Campaign Feast of the Fallen || The Iron Covenant

[Siv Dragr]

G U N S L I N G E R​

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

"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. Sahan got you out. Afterward, he stayed while the medics kept you under. He will not say how afraid he was. I may not either. But you are awake. Sahan is here. The extraction held. So this is a reason to drink."

"We're more than just angles and numbers. You risked your skin for mine, and it will not be easily forgotten. K'oyacyi, vod."

Siv was somewhat surprised by the emotion displayed by Jericho, which was relatively high for an android. He looked over to where he'd seen Sahan's characteristic leather jacket away in the throng of the hall as Jericho spoke of his adopted son, then back at the android. He let the vod who had clasped Jericho's pauldron for a moment say his piece, downing the tankard and grabbing another as Jericho resumed speaking.

"Elek," Siv agreed as he downed the tankard. Anything was a reason to drink these days, he mused. He set the tankard down with a large clack of metal on metal. "Thanks for the info," he said after a moment of processing what Jericho had told him. "I woke up mid-battle in a pile of rubble. Not sure how I got there. And I don't remember getting out either. It's all a blur." His mind drifted to the battle. The darkness, the rain, the lightning overhead. The two Sith. He still remembered the fierce amber eyes of the Echani he'd tried to kill. His jaw clenched, he absentmindedly traced a finger over his breastplate. He was mulling something over in his head that had been on his mind for quite some time now. Siv then turned back to Jericho. The dark interior lighting of the Buureenaar'gam's hall cast dark shadows on Siv's gaunt features. "We got two problems. This armor needs to be repaired," he stuck a finger in his breast plate for emphasis, "and Clan Dragr needs some new foundlings."

 

[Jericho Dragr]

Siv Dragr Brent Warnel Gel Karn​

Jericho did not move when Brent Warnel's hand came down on his shoulder. The contact was brief, heavy, and unexpected, but not hostile. His systems registered the weight, the angle, and the slight imbalance of a man further into his drink than his posture admitted. The word that followed mattered more than the contact. Vod.

Jericho held the tankard a little tighter, but only for a moment. "K'oyacyi, Warnel." It was not quite an answer to the debt. Not a full acceptance of it either. But it was closer than angles and numbers, and for now that seemed sufficient.

Then Siv spoke, and Jericho's attention returned to him completely. The older Dragr looked toward the hall as if searching for the gold armor Sahan was not wearing, then back again with the worn expression of a man assembling missing hours from smoke, pain, and other people's reports. Jericho listened without interruption. He could provide the missing sequence if Siv wanted it: sensor fragments, timing, route reconstruction. Not all of it would be clean, and none of it would truly be memory, but it would be accurate.

"I can provide the extraction sequence if you want it." His voice remained even. "Fragments only. Enough to know what happened. Not enough to make you remember it."

Siv named the armor next, hand tracing the damaged breastplate. Jericho looked at the ruined systems and the dead weight of plates that had once been more than plates. The answer came without delay. Armor was a problem with a very obvious first step. "Sahan is our Forgemaster." It was not reassurance, exactly. It was logistics. Clan logistics, which made it something close to reassurance whether Jericho meant it that way or not. "If it can be repaired, he can repair it. If it needs to be rebuilt, he will say so. Loudly."

The second problem lingered longer. Clan Dragr needed foundlings. Once, Jericho would have processed that as numbers: losses sustained, strength reduced, recruitment required, adoption pathways necessary for continuity. Those conclusions were still true. They were just not complete anymore. Humbarine would have left people behind even among the living. Children without clans. Survivors cut loose from whatever names had held them before the fighting. Wounded who had chosen the Covenant by running toward its ships because no one else had come back for them.

The thought settled into place with the quiet precision of a new objective marker.

"I will watch for candidates." A pause followed. "Not recruits. Foundlings."

That distinction mattered. Jericho was not entirely sure when it had started to matter, but it did. He took another measured drink of the ne'tra gal. It still burned. His body still marked it for removal. He still let himself taste it.

"Two problems," he said at last. "Both have first steps."
​

 

[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!​

Gel listened intently to Brent Warnel as he spun his tale of conquest, destruction and redemption. In a way, it was similar to Gel's own journey, though Brent's personal experience was vastly different to Gel's. Still, Gel could appreciate the centrality of his and Brent's shared experiences, and much like himself, he respected Bren't journey of self discovery, something Gel was still very much in the process of going through. Plus, anyone looking to spill Sith blood was good in his books, and the Iron Covenant possessed no shortage of those looking to do so.

Brent's next question, however, did catch Gel off guard, as he asked him

"How good of a smith would you say you are, Gel?"

