Campaign &nbsp; Feast of the Fallen || The Iron Covenant

Kaldar Beroya |

Signy Bralor | Kalli Lorna-Warnel
GEAR: In bio

MOLITVY

Vara didn’t waste a second to dig into him, even earning a flinch as she raised a finger at him. But a toothy grin was all that met the mutt. ”Oh please, don’t sell me short. Gotta get a patina goin’ before we sell it at least!” He retorted with a smack on her shoulder.

Upon reaching the grand hall, however, he fell right in with her plan. They were both too sober for this mess. ”With ya there. Manda forbid you hit up your side piece sober.” He teased her, getting ready to inhale some liquid courage. That was the plan, at least, before he was tackled and grappled by a familiar figure sporting unfamiliar hair.

A bark escaped the Hound’s maw as air involuntarily left his lungs. He retaliated almost immediately, wrapping an armoured arm around Sahan’s neck to put him in a headlock. ”Whaddya got here, hey?! Finally decided to cover up that spotlight on your dome!” He teased, ruffling his hair up and planting a wet kiss on his head before letting the man go.

For all the doom and gloom around them, Sahan always lifted his spirits. ”You’ll love to see the bad decision I made this time.” He continued with a light tap against Sahan’s ribs. He looked good, in spite of what the after action reports told the Hound. It seemed that nobody got out unscathed.

Yuri let Vara and Sahan have their moment, intent on leaving them to catch up on their own time, only the Dragr seemed more intent on uncovering the mystery of the two mutts’ unique aroma.

”Nothin’ too major. Just gettin’ the shipyards up and running again. Also got a new prototype I’m playin’ with. This was the first proper hyperspace test.” He shrugged, glancing at Vara. He neglected to mention the odds of their survival. ”You should swing by the Ironworks when you get the chance. Almost got the place back to full capacity. Hell, I think half the ordnance you guys used came outta there.” He explained with pride and confidence.

His maw opened to continue, but a small incident caught his ears first. Tapping Sahan to draw his attention, he pointed out a Beroya berating two foundlings. One didn’t seem familiar to him, but the other he knew well enough. ”You seein’ this?” He muttered to Vara and Sahan, a dastardly grin making its way across his face.

The gears in his head were turning already. And, knowing Signy, he was going to have to step in quickly.

The Hound snuck over until he was able to wrap an arm around the stern Beroya. ”Oh, spare the rod, man!” He proclaimed, flashing Signy and the other foundling a wink. ”They gotta learn early. How else do ya expect ‘em to keep up with the other kids?” He teased, giving the Beroya a squeeze around the shoulders before letting go to hold a hand out to him.

”Yuri Maji. Lemme buy you a drink.” He introduced himself, making his way back to Vara and Sahan. They knew him well enough to see his plans of punching every button on the stranger’s dashboard.

Drinks were still in order, though. ”Come on, that ale ain’t gonna drink itself.” He quipped.

Kjartan Hammer-Hand · Jun 15, 2026

MYTHOS FLEET | BUUREENAAR’GAM COUNCIL CHAMBER
OBJECTIVE II: THE REKAV’DRAL MOOT
TAG:

Carduul Akahl |

Romul Saxon

KJARTAN HAMMER-HAND

THEME

Romul Saxon said:
"There is something more," Romul rumbled. He was no politician, and neither were any of the Rekav'dral. All intelligence he had he shared freely. " Darth Carnifex was present. Per Dragr's report, Srina Talon was present. The Dark Lord and Empress of the Blackwall present on some fringe Imperial world -- that's an anomaly of enormous propoportions." He shifted again. The chair creaked under the strain of his weight. He pressed a button on the holotable and the image of a massive battlecruiser, scans recorded in the engagement over Humbarine, was projected in a still, slowly rotating image. "These ships are of explicit Sith allegiance, unaffiliated with whatever Imperial force controlled Humbarine. But they were able to respond quickly enough and with such a projection of force. This is not some small Sith group." The image transitioned to the insignia that was emblazoned on the battlecruiser's hull. It was of distinct Sith design, yet unlike the insignias of the Sith Order that hid behind the black wall. "We thought that the Sith Order was alone in the galaxy. We were wrong; there is a Sith power unaccounted for."

Carduul Akahl said:
“...I felt as if there was a rot upon Humbarine that was separate from the remnants of those mad armageddonists, yet t'was eerily similar.” Came the musing aloud, “The troop movements were far too dissonant amongst those who arrived to fight against my warriors, and the defenses with which we made our strike upon. I heard reports they were even attacking each-other, though for what reasons I cannot say. It felt far too sloppy a defense, even for a remnant.”

Carduul Akahl said:
“...Whether they are a new group or not, ‘tis clear the Sith Order must have some ties with them. I am under the impression they splinter frequently enough to warrant such a thing, no? It may be a dissonant movement, or a separated front that yet serves all the same.” He surmised. “I know not the fathoms of their differences—but a foe I fought seemed little different from the Sith I know of. A conniving individual, willing to make whatever sacrifice needed of themselves to gain the upper hand in a conjectured form of power. I know not the difference between the Maw-sworn ilk, yet…”

Lips purse for a moment in thought, brows furrowing behind the mask in the image of a once revered figure. He was again, reminded of his spoken promise to that most curious droid, amidst blaring alarms and fleeing prisoners. “...Imperials have a habit, I know, to be unceremoniously entangled with such wretched beings in the most unlikely of causes. Their wish for order is often satiated in some cruel way all the same.”

Kjartan listened to the reports of the other two men in silence, stroking his beard as he did so. The news was troubling, yet at the same time; it was the entire purpose of the Campaign to purge the galaxy of the cancer that was the Sith - to visit retribution upon those who brought their people to near-extinction. What was one Sith entity compared to another?

The meeting carried on in a new direction, albeit not unrelated.

Vren Rook said:
In the meantime, however, there are more pressing things. Search parties I have sent out from Kestri to find Kelborn haven't delivered anything as of yet and are still looking. I also have old underworld contacts from Tatooine that have eyes out looking." He shook his head. "The fleet needs more concrete leadership - especially now that we are facing a new foe." He turned his attention on Kjartan.

"Hammer-hand's ease on naval-vessels has been evident and his men follow him without much question. Romul, Carduul, I think that we can offer him the seat of Tra'verde to lead the Fleet into these unknown waters, don't you?" he asked his fellow Council members.

