Faction Fires Rise(ME)

[Sylor]

(Mandalorian meet and Greet, join as you wish, bring you stories. Meet characters who haven't been introduced. Have fun with it)

Mandalore

Direct: Diawl Hynafol
Tags: Open
​

Fires littered the fields as the warriors of Mandalore gathered in small groups, clans among clans. They did what they had always done, but for tonight, things were simple beneath the night sky. Wood burned and became embers, and what could not be contained within the flames drifted upward into the darkness before vanishing entirely. Yet within each circle, the fires still burned strong.

A hum filled the air. It was not polished. Some voices were coarse, rough, and weathered, but they were true and strong. There were knowing glances among the gathered warriors as it began. A silent recognition passed between them before a few more voices joined the chorus. Smirks lingered among the groups. Beneath their visors, thoughts drifted to their clans, their futures, and the paths still before them. Conversations continued quietly between verses, voices carrying across the fields.

Mandalore was as alive as it had ever been.

Sylor drew a deep breath. His low humming sank even lower, nearly fading into silence. Then his voice, rough and deep yet rich with feeling, gave life to the melody.

"The forge still sings beneath the stone,
Its ancient voice still calls us home.
The names we've lost are never gone,
They stand beside us in the dawn."

And so it continued as Sylor rose to his feet and stepped closer to the fire. The humming carried on around him, though it softened as conversation slowly returned, ale passed around. Stories and introductions were about to happen as bonds were going to be strengthened, and new ones were going to be forged beneath the stars.

For all the clans, and for the Mandalorians who would carry its legacy for generations to come.

 

[Aren D'Shade]

The gathering was larger than Aren had expected.

Not louder. Not more chaotic. Just larger in a way that was difficult to appreciate until she found herself standing at the edge of it beneath the night sky. Fires dotted the fields in every direction, each surrounded by groups of warriors talking, laughing, drinking, and occasionally joining the songs that drifted through the darkness. The voices blended together into something older than any individual singer, a tradition carried forward simply because enough people had decided it was worth carrying. Aren stood for a moment with her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket, watching the flames dance and listening to words she only partially understood.

It wasn't really her world. That realization didn't bother her much.

The clans, the songs, the stories being traded around the fires; all of it belonged to a history she had never shared. She recognized faces here and there, names Omen had mentioned, warriors whose reputations had long since outgrown the people themselves. Yet she felt no particular urge to insert herself into any of it. Instead, her attention drifted toward the smaller details. Children darting between the circles of fire. Older warriors speaking quietly with younger ones. Families gathered together with the easy familiarity that came from years spent belonging to one another. The sight held her attention longer than she expected.

Aren finally moved forward, weaving her way between the fires at an unhurried pace. The cool night air carried the scent of woodsmoke and cooked food, and more than once she caught herself slowing to listen to a story or a song before continuing on. Somewhere along the way, she realized she was no longer studying the gathering as an outsider trying to understand it. She was simply watching people enjoy being together. There was something oddly comforting about that.

Eventually, she found an empty place near one of the fires and settled onto a log without ceremony. Her hands stretched toward the warmth while her gaze drifted across the gathering once more. She still didn't know any of the songs. She still couldn't tell one clan's traditions from another's. But as the voices rose together beneath the stars, Aren found herself thinking less about Mandalorians and more about futures. About homes that lasted. About families that endured. About the quiet sort of permanence, people built one relationship at a time. For once, she was content simply to sit, listen, and let the night unfold around her.

Sergeant Omen Korda Veydran Jett Vox

 

[Jaren Kast]

Wearing:
Lightsabre​

MANDALORE

This wasn't exactly the most romantic gesture - but it was something that meant something to Jaren.

The Iron Wolf hadn't expected anything of his life before. Yet now? He had a home. He had family. He had someone to share the ups and downs of life with. All of that culminated with the informal gathering of clans this day. The young warrior walked through the people, listening to the songs that were sung in a myriad of voices.

Some were tinged by age and boundless wisdom.
Some were coarse from battles hard fought.
Some were young from tender years.

Yet all were Mandalorian. All were apart of the world that had opened its arms to embrace him. He was grateful for that. And above all...he was grateful for her. What started out as a Zinder date had blossomed into something Jaren cherished more than literal gold. And today, he would have the rare opportunity to step into her world.

