Faction From the Ashes || COV (Open to unaffiliated Mandos seeking purpose)

[Vren Rook]

VETERAN
TAVERN | KESTRI
TAG: Warpriest Prime | Sahan Dragr | Fenn Stag (and Feydrik) | Minerva Fhirdiad | Zavar Kelborn | Rohrkell Vætir | Vara Rasha

IRON COVENANT RISING​

It did something to his heart to so many familiar faces.

He caught the tumbler as Yuri sent it sliding towards him.
"You look right at home there, Maji." he smiled, before he turned to view the room once more as he took a sip of his whisky.

Even Dima had grown from when he had last seen her, but somehow, she was still Dima. Young Sahan also seemed happy that an old buddy was back while he and Yuri conversed before the whirlwind that was the Harpy blew into the door.

Vren couldn't help but crack his teeth with a smile as he looked at his new mentee make her way to her Founder. She had turned out to be an excellent find - not at all the nightmare Yuri made her out to be. She was unmistakably made to be Mando'ade. His smile couldn't go wider when she planted a smooch on Yuri's cheek. He gave Yuri one look that said Don't mess this one up.

His eyes then found the lurking figure of Fenn Stag again and was just about to make his way over to the lad when Minerva stopped him in his tracks.

"I hope your Iron Covenant fulfills its purpose Rook. I truly do. Please don't let the vicious cycle that tore us apart repeat itself. Enjoy this celebration."

He had pledged to vouch for her if the time came, but his steely gaze hardened instantly at her words.

Before she could properly turn to walk out, his armoured arm snaked out to grab her at the elbow with a vice grip. He may be old, but he didn't survive this long for nothing.
"Easy there, Firdhiad." he said, his voice low. "Now listen close - the Enclave as you and I knew it, is gone. The Enclave the youngins knew is also gone. To keep circling in the past does not help any of our people and it definitely will not pave a better way forward. Why did you answer this call if you don't want to help herald in a new future for our people? If you are only here to fume about the past and not look to better the culture, then you aren't worthy of that armour any longer." he then rattled off as he held her - he knew she'd be stupid to do anything in this tavern. "Think about that while you are on your way." He then let go of her and then stepped away to face the tavern that had undoubtedly fell silent.

"While you are all quiet and looking over here, I might as well give you all the information you had come here for." he said, speaking loud enough now so everyone could hear. "Those of you that have returned, the Enclave as we all knew it died with one of our dearest and fearsest leaders - Kranak Vizsla. The scars you all see within this tavern now have been made when the Vong escaped once more through tunnels that span most of the planet. Our valiant warriors that were left had been spending the majority of this year hunting down pockets that are left. This city is no longer what we remember it to be. The Vong had taken much from us." he went on.

"But now, we are ready to forge a new path - a covenant of Mandalorian Iron. Those that had stayed now want to know from all of you - new and old - if you would forge this path with us, one where this planet, Kestri's, people move like myth through the stars? One where we build this culture of unity to endure - not to bend another knee to another banner - but a greater purpose." He lifted his chin, finally starting to believe in the vision that he, Romul Saxon and others like young Sahan Dragr and his father had built. "We offer those of you that had answered a way to preserve the culture - to be remembered for greatness. Not through idle war campaigns and raids, but by painting the stars with the fire of our ships, securing our people's relics of old and to build the new generation in greatness and endurance, not wandering from one banner to the next." He looked at Vara Rasha right then. "Here sits the first Foundling of this new path, one itching for that greatness - not for schisms and infighting - but for the myth that our united people would be." He drew himself to his full length, once more looking like the Karjr of old. "For those of you wanting to know what that would look like - that is up to you. This Covenant would not be one of idle destruction, but we are still Mando'ade. Those that stand in the way of us seeking to endure clan and culture beyond our lifetimes, we take them down."

He looked at all of them for a second - the old and the new faces and armours.

"Now I know, after speaking to someone similar, that some of you have doubts about the roads you had taken before you answered this call. I say this to you now - all of us here have questionable pasts. None of us are exempt. But all of you here have answered the call - which tells me one thing - all of you want a better purpose than a banner. Now, there are Council seats to fill and ships to ready and a planet to continue securing."

He took a step back as he looked at all of them, eyebrows raised.

"So what say you? I give the floor to you now."

 

[Minerva Fhirdiad]

Minerva froze at Vren's grip and his words. She said nothing back as he continued. Why did she answer the call? If it were the Enclave reborn, she never would've. Yet the old veteran struck her soul with truth.

The Enclave is gone.

An opportunity to do better and be better. Even as he let go and addressed the rest of the crowd, Minerva found herself staying where she was and looked at the new founding, seeing a glimpse of the future. The more that was said, the more she wanted to believe it. For a moment, she hesitated, her T-Visor glancing through the doorway, and bit her lips.