"If you are willing to lead it, that is, Hammer-hand?"

Kjartan’s eyes grew wide, and his jaw would have dropped had his hand not already been fortuitously placed to mask it. Although The Hammer-Hand had forsworn his former life of piracy, he always viewed himself as a scalley-wag at heart - a scalley-wag who turned his cloak to the cause of his own people rather than coin. “Have they gone mad?” was the first thought that entered his mind.

Yet, despite his own personal reservations, Vren’s words did not ring hollow. For all his faults, Kjartan was in his element within the void, and his crew meant everything to him (including his daughter). No one would say he had not sacrificed for the cause by virtue of the cold steel arm attached to his bicep, and despite himself - he had changed. He was no longer simply ‘Kjartan Hammer-Hand, the Pirate Lord.’

He was Kjartan Hammer-Hand, of Clan Bralor. No longer was he the son who turned his back on his people, and although he would always regret those choices of youth - it was as though the voice of Vren Rook of all people had certified the absolution the old pirate had sought these many years. Hell, with the feeling that welled up in his heart, he had half a mind to wipe his arse with the pardon he secured from the Galactic Alliance those many years ago. This gesture carried a weight he could not even express, even though he struggled with his worthiness. “There’s a joke in there somewhere about entrusting a fleet to an old pirate...”

Finally, after these few days... the trademark grin materialized on his lips - gold teeth shining as his smile gleamed. “...but I'm honored to be judged worthy of your trust. I will accept the responsibility, if it is the will of this Moot.”

Romul Saxon · Jun 15, 2026

W A R M A S T E R
Mythos Fleet, Deep Space

[] Mythos Fleet Respite []

Tag:

Carduul Akahl

Romul succinctly nodded. He agreed with his vode of the Rekav'dral moot, and nothing more needed to be said. "Hammer-Hand is worthy of the seat, elek." The old boar straightened in his seat. His warhammer had been propped against the table, head lying on the ground. He now grabbed it with one hand by the pommel, resting his weight on it to spare the straining chair beneath him. "I have similarly appointed Tytos Saxon as si'kayha of Kestri in my stead." He knew that word would carry special significance for Vren. "My place is with Clan Saxon and the Mythos Fleet."

He cleared his throat. "Vode. I myself fought the dha'naast on Humbarine, I myself crossed blades with that wretched being." There was a fire in his eyes. "I would wager my entire horde of conquest that the Sith have somehow infiltrated the core. I want to see them burn. I will not rest until every last one is exterminated from this galaxy, as they exterminated us -- and I can wait no longer to strike them. We must find out who and where they are before we wipe out the rat's nest."

Humbarine had shown the Iron Covenant that for all they knew, much more they did not. They had not expected a Sith fleet, nor Sith themselves, to be present in such numbers on a world that intelligence had indicated was ruled by a fief of the Empire, an Imperial remnant in and of itself. The Mythos Fleet needed to reexamine the Core, for this secretive group of Sith posed a far greater threat than the cowards who hid behind their blackwall. If the Sith had infiltrated the Core of the galaxy, unbeknownst to all else, then no one knew to what extent their power reached. Romul could not define the scope of war with an enemy he did not know.

Kaldar Beroya · Jun 15, 2026

B E R S E R K E R
SPACE | THE HAMMER-HAND’S HALL
TAG:

Signy Bralor | Kalli Lorna-Warnel |

Yuri Maji | Open

Signy Bralor said:
"Watch who you are calling a runt, Beroya, or I will make you eat those words."

Of all the things Kaldar expected from the little runt, standing her ground and calling back as defiantly as she did was not one of them. He was possibly even impressed at the way the young girl kept his gaze even as he towered over her. Like it or not, the runt now had Kaldar’s full attention. Yet before he could really begin to test if the foundling had the spirit to back up her banter, he felt a tug around his shoulders and he was pulled away.

Yuri Maji said:
The Hound snuck over until he was able to wrap an arm around the stern Beroya. ”Oh, spare the rod, man!” He proclaimed, flashing Signy and the other foundling a wink. ”They gotta learn early. How else do ya expect ‘em to keep up with the other kids?” He teased, giving the Beroya a squeeze around the shoulders before letting go to hold a hand out to him.

“And who exactly are you?” asked Kaldar, his irritation blatantly clear in his tone.

Yuri Maji said:
”Yuri Maji. Lemme buy you a drink.”

“Fine.” he begrudgingly replied, if only out of curiosity about the large dog-man. Kaldar had never heard of or met this Yuri character before, yet alone anyone of his species. It was enough of a curiosity that he almost forgot about the surprisingly sharp foundling.

Almost.

“If nothing else, you’ve got guts, Signy.” remarked Kaldar, turning back to face the foundling one last time. “That’s for sure. See ya around!"

Having said his piece, Kaldar at last allowed Yuri to guide him away towards the sweet promise of ale.

Siv Dragr · Jun 16, 2026

G U N S L I N G E R

Tag:

Gel Karn |

Jericho Dragr |

Brent Warnel | OPEN

Jericho Dragr said:
"The final Covenant dropship cleared the avenue before the civilian landing zone came under attack. The extraction corridor held. Your withdrawal route remained open." "You are awake. That is good."

Gel Karn said:
"Lord Dragr The one who gave me the chance for my cin vhetin. Words cannot express my thanks to you, for giving me a second chance and saving me from a most terrible fate. My skills and my hammer remain yours to command until the end of my days."

Both Gel and Jericho opened their mouth at more or less the same time, and Siv received a splitting headache as his brain -- strained from the bacta and a little dehydrated from the tihaar -- tried to process the two conversations at once. Seeing that another had engaged the smith in conversation, he nodded towards him, a promise that they would speak soon. There were things left unsaid between the two. Siv winced as pain made black spots dance across his vision, then he threw his head back and took another swig of tihaar. Giving a loud sigh as he set down the tankard, he turned to look at his son's companion.

Siv had never really known what to think of Jericho; he wasn't sure whether to label it as being or machine. Sahan had been quite insistent when he'd brought Jericho home, and seeing as they were strapped for foundlings, Siv had somewhat reluctantly adopted Jericho into Clan Dragr. But the wariness had never really gone away, perhaps unfairly on his part. Jericho was quite dutiful.