He sought out the symbol of the ram's skull and took a deep breath. House Verd had a presence at this gathering as the lineage of the Mand'alor. And Torva? She just so happened to be the Mand'alor's freaking daughter. How he managed to swipe right into dating royalty, Jaren would never know. Upon stepping near to their tents, he began poking his head around, seeking out the fiery-haired woman.

"Torva?"

Torva Vikar

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Mandalore
Tags: Open

Smoke curled lazily from the bonfires and laughter echoed from the groups around the larger fires. A song passed through the crowds, incredibly Mandalorian in tone and lyrics. A reminder that she did not share their history and was still learning their culture.

Adelle sat at a small fire, set on the edges of the large gathering. It was quieter but tonight, she preferred it that way. The past few weeks had been a lot. The sudden recall to Mandalore from Naboo, word of the resistance on Somov Rit and the resulting punishment, the resistance from the Jedi on Uyter and her infiltration of the Jedi temple there---She had a short vacation on Gilaria courtesy of Grand Vizier Yvarro but that felt like ages ago. Her thoughts turned to Aselia. Aether’s orders in the War Council had sent both her girlfriend and Warmaster Mia Monroe to the vassal state. She hadn’t seen Aselia since Gilaria.

The logs in the fire cracked and popped as heat found and burned the sap within. Adelle ran a hand over her face and through her short, dark hair. Exhaustion, physical, mental, and emotional, settled deep in the marrow of her bones. And if the intel they’d found in Uyter’s enclave was any indication, any extended respite was a long way off.

 

[Torva Vikar]

Mandalore

Tag: Jaren Kast

It had taken time for Torva to truly begin to settle in and adapt to the Mandalorian way of life. Once upon a time, she had been a nervous and shy young woman - hesitant to speak to others, even though she’d been told over and over again that they were kin, brothers and sisters. It had taken her far too long to come to accept that, but she had done so eventually.

When she could, she tried to involve herself in more social, laid back events - to better understand and evolve. There were many things about the Mandalorians that Torva had come to deeply respect and even cherish. Their strong desire to keep the fires of kinship alive between them was just one of those things she loved.

House Verd, her house, had its place within this newest gathering. Tents with banners bearing her House’s sigil - a ram’s head - fluttered in the light Mandalore breeze. There were other tents representing other Houses and Clans, spread all over the field, along with many bonfires where the warriors could gather and interact with one another - greet old friends and perhaps make new allies.

Torva was seated at a fire, the light of the flames dancing off of her beskar’gam that bore the same sigil and colors that belonged to her buir, Aether. She listened to the many different voices that drifted over the area - voices weathered by age and combat, younger voices that had yet to be tested by the rigors of life. All had a place here, all were welcomed.

"Torva?"

The red head turned her freckled face sharply to the sound of a very familiar voice calling her name, and instantly a smile spread across her face. She rose to her feet, her blue eyes bright with excitement as they sought the man who had called for her.

“Jaren?!” she responded, surprise and happiness coloring her voice as her eyes searched for the man who had stolen her heart. Once she found him, she wasted no time crossing the distance between them, uncaring that others would see their interaction. “I didn’t expect to see you here. I am glad you could come! How have you been since we last saw each other?” ​

 

[Daegon Ashkaar]

M A N D A L O R E​

Socialize- Fireside

Fire.

That was something Mandalore and Vaal had in common.

Emerald eyes reflected the amber flames of the fire before him. Daegon sat closer than most to the fire, he relished in the feeling of the heat on his skin. The songs of Mandalore were playing out behind him, and while the words may have been different than the songs his clan sang around their fires, the feeling was the same. Unity, family, celebration. All of the things Daegon missed about home he was hearing all around him over the rise and fall of crackling wood.

Even if he didn't wear their beskar armor, they had accepted him for who he was. Adonis had given him a place among the Empire by word alone. He had been given a place among the caretakers of the beasts of Mandalore. Daegon was naturally talented with animals, and so far he flourished under the tutelage of the Mandalorians. One of the biggest things he hadn't learned yet was the social aspects of the Mandalorian culture. They had seemed like warlords when they first came to Vaal, fire and smoke following wherever they went, but now Daegon could see the other side, the warmth under the helmets.