It would be simpler. Without the danger of her heart being ripped out again like before. Why should she take such a risk?

She lowered her helm at the question before it came to the adopted daughter of Jorel.

Because I am a Mandalorian!

Lifting her gaze, Minerva made the choice. Removing the helmet and latching it to her hip, Minerva nodded to Vren. Eyes now filled with determination. Turning to Dima she finally said;

"I'll have that drink."

She headed over to the bar with Yuri and passed some credits.

"Make it a ne'tra gal."

 

[Kamon Hourn]

KAMON HOURN
Shukur Kyr'bes Tavern | KESTRI
TAG: [OPEN]

THEME​

It had been many years since Kamon had willingly been among other Mandalorians. He had wandered the far reaches of the galaxy running from them, in fact. He had survived this long on a refusal to die, but he had regularly asked himself why he even cared about living. He had no home, his own people had spurned him, yet he never could bring himself to do anything but live on. Sure, there were a few people along the way he had come to care about, with few being the key word. But even then, he always found a way to leave them behind, telling himself they were better off without him. Even if they tried to convince him otherwise, telling him how much he was needed or valued as a friend... he never could bring himself to stay anywhere for very long.

There were many times when that thought was proven true, but today felt different. He ran across a posting of this message in some random cantina on Nar Kaaga known to cater to Mandalorian hired guns that worked for the Hutts in the region. The message was simple: ‘Return, if you once belonged and come, if you never did.’ At first, Kamon nearly ignored it and went about his business. But there was something about the simplicity behind it that resonated within him.

Years ago, when the Enclave was the foremost state of the Mandalorian people, Kamon was too busy salvaging his wounded conscience as he fought for his father, and the Brotherhood of the Maw. They did things that haunted his dreams to this day; nightmares which led him on this exile, as if it were some atonement to run for your life as your former brothers hunted you like a dog. At the very least, these Mando’a would probably not care about the murder of a Mandalorian Mawite chieftain. If they did, well... Kamon had some fuel left, and he just might be able to lift off before getting run down. Now where he would refuel was another problem he’d have to figure out down the road. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind as the landing struts of his gunship touched down, and the loading ramp hissed open.

He was lightly armed as he disembarked, carrying only his particle pistols on either hip, and his beskad strapped across his back, in a sheath that rested between the back of his cuirass and his jetpack. He didn’t expect to need his heavy repeater nor any of his heavier weaponry. If he ended up needing them, then he’d need a lot more help anyway. He paused a moment at the base of the ramp, then keyed the lock code on his wrist before making his way to the tavern. He stepped through the door just as an older looking man began speaking at the far wall. Wordlessly, he made his way to the bar and observed those around him - choosing to leave his helmet on for now. He rested his arm atop the bar, and listened.

"But now, we are ready to forge a new path - a covenant of Mandalorian Iron. Those that had stayed now want to know from all of you - new and old - if you would forge this path with us, one where this planet, Kestri's, people move like myth through the stars? One where we build this culture of unity to endure - not to bend another knee to another banner - but a greater purpose."

The older man spoke well and convincingly, but even still - Kamon had just arrived, and mulled over the man’s words behind the impassivity of his helm. The speaker then yielded the floor to everyone else in the room, of which Kamon was content to further yield as he decided to wait and listen. Although it didn’t seem like the speaker had cared about the past, Kamon doubted anyone else here could say they had killed fellow Mandalorians in the name of a madman. Kamon’s head tilted slightly in shame at the very thought, which he soon corrected as he continued observing in silence.

​

 

[Yuri Maji]

KESTRI | TOR VALUM
TAGS: Sahan Dragr | Warpriest Prime | Vren Rook | Zavar Kelborn | Minerva Fhirdiad | Fenn Stag | Yael Kandar | Vara Rasha | Kamon Hourn
GEAR: In bio

WHITE NIGHT​

Vren’s remark earned an amused grin from the Hound, though he wasn’t wrong. The prospect of doing this on the side wasn’t too bad of an idea. However, the moment the raggedy Shistavanen entered the tavern, Yuri’s attention shifted away from the gathering to instead watch her approach with a warm smile, which quickly turned into a snicker when Vara’s comments were interrupted by pained hisses. ”You’ve seen better days.” He remarked as he leaned on the counter in front of her.

He stayed quiet with a smug grin as he listened to her teasing, only moving to bring her drink and a glass over before leaning again. ”Well, payin’ usually gets a broad a drink. Good looks help as well.” He teased, letting her drag him over the counter for a kiss. His hand trailed her jaw as he pulled back. ”Don’t get too plastered.” He joked, retreating to clean the counter up and bring her some ice for her drink.