"Good," Siv replied rather dumbly. "Good." He looked awkwardly into the depths of his tankard, shaking the mug absentmindedly. His face reflected up obsuredly at him in the swirling dark liquid. "So..." he said at long last. "You, uh, like to drink?" Siv was not adept at small talk.

Carduul Akahl · Jun 16, 2026

Romul Saxon

The matter had turned to another separate issue—one of leadership. Carduul, of course, was no stranger to such a task of delegation. That was not to say he was perfect, either; several Field Marshals became difficult to temper in their fervor as the crusade went on. To suggest any figures himself would’ve made for a difficult task, for he was not too well-acquainted with those outside of the ones who followed him. That would’ve made for a biased selection, in his eyes. Still, what he was not expecting was the suggestion of the newest figure at the table to be offered a spot, the helm tilting towards with a slight furrow behind the mask. His first encounter with Kjartan, of course, was witnessing them start a drunken brawl in the tavern upon the Covenant’s first gathering. Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time he had elected leaders that hadn’t normally been the ‘first pick’ in such demeanors.

He had quietly listened along to the explanations given, a hand briefly shifting to rest beneath the chin of his mask. There had been a low, thoughtful exhalation, head lilting downwards as he slowly picked what to say. “...I acknowledge the fact that Kjartan has proven his dedication, and fervor. I, of all Mandalorians, know such things are to be commended.” Came a deliberate start of words in turn, as an unseen gaze peered towards the once-pirate. Carduul was asked to join this council for a reason…so there was little need to veil or diplomatically skirt words. Especially so, with kin. “And those are important tenets to keep morale high. That much is evidenced by his men, and even the words spoken in consolation to our vode today, indeed.” There had been a slight lean forwards as he had studied the other alongside the acknowledgements. “But to accept this responsibility is to do far more than that.”

Gauntleted fingers idly rapped against the haft of his ever-present weapon, in a fidget induced by the mull of thought. Observing expressions and demeanor, all the while. “You will be responsible for the fleet, in speaking for them their hopes and desires and needs. You would weigh each life upon the battlefield accordingly in this cause, and make decisions based upon a scale larger than before. Above all else- you will need to keep a level head. You would need to be more than an 'old pirate' ever was.” And that, was the main question that Carduul had lingering. He could not yet form judgements of the man, for their stations were far too divorced for him to witness him take command himself. Yet, initial impressions, and rumor, were all he had to work with at that moment. He felt obligated to pose such quandaries if no one else would.

“...I will not question this decision if both Saxon and Rook are in agreement, so instead I must instead prompt this:

Are you prepared to shoulder such a burden, in accepting this? Do you believe yourself capable?”

The wording was the question was what made it important—not whether he would accept the responsibility because it was simply offered to him, but because he was offered it and decided he was worthy of it in his own eyes.

...

“...Burning out the rot is often the only solution once it has latched itself to a new host, the parasites they are.” Was a sidelong acknowledgement to Romul’s continuation of the matter of the Core. It was still an upsetting thought- that the original targets of the Renewed Crusade's conquests had hardly fallen to better owners. “I am only more-so saddened that what was once bounteous titans of industrial words now fall into the hands of those who would see it ruined once more. The matter in question is how to approach an enemy we yet not know fully, aside from the fact they are Sith with ties to the rest of their schemeing ilk.”

Gel Karn · Jun 16, 2026

GEL KARN
BUURENAAR'GAM
TAG: Brent Warnel , Siv Dragr , Jericho Dragr , OPEN
GEAR: Gel Karn's Bev Shield, Akalenedat, Mandalorian Lanvarok, Mandalorian Vibroboots, Mandalorian Magna-Gloves, Gel Karn's Bandolier, Mandalorian Jazerant, Mandalorian Recon Helmet

Take your pick!

"No apologies necessary, my friend",

Brent Warnel replied as he took Gel up on his offer for another toast. The toast seemed to enliven him, if just a little, and Gel was glad that he had made it. It seemed that everyone here, including Gel, could use a little liveliness, which as certainly the reason that the Covenant was hosting this party in the first place. It would do Gel some good to relax for once, and if he could help others do the same, than all for the better!

"What is your story, brother, for I have not heard it. I am new to this gathering of Mando'ade, and wish to learn more of the history of all of you. Who stood and bled on Humbarine."

Gel took another sip of his drink before settling down to tell Brent the story of how he came into the service of the Iron Covenant.

"Very well, Master Warnel. Allow me to start at the beginning."

Gel began with his upbringing, how he was raised by the Death's Hand, a Sith-aligned Mandalorian cult, to one day create weapons and armors for their Sith masters. For the first fifteen years of his life, Gel was trained to be a blacksmith, taught how to make all manners of different weapons and equipment, no matter how difficult or intricate or seemingly impossible to replicate the designs were. It was something that Gel absolutely HATED, knowing that his creations were being used for evil. So when the Death's Hand collasped, Gel saw an opportunity to be free of the Sith once and for all.

His family saw very different.

Gel failed in his attempts to persuade them to leave the service of the Sith, and in retaliation for Gel's apparent disregard for his clan's traditions, his family knocked him unconscious, bound him in Beskar chains and sold him as a slave to none other than

Darth Carnifex himself. Gel would continue to toil under the watchful eye of the Sith Lord on Seswenna, furthering honing his craft as he was forced to continue producing weapons and armor for Sith use. Over the years he would attempt to escape his enslavement, though he failed every time, and he would often taste Sith Lightning as a result of his attempts to do so. It wasn't until quite recently, when

Siv Dragr and his comrades raided Seswenna, that Gel was finally able to escape.

Immensely grateful to Siv, Gel pledged his undying loyalty to the man and his cause, and when the Humberaine mission was announced, Gel was one of the first to volunteer for the recon team, eager to begin repaying his debt. Speaking of, that suddenly reminded Gel of something: he had yet to formally present his gift to Siv, despite the fact that it had been ready for presentation for some time. Perhaps he should go back and get it? Gel glanced over in Siv's direction, noticing the man still deep in conversation. No, he would wait until Siv had a moment and talk to him about it. After all, why do it now when he could wait for the party to end?