He could hear Adonis's voice in his head, telling him to get up and introduce himself to some people. Truth be told, Daegon was a little embarrassed, as Basic was his second language, and he hadn't learned a lick of Mando'a yet, so sometimes communication was difficult. Nonetheless, the Vaalan warrior stood to his full height, vornskr helmet catching the light of the fire. He stretched his arms toward the sky as he looked toward the other groups of people.

He needed something to take the edge off.

Green eyes scanned the perimeter for the closest drink with alcohol in it. He had never drank alcohol before, his father damning it as evil, but Adonis and the other Mandalorians seemed to enjoy the firewater. He finally spotted a spigot that seemed to be pouring the drink by the gallon. The Vaalan warrior eagerly made his way over and poured himself a cup. Soon enough he had taken his first drink of alcohol ever and...

...he coughed it up everywhere.

It burned harder than when he had accidentally eaten a coal that was stuck to his meat from the fire. That was what everyone was willingly putting into their bodies? Well, he figured, he needed to make friends and it seemed to be working for everyone else, so he pinched his nose with one hand and threw back the vile liquid with the other.

It tasted worse than any concoction boiled up back on the plains, and it hurt like hell. His mouth was tingling and numb immediately, and his stomach roared like the fire before him. He wondered when it was going to take hold of his bloodstream and he was going to have the confidence he heard of. Daegon turned on his heel, the equilibrium already a little thrown off. He marched off into the thick of it, hoping to find someone to talk to.

The warmth spread quickly, first his ears, then his nose, and finally landing in his chest. Somehow the stars above Mandalore seemed to twinkle brighter than they did a few minutes ago.

Daegon blinked his eyes, the stars stayed in their place.

Good.

OPEN

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: Adelle Bastiel //:
//: Attire //:

The Mandalorians had always been the home she never went home to. She had been raised in their traditions and had participated in their coming-of-age trials, but she never claimed it.

There had always been a part of her that felt disconnected when Ember passed. He was her link to the culture of the people who bled for their traditions. Still, Allyson knew she needed to try. It had been years since she had run into another Rekali — she wondered what ever happened to Ember's people.

Allyson walked among the small groups that clung to each other. They talked about things that Mandalorians would talk about. There was a familiarity among them, a camaraderie that Allyson had never felt before.
She was an outsider, but that was usual in most places. The Jedi, the Sith, now the Mandalorians, Allyson knew how to seem like she fit in — but she knew better.

Stopping as she reached for one of the mugs of whatever they were drinking, her mind wandered. Would things have been different if Ember hadn't died? Would she be wearing Beskar and clasping hands with people who felt like a found family?

The Corellian shook her head and took a deep swallow of alcohol, doing her best not to linger on thoughts of the dead. She was only here because of Taiia Mataan 's connections to the Mandalorians. Somehow, the woman had ended up married to two of them. However, Allyson would argue she barely qualified as one herself.

Lowering the pint, Allyson looked towards a small bonfire that had one person. She recognized the woman from the paperwork and the event in the Commonwealth. The Sith Princess had seemingly grown fond of the woman while she was accompanying her on Naboo. Though no one needed to know the Corellian's mission from her Master was to keep an eye on the Imperial family's children.

Adjusting her jacket, she grabbed another drink and wandered over towards the woman. Despite being one of them, it seemed she and Allyson had more in common than either wanted.

Standing near Adelle, she offered the drink.

"You look like you need this and probably a few gallons more." Allyson smiled and took a place near the small fire.

She glanced at the woman; she could see the exhaustion, only because it reminded her of herself when she looked in the mirror. Too much weighed on her, but Allyson didn't expect the stranger to spill her guts during introductions.

If anything, a quiet company would hopefully not make her feel so alone.

"Allyson." She paused and then nodded before taking another drink of her pint.

"Allyson Locke, and you are… friend?"

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Throughout all the time they were together, Omen didn't he had never seen Aren drunk. That was about to change as he sat down next to her and put a mug in her hand. "Here you go, Love." Snaking his arm around her, Omen let her lean in as he felt the warmth of the fire hit his skin, letting the time drift by.