A pensive look came over Gel's face as he quietly sat his ale down on the counter. For a few seconds Gel remained completely silent as he contemplated what Brent had asked him, before finally answering with:

"In all honesty? One of the best their is, and I do not say that lightly. It is truly a blessing and a curse, you see. I have been blessed with immense talent and the creative drive to do what I do, yet so many of my creations have been used in the hands of my enemies. Sometimes I wish I had never developed a talent for it, you know? How much better would the galaxy have been had my creations never seen any use? Yet without the skills that I have, I surely would not be here today, and I would not have had the opportunity to atone for my creations like I do now."

Gel took a quick sip of his ale as he continued his thought.

"Still, my skills are second to none, I can assure you. They were beaten and battered into me from a young age, and I have spent nearly all my life honing my craft in the services of others. Why do you ask, Master Brent? Are you looking to commission a piece for yourself?", Gel asked with interest. Before Brent could reply, however, Gel couldn't help but overhear Siv Dragr 's conversation with Jericho Dragr .

"We got two problems. This armor needs to be repaired, and Clan Dragr needs some new foundlings."

The moment Siv had mentioned the word armor, Gel's head immediately strained toward the man, a completely involuntary motion. Gel couldn't help himself, as his life as a forge smith had seen him create and repair countless sets of armor throughout the years. For someone like Siv, who had saved Gel's life, repairing his armor was perhaps one of the highest honors that Gel could be afforded. Jericho's response, unfortunately, quickly shut down that idea.

"Sahan is our Forgemaster. If it can be repaired, he can repair it. If it needs to be rebuilt, he will say so. Loudly."

Gel quickly downed the last of his ale before turning back to Brent.

"Forgive me, Master Brent, but I'm afraid I must take my leave. Come find me if you'd like something made, I'd be honored to do it. Stay safe, friend."

With that, Gel stood up and walked over to where Siv Dragr and Jericho Dragr .

"Forgive me, my lord", Gel began as he addressed Siv, "but I couldn't help but overhear your conversation. While I would never dare take another man's work, perhaps you will at least allow me to inspect the damage to your armor so that I might compile a report for Forgemaster Sahan. Plus, I have something of importance to give to you in the Buurenaar'gam's forge", Gel said as respectfully as he could.

​

 

[Siv Dragr]

G U N S L I N G E R​

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

"Sahan is our Forgemaster. If it can be repaired, he can repair it. If it needs to be rebuilt, he will say so. Loudly."

"I will watch for candidates." A pause followed. "Not recruits. Foundlings."

"Two problems," he said at last. "Both have first steps."

Siv nodded thoughtfully, his brow furrowed as the two problems he had finally vocalized began to consume his thoughts, pushing out Humbarine. The mental ability to push away the pain and focus on a task at hand was one well-cultivated throughout Siv's bounty hunting career; originally a product of his trauma losing his people and home at such an early age. "Yeah, well, easier said than done," he muttered.

"Forgive me, my lord, but I couldn't help but overhear your conversation. While I would never dare take another man's work, perhaps you will at least allow me to inspect the damage to your armor so that I might compile a report for Forgemaster Sahan. Plus, I have something of importance to give to you in the Buurenaar'gam's forge", Gel said as respectfully as he could.

Siv raised his head to look at who addressed him. It was the smith from Seswenna, now standing over him on the opposite side from Sahan. He looked the Mandalorian up and down. He hadn't spoken with the vod he'd rescued since the mission on Seswenna. Then a light dawned on him. Not so hard after all. He nudged Jericho imperceptibly, then nodded at the smith. "I don't have anything better to do. Your name, vod?"

 

[Vara Maji]

THE FOUNDLING
The Mythos Fleet | Aboard the Buurenaar'gam | Feast Hall
TAG: Yuri Maji | Siv Dragr | Sahan Dragr | Brent Warnel | Gel Karn | Kaldar Beroya | Signy Bralor | Open

Aoana​

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

Black ale streamed into her tankard with a slosh. A layer of foam threatened to spill out as the Foundling topped off. The tap shut with a squeak after a beat. “Name’s Vara.” The Foundling straightened. The tankard brought to her lips, she knocked her head back. The sticky ale trailed down her throat in thirsty swigs.

Crimsons dimmed as the ale sparked a celebration of its own upon her tongue. The pint emptied in a beat beneath a thirst fit for a woman stranded in the desert for far too long.

Finally, she pulled the tankard from her maw. The dark brown foam mustached over her lips.

"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."

"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."

The Dragr’s words earned little more than a scoff. Her snout flared as a puff of breath left her. The corners of her lips curled to a wider grin as she flicked her tongue out, lapping her lips clean while she leaned for the keg to get herself another fill.

It seemed the intended recipient of her challenge had escaped them all.

There was only one Big Man aboard this ship. The Master of the Buurenar’gam. The Pirate Lord. Kjartan Hammer-Hand . But before she could define whom exactly she had issued the challenge to, the conversation simply moved on.

But no matter. There was fun to be had here.

”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.”

