It had only been a few days, and yet Kjartan
hated it. He had already slapped himself in the face half a dozen times as he tried to use his
newfound limb to drink from a tankard. His beard smelled of ale, which was not altogether an uncommon scent upon the man. Yet he usually smelled of ale because he was
drinking it - not spilling it on himself like a half-soused Gammorrean. But Kjartan was a stubborn man, and knew despite his hatred of the contraption that it was the best alternative available to him, save for just abiding a stump and living life without his left arm.
Gel Karn
offered his considerable talents in the forge to make the device for the Warlord, and despite Kjartan’s ill-temper, it was well made and quite serviceable. He knew well that the situation couldn’t be helped, and he’d just have to ‘suck it up’ and use it until the limb felt as much a part of his body as his natural arm did. But that meant embracing the embarrassing moments and mistakes until that time came. For now, most of his crew and kin had the grace to allow for his clumsiness... but he knew it’d be short lived. Hell, put a few drinks into
Vara Rasha
or
Yuri Maji
and the pair of dogs would probably try to make him hit himself with it.
But for now, the old pirate would have more magnanimous company around him. He was summoned to join a meeting of the
Rekav’dral - the ruling body of the Iron Covenant. As the
Alor of the
Buureenaar’gam, his presence within the meeting would not be unheard of - yet even still, he was unsure what to expect. Perhaps the body wished for his counsel on how to proceed in the aftermath of Humbarine, or they wished for a direct accounting of why their invasion met such surprising resistance.
Whatever the case, he was en route to answer their summons adorned in his freshly polished armor which bore fresh scars despite its clean appearance. He had come a long way since forsaking his wayward life as a pirate and renewing his dedication to the kin he had left behind. During that time, submitting himself to the authority of others would have been laughable. Yet the situation now was different.
He was no mere mercenary, or penitent pirate looking to erase his past in exchange for his talents. He had already made his peace and paid his debt to society (which ironically was a similar transaction of absolution for aid). He was a part of something that gave both he and his daughter renewed purpose. Kjartan was no longer a raider seeking to pillage whatever wasn’t nailed down, but a protector that his people needed now; probably more so than they ever needed him before.
So it was that he entered the council room - a vast chamber made and used for war councils and meetings of import amongst his officers. But today, it would serve as the council chamber of the leaders of his people. He nodded respectfully to both Romul and Carduul.
“Alore.” He said little else, for that singular word was enough. While Kjartan was a leader among his men and people, the other two men were equally if not more so worthy of the word as well. While the Iron Covenant did not believe in the concept of a singular
Mand’alor, if there was a man who could be regarded as such, it would likely be Romul Saxon. The man was among the original founders of the Enclave that was, and had fought many battles to preserve their people in the aftermath of Mandalore’s destruction.
Then there was Carduul - a man who had actually claimed the title of Mand’alor among a resurgence of the Neo Crusaders. At first, Carduul was but another pretender to the title in Kjartan’s eyes, even before the pirate had grown more observant in the Enclave’s ideology. During his years as a raider, Kjartan held no obligation to answer any such Mand'alor's call - which probably said more about him than any of those who claimed the title.
But in the time that followed, Kjartan had come to view the Neo Crusader differently. The two men were nothing alike to be sure; where Carduul was a warrior of singular vision with a purpose behind it, Kjartan always was an agent of chaos; a rebel without a cause. Although he was largely tamed, Kjartan remained an unpredictable and peculiar Mandalorian by all accounts; known to be a man who followed his own hyperlanes when everything was said and done. Yet the two men were alike in many ways, something that Kjartan had come to appreciate as of late. They both were charismatic, veritable leaders who inspired those around them. They both were masters in their own right; fearsome warriors who could anchor an offensive where all else would fail.
While Kjartan could not speak for Carduul; for his part, he held a sincere respect for the “Neo Mand’alor”, and honored him thusly. After the Warlord took his place alongside the other two men, the holo display would come to life.
"Gentlemen." came his tinny greeting.
"Nag synched with the rest of the Fleet and we're on our way to link up with you, so hopefully Nag and I will see y'all soon in person." Static rippled through the holo for a moment.
"Anyway, on to more pressing things." Vren then went on, voice sounding like the other end of the tunnel for a moment.
"I received the initial reports Siv Dragr submitted along with yours Romul. Hammer-hand, I understand from some of them that you secured some intel at great cost to you and your men. Partner, that sacrifice will not go unanswered in any capacity, I assure you." He let the words hang.
"And I understand you brought us great honour in stalling a great adversary, Carduul?"
It pained him that he couldn't be there with the rest of them. It had all happened so quickly - he couldn't wrap things up on Kestri fast enough before things went south. Not to mention, the search for
Zavar Kelborn
Zavar Kelborn
continued and had to be given attention to. Someone had to make sure that their vode was found and Vren was the only one with enough freedom in his daily to manage.
He was torn in two once again. Sometimes he wished there were two of him.
Alas.
After another ripple through the projection, he spoke up again as he looked at them all.
"What else have we learned that you didn't have time to share about the unplanned amount of Sith on Humbarine?"
For a prolonged moment, Kjartan remained silent. He did not expect for his contributions to be mentioned with what appeared to be... respectful recognition. As evidenced by his arm, his frustrations were still very fresh over the whole ordeal, and he largely viewed it as a failure in many ways despite the valid successes Vren mentioned. He inclined his head at the accolades, and after pausing a moment for the others, spoke up.
“You honor me and my men Alor. We did only what needed to be done.” A somberness peppered his words, with the faintest hint of guilt in his heart. Yet Kjartan was made of stern enough stuff to carry on with the second half of Vren’s request.
“I’m unsure what Romul or Carduul included in their reports, but for my part - the battle was altogether odd.” He almost reached for his beard with his left arm, by force of habit; yet checked the motion given his desire to not punch himself in the face, and instead used his right arm.
“There were mercenary vessels that appeared at the seeming right time while we assaulted the Imperial blockade, and the Sith I personally fought... seemed far different than what I would have expected from those of the Dark Empire.”
His hand stroked his beard and his lips pursed pensively.
“I’m just an old pirate, but my gut is telling me there’s more that lies beneath. The data we secured from the Spirit Breaker was odd for a garrison commander... It felt more like information someone who planned to flee would possess. Patrol routes, and an Imperial cache of supplies and material. My intuition is telling me we need to look into it further, perhaps even raid the cache. See what can be learned. Worst case, we get more supplies for our campaign.”
He shrugged and placed his mechanical limb on the table - albeit a bit
too forcefully. He closed his eyes and fractionally shook his head in half-embarressment, then opened with an apologetic look to them all.