Omen wondered why Aren had wanted to come here. Maybe it was to learn more about what he was or where he came from. What the Clone had been taught. Who knows, maybe she just wanted a vacation. Or the most shocking possibility, that she wanted to spend time with him. Either way, he didn't want to take this day for granted, and he wanted to enjoy this night to its fullest. And as he started to put a blanket around them both, he was sure they would.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren accepted the mug without protest, which by itself probably should have concerned someone. She settled beneath the blanket as Omen wrapped it around them, her shoulder pressed comfortably against his side, while the warmth of the fire pushed back the cool night air. For a while, she simply sat there listening. The crackle of burning wood. The distant conversations drifted between the fires. The occasional burst of laughter from somewhere farther down the line of gathered Mandalorians.

It was strange.

Not unpleasant. Just strange.

She lifted the mug and took another drink while her eyes wandered across the gathering. Earlier, she had watched the clans from a distance, studying them the same way she studied everything unfamiliar. Now that darkness had settled over the fields, the entire gathering felt different. Smaller somehow. The songs had softened. The stories had grown quieter. Warriors who had spent their lives fighting now sat around fires trading memories and teasing one another like ordinary people. The realization lingered longer than she expected.

"You know," she said eventually, her voice carrying the relaxed quality that only appeared when she was genuinely comfortable, "this isn't what I expected."

Her gaze remained on the fires.

"I think I spent years hearing stories about Mandalorians and assumed every gathering involved somebody challenging somebody else to a duel or arguing about honor." A faint smile touched the corner of her mouth. "Instead, it's mostly people sitting around campfires, drinking, singing, and making fun of each other." She glanced up toward him briefly. "Which, now that I think about it, explains a lot about you."

The smile widened slightly before fading into something quieter.

Her attention drifted toward a nearby fire where several children were running circles around exhausted adults who looked powerless to stop them. The sight held her attention for a moment before she lowered her eyes back to the mug in her hands.

"They seem happy," she said softly, the words carrying no trace of analysis or distance, only a quiet, unguarded honesty.

For a few moments, she watched the children dart between the fires while their parents talked and laughed nearby. Then she leaned a little more heavily against Omen's shoulder, letting the blanket settle around them both.

"I think I understand why I wanted to come," she said quietly, the words settling between them with a kind of certainty she hadn't expected. It wasn't because she suddenly felt like she belonged here—she didn't, not really—but something about the fires, the laughter, the simple closeness of it all had drawn her in before she'd even realized it, and now that she was here, she couldn't quite imagine having stayed away.

But sitting beside him beneath the stars while the fires burned and the songs drifted through the darkness, she found herself thinking less about Mandalorians and more about futures.

And for once, that future didn't seem so difficult to imagine.

Sergeant Omen Korda Veydran Jett Vox @open

 

[Korda Veydran]

The night had settled into a gentle rhythm.

Fires burned low. Songs carried through the darkness. Stories passed between old warriors and new.
Then someone tripped over a log.
A very large someone.
A massive shadow lurched through the firelight, armored boots digging uneven paths through the dirt as a deep laugh echoed across the camp.

Korda Veydran was drunk.
Not the quiet, contemplative kind of drunk that sat and spoke of old battles.
No.

The heavy infantryman was five tankards deep and wearing the expression of a man who had discovered the galaxy's greatest secret and could not wait to share it with everyone.

His cheeks were flushed beneath his beard, his red eyes brighter than normal, and a half-finished tankard was still clutched in his gauntleted hand.
"There they are!" Korda announced far louder than necessary.
A few nearby warriors glanced over with amused expressions. They knew the look. They knew the warning signs.

The giant stumbled forward and threw an arm around Omen, nearly crushing the clone into his side before reaching with his other arm to pull Aren into the world's most intrusive group hug.

"My favorite little brother and his woman!"
He looked between them, his grin growing.
"Blanket. Fire. Cuddled together."
A dramatic pause.

"I leave you two alone for one evening and you're already making foundlings."
His laugh boomed across the camp.
"At least wait until I am six tankards deep so I can pretend I did not see anything."
The inevitable looks of embarrassment or annoyance were met with another loud laugh.

Then something small shifted at his belt.
A tiny noise.
A soft, sleepy little sound.
Korda immediately froze.