Vara’s grin widened to a full blown smile as the boys kept raising the stakes. She shook her head, a chuckle rolling from her throat. This definitely was going to be worth their while.

“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!”

The Wardog blinked.

A gun was on the table, and now a whole sword!

Though the Beroya’s attachment was obvious. He had only the heart to lend it, only for a month. Words pressed behind her fangs in response. She clicked her tongue, her head cocked to the side. It wasn’t the time. Her snout flared, another pulse of breath left her. ” … But can y’walk the walk?” Vara asked instead, the chuckle coming easily as Kaldar downed a whole tankard as if to prove his point.

So cocksure, she thought. A part of her hoped he had what it took to deliver. Overconfidence had buried many. Vara couldn’t help but wonder if such a fate awaited the Beroya too.

There was only one way to ever find out!

Her lips pursed. She whistled out a brief chirp to get their attention. ”If y’all are done measurin’ dicks…” The Foundling nodded at a vacant table in the feasthall before she cut toward it. Her strides brisk and purposeful, Vara dropped onto a bench before anyone else could. Her hand shot to her maw. Two digits jammed between her lips, she let out a long, sharp whistle to get the attention of a nearby service droid. She beckoned it over. ”Black ale! Loads of ‘em!” she decried, watching it hastily waddle away in the imitation of a human’s gait to fulfill her request.

Her head turned, glancing at the boys from over her shoulder. ”C’mon! Let’s get this show on the road!” Now the only soul they were missing was the Pirate Lord.

Then it was going to be a real party.

​

 

[Jericho Dragr]

Siv Dragr Brent Warnel Gel Karn​

The nudge was almost nothing, a faint shift of metal and weight against Jericho's side, small enough to disappear beneath the noise of the feast if he had been anything other than what he was. He looked from Siv to Gel Karn, then back again, and understood the shape of it well enough. One of the two problems had acquired a first step faster than expected. That was efficient.

Jericho did not answer Gel's name for him. Siv had asked the smith directly, and the answer belonged to the man standing before them with the careful posture of someone trying not to overstep. Jericho only adjusted the tankard in his hands and regarded Gel with the same quiet stillness he gave most things before deciding where they fit. The Forgemaster had moved quickly at the mention of armor. Not greedily. Not carelessly. It had been involuntary, the kind of reaction made by someone whose hands understood a problem before the rest of him could pretend otherwise. "A report would be useful."

The words were simple, but not dismissive. Jericho glanced toward Siv's damaged breastplate, then toward the distant press of the hall where Sahan's leather jacket and sunglasses had vanished somewhere among noise, grief, and trouble. "Sahan will want the first look. He will also want clean data before he starts arguing with the damage." The phrase registered as illogical a moment after Jericho said it. Damage could not argue back. It had no reasoning, no language, no position to defend, and no capacity to be persuaded. Then Jericho considered Sahan and decided the description was also correct. "He will argue with the damage."

Jericho took another measured drink of the ne'tra gal, letting the burn register before his body filed it away for removal. He was beginning to understand that the taste was not the point. His attention returned to Siv, and the faintest shift in his expression suggested that the nudge had not gone unanswered. "First step."

Then he looked back to Gel. "If he permits the inspection, I can forward the report to Sahan. I can attach the battlefield damage sequence as well. It may help separate what broke on Humbarine from what was already stressed before it." The matter of the forge, and whatever Gel considered important enough to give Siv there, did not belong to Jericho. Not yet. He logged it anyway, because logging things was easier than pretending not to notice them. The second problem remained active as well. Foundlings. Candidates. Not recruits. That would take longer than an armor inspection, but the objective marker had not left his mind. For now, one problem had hands on it. That was enough to start.
​

Siv Dragr Gel Karn​

 

[Sahan Dragr]

Spoiler: Equipment

Kestrisaur Hide Utility Belt and Duster
Rulariyi Mandalorian Sunglasses

Sahan followed Vara to the table with the easy confidence of someone who had already decided this was either going to be entertaining or expensive, and either outcome was acceptable. The service droid arrived with the first wave of black ale, setting tankards down with the solemn urgency of a unit delivering munitions to the front line. Foam crept over the rims. The smell came thick and dark beneath the sharper ghosts of coolant still clinging to Yuri and Vara, and the Rulariyi lenses quietly tagged the drinks in the edge of his vision without needing to be asked. Alcohol content. Heat profile. Trace minerals. Nothing worth warning him about. Sahan had changed those parameters a long time ago; if his HUD complained every time a Mandalorian drink tried to pick a fight with his liver, he would have turned the feature off entirely.

Kaldar had put a sword on the line. Yuri had put up a free gun. Vara looked like she was fully prepared to fight both of them with nothing but spite, thirst, and a grin full of teeth. Sahan settled into the seat with his duster falling around him, one shoulder still aching under the leather and the other doing a much better job pretending nothing was wrong. He picked up a tankard, looked from Kaldar to Vara to Yuri, and let the corner of his mouth pull into something sharper than a smile. "So let me make sure I have this right. Beroya is lending out a sword. Yuri is giving away a gun. Vara is trying to win dinner and chores. And somehow, I am still expected to trust the ale."