"And that's about the end of my story", Gel concluded. "Though I'm sure we will have many more stories to tell after this. What of you, Master Warnel? How did you come to serve in the Iron Covenant", Gel asked as he got a refill on the ale he was drinking.

Vreegan Fett · Jun 16, 2026

He moved through the crowded hall, a striking silhouette of polished gold armor amidst a sea of scorched beskar, dented alloy, and fresh bacta patches. A flowing white cape trailed behind him, immaculate and untouched by the grime of Humbarine. He had not stood in the trenches of that industrial hellscape.

His advanced age, a reality he accepted with pragmatism rather than shame, kept him from the drop pods this time. But a Field Marshal did not need to bleed in the mud to understand the architecture of a slaughter. He didn't need to see the reports, either. His network of contacts, the surviving shards of the old Neo-Crusader expansion who now wore the Covenant's crest had already whispered the truth through encrypted channels before Kjartan's holographic summons had even faded.

The invasion had been messy, the execution fractured. And then there were the rumors of the opposition's tricks: anomalous monsters, sudden force storms, and arcane phenomena. Vreegan internally scoffed, a microscopic sneer hidden behind his impassive T-visor. The arsenal of the weak.

When a culture lacked the discipline of absolute military doctrine and the iron will to stand their ground, they resorted to parlor tricks and planetary-scale theatrics. It was pathetic, yet it had cost the Covenant dearly. Still, the objective had been completed. The Mandalorian spine had not snapped.

Vreegan approached the long tables of Hammer-hand's Hall, where the scent of roasted meats wrestled with the sharp, medicinal tang of disinfectant and the sour musk of stale sweat. He found a place near the periphery, away from the loud, boastful displays of the younger foundlings trying to drink away their terror, but close enough to observe the veteran core.

He accepted a heavy tankard of tihaar from a passing thrall, the strong, colorless spirit reflecting the flickering ambient lighting of the hall. He raised it slightly, not in a celebratory toast, but in a solemn acknowledgment of the empty chairs. They had died with honor, yes. The Resol'nare demanded nothing less.

But as Vreegan looked at the hollow eyes of the survivors, he knew the old ways, the strict, uncompromising hierarchy and unbreakable cohesion of the Neo-Crusaders could have mitigated this butcher's bill. These modern Vode were fierce, but they lacked the singular, crushing unity that had once made the galaxy tremble.

Kjartan Hammer-Hand · Jun 16, 2026

MYTHOS FLEET | BUUREENAAR’GAM COUNCIL CHAMBER
OBJECTIVE II: THE REKAV’DRAL MOOT
TAG:

Carduul Akahl |

Romul Saxon

KJARTAN HAMMER-HAND

THEME

Carduul Akahl said:
“You will be responsible for the fleet, in speaking for them their hopes and desires and needs. You would weigh each life upon the battlefield accordingly in this cause, and make decisions based upon a scale larger than before. Above all else- you will need to keep a level head. You would need to be more than an 'old pirate' ever was.”

Carduul Akahl said:
“...I will not question this decision if both Saxon and Rook are in agreement, so instead I must instead prompt this:

Are you prepared to shoulder such a burden, in accepting this? Do you believe yourself capable?”

For someone who “wasn’t questioning” the decision, the former Mand’alor was doing a good job of it regardless with both his words and his tone. Kjartan leaned back in his chair whilst listening to Carduul’s words, his eyes latching onto the man’s T-visor. When the question was finally asked, Kjartan allowed the silence to linger for several moments as he weighed out his response. Finally, his answer began with a silent, yet very clear opening.

His metallic hand drifted from his torso and down to the table with a softer, more well practiced thud than earlier - its polished alloy reflecting the light shining over the center of the tabletop. “I don’t believe in proving oneself with words. I’m a man of action. If you don’t think I know those truths already, then you haven’t been watching.” He let that statement hang for a moment while the servos around his ‘knuckles’ flexed, but then continued. “I also think that any man who believes he’s fully equal to a task, is a fool who is asking for his foolishness to be proven to everyone.”

His gaze was hard, but not so much in anger as it was in firm assuredness of his words. He had lived an eventful life, full of both mistakes and victories. Yet his expression softened after a moment. “I’ve lived an eventful life, and I understand your statement that these duties will require more than simply an ‘old pirate’. I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life, and learned from them. It’s made me stronger over the years to meet the trials we all face today. They require more from all of us. Look at what’s befallen our people by those who simply claim the title of Mand’alor, without the resolve and action to do what must be done.” At first, his statement may well have appeared to be a backhanded retort to Carduul’s question, yet Kjartan’s tone was far more dispassionate than likely anyone at the table may have thought possible.

If anyone thought it was an insult, it would quickly be dispelled as he carried on. “I didn’t answer the call to any of them, partly because I was skeptical, and partly because I was too busy karking off.” A toothy grin flashed for a moment, yet he continued. “...But you proved beyond question what you were capable of when you held the mantle. Many others though, have been found wanting. But I say all of that, to say - I know what I’m capable of, and I'm content with what I've done to prove it. Yet, you don’t seem convinced despite everything you said before the word ‘but’.”

There it was. Kjartan was not a man to leave anything unsaid, and If this warrior he held respect for carried misgivings about his appointment, then Kjartan would have it sorted out in the open now rather than allowing it to simmer under the surface.

Jericho Dragr · Jun 17, 2026

Siv Dragr

Brent Warnel

Gel Karn

Jericho was reasonably certain he had not spoken over Gel Karn. The timing had been clean. Siv looked as if both of them had spoken over each other anyway, which Jericho filed under medical fatigue, social overload, and a possible Alor quirk requiring further observation. He did not correct it. Corrections were useful when a targeting solution was wrong, when a door code failed, or when a corrupted packet insisted on translating the same hostile identifier seven different ways. They were less useful when a wounded Mandalorian with too much bacta in his system and too much ne'tra gal in his hand was trying to separate gratitude, pain, and conversation into manageable pieces.