The giant warrior who had laughed in the face of artillery, who had marched through the fires of Yaga Minor, who had stood against armies without hesitation, suddenly moved with the caution of a man handling a thermal detonator with the pin half-pulled.

His expression softened.
"Ah."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Sorry, little one."
Carefully, he lifted the small child from the pouch secured against his armor.

Blue skin caught the firelight.
Red eyes blinked sleepily.
Brown hair rested against her tiny forehead.
Korda held Ryela Solde with both hands as though she were made of glass.

Omen and Aren had seen Korda covered in blood, smoke, and ash.
They had seen him angry.
They had seen him ready to kill.

Seeing him gently rock a child was perhaps the strangest thing of all.
"Rynar needed time," Korda said quietly, the drunken humor fading for the first time that evening.
His gaze remained on the little girl.
"Dean is gone."

Only four words.
But from Korda, they carried the weight of a funeral pyre.
"He throws himself into contracts. Hunting pirates. Escorting convoys. Anything that keeps him moving."
A faint sadness touched his face.

"I know that feeling."
The admission was quiet.
Too quiet for the giant they knew.
"So I told him I would watch his daughter."

A small smile returned as Ryela's tiny hand wrapped around one of his scarred fingers.
"She snores."
A pause.
"Very loudly."

He glanced at Omen with a crooked grin.
"Like her uncle."
The grin widened.
"And she has already tried to bite my finger. A true Veydran warrior."

For a moment, beneath the stars and surrounded by the songs of a people rebuilding themselves, the last son of a dead clan looked almost like he belonged among the fathers and mothers around the fires.
Almost like he had finally found a family again.


tags: Sergeant Omen Jett Vox Aren D'Shade @open

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen knew what she meant. "You mean you were expecting a warcamp, not happy families." Most outsiders thought Mandolarians were crazy warrior thugs. Some of their views weren't wrong, but they weren't right either. A lot of the time, they spent time caring for their families and were just like other people, just with fancy armor. It's the values that he tried to emulate rather than the usual bloodthirsty nature.

Looking over to where Aren's gaze was, he smiled at the image. His hand was running up and down her side to comfort her. "They do seem happy because they are. A happiness we can have someday." But for now, Omen was just glad that he was able to hold her in his arms. Aren had wanted to see how Mando families worked, in hopes of giving her child the same upbringing. Or at least get used to the idea of it.

And just like that, the romantic moment was gone as a drunk Korda burst in. Omen's breath pushed out as he prepared to deal with this drunk giant, k knowing he would probably have to tuck him in at the end of the night. After recovering from being crushed, Omen managed a cough as he said. "Not yet... Aren's reproductive system is off limits right now..." Which was the truth, leaving Omen to patiently wait for her till she was finally ready for that family.

The noise from Korda's belt brought a raised eyebrow as the giant casually lifted a baby out. Trying his best to keep his critics inside, he decided to listen instead. "Well, at least she has someone in her life that's a constant. That's something." He didn't think of Korda as an adult, but then again, Korda probably didn't think of himself as a role model either. But if anyone could adjust, it seemed to be him.

Aren D'Shade , Korda Veydran

 

[Sylor]

Mandalore
Daegon Ashkaar
​

Sylor moved about with relative ease, offering small introductions wherever he went. His story was simple. He was a protector of Clan Verd, nothing more. If anyone wished to learn more about him, all they had to do was ask. His introductions were brief, respectful, and to the point.

The soft humming of voices and songs continued around the various fires. The grizzled veteran accepted a mug of ale that was handed to him and took a long, satisfying swig. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he let out a contented sigh. With an approving nod, he continued on until he came upon another warrior.

Reaching out, he clasped the man's forearm firmly in greeting.

"Sylor, protector of Clan Verd. Who might you be?"

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren had been quietly content sitting beneath the blanket beside Omen until Korda's arrival shattered what little peace the evening had managed to establish. The enormous Mandalorian descended upon them with all the subtlety of an orbital bombardment, and before she had any opportunity to evade him, she found herself caught in a crushing embrace that smelled strongly of ale, smoke, and campfire. She endured it with the long-suffering patience of someone who had already accepted that resisting Korda once he reached this particular stage of drunkenness was largely a waste of energy.