He drank anyway. The black ale was heavy, smoky, bitter, and warm in a way that made weaker drinks seem like they had only been pretending. It had weight to it, at least. Sahan appreciated that. He swallowed without flinching, lowered the tankard, and gave it the faintly approving look of a man judging whether a weapon had enough recoil to be worth liking. It was not strong enough to trouble him, not really, but it was good enough to keep drinking. "Not bad."

A few rounds later, once the table had begun to gather its rhythm and the challenge had stopped being a question and started becoming a problem, Sahan leaned back just enough to look comfortable. The sunglasses hid most of his eyes, but not the glint of bad inspiration beginning behind them. He tapped two fingers against the side of his tankard, then glanced toward Yuri as if the thought had only just occurred to him instead of having been waiting for the first irresponsible opening. "We could make this more interesting."

That was almost never a safe sentence from Sahan Dragr. He looked between Vara and Kaldar next, measuring neither of them with fear and both of them with open amusement. "Drinking tells us who can hold ale. Barely. If we're putting weapons on the table, we might as well act like it." His hand drifted toward the Kestrisaur hide utility belt beneath his duster, not drawing anything, only letting the implication breathe for half a second. "Old barrel-luck game. Blanks, one live charge. Winner gets bragging rights. Loser gets a very educational scar."

He paused, then added with the casual cruelty of a man offering a perfectly reasonable improvement to a terrible idea, "Could make it incendiary if we're feeling festive."

The way he said it made it difficult to tell whether he was joking. That was normal. Sahan often considered the best jokes to be the ones everyone else had to survive first. He took another drink, still watching Yuri over the rim of the tankard, because if anyone at the table was going to ruin a beautiful disaster by making it technically survivable, it would be him. "Unless the Hound wants to suddenly discover responsibility."

The grin returned, bright and dangerous beneath the gold tint of the lenses. "It would be new for him. We should be supportive."
​

Yuri Maji Vara Maji Kaldar Beroya​

 

[Yuri Maji]

SPACE | HAMMER-HAND’S HALL
TAGS: Vara Maji | Sahan Dragr | Kaldar Beroya | Signy Bralor | Kalli Lorna-Warnel
GEAR: In bio

U GURL​

The cards were on the table and the group was primed for mischief. Yuri glanced at each one, tongue licking his chops in anticipation for the nightmare to come. Egos were going to be bruised and heads were going to ache, all the hallmarks of a fantastic idea.

”If y’all are done measurin’ dicks…”

”We know better than to challenge you, Cyan'ika.” The Hound fired right back, watching her leave.

Vara peeled off to organize a table for the group’s big bet, quickly followed by Sahan and a whole tray of drinks. Yuri knocked his drink back and turned to look at the tall Beroya. ”Let’s move, big guy! That gun ain’t gonna win itself.” He teased with a slap on the man’s pauldron and walked off to join the group.

The whole group began to make a dent in the tray of drinks, Yuri included, though Sahan proposed a daring twist to make the bet more definitive.

A gun game.

Yuri nodded with a grin, knowing where this was about to go. ”Well… just so happens I got the perfect tool for this.” He remarked, drawing his backup blaster from a holster behind his jetpack. Golden eyes darted to the rest, making sure they were all onboard with the plan.

"Unless the Hound wants to suddenly discover responsibility."

The grin returned, bright and dangerous beneath the gold tint of the lenses. "It would be new for him. We should be supportive."

”Die silent, chakaar.” Yuri fired back at the tease with a chuckle. The pistol was snapped open and the cells extracted. Yuri slid one back into the cylinder, snapped it shut and spun the cylinder to even the odds. ”Pistol’s set to stun at max power. Won’t kill us but I ain’t in the mood for a headache.” He set the pistol down in the center of the table and sat back, eyes darting between the group.

”So… who’s feelin’ brave?” He continued, grabbing another tankard of ale.

 

[Gel Karn]

GEL KARN
BUURENAAR'GAM
TAG: Sahan Dragr , 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!​

"I don't have anything better to do. Your name, vod?"

That wasn't quite the response that Gel had hoped for, and for a moment, his spirts were crushed by Siv Dragr 's lack of remembrance of him. But then again, Siv had clearly gone through a rather traumatic experience back on Humbarine, and clearly was not himself. Gel had to remind himself to give Siv grace and understanding. After all, they were all brothers and sisters in arms, and rather than passing judgement, Gel should do his best to support his fellow comrades, no matter how gruff their initial demeanor might appear. Gel dropped down to one knee as he once again proclaimed himself to Siv and Jericho.

"My name is Gel Karn , my lord. You may not remember it, but you and your men saved my life back on Seswenna not to long ago."

