consideration she gave anyone brave enough to try and stop her on the battlefield. A measure of respect for the courage on display, ultimately pointless as it was. A little bow of her head before she sliced a knight's throat, sometimes giving them the privilege of striking her once or twice, if only to let them keep some semblance of dignity before they died. But this was a different kind of struggle, a battle of wits and will. Haliat was so very different from her, and she found him all the more attractive for it. People could bend or break, but he stayed true to himself, even when it meant leaving behind his aliit. There was nobility in it, she supposed.

And nobles tasted all the sweeter.

Even now, as he seemed to gauge her just as she had done him since his arrival within the New Mandalorians, she felt only satisfaction. Let the duelist burn the memory of her into his mind. Let him think whatever he liked of her confidence, her ego, the way she conducted herself. In so many different ways, she was unforgettable, and she had earned his full, undiluted attention. Few things in life were sweeter than catching someone's gaze and holding it on her person. To know that none could quite bring themselves to ignore her, to overlook her greatness. No matter how much they resented it.

"Omniscience would be dreadfully boring, Haliat, my darling. How would you feel, if you knew every move your opponent was about to make in a duel? Where would be the challenge? Would you find life worth living, if you were a seer? I hear the current Chancellor is one, and I can promise you I would sever myself from that gift as soon as I could, were our roles exchanged."

Another long, greedy swig was taken from her bottle, then. A rich aroma, earthy and strong, adored for the way it burned, if just a little, as it went down. Made one's head swim quicker than most wines could; even her great endurance was being tested now, her smile a little less precisely controlled to show but the slightest bit of approval. More emotion on display, more passion, more smugness. Haliat wanted reciprocity. He wanted a reason why he should entertain this dance of theirs, why his song should join hers on this eve. Lowering the bottle once more, she gave a look at its remaining contents, offering it back to him. An earnest offer, or one made for him to get just a little closer to her once more?

"As for how I may hold your interest... what have I to offer, but my charm, my wit... my eyes?"

For a moment, she seemed to look deeper into his eyes, silence stretching between them, a breath held, intensity boiling over. Was she truly about to perform some witchery of her own? To do to him as their liege did to all others, though by no fault of her own? There was beauty within the pale blue of her irises... the slightest hints of something beyond merely the self-importance, the shereshoy she so readily embraced.

Then, the moment passed, throwing her head back to laugh a hyena's laugh.

"Kehehe! Oh, you should have seen your face!" Rancorous in her joy, she gave him a light-hearted slap to the shoulder, and an accompanying upnod. "Relax, Haliat, I'm just fucking with you. I'm not like the Duchess. You want to spend the night with me, it'll be because you damn well want to, not because of some... sorcerous fabrication."

A more measured chuckle followed her words, then, as she finally brought her gaze elsewhere than his person, but towards the assembled kin sharing in the warmth of this occasion. A family of families made a Clan, and several such Clans made a House. And it was under the long shadow of that House that they had made their home.

"You could always try and ask about me, divine just how much or little truth I've fashioned into the lie today. It's good exercise."

Her playfulness was on full display once more.

Haliat Kryze

 

[Tyto Ruus]

TAGS: Haliat Kryze / Karrys / Drego Ruus / Itzhal Volkihar

Whilst the two were verbal sparring, the single working eye of Tyto Ruus kept flicking back and forth between the son of Clan Kryze and the black haired beauty with eyes of ruby. When the two seemed to finally simmer down, all the old man could do was give a rough-sounding laugh before drinking from the tankard he had acquired in the mean time.

“For a moment there....” Came his grandfatherly voice, “Wasn't sure if we needed to set up an impromptu fighting ring or ask you two politely find a room.”

From the expression on his face, it was hard to suggest what his statement was anything but a well-mannered teasing. He reclined back some in his seat, a thoughtful look on his mind. In his head, he was recollecting his own history. Anything for stories or songs to help get the crowd back into a communal joy again.

“Let's see. Ah, yes.” He nodded, remembering something, “Perfect for such a gathering. I was taught this one by an old friend during my days on Vespaara. His home was all the way on Blackspire Outpost.”

Tyto stood, thinking to himself a moment about the rhythm of the song that came to mind. Once he had it, he began to gently yet musically pound his tankard against the table. He opened his mouth, and rough singing voice found its way from his throat. By no means pretty, but the type of song did not require a fantastic voice either. From his aged heart, Tyto began a rendition of an an old Batuuan drinking song. He hoped that he could get more to join in.

 

[Kebii'kara Solus]

CURRENT MISSION - Breaking Bread
Immediate Goals -
1: Drink to remember
1.1: Drink to Forget
2: Find something resembling a community...

FRIEND(s) - Hopefully soon

FOE(s) - Hopefully none

TARGETING ACTION(S) - Tyto Ruus || OPEN

---

It had been too long since she had been among Mandalorians.

It wasn't unusual for someone of the Way to take up mercenary work, or to be awed into wanderlust by the Galaxy's myriad of wonders. But it had been an estrangement for the Lasat that seemed to realize as of late that she keenly needed - an irony that wasn't lost on her. She was Kebii'kara of House Solus, adopted daughter of the great Cynthia Solus , and she found herself between two extremes. Her life so far had been one of yearning, of wanderlust, of childishly wondering why she was granted the power of the Force, what it meant, and all the questions designated more for theologians and philosophers than the rough and tumble pragmatists.

For a time, she found community - in the everpresent companion, Beviin - her Vanquo's Drakeling, who surveyed the scene with wide eyes and an eager belly, blunted only by Kebii's own melancholy. For a time, she thought she had found it in the Order of the Sunstar, under Matthew of Valendale - having seen his wondrously strange homeworld in her visions and dreams, and growing up drinking deep of their tenets. She thought she had found it in the Empire of the Lost, fancying herself a wandering knight, to serve an Emperor worthy of service, rather than one that was steeped in the dogmas of Sith or Jedi. She thought she had found it among the Lilaste Order, under the watchful eyes of Laphisto but now...

Now time had gotten away from her.

And she missed her kinsmen.

So much of the Galaxy had changed - and she wasn't sure what to count on. Was she correct in the naive notion that all Mandalorians were distant kin, following the Mando'ade regardless of Enclave, Clan, or House? Was there some grudge between the Houses Kryze and Solus?

Did she even have the right to call herself any of what she envisioned herself to be?

So the elder voice who had wanted a raucous drinking song find himself answered and echoed, in a voice higher tonally, but that betrayed that she lacked the vim that made the shanty punchy.

At least, such would be her immovable melancholy until the pale-scaled drakeling decided "frack this" and dived on someone's hapless plate.

 

[Athena Faar]

Tag: Kebii'kara Solus

Still new to the clan, Athena focused her attention more on the drink and food than on socializing. She watched and listened, learning who was who. She did join in on the song, as did others. She noted a curious voice, feminine and higher, and she located the source as the Lasat that had recently arrived, a reptile in her company. After the song, Athena turned with delight bakc to herer plate of piled food. It was soon disrupted as it seemed to erupt. A eptilian creature descended and savaged her coveted heap of meat.

"What the feth!" Athena growled, leaping up from her seat, As the creature devoured her food, she recognized it as the drake that had accompanied the Lasat to the feast. Athena shot dark eyes at the notably unarmored Lasat. With a sigh, she looked back at the creature, who looked up at her innocently. Suddenly, the Korun burst into laughter, leaving the beast to finish off the plate. Not one to be shy, or formal, Athena picked up her mug and moved to the curious Lasat's side, taking a seat next to her.

"I suppose I didn't need all of that food." She commented, glancing over her shoulder before turning her gaze back to the tall, green-eyed woman. "Athena."

 

[Kebii'kara Solus]

CURRENT MISSION - Breaking Bread
Immediate Goals -
1: Drink to remember
1.1: Drink to Forget
2: Find some semblance of community...

FRIEND(s) - Hopefully these shall be my vode

FOE(s) - Hopefully none

TARGETING ACTION(S) - Athena Faar || OPEN

---

Emerald eyes met the human - or at least, what the Lasat could definitively call a human - her eyes returning from wherever far distance they had come. She was unhelmeted, yet still retaining the blue yellow trimmed beskar'gam with a strange logo emblazoned over her heart - that of a crescent moon within a sunburst. She kept her kit, neither relying upon the sweeping dress of ceremony, nor the cargo shorts and boots for the occasion, as distant as she had been to her people - she still respected the Way.

She just found it difficult to eat, drink, and occasionally sing with the helmet on.

"Kebii'kara-" She began, introducing herself. She decided not to speak of her House, as she had willingly wandered away from it, albeit with her mom's blessing, not once - but twice. She also decided not to speak of the Order of the Sunstar as that... that was gone. Lilaste Order? No, they were with the Diarchy now, weren't they - and the Empire of the Lost before that.

Just Kebii'kara. That's what she came as. Just her.