"I don't think that's how biology works," she observed dryly after he announced they were already making foundlings, though the correction carried no real irritation. If anything, she sounded almost resigned. "If it did, we'd have a much bigger problem."

Then everything changed.

The moment Korda lifted the tiny blue-skinned child from the pouch against his armor, Aren fell completely silent. She watched the massive warrior transform before her eyes, the boisterous laughter disappearing beneath a gentleness so effortless it almost seemed like she was looking at an entirely different person. The enormous hands that could have broken bones without difficulty now supported the little girl with astonishing care, and when Ryela wrapped her tiny fingers around one of his, Aren felt something quietly shift inside her.

Her eyes lingered on the child longer than she realized. Dean was gone. The words settled heavily, but what held her attention wasn't the loss. It was what came after it. Without discussion. Without ceremony. Korda had simply stepped in because someone needed to. The thought drifted naturally toward the conversation she and Omen had shared only that morning. Weddings. Children. Homes. Futures. She had spent so much time wondering whether she would know what to do when the day finally came that she had never considered there might be opportunities to learn beforehand.

A thoughtful expression settled across her face as she looked from Ryela to Omen and then back again.

"I wonder..." she murmured almost to herself.

The thought seemed to amuse her.

"If Korda or Rynar ever need someone to watch her for an afternoon..." Her eyes remained on the little girl, who looked impossibly small in the giant Mandalorian's arms. "It might be good practice." She glanced sideways at Omen, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "For both of us." The smile widened just enough to betray the sincerity beneath it. "Preferably while Korda is sober enough to remember where he left her."

She returned her attention to the child once more, watching Ryela blink sleepily in the firelight.

"And before you say anything," she added quietly to Omen, already anticipating him far too well, "I'm aware that's probably the most maternal thing you've ever heard me say."

A beat passed.

"I'm choosing to blame the campfire or the drink you gave me. Maybe both."

Korda Veydran Sergeant Omen Jett Vox

 

[Korda Veydran]

Tags: Aren D'Shade Sergeant Omen Jett Vox @open



Korda looked between them for a long moment, Ryela sleeping peacefully against the crook of one massive arm.
A slow smile tugged beneath his beard.

"I think..." he rumbled, scratching at the thick beard thoughtfully, "...that may be the first time I've ever heard you volunteer for childcare."
His red eyes settled on Aren.

"I'll remember it."
He carefully shifted Ryela in his arms before looking back at Aren.
"Would you like to hold her?"

There wasn't an ounce of teasing in his voice.
Only trust.
"Support her head. She's usually calm once she's comfortable."

The tiny girl gave another sleepy yawn, one little hand lazily grabbing onto one of Korda's scarred fingers.
"If you two ever want to watch her..."
He shrugged.
"...just let me know."

A soft chuckle escaped him.
"Rynar deserves a day where he isn't thinking about work."
He smiled down at Ryela.
"And she deserves people around her."

His hand wandered absentmindedly to his beard, scratching through it with a thoughtful hum.
"...Not sure if I'm keeping this."
He gave the beard another tug.
"She likes grabbing it."

Almost on cue, Ryela's tiny hand reached toward the coarse brown beard with surprising determination.
Korda sighed dramatically.
"See?"
A grin spread across his face.

"I think she's stronger than I was at her age."
Looking back to Omen, he smirked.
"And before you ask..."

He leaned in conspiratorially.
"...no."
"I'm not shaving because I lost a wrestling match to a baby."

 

[Sergeant Omen]

The Kid certainly was a surprise. The baby being entrusted to the be skull-crushing brute of a man didn't really make sense. Then again, it kinda did. Who else would be better to protect her? The "I wonder..." from Aren caught his attention. Omen wasn't about to say that wondering wasn't Aren's greatest skill, but it wasn't her greatest skill. At her heart, she was more of a machine in emotions than man, so when she was wondering about something, Omen's ears perked up.

When Aren suggested watching her, Omen just sat on the sidelines and let her do the talking. He knew better than to contradict Aren mid-negotiation, just shaking his head when she accused him of pushing drink on her. "You could have handed it back..." He left it at that. "And that because it is. And Aren is usually the type to throw babies in volcanoes, so she must really like this little one." Ryela, now in Aren's hands, he reached in to gently rub the baby's head. He didn't know how, but surprisingly, being covered in blue made the baby even cuter for some reason. Who knows, but this little girl was definitely making him smile. Her yanking at Korda's beard definitely made him chuckle. "Vod, if she isn't beating you, you haven't done your job right." If this baby wasn't able to wrap him up in some kind of hold by the age of six, he would have to take over her training himself.