Gel stood back up as he turned to face Jericho, who was seriously considering Gel's offer.

"A report would be useful."

Gel's eyes lit up at the words of Jericho Dragr . At the very least, it seemed they were receptive to Gel's suggestion. After all, the last thing Gel would want to be was rude, and he was glad neither man took offense at his request.

"Sahan will want the first look. He will also want clean data before he starts arguing with the damage. He will argue with the damage. If he permits the inspection, I can forward the report to Sahan. I can attach the battlefield damage sequence as well. It may help separate what broke on Humbarine from what was already stressed before it."

Gel bowed deeply to Jericho in a show of appreciation.

"Thank you, my lords, for listening to my somewhat selfish request. I shall excuse myself to the forge as I await Master Sahan's decision. Regardless", Gel continued as he turned his gaze back to Siv, "I do hope you will meet with me, your humble servant, regardless. Thank you for your time gentlemen, and should I not see you again, I bid you farewell for now."

With one more polite nod, Gel excused himself as he headed straight to the ship's forge, where he would be ready to officially present the Sword of Aay'han to Siv Dragr . Hopefully, he would choose to accept the gift, though a man of his station was under no obligation to do so. Only time would tell if Siv found Gel's craftsmanship up to stuff...

​

 

[Kjartan Hammer-Hand]

---

---

​

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

​

KJARTAN HAMMER-HAND​

THEME​

​

Kjartan sat back in his seat as Carduul and Romul spoke their peace, with the reality of the situation settling upon him.

Tra'verde - Voidbrand in the tongue of his people. For a considerable number of years, Kjartan had expended much effort in avoiding the fleets of galactic powers, preying upon their trade routes and lightly defended outposts. He had pillaged and plundered, enough so to gain a measure of wealth and influence, yet not so much as to meet his end hung by the neck.

He was a different man now, with honor and admiration from among his men both new and old. They still called him ‘The Pirate Lord’, still heralded his moniker of ‘The Hammer-Hand’ as a rallying cry. Yet he felt a renewed sense of purpose growing within him, the embers of which planted when he returned to Kestri. Now, it emblazoned within him like a hearthfire beset by stone, shielding from the howling winds that would otherwise blow it down.

The servos within his knuckles whined softly as his fingers flexed, his brow furrowed in pensive thought. The sound of Romul’s voice carried the background tune of his thoughts, until he eventually snapped back to attention.

"We may have been premature in our assessment of the Galactic Empire," Romul began, nodding towards Carduul. "A cross-reference linked the fleet over Humbarine with a similar fleet that attacked Coruscant itself. Yuri Maji Yuri Maji of Clan Krayt, present for the battle, provided useful intelligence on their operations." The holotables projection shifted to a map of the Galactic Core, planets under Imperial control outlined in white. The white outline transitioned from Imperial grey to Sith red. "The Empire may very well be a puppet regime of this group of Sith." He harumphed. "We have embarked on a crusade to burn the Sith from the galaxy, but in every corner we uncover, we find them hiding. Root them out from the Core and work our way outwards until they have nothing left but their Blackwall; then we will break it asunder and plunder them from within."

Silence prevailed within the chamber at the weight of Saxon’s words. The implications were grave indeed, a weight that felt all the more pronounced as Kjartan’s new mantle was set upon him. He rested his elbows on the table and clasped his hands in the air in front of him, his chin set upon his thumbs. “Now that you say that... It almost feels obvious, as though this realization were under our nose this whole time.”

He paused as his mind began to remember, and his thoughts gathered. “Years ago, there were reports from Alliance space, Tapani, Pelagon, Obulette - thousands being killed and millions fleeing the sector as refugees. Reports were scattered, and I wasn’t paying keen attention to it aside from passive awareness, so as to take advantage of the chaos. But rumours varied, from civil war, to raiders from unknown space.... and even a Sith takeover.”

His eyes met the gaze of the others before continuing. “Perhaps there is a link. We need more intel before we can fight them effectively if what you’ve said is true Saxon. We can only have so many Humbarines.”

​

 

[Kaldar Beroya]

B E R S E R K E R
SPACE | THE HAMMER-HAND’S HALL
TAG: Yuri Maji | Vara Maji | Sahan Dragr

On his second tankard, Kaldar paused.
​

Not because he was hammered - he was hardly buzzed. No, Kaldar paused to take stock of his competition and the new stakes they kept adding to the table. The dog-woman - Vara - had thrown a few remarks his way earlier but now seemed fully invested in the black ale in front of her, having relocated to a bench to better indulge in the alcohol. As he went to join Vara at the table, a second set of footsteps gained on him, the smell of alcohol becoming stronger than it already was.

”Let’s move, big guy! That gun ain’t gonna win itself.” He teased with a slap on the man’s pauldron and walked off to join the group.