“How’s the leg, dumbass? You need any help back there?”

”Nah, I’m okay. Bacta does miracles. Where have you been?” He asked gently as he spared a glance over to Vara. Unfortunately their little moment of peace was interrupted as a very ornery Kandar made her way over to the bar and asked for a drink. In the same breath, he watched as Gailen tried to flee from the bar. He wanted to call after him, but a vague memory resurfaced and he instead turned his attention back to Yael.

”Well, su cuy’gar to you too, Yael.” He grumbled as he poured her drink out and set it down in front of her. Practically years of not seeing each other and this was her greeting?

He could slap her later, he had better things to worry about.

Relative silence overtook him as he worked behind the bar, only returning to Vara’s side once everyone else was sorted. Just in time, too, as the old man called for everyone’s attention. Yuri watched attentively and listened to his speech, giving Vara a reassuring shake on the shoulder when Vren praised her.

The first Foundling of a new journey. Even Yuri had to admit that it was an honour.

Once he wrapped up his speech and gave the floor to the rest of them, Minerva finally found her way to the bar. He felt rather flattered that he was surrounded by so many women… Vara didn’t need to know that. ”You too?” He began with a smile as he poured a draught out for Minerva. ”First Sahan, then Yael and now you. Nobody’s greetin’ around here anymore.” He teased the group by the bar, setting the woman’s drink down and taking the credits. ”Don’t worry ‘bout payin’ right now, ‘Nerva. Got tabs running for you lot.” He assured her with a wave of his hand.

Luckily Mandalorians were arguably the best debt collectors in the galaxy. People paid quickly enough once a pistol was aimed at them.

Glancing at Vara, he flashed a toothy grin. ”First Foundling. I hope you know that’s kind of a big deal.” He patted himself on the shoulder. ”Just shows everyone how good a mentor I am.” He joked with a laugh, swinging a cloth over his shoulder.

 

[Warpriest Prime]

​

O B J E C T I V E | Reconnect With Kith & Kin
L O C A T I O N | The Broken Skull
G E A R | Gjallerhorn

Vren Rook | Yuri Maji | Sahan Dragr | Vara Rasha
O P E N​

Dima let the noise wash over her for a heartbeat longer, the laughter, the clink of glasses, the low growl of voices that knew one another well enough to stop pretending. When Yuri vaulted the bar and wrapped her up like that, something in her chest gave a soft, traitorous crack. Not pain. Relief.

Her tail skittered across the floor in a loose, delighted coil as she laughed, the sound warm and a little breathless. Four hands came up at once, one cupping her cheek, another bracing his shoulder, the rest doing absolutely nothing useful except telegraph how thoroughly she'd been disarmed.

"O-oh Yuri! You really are a bad dog!" she barked, the words tumbling out bright and unguarded.

She hooked one arm around his neck and hauled him into a brief, affectionate headlock, ruffling claws through his hair with the kind of familiarity that only survived years and shared stupidity. When she released him, it was reluctantly, her grin lingering even as she tried to smooth herself back into something resembling composure.

His question drew a sideways glance, her gaze skating across the tavern as if the answer might be hiding in the rafters.

"Weeeeeell... yes, but also no," she admitted, rocking slightly on her heels. "Mama's come up in the world, baby. I got people who drive for me now." One claw lifted, wagging. "But! I haven't crashed my own ship in at least two years. Give or take~"

She slipped an arm over Yuri's shoulder, another settling easily over Vren Rook 's when he arrived, drawing them both in without asking permission. The height difference only made it easier. Dima lowered her head a little, voice softening into something fond.

"I've been...exceptionally well behaved," she said, a playful purr threading the words. "Just like you always wanted, old man."

The titles stayed locked behind her teeth. Grand Warpriest. Executioner of Ha'rangir. Overseer of The Arks. None of that belonged here, between the bar and the scuffed floor and the people who remembered her before the galaxy started using her name like a warning label.

When Vren finally spoke, the room leaned in. Dima listened, twirling a claw along the rim of her glass, eyes half-lidded but attentive. The silence afterward stretched just long enough to make a few people uncomfortable. She watched as a new foundling made their way into the bar, making Dima chuckle impishly as memories of her own years as a foundling came back to her.

The first clap was slow. Then another. Then all four hands came together in an enthusiastic rhythm as she stepped up beside him and folded him into a crushing, unabashed hug.

"Don't worry, Vren baby!" she rumbled cheerfully. "I used to hardly know what you or the elders were on about half the time." She leaned back just enough to look him in the eye. "But you know me well enough by now. If it's a Mandalorian cause...and the will of the old gods?"