Korda Veydran Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

For just the briefest moment, Aren looked genuinely uncertain.

Not because she was afraid of dropping Ryela, though there was certainly a healthy respect for the responsibility Korda was placing in her hands. It was simply that nobody had ever handed her a baby before. Machines, yes. Dangerous technology, frequently. Infants? That was entirely new territory.

She stepped forward anyway.

"Yes, sir."

The response came with a small smile that surprised even her. Following Korda's instructions with almost exaggerated care, she slipped one arm beneath the tiny girl's back while the other supported her head, lifting Ryela slowly until the child rested against her chest. Every movement was deliberate, cautious, as though she were assembling something irreplaceable rather than simply changing who happened to be holding her.

When Omen accused her of throwing babies into volcanoes, Aren looked up with a mixture of disbelief and wounded dignity, frowned at him, and said, "Hey. I would never throw a baby into a volcano." She paused thoughtfully before adding, "They're usually helpless—unless they're some sort of xenomorph or something. Then all bets are off."

The tiny girl answered none of this.

Instead, Ryela let out an unexpectedly loud little burp that caused Aren to blink in surprise. A second later the baby gave a contented sigh, curled herself a little closer, and settled against Aren's chest as though she had decided this was an entirely acceptable place to continue sleeping. Aren could actually feel the child's tiny heartbeat against her own, warm and impossibly small beneath the blankets wrapped around her.

She froze, not from fear but from uncertainty, her eyes lifting slowly toward Korda and then Omen as she asked, "...What now?" with complete sincerity; glancing back down at the sleeping child who seemed perfectly content, she added, "I think she likes me," before pausing again and asking, "...Is she supposed to do anything?"

Aren glanced between the two Mandalorians with all the confidence of an engineer who could dismantle a starship reactor blindfolded but had just discovered there were no instruction manuals for babies.

"I feel like there should be instructions."

Korda Veydran Sergeant Omen

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Tags: Allyson Locke

Feeling someone approach but not sensing them take up space in the currents of the Force was a curious sensation. Adelle looked up as footsteps far quieter than the usual Mandalorian’s approached. A woman of average build walked up, two pints in hand. Adelle couldn’t place if she’d ever met the woman or not. If it weren’t for the eyepatch and the first class Corellian blood stripes, Adelle was certain she’d never be able to pick out the stranger from a crowd.

Still, she took the offered drink. Even if she couldn’t sense the stranger’s motives in the Force, there were enough Mandalorians around to protect one of their own—in spite of her lack of beskar’gam.

"You look like you need this and probably a few gallons more." Allyson smiled and took a place near the small fire.

“Thanks for that,” she said dryly then winced when the implication caught up to her. “Is it that obvious?”

"Allyson." She paused and then nodded before taking another drink of her pint.

She took a sip as the woman introduced herself. Allyson. Why did that name sound—

"Allyson Locke, and you are… friend?"

Adelle inhaled netra’gal and choked, coughing as she desperately tried to recover. It couldn’t be. This Allyson looked young, far younger than Adelle’s father. But she had first class bloodstripes. And how many Allyson Locke’s ran around with those?

“Adelle Bastiel,” she managed to squeak out, before she had to cough harder. Feth, she’d forgotten how much alcohol burned when it went down the wrong way. When her lungs tired of punishing her for her surprise, Adelle cleared her throat. “Allyson Locke? Like, the Jedi that helped CorSec sometimes Allyson Locke?”

She had to know. She had to know if this was the same Jedi that her father had often compared her to when she’d worked as a liaison agent.

 

[Kaela Voss]

Tags: Open

Kaela felt very much out of place here, but she pretty much had no where else to go, since her home of Ironbush on Aargonar had been more or less destroyed and abandoned. It had been Mandalorians who’d came to her people’s rescue, and so she had followed them home like a lost pup. She’d ended up here, some sort of gathering of the clans, of warriors, as the only thing left to her name other than a few tools was her blaster.