“Damn right it won’t.” remarked Kaldar towards Yuri as he passed by.

A few moments later, Kaldar had caught up with the other two and was seated at the same table. He was about to resume his second tankard when Yuri spoke up once more.

Yuri slid one back into the cylinder, snapped it shut and spun the cylinder to even the odds. ”Pistol’s set to stun at max power. Won’t kill us but I ain’t in the mood for a headache.” He set the pistol down in the center of the table and sat back, eyes darting between the group.

Kaldar enjoyed a good game of roulette, and today was no exception. In his opinion it was a great way to weed out the true warriors from those simply pretending. Yuri and Vara certainly seemed bold, but it would be this game that would give Kaldar a true grasp of their character. Did they have a solid backbone, or were they all bark and no bite?

Kaldar was eager to find out.

”So… who’s feelin’ brave?” He continued, grabbing another tankard of ale.

“Me.” blurted out Kaldar. Even though he thought he had wanted Yuri or Vara to go first and see how they reacted to the roulette, the part of Kaldar that had earned the moniker of Berserker was itching to get into the fight as quickly as possible. Quickly thinking better of taking back his words, Kaldar just let the logical side of his mind shut off.

To tap it all off, Kaldar took another swig from his flask before focusing his attention on the gun.

 

[Siv Dragr]

G U N S L I N G E R​

Tag: Gel Karn | Jericho Dragr | Sahan Dragr

"Sahan will want the first look. He will also want clean data before he starts arguing with the damage." The phrase registered as illogical a moment after Jericho said it. Damage could not argue back. It had no reasoning, no language, no position to defend, and no capacity to be persuaded. Then Jericho considered Sahan and decided the description was also correct. "He will argue with the damage."

"First step."

Then he looked back to Gel. "If he permits the inspection, I can forward the report to Sahan. I can attach the battlefield damage sequence as well. It may help separate what broke on Humbarine from what was already stressed before it."

"Thank you, my lords, for listening to my somewhat selfish request. I shall excuse myself to the forge as I await Master Sahan's decision. Regardless", Gel continued as he turned his gaze back to Siv, "I do hope you will meet with me, your humble servant, regardless. Thank you for your time gentlemen, and should I not see you again, I bid you farewell for now."

Siv nodded towards the Forgemaster. "Urcye mhi." It was a simple promise, but Siv was a man of his word. The offer that the smith had made was a generous one. Siv was glad that Jericho had picked up on his nudge, and he would have to follow up with the smith before too long. A Mandalorian without his armor was just as good as naked.

He looked down at his cup. Drained again. "I'll probably need to lie down," he said aside to Jericho. Or have another long soak in the bacta tank. Then read up on combat reports. He couldn't afford to be out of commission for so long. And he needed to solve this problem of nearly dying every time he tried to kill a Sith.

 

[Vara Maji]

THE FOUNDLING
The Mythos Fleet | Aboard the Buurenaar'gam | Feast Hall
TAG: Yuri Maji | Siv Dragr | Sahan Dragr | Brent Warnel | Gel Karn | Kaldar Beroya | Signy Bralor | Open

Aoana​

It was time.

Her chuckle accompanied the back-and-forth between The Hound and The Golden Dragon. Meanwhile she greedily reached for a tankard full of the sweet black ale with the thirst of parched earth anticipating rain. The mug found her lips. She cocked her head, knocking back the drink. A wave of foam and ale dribbled from the corners of her maw, but not another drop was wasted. She slammed down the tankard. The metal clattered against the hard, dark wood with a heavy thud. A satisfied breath poured from her lips in the same beat.

It was then her eyes found the blaster.

”Pistol’s set to stun at max power. Won’t kill us but I ain’t in the mood for a headache.” He set the pistol down in the center of the table and sat back, eyes darting between the group.

A six-gun. An energy weapon that resembled a slugthrower. A soft sound left her. ”Didn’think y'was that nostalgic, babe.” Vara smiled, already reaching for another tankard. Then came his question they’ve all been waiting for.

”So… who’s feelin’ brave?” He continued, grabbing another tankard of ale.

The Foundling paused. She swayed the tankard in her grasp, drawing small circles. The ale gently swirled and sloshed around inside the mug. Before she could reach and grab it, Beroya beat her to the punch. Crimsons settled on his eyes, watching him take a swig of his ale in the wake of his declaration. His attention settled on the gun in the next beat.

But for a heartbeat the challenge hung in the air.

The Shistavanen’s lips peeled back. A lopsided, toothy grin adorned her mug. That of a scoundrel. Her hand flashed across the table. Digits curled around the grip in one beat. ”Ladies first,” she growled. ”Didn’t'cha momma teach y’any manners, boy?” Vara scoffed, but a wink and her smile assured him no offense.