So Jericho waited. Gel Karn had accepted Siv's nod as a promise for later and turned back toward Brent Warnel, leaving the space between Siv and Jericho clearer than it had been a moment before. That should have made the interaction easier. It did not. Siv looked into the depths of his tankard as if the dark liquid inside might provide tactical guidance, then asked whether Jericho liked to drink. The question seemed to cost him more than several exchanges of blaster fire would have, and for a moment Jericho did not answer because the question had too many possible meanings. Did he like to drink? No. Did he require drink? Also no. Could he drink? Yes. Was the question actually about liquid consumption, or was it about whether he could stand in this hall and do something ordinary beside the man who had adopted him into Clan Dragr without ever quite deciding what to make of him?

Jericho settled on the answer that was most accurate. "I... can." That was not the same as saying he did. His body could accept food and drink. It could process them, break them down, extract what was useful, isolate what was not, and discard the rest with a precision most organics would have considered unfair. That did not mean Jericho usually chose to consume limited stores when others had greater need of them. Rations were for bodies that weakened when deprived. Water was for bodies that tired, bled, sickened, and healed by slower means. Alcohol was even less practical, which made the custom surrounding it more difficult to classify. But this was not a ration line. It was not a survival cache. It was a memorial feast, and Siv had asked.

A passing warrior, perhaps sensing the terrible shape of the small talk before it could collapse under its own weight, set another tankard near Jericho's hand with the quiet efficiency of someone who had seen enough awkward Mandalorians to know when intervention was required. Jericho regarded it for a second, then accepted it. The metal was warm from other hands. The drink inside carried a sharp chemical profile before it ever reached his mouth: alcohol, smoke, bitter grain, trace minerals from shipboard filtration, and enough potency that his internal monitors immediately classified it as an avoidable contaminant or, after a secondary check, a possible explosive.

Jericho drank anyway. The ne'tra gal burned across his tongue and down his throat. Sensory nerves recorded heat, bitterness, pressure, and the faint medicinal bite of something that his body had no intention of allowing into his bloodstream for longer than necessary. Filters marked the alcohol for rapid breakdown. Compensation routines adjusted before the first swallow settled. He could have suppressed the taste. He did not. The others drank to remember, to endure, to remain among the living. If Jericho was going to stand among them, then he would stand there properly. "K'oyacyi."

The word came quieter from him than it had from Gel Karn, but it was not uncertain. Jericho lowered the tankard and held it in both hands for a moment, his fingers resting against the worn metal as if the object required further study. Around them, the feast continued to move in layers: Gel speaking of old chains and second beginnings, Brent listening with the steady weight of a man who had brought his own dead into the hall, warriors laughing too loudly at tables that had not forgotten why they were gathered. Jericho could have mapped every voice, every gait, every slight tremor of pain or intoxication. Instead, he kept his attention first on Siv, then shifted it toward Brent Warnel.

"Clan Warnel owes me nothing." The correction was gentle by Jericho's standards, which meant it still sounded more like a factual adjustment than comfort. "The corridor required bodies. I had more than one to give." That was not a story, not in the way Brent had asked for one. Jericho knew that before the words fully settled. Stories had shape. They carried names, grief, laughter, impossible decisions, and the kind of meaning that survived after the numbers stopped being useful. What Jericho had were angles, routes, timings, enemy vectors, and the divided memory of eleven bodies spread across a collapsing extraction zone. It was not enough, but it was what he could offer without turning the dead into data.

"Civilians. Wounded. Covenant forces cut off from the avenue. The final dropship cleared before the enemy shifted toward the civilian landing zone. Eleven bodies remained active before consolidation. Enough angles held. Enough people reached the ships." It sounded thin once spoken aloud. Not false, but incomplete in the way every report became incomplete the moment someone tried to use it in place of memory. A report did not explain Gel Karn's weight against one shoulder on the rooftop, or the sound of civilians moving because they believed someone had come back for them, or the moment the last Covenant dropship cleared the avenue and the shape of the mission changed from holding the corridor to surviving what came next. A report did not explain why one body became eleven, or why eleven becoming one again had not felt like victory.

Jericho looked down into the tankard, then back to Siv as Forgemaster Gel offered his story to Brent Warnel. "Sahan got you out. Afterward, he stayed while the medics kept you under." It was not new information, not exactly, but it seemed like the kind of fact that should be spoken where Siv could hear it clearly. "He will not say how afraid he was." The admission sat there for half a breath before Jericho realized it had edges that pointed back at him as well. His expression did not change much. It rarely did. But his fingers tightened slightly around the tankard, and when he continued, the words came more carefully than the report had. "I may not either."

Jericho took another measured drink, less because he wanted it and more because the pause needed somewhere to go. The burn came again, was recorded again, and was neutralized again. It still tasted like something living people used to make grief move. Perhaps that was enough reason to keep holding the tankard. "But you are awake." He looked at Siv with the same blunt precision as before, though something quieter lived beneath it now. "Sahan is here. The extraction held. So this is a reason to drink."

Vara Maji · Jun 18, 2026

THE FOUNDLING
The Mythos Fleet | Aboard the Buurenaar'gam | Feast Hall
TAG:

Yuri Maji |

Siv Dragr |

Kaldar Beroya Kalli Lorna-Warnel

Brent Warnel |

Gel Karn |

Kaldar Beroya |

Signy Bralor | Open

Aoana

Yuri Maji said:
”With ya there. Manda forbid you hit up your side piece sober.” He teased her, getting ready to inhale some liquid courage.

She was never going to live that down, was she?

Snout flared. Breath pulsed. A scoff escaped her as she rolled her eyes. The start of a clap-back danced on the tip of her tongue, just shy of utterance.

Then it vanished.

A rarity.

Her fleabag had caught her lackin’ this time.

But his little triumph was not about to last for long. Especially when the material was about to be served up for her.

Sahan Dragr said:
"You smell like..."

A cackle rolled from her throat as the Dragr’s shoulder slammed into Yuri. Breath sharply evacuated his lungs in a surprised bark. Recovering almost as quickly as he was surprised, the Hound moved to give it as good as he got. The crook of his durasteel arm bit Sahan’s neck, placing him in a merciless headlock. Yuri’s knuckles brushed sharply against his scalp, ruffling his hair as if trying to set alight to tinder.

Yuri Maji said:
”Whaddya got here, hey?! Finally decided to cover up that spotlight on your dome!” He teased, ruffling his hair up and planting a wet kiss on his head before letting the man go.

That wet kiss sealed his fate.

