Campaign Feast of the Fallen || The Iron Covenant

[Signy Bralor]

SIGNY BRALOR
FATHER'S HALL | OBJECTIVE 1
TAG: Kaldar Beroya Yuri Maji Siv Dragr Gel Karn Brent Warnel Vara Rasha Kalli Lorna-Warnel
GEAR: Huginn and Muninn, Beskar'gam, jetpack, spear, energy buckler

​

Kalli, a slightly older girl but still a foundling arrived in a ball of energy and greeted the pair of them, almost barreling her over in the process. "Good to see you Kalli, and thanks... it think."[/b] when her father had told her she looked like shit, she sensed pride that she could take her hits and get back up again, a Mandorian who never got the odd contusion or broken bones was a coward.

“Listen here, you little runts.”

Her eyes widened, incredulous at the way she had just been spoken to. "Excuse me?" she asked, taking a step towards the man, who admittedly had a good 8 inches of height on her even without the armour. "Watch who you are calling a runt, Beroya, or I will make you eat those words." her eye contact was strong, she was her father's daughter in every way. "Is that anyway to speak to a fellow Mandalorian warrior?" she raised an eyebrow. There was a slight smirk on her face. She was offended by his remark, but she bore him no ill intent, a single comment did not make him her enemy. Honor simply required that she stand up for herself, maybe there would be a fight, but that didnt stop it being a party. In fact, that might make it even more of a party.

There was a couple of other mandalorians now giving the trio a little attention


​

 

[Yuri Maji]

SPACE | HAMMER-HAND’S HALL
TAGS: Vara Rasha | Sahan Dragr | 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]

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MYTHOS FLEET | BUUREENAAR’GAM COUNCIL CHAMBER
OBJECTIVE II: THE REKAV’DRAL MOOT
TAG: Vren Rook | Carduul Akahl | Romul Saxon​

​

KJARTAN HAMMER-HAND​

THEME​

​

"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."

“...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.”

“...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.

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]

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

[] Mythos Fleet Respite []​

Tag: Kjartan Hammer-Hand | Vren Rook | 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]

B E R S E R K E R
SPACE | THE HAMMER-HAND’S HALL
TAG: Signy Bralor | Kalli Lorna-Warnel | Yuri Maji | Open
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"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.

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. 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]

G U N S L I N G E R​

Tag: Gel Karn | Sahan Dragr | Jericho Dragr | Brent Warnel | OPEN

"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."

"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]

Kjartan Hammer-Hand | Vren Rook | 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]

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]

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]

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MYTHOS FLEET | BUUREENAAR’GAM COUNCIL CHAMBER
OBJECTIVE II: THE REKAV’DRAL MOOT
TAG: Vren Rook | Carduul Akahl | Romul Saxon​

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KJARTAN HAMMER-HAND​

THEME​

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“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.”

“...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.

​