Her eyes shifted from the Beroya. The gunmetal held her curiosity. The weight of this blaster felt foreign, but the unfamiliarity did not last long. The six-gun danced and twirled in her digits in a tight flourish before she caught the grip firmly. Then she brought the gun up. The barrel firmly pressed against her temple.

Crimsons widened. Her toothy grin followed. Her trigger finger slowly curled over the hair-trigger. The Wardog’s gaze shot from one face to the other at the table, before settling on the Kaldar. Then, her digit snapped back, pulling without hesitation.

Click.

Nothing happened.

A giggle rolled from her throat. Without a word she slammed the pistol down on the middle of the table, and gave it a twirl. The muzzle spun and spun, before finally pointing accusingly toward one among them at the table.

Sahan.

The tankard in her grasp found her lips. ”Your move, sugar.” Her words and the cheerful cackle echoed inside the tankard as she knocked back the ale without pausing for breath. Like a hammerfall the foot of the tankard slammed against the wood, and she was already reaching for another one. Her snout drew closer to her chest in the same breath. A sound emerged deep from her core. A pocket of air traveled up her throat. A sharp, involuntary bellow rumbled in her throat.

”That’s the stuff…” Vara heaved a sigh. The Foundling’s gaze slowly drifted away from the table. Crimsons cut through the crowd engaged in mourning and merriment, pretending to be whole after their loss. She sought one among them, but her eyes were yet to find him amidst their kin.

The Pirate Lord, Kjartan Hammer-Hand .

​

 

[Signy Bralor]

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

​

She and Kalli Lorna-Warnel could chat a little, but Sig's interest had been piquedby the gun play at the table and she guided the other woman to join her father's friends.

She watched Vara Maji pick up the piece, spin the chamber and pull the trigger... nothing. The woman then placed down pistol and spun it on the table where they all watched it until it landed on Sahan Dragr .

She rolled her eyes and reached in, perhaps it was a bit forward of her, perhaps it was rude even, but they were visitors to her home, so fuck'em.

"Is this spin the bottle or something, feels like the Jedi temple up in here." she placed her hand around the handle of the gun and lifted it off the table. With her thumb she spun the chamber and put it to her head.

Click

The teenager's head bounced off the table as the heavy stun shot hit her and she went down like a sack of dirt. The girl ended up slouched on the table face down in someone's chips.

Luck did not favour the bold.

​

 

[Kjartan Hammer-Hand]

---

---

​

MYTHOS FLEET | BUUREENAAR’GAM COUNCIL CHAMBER
OBJECTIVE I: THE HAMMER-HAND’S HALL
TAG: Yuri Maji | Vara Maji | Signy Bralor |​

​

KJARTAN HAMMER-HAND​

THEME​

​

“YOU LOT READY FOR THE ACTUAL DRINKING TO START??”

A familiar voice bellowed throughout the feast hall, as the man of the hour entered. Uproarious cheers echoed through the room, with several hands patting the Hammer-Hand on the shoulder or back as he passed. Then came a sound of... a blaster?

Kjartan made his way through the crowd, who themselves were a mixture of concern and drunken bliss. He shoved his way to the table, where a blaster sat on the table, and his daughter’s head lay on the surface. His eyes widened, and his hand quickly grasped the young woman’s head to inspect it.

There was no obvious blaster mark, and she was still breathing.

The adrenaline in his veins, which had at first led him to fear his daughter was dead, quickly settled when he noticed the blaster, the stun setting, and the usual suspects sitting around the table. He kicked the legs out from under @Vara Maji’s chair, urging it to tip over backwards as he shook his head and took the tankard of ale in front of Yuri.

Before any protest, he downed its contents with several heaving, lusty gulps, and threw it half-pointedly at the devil-dog in over-the-top agitation. “Why am I not surprised that this fecking kath hound is responsible for being a bad influence on my welp?” The crowd that assembled eased as well, letting out a boisterous laugh.

​

 

[Siv Kryze]

.

​

​

Romul Saxon 's invitation had come some time after their meeting, extending an opportunity to witness the Iron Covenant firsthand. Siv had accepted, not out of politics, but curiosity. Reports only painted part of the picture, and after everything the galaxy had become, he preferred seeing things with his own eyes.

The hall was already alive by the time he arrived.

Laughter mixed with old war stories, tankards clashed together, and the scars of Humbarine could still be seen on armor that had yet to be fully repaired. Even from the entrance, it was easy to tell this wasn't a celebration. It was a people trying to remember those they had lost while reminding themselves they were still here.

Siv remained near the edge of the room, helmet tucked beneath his arm, quietly taking it all in.

He recognized a few faces from Romul's stories, but most were strangers. Their armor bore markings unfamiliar to him, their customs different in small ways from those he had grown up with on Mandalore. Different, yet unmistakably Mandalorian.

His eyes drifted across the gathering before settling briefly on those carrying the deepest scars from the recent campaign.