A sly cackle cut through the din between them. “Speakin’ of side pieces,” The Wardog glanced between them. Her crimson eyes settled on Sahan for a heartbeat; a fleeting wink, before eyes settled back onto her fleabag “Didn’t know ya swung that way, babe.” Her ears flicked. The corners of her eyes wrinkled as the crooked smile grew. “‘N’ here I was thinkin’ I was y’favorite.” Her tongue clicked in a tisk.

Sahan Dragr said:
"Good to see you made it back." Vara had been in the mess too.

The Wardog met Sahan with the same sly smile. “Makes the two of us.” His wounds did not escape him. Though the extent of his injuries escaped her, few among their ranks had the fortune of walking away unscathed.

She could only hope his suffering was not too great.

Her head tilted. ”So y’get all playful with ‘im ‘n’ I get diddly-squat huh?” The pout that followed was entirely performative. At the drop of a hat, she flashed her fangs at Sahan in a warm smile. “Cmon, bring it in!” She took a step closer, hand held ahead of her. The second he took her hand, the Wardog snapped her head forward, crashing her brow against the human’s.

If that did not give Sahan a headache, then she had failed him.

Eyes squinted with laughter as she drew back, digits soothing her brow. Heat sang inside her head, pain flared with every throb, but starting to fade before long.

Vara let their bromance bloom and catch up. Her gaze left them to cut across the great feasthall, and idly settle on the others. A small dispute threaded its way into her attention. Some exchange of heated words she had no context of. Nothing new. But Yuri must’ve caught it at the same time, too.

Yuri Maji said:
”You seein’ this?” He muttered to Vara and Sahan, a dastardly grin making its way across his face.

Eyes drifted back onto his mug, a wordless question flickered in her eyes as she watched him cut towards the dispute. The Devil's luck on him, he smoothed things over with just a few words and returned with the Mandalorian in tow.

Her eyes, half-lidded with disappointment, settled on

Kaldar Beroya . ”’N’ here I thought you wuz gon’ be fun,” she teased, shaking her head. A chuckle escaped the Wardog as she flanked Yuri from the other side. She could really use that drink. ”So what do we call ya?” Vara asked the Mandalorian bearing a signet, depicting the head of a Narglatch in green. A Beroya. Her head turned to spare a glance at the Dragr afterward. She motioned him to join them with a gesture.

The foundling reached for the nearest tankard. Thirst guided her hand more than thought did. She leaned towards a big keg nearby. The black ale began to fill up her tankard. “Kark it, think I’m gon’ do it,” her thoughts found words after a moment’s deliberation. She glanced up at Yuri with a snicker. “So how many creds y’wanna bet I can outdrink the Big Man ‘imself?”

”Oh and if I win, Her wily grin sharpened as she added. "Y’get to do all’a’dem chores AND cook dinner fer two weeks.”

Brent Warnel · Jun 19, 2026

THE PAST
TAG:

Gel Karn

Jericho Dragr

Siv Dragr

Yuri Maji

Vara Maji
LOCATION

Brent listened intently to Gel as he spoke of his past, and what a past it was. From his training as a blacksmith under the Death's Hand, to being sold as a slave to the Sith, till his final rescue at the hands of

Siv Dragr on Seswenna.

"You have quite the history, friend," Brent replied, "To have been through so much, and still be as dedicated to the cause as you are, is no small act of mental fortitude. Were I in your shoes, I do not know if I would have fared as well."

Before Brent continued with his own story, he addressed

Jericho Dragr and his remarks, cutting in between him and Siv. Brent laid a hand on Jericho's shoulder as he spoke, "We're more than just angles and numbers. You risked your skin for mine, and it will not be easily forgotten. K'oyacyi, vod."

Brent slapped the shoulder of Jericho before sipping his drink and returning his attention to Gel, seeing Siv and Jericho continue their conversation.

"I was a Crusader, you know, before this," Brent stated, waving his hand around the bar, "Burning across the galaxy at the behest of Mand'alor the Anointed. Our flame was bright, and it burned fiercely. However, with a flame that hot, the fuel ran out quickly, and the Crusaders burned out."

Brent sighed as he looked into his drink, swirling the liquid around the tankard before continuing.

"I wandered a lot after the Crusaders fell. Worked a little here and there, tried to find my past again, but was mostly without guidance and direction. It wasn't until I stumbled upon a meeting of Mandalorians that I was introduced to the Covenant."

Brent drank deep from the tankard, letting the liquid burn its way down his throat.

"I found Mand'alor again at this meeting, and he introduced me to this Covenant. I was shown Kestri by

Romul Saxon , who asked me the very question I was asking myself: What do I hope the Iron Covenant to be? His question and wisdom led me to believe the Covenant may be able to break the cycle that keeps us Mandalorians in an ever-revolving cycle of destruction."

"So here I am, hoping to further my Clan and this Covenant, and shed the blood of the Sith while I'm at it. That's the short and sweet of it, at least," Brent said with a smile as he finished off his drink, looking around to see where he could get a new one. The drink had got to Brent's head more than he realized as he began to mix business with leisure, "How good of a smith would you say you are, Gel?"

Sari'la Kandosii · Jun 19, 2026

OBJECTIVE 1 - THE HAMMER HAND'S HALL

Tags: ANYONE

It was the noise that hit her first. It was louder here than she was used too. Then it was the smell. There was a stink of bravery in the air. Did bravery have an odour? She was a tool of imperial creation but her flash trained cultural programming was overwhelming and she knew in her durasteel heart that these were her people.

Her honour guard marched behind her in three lines of two, silent and rigid. It gained the attention of two warriors dressed in much more rugged clothing. The pair looked as though they were about to pull their blasters at the sight of the Kandosii party. It was instinct, their gait was obviously imperial, as was their armour even though it was built in a style copied from the Mandalorians. At least the Sari'la wore her clan sigil and the emblem of the Mythosaur to mark her as a sister to the people here.

She had come here after spending a little time with the Mandalorian Empire. They were still her brothers and sisters in a manner of speaking, but there was something that wasnt sitting right her. Something she needed to explore. So, as an independent clan, with the blessing of the Mand'alor she had headed south to find out more about what it felt to be a true Mandalorian.