"My friends call me Kebii-" It was then those same emerald eyes widened in realization. She didn't come alone. With a scowl, she looked over the shoulder at the pale drakeling who delightedly gorged themselves on the feast, before seeming to freeze upright, as if hearing something unseen. If Athena could believe her eyes, the reptile looked... guilty? Like a kid caught eating the stashed cookie jar. It... mewled? Yapped? Vocalized one side of an apparently unheard conversation before the Lasat breathed a tired, maternally irate "<<No.>>" in Mando'a.

The Korun would then behold a remarkable sight - the drakeling attempting to scramble away like a cornered Lolth-cat, and subsequently, Kebii'kara extending her hand, exhaling softly through her nostrils, and the drakeling being caught within an invisible bubble. Flailing, yowling defeatedly, the Drakeling would be brought between the two women through the power of the Force.

"Beviin..." She exhaled, her tone that of a disappointed superior. "We ask before we eat-ap-ap-ap!" she interrupted another slew of the Drakeling's attempt of an verbal defense. "I don't care if "she didn't want it", you apologize, and if she's nice, maybe Miss Athena-yes, the nice lady you stole from." The drakeling, now known as "Beviin" would be slowly spun around while in somewhat of a fetal position, their rosy irises quickly altering from caught and grumbling youngling to the wide, neotenous plea from a "poor widdwe innocent cweature".

It would be up to Athena to pass judgement, assuming the events didn't just cause her to be baffled or bemused.

 

[Athena Faar]

Tag: Kebii'kara Solus

Dark eyes remained fixed on the Lasat. She was impressive. Tall, brilliant green eyes and scars on her face that suggested stories. The woman's armor was equally curious, marked with an emblem Athena didn't recognize.

Her name was Kebii'kara.

Athena was about to introduce herself, when the Lasat's emerald gaze drifted to someplace beyond, behind Athena. The Korun turned to see the small reptile that had disrupted her meal suddenly freeze in its gorging. It looked at Kebii'kara as if caught in the act, which of course it was. Then, the creature lifted, levitated, all the while struggling as if in an invisible sphere, until it hovered between she and the Lasat.

The Force.

It was what Athena had been told gave her her own special abilities when it came to animals, but it wasn't called that on Haruun Kal. She had never seen anyone among the Mandalorians who could use it. As Kebii'kara chastized her... companion, Beviin, Athena hid her surprise behind her mug of beer. Then, the Lasat drew her into the strange interaction, compelling the drakeling to 'apologize.' The creature put on a pitiful display, the reptilian version of puppy eyes.

Athena played into it, eyeing Beviin as if weighing her decision. "Well, I wouldn' say I was nice..." She wasnt given the nickname Mir'sheb for nothing. "...and I always want my food, Beviin. But, I may share, if asked. So, if I catch you at my plate again, univited, well..." She left the sentence dangle meanacingly. Then, a smirk touched her lips. "You already got slobber on my plate, you might as well finish it." She teased, nodding in the direction of her half-eaten meal. Then she gave Kebii'kara a wink and a smile.

"I hope to earn the right to call you Kebii." Athena moved on to complete the introductions, hefting her mug in a salute to the Lasat. "So, how did you find Beviin?" Athena was more curious about how the woman used the Force, but that would come in time. Even someone as direct as Athena had some decorum.

Mir'sheb = Mando'a for smartass

 

[Kebii'kara Solus]

CURRENT MISSION - Breaking Bread
Immediate Goals -
1: Drink to remember
1.1: Drink to Forget
2: Find some semblance of community...

FRIEND(s) - Hopefully these shall be my vode

FOE(s) - Hopefully none

TARGETING ACTION(S) - Athena Faar || OPEN

---

"My verdgoten." she explained, half-cradling the Drakeling as it happily gorged the last remnants of the foodstuffs ceded to her, "All members of House Solus tend to bond with an animal as their companion. Beviin hadn't even hatched 'till I went to Centerra..."

She looked away again, not with her head, but with her eyes and her mind, remembering her kinsmen - if they mattered, if any of who she was with mattered. But she cleared her throat.

"How-how about you? You... you been here long, or are you a newcomer?" she remembered her guest, and hoped that she may find some companionship among newcomers as well.

 

[Drego Ruus]

Tag: Tyto Ruus Itzhal Volkihar​

It was soothing to see his fellow Vode enjoying themselves, and to hear Tyto singing once more, it made Drego feel like it was once again the old days in Clan Bralor.

Drego himself was busy cooking up his catch of the day, turning it on a spit as he prepped the massive beast for consumption.

"Itzhal, if you don't mind, can you grab me the chando shaker? I'm trying to get that draluram heturam on this thing."