Her free hand mimed a call, two fingers tapping the side of her helm-less head. "You ring, House Prime answers. Every time."

She rummaged through her cloak then, armor plates clinking softly until her claws closed around something solid. The object emerged gleaming, curved and heavy with glyphscript, its surface catching the light as she tilted it just so. Tihaar sloshed faintly within.

"Ah! Almost forgot~"

She fitted the cap back on, then lifted the horn to her lips and gave it a teasing breath. The sound that answered was deep and resonant, a promise more than a note, before she pulled away with a grin.

"Gjallerhorn," she said proudly. "Chalice of the gods. Never runs dry. Also very loud." A beat. "Limited run. Don't lose it."

She pressed it into Vren's hands with a wink, tail curling contentedly behind her.

"Ring it when you need me," she added lightly. "I'll come running. And I won't be alone."

Around them, the tavern breathed again. Laughter returned. Glasses lifted.

For the first time in a long while, Dima didn't feel like a force of nature barely contained. She felt like she was home.

 

[Sahan Dragr]

Spoiler: Equipment

Vambraces
Tusurki'aa Ta'hye Beskad
O'dteyase Saranuhlr
M.I. 'Pulsar' jetpack
KestrisaurHide Utility Belt and Duster
Rulariyi Mandalorian Sunglasses

”Running’s the only way that forehead of yours can’t reflect the sun in my eyes.”

Sahan raised an eyebrow at Yuri's comment. Or, he would have—if he had any eyebrows.

"Hey, it'll grow back. Eventually."

He took a swig of Yuri's "degreaser" as the Shistavanen caught up with Dima.

"That…" Sahan made a face, then finished the drink in one long pull, "…is disgusting. But it does hit harder." He gave the bottle an appraising look. "One won't be enough, though. I wanna actually feel something."

That part bothered him more than he let on. Alcohol, spice—nothing really stuck anymore. Medical scanners didn't show a damn thing wrong. Just a boosted metabolism, or something. He kept telling himself that was all it was.

While Yuri was distracted by Vara Rasha, Sahan helped himself to the bottle again. So, this is the new foundling, he thought. He lifted the bottle in a casual toast her way.

"Sahan Dragr. Welcome. Good to put a face to the new sister." He glanced back toward Yuri. "Hey, I don't think you stayed around long enough to meet Jericho yet, did you? Technically the last foundling before the Enclave fell. He defended your Ironworks facility from a droid incursion while you were gone—earned his armor that day."

He nodded to Yael Kandar next. "Looks like you've recovered well and have been keeping busy since the last time I saw you." A faint smirk tugged at his mouth as he gestured to his bare scalp. "Me? Last near-death experience came with much less impressive scars."

There weren't any scars at all. No marks. No signs of what should have happened, aside from the loss of hair.

"You gonna talk to him?" Sahan added, lowering his voice slightly. "Not my business, but he'll probably run if you don't. Might still." He shrugged. Romance had never really interested him—much to Siv's endless disappointment. The old man wanted grandchildren. Hard to blame him, with only three Dragrs left after Volo, Obran, and Suvi died.

Vren Rook finally spoke, after whispering something to Minerva Fhirdiad—Sahan couldn't hear the words, but he could see the effect. She was staying.

Sahan rose and turned to Minerva, snapping a salute, fist over the iron heart hanging from his neck.

"For the record, some of our past reputation may have been... exaggerated." That was putting it generously. "Regardless—let's bury the past. You're welcome here, sister."

He didn't trust her. Not yet. But they were Mando'ade. That had to count for something. He was sure as hell going to give her a chance, and he hoped she would do the same.

Sahan stepped into place beside Vren and looked around at the gathered group.

"Iron doesn't form in comfort," Sahan said evenly. "It forms under heat and pressure."

He swept a hand around the tavern—half-repaired, scarred, alive. "That's what this is. A forge."

His gaze hardened slightly. "We don't need a Mand'alor to tell us who we are."

A murmur might have followed. He didn't rush to fill the silence.

"The ancient Taung didn't have one. They existed a long, long time before Mandalore the First came along. They had warleaders when they needed them, and brothers and sisters who held the line when they didn't. No crown. No throne. Just shared purpose."

He tapped two fingers against his iron heart. "That's what we're building here. Not a kingdom. Not an empire." He made sure to put emphasis on that last word.

A pause.

"You bring your skill. Your scars. Your past. We give you purpose." His eyes swept the crowd. "But understand this—once you're forged here, you don't bend for anyone else."

He inclined his head slightly. "This isn't about who leads. It's about who stands."

TAGS: OPEN
Yuri Maji Vren Rook Vara Rasha