Sahan Dragr · Jun 19, 2026

Kestrisaur Hide Utility Belt and Duster
Rulariyi Mandalorian Sunglasses

Sahan rolled with the headlock like he had expected it from the start, because with Yuri, he probably should have. The durasteel arm hooked around his neck, knuckles dragged through his hair with all the delicacy of a maintenance claw, and the wet kiss on top of his head earned Yuri a sharp laugh that turned halfway into a wince when his shoulder reminded him that Mercy's ice spike had been very real and very rude. He did not pull away. That would have meant admitting something hurt, and Sahan had been raised better than that. "Keep that up, and Vara's gonna get jealous."

Vara stepped in before he could say anything worse. Sahan turned toward her as she offered her hand, grin sharp enough to promise trouble, and took it already expecting something more than a simple greeting. Her brow dipped forward a heartbeat later, muzzle changing the angle just enough that a normal person might have mistimed it. Sahan was not a normal person. His blood-red eyes flashed with amusement over the top of his slipped sunglasses, and he met her halfway, forehead cracking lightly against hers in a neat, deliberate tap that answered the greeting without turning it into a contest. The Rulariyi lenses slid farther down his nose as the HUD threw up a proximity warning a fraction too late.

"Good try." He pushed the sunglasses back into place with one finger, grin widening as the ache in his skull joined the one in his shoulder. "But a Keldabe kiss works better with helmets on." The line was for Vara, but Sahan's grin flicked toward Yuri just long enough to make sure he knew he was included in the blame. She was supposed to be Yuri's foundling, after all.

The grin stayed as Yuri started talking shipyards, prototypes, and first hyperspace tests, though the mention of Maji Ironworks getting back to full capacity pulled Sahan's attention in a more serious direction for half a breath. Half the ordnance on Humbarine coming out of Yuri's lines sounded about right. It also explained why the Hound carried himself like a man who had missed the battle and still somehow had grease on every blade that mattered. "A new prototype with a first proper hyperspace test," Sahan repeated, as if tasting the words for all the disasters hidden inside them. "That is a very fancy way to say you climbed into a bad idea and dared physics to blink first."

His tone was all mockery, but the look behind the lenses was warmer than the words. Yuri had been working. Not sulking. Not wasting time. Getting shipyards running again mattered more than any one fighter in a single battle, and Sahan knew it even if he would rather chew glass than let Yuri enjoy a compliment without earning a bruise first. "I'll swing by the Ironworks. I want to see what almost killed you, and then I want to see how offended you get when I start improving it."

Then Yuri tapped him and pointed out the commotion with the Beroya and the foundlings. Sahan followed the gesture just in time to watch the Hound make the entirely predictable decision to put an arm around a bristling Mandalorian who looked one wrong word away from turning the feast into a sparring circle. The corner of Sahan's mouth twitched. "Of course. You spot one angry Beroya and immediately decide he needs a drink." He glanced toward Vara as Yuri wandered off with that dangerous grin, then back toward the unfolding scene. "I missed this."

Kaldar did not swing, which Sahan privately considered less a miracle than proof that Yuri's luck continued to offend natural law. The Beroya even accepted the drink, leaving Signy with a parting compliment and allowing himself to be drawn back toward them. Sahan looked him over as he approached, noting the signet, the stance, the temper, and the kind of presence that made a crowd give a little more room without thinking about it. Not because Sahan was worried. Mostly because Yuri had just dragged fresh entertainment back to the table and called it diplomacy.

"Beroya," Sahan greeted with a small lift of his chin, respectful enough without pretending he had not just watched the man nearly turn a foundling argument into feast entertainment. "Sahan Dragr. If Yuri offered to buy the first round, take him up on it before he remembers he owns shipyards and starts paying in exposure."

Vara was already filling a tankard by then, looking from Yuri to Kaldar like the shape of her next bad decision had become obvious and irresistible. Sahan watched the black ale rise, then tilted his head when she asked how many credits Yuri wanted to bet on whether she could outdrink the Big Man himself. The chores and dinner clause followed a moment later, and Sahan's grin returned in full. He leaned one hip against the nearest table, careful not to favor the wounded shoulder too obviously, and folded his arms beneath the fall of the Kestrisaur hide duster.

"Against Beroya here?" Sahan looked from Vara to Kaldar, then to Yuri. "No credits. I'm betting chores, too. Whoever loses has to clean whatever you flew in on, because I can still smell it from here."

A small alert flickered across the edge of his lenses as a new formation entered the hall, too rigid and too clean in its movement to blend with the battered feast around them. Imperial gait. Mandalorian sigils. An honor guard trying very hard not to look like the wrong kind of trouble. Sahan let the HUD track it for a second, then dismissed it from the center of his vision. The hall had enough eyes, enough veterans, and enough people looking for a reason to be suspicious. For now, Yuri, Vara, and the Beroya were the more immediate entertainment.

"For the record," he added, reaching for a drink of his own, "if Vara wins, I want dinner too. If Beroya wins, I want Yuri to explain how this became my problem. And if Yuri wins somehow, I'm checking the ale for illegal tampering."

Yuri Maji

Vara Maji

Kaldar Beroya

Signy Bralor · Jun 20, 2026

SIGNY BRALOR
FATHER'S HALL | OBJECTIVE 1
TAG:

Vara Maji Kalli Lorna-Warnel
GEAR: Huginn and Muninn, ~~Beskar'gam~~, ~~jetpack~~, ~~spear~~, ~~energy buckler~~

Signy laughed as

Yuri Maji interjected themself into this little will they? Won't they? situation.

"Aww, no fair Yuri, I wasn't gonna hurt him, I was just having some fun with our guest." she winked at the pupper as they walked away before calling to

Kaldar Beroya with a mandalorian platitude. "Next time we meet be it as brothers in arms" and then she let them walk away and she turned her attention to Kalli Lorna-Warnel .

"So, welcome to my Dad's ship I guess, I haven't seen you about either before. I'm Signy Bralor. Did I say that already?

Don't worry about that guy, think he must have some insecurities or something, or he's just trying to aura farm." she held her hand out for the other girl to shake it. Signy wouldnt let the other man bother her, and she wouldnt immediately invoke her father, lest it look like she was only owed respect because of her blood and not because of her iron.

"Have you been with the fleet long?"