The only option left to Kaela was to beat her plowshare into a sword and find a way to make a living with that what was left to her. The plan, what little of one she had, was to mingle here and find someone willing to take her on as a foundling, or at least pick up some leads on someone who was willing before her credits ran out.

The gathering felt oddly familiar, like the celebrations they’d have back home when farmers finished taking in the harvest, at the start of the wet season when planting was possible again, or the passing into the new year. That brought some comfort to Kaela, even if it didn’t help her.

She saw more intimate groups forming around the smaller outer fires, old comrades catching up, old rivalries lighting up in brief clashes before settling down again. That wouldn’t help Kaela though, so she approached the main fire where the largest group of people had formed. That was going to be her best hope for finding someone she could talk to.

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: Adelle Bastiel //:

The woman took the drink, and Allyson did her best not to chuckle at the comment that it was obvious. She understood that feeling, wanting to wallow in whatever emotional pool alone. While also hoping no one noticed. Still, while Allyson had noticed… Perhaps it was only because she knew that feeling.

"You're fine," Allyson reassured quickly, "I'm pretty sure I'm the only one that spotted it."

Of course, the reassurance was most likely drowned out by the choking.

Allyson raised both of her brows, seeing the woman struggle to just drink the alcohol. Did she accidentally give it to a founding? The woman looked of age, but who knows nowadays in the galaxy with people living over a thousand.

Before Allyson could do anything to help, Adelle seemed to gather herself. She introduced herself and then asked an interesting question. Allyson paused, letting both the name of the woman and her question linger for a few moments.

CorSec had been a long time ago. Allyson took a sip and pondered, trying to filter through her own memories to lock into the ones the girl was referencing.

"CorSec?" Allyson repeated, only to make sure that she had heard right.

She nodded; there was no reason to lie or to try and hide something. Despite what instinct told her, she wasn't working, and it had been some time since she was connected with anything SIA. The Alliance was dead; it had died on Coruscant along with her trust in the light.

"Yeah, I worked with them a bit when I was assigned as a Shadow with SIA." She huffed, remembering the last iteration of the Alliance believed in complete separation.

That separation had stripped the Corellian of her military titles and accolades.

Except the one that pipped the edge of her pants.

"You don't look old enough to remember that kind of information." Allyson took another sip of her drink and looked over Adelle again.

The name rolled around in her head until she nodded. There was one name that often worked with her. A good man, who did his job and his heart was in the right place. She knew CorSec hated when they needed to ask for help, but getting it from another Corellian often softened the blow.

Even if he disliked the situation, which Allyson was never sure of — he hid it well.

"So I'm assuming you knew someone that I must have worked with? Your dad? Bastiel sounds familiar enough."

 

[Daegon Ashkaar]

M A N D A L O R E ​

Socialize- Fireside

Daegon had only just begun to decide whether the firewater was worth the suffering when a hand clasped his forearm. He returned the gesture instinctively, his grip firm as emerald eyes settled upon the older warrior before him.

There was something familiar about men like Sylor . Vaal had them too. Hunters who had survived long enough to become teachers. Warriors whose scars had ceased being wounds and instead became lessons for younger generations.

"Daegon Ashkaar," he answered simply. "From Vaal."

His gaze drifted briefly toward the mug in his hand before returning to the older Mandalorian.

"This is my first gathering like this. First drink too." Truthfully, he still did not understand why anyone willingly consumed the stuff. It burned worse than some of the remedies brewed by the shamans back home, and its taste lingered stubbornly on his tongue. Yet nearly everyone here seemed to enjoy it. Perhaps it was something a man simply learned to appreciate with age.

Or perhaps Mandalorians were built differently.

At the mention of Clan Verd, Daegon's posture straightened a little. Even he knew the name carried weight among the Mandalorians.

"Adonis serves alongside Clan Verd," he said, respect evident in his voice when he spoke of the Warden. "He told me I spend too much time with animals and not enough time talking to people."

A small grin appeared at the corner of his mouth.

"So I suppose this is me trying to fix that."

He gestured toward the fires spread across the gathering, toward the songs, the laughter, and the countless warriors sharing stories beneath the stars.

"What does a protector of Clan Verd do?"