The Iron Covenant and the Mandalorian Empire had walked separate paths for a long time. They carried different banners, answered to different leaders, and viewed the galaxy through different lenses. That much was obvious.

The Empire's dealings beyond its borders had given plenty of reasons for caution, especially to warriors who had just bled against the Sith on Humbarine. Siv didn't fault them for that.

For now, he simply observed, choosing to stay out of the conversations and allow the evening to unfold naturally.

 

[Celt Saxon]

Location: The Feast Hall
Objective: Objective 1
Tag: Siv Kryze
Equipment: In bio

Celt walked around the hall in her armour but with her helmet strapped to her side and her long red hair on display. She was the Saxon rallymaster so it was her one of her duties to make sure morale amongst her vod was good. There was a few cracks, there always was, particularly amongst the younger clan members who might have never faced such a battle before, but all in all, the clan felt strong.

She grabbed a Tihaar and smashed it against that of another vod and took a drink before walking further on her rounds.

She spotted someone. Celt didnt recognise the man by sight, but she couldnt know everyone. What she could deduce was thatnhe had the body language of an outsider, not really involving himself in the festivities. But he had the markings of Kryze so he was clearly mandalorian. She walked across to his corner spot. "Well met, son of Kryze. You know this is part wake dont you? We need to get you a drink, or the fallen might feel disrespected." she laughed and she waved her hand at a passing vod carrying a few extra to bring one for the stranger.

"Celt Saxon" she said, offering him a welcoming handshake

 

[Veyla Krinn]

Objective: 1

Celt Saxon Siv Kryze

The invitation had found its way to House Kryze not long after Humbarine. Veyla had accepted for much the same reason as Siv. War had a way of revealing people for who they truly were, and if the Iron Covenant had bled beside Mandalorians against a common enemy, then they deserved more than secondhand impressions and battlefield reports.

She entered the great hall beside Siv, her helmet clipped to her belt, while the familiar matte-black beskar of her armor caught the warm glow of the hall's fires. Around them echoed laughter, songs, and stories of those who would never again raise a tankard among their vode. It was a strange balance of grief and celebration, but one Veyla understood all too well. Mourning the dead did not diminish their sacrifice. Remembering how they had lived honored it.

Her emerald eyes wandered across the gathering while Siv remained near the entrance. Warriors bore fresh scars upon both armor and flesh. Others laughed louder than they otherwise might have, determined that sorrow would not have the final word. Veyla recognized neither faces nor clan markings, but she recognized the feeling. Every Mandalorian, regardless of banner or allegiance, understood what it meant to leave brothers and sisters behind on a battlefield.

When the red-haired woman approached Siv with a ready smile and an offered hand, Veyla remained respectfully to one side, allowing the introduction to unfold. A faint smile tugged at her own lips as the offered drink was mentioned.

"I'd say refusing would be the greater insult," she observed with quiet amusement before turning her attention toward the hall once more. Somewhere nearby, another chorus of voices rose into song, accompanied by the unmistakable crash of tankards meeting in salute. She lifted her own gaze toward the gathered warriors, silently offering the same respect to those whose seats would remain empty that evening.

 

[Siv Kryze]

.

​

​

Siv had barely settled near the edge of the hall before his hopes of remaining unnoticed disappeared.

The woman approached with an easy confidence that only seemed natural here. Her armor bore the markings of Clan Saxon, and despite the weight of recent losses, there was an energy about her that seemed determined not to let the hall grow quiet for too long.

When she greeted him and extended a hand, Siv accepted it with a firm shake.

"Siv Kryze, Warden of Concordia" he replied simply.

His eyes followed the passing vod as Celt Saxon flagged them down for another drink, and for a brief moment he considered politely refusing. He wasn't much of a drinker to begin with, and arriving only to immediately start emptying tankards wasn't exactly how he'd imagined the evening.

Then again...

This wasn't really about the drink.

It was about those who weren't there to have one.

A small, almost resigned smile crossed his face as the tankard was placed into his hand.

"I suppose it'd be poor manners to turn it down."

He lifted it slightly in acknowledgment, more a salute than a celebration, before taking a modest sip.

Only then did he glance back toward Celt.

"I appreciate the welcome."

Beside him, Veyla Krinn accepted her own drink with an easier smile than Siv managed, already seeming more comfortable among the gathering than he was. She offered Celt a courteous nod before letting her attention wander back toward the hall and its countless conversations.

Siv's gaze followed hers for a moment, taking in the warriors trading stories, the battered armor, the laughter that carried despite the grief beneath it. It reminded him of gatherings back on Mandalore after hard campaigns—different banners, different traditions, but familiar all the same.

He looked back to Celt.

"I was hoping to keep to the sidelines for a bit." A hint of dry humor crept into his voice. "Doesn't seem like that's going to happen."

There wasn't any complaint in it.

Only the quiet acceptance that, for at least tonight, being left alone wasn't part of the Iron Covenant's idea of hospitality.