Yuri Maji · Jun 20, 2026

SPACE | HAMMER-HAND’S HALL
TAGS:

Vara Maji |

Kaldar Beroya |

Signy Bralor | Kalli Lorna-Warnel
GEAR: In bio

MOLITVY

The duo’s insults fell on deaf ears as Yuri gestured for more, they simply couldn’t comprehend that the Hound was in a league of his own. ”Keep talkin’ babe, it’s only fair I get my piece of shebs for the evening.” He teased Vara. Sahan thought he could get one up as well, though the mutt merely laughed victoriously with glimmering chops.

”And I karkin’ won, schutta! Law’s of physics ain’t got poodoo on me.” He declared. They didn’t need to know about the wonky coaxium regulator… or the stabilizers sticking… no, it was a victory. And soon the Covenant would have a new weapon in its arsenal.

A moment of relative silence set in as Yuri dragged the angry Beroya towards their little group. Vara had already helped herself to a tankard of ale to get the party started. Both her and Sahan did an admittedly good job of helping their new acquaintance get comfortable while Yuri collected three more tankards of ale. One was handed to the Beroya, the other to Sahan, and finally a large swig rolled down the Hound’s throat.

Yuri looked around the group and back to them. With company like this, it was hard to think of the dismal state of the galaxy.

His attention was drawn back to the group with a daring challenge. Golden eyes peered over his tankard at Vara with a chuckle. Sahan got in on the action too, adding to the stakes.

Sahan Dragr said:
"No credits. I'm betting chores, too. Whoever loses has to clean whatever you flew in on, because I can still smell it from here."

With a wave of his hand, Yuri set his ale aside and pulled a smoke from a pouch. With a spark from his vambrace, he took a long drag and let the smoke pour from his nostrils. ”It’s just a hydraulic an’ coolant leak, damn. Y’all are actin’ like we flew in with a Clone Wars antique!” He jabbed back. ”I’d like to see you schuttas build your first Basilisk right the first time.” He glanced at Kaldar with a toothy grin.

”So how ‘bout it, smooth-skin, think ya can outdrink us?” He quipped with a light jab to the man’s cuirass, durasteel meeting beskar with a light clang from his fist. ”I’ll make it sweeter, whoever beats me gets a free gun.” He added with a glance at the other two. The stakes were set, the bet was on.

Kaldar Beroya · Jun 20, 2026

B E R S E R K E R
SPACE | THE HAMMER-HAND’S HALL
TAG:

Yuri Maji |

Vara Maji |

Sahan Dragr

Before he knew it, Kaldar had been roped into a drinking contest with two of the dog-people.

He recovered quickly however, for once going with the flow rather than fighting ferociously against it. Kaldar's grumpiness quickly melted away as excitement took its place. He was always eager to prove his strength, and if the proving in question involved ale, it was all the better.

“I’m Kaldar Beroya.” introduced the man himself. “And I’m about to show you lot how a true Mando drinks."

It was all too easy to lose himself in a room full of friendly faces, and sensing that the stakes of their little contest were rising, Kaldar added his own investment to the table.

“Whoever beats me gets my sword for a month.” added Kaldar. Yustapi’da, his prized beskar broadsword, lay within its sheath at his waist, ready to be offered in the slim chance that someone beat him in a drinking contest.

“That doesn’t seem likely though.” confidently remarked Kaldar before turning to give Yuri a quick slap on the back. “Thanks for the gun, man!”

Without another word, he took off his helmet, placing it on the counter beside his tankard of ale. Aside from a few rapidly fading bruises picked up during a sparring match two days prior, his face was utterly unblemished and full of excitement as his gaze eagerly swept across the table and his new rivals. His green eyes locked firmly onto the tankard of ale, and then Kaldar made his move.

As in, he immediately began absolutely downing the tankard.

Carduul Akahl · Jun 21, 2026

Romul Saxon

There was hardly a waver from the subject in question’s response. Was he looking for a specific answer, in listening to the words of the once-pirate? Perhaps fishing a response from a trick question? Not precisely. Rather, it was moreso a matter of demeanor. Of the look in one’s eye when they asserted their own answer, one thought to be their truth. All to see if they truly did hold the capability to believe themselves more. So, Carduul listened close, inquisitive eyes studying Kjartan all the while from behind the unorthodox Y-visor.

There was a lightest lilt of his head midway- perhaps a wordless askance for clarification- that had only remained so as the other went on to speak of their absence from previous calls of Mand’alors. T’was not as if Carduul, himself, could speak much upon such—for he, too, had scorned the calls of several for the sake of preservation. All in hopes that he would one day live as he did now. To have even a fraction of the glory and honor those before him held, and to do right by his people. There had been a ‘hmh’ towards the end, in a softened hum.

“Do not mistake mine intentions in asking such things, Kjartan.” Was his even-handed response towards the final words. “I ask not only for my benefit, but for yours, as well.” There had been a thoughtful rap of fingers against the table’s edge. “To live, and to learn through all the turmoil and strife, yet to persevere in spite of such- that is part of what it means to be Mandalorian...and it is that understanding I seek to glean from you.” Slow words to mull over the response in whole. There were so many small comments he could harp upon, reflect upon- but that was all neither here nor there.

Truthfully, Carduul did not doubt the capabilities of the one a’fore him, seeing as the others had decided so. His performance on Humbarine, he knew, was evidence enough of promise. Verily- this was a question Kjartan was answering for himself, more than anyone. There had been a momentary silence as he picked through the response, before words emitted from behind the helm as thus: “...A leader must hold faith in oneself, however meagre or great, if they are to take such a position. Though actions indeed speak louder, I find earnest words important nonetheless...thus, I am content with this answer.” A curt acceptance, as there had been a slight lean aback in the seat. “Such was your truth spoken just then. To know oneself as a perpetual student of the lessons they encounter…is a wise choice.” Words had briefly hung in the air, before the Crusader nodded to himself in satisfaction.

Besides, it seemed a little strange to make such a grand offer without at least reiterating its importance. A mere formality, that much was the truth- but Carduul was nothing if not old-fashioned. “With that, I have faith in the decision made here today.” Was his punctuated end to his brief line of questioning. “I am eager to move onto discussing the other pressing matters at hand, if that is to conclude this judgement.”

Romul Saxon · Jun 21, 2026

W A R M A S T E R
Mythos Fleet, Deep Space

[] Mythos Fleet Respite []

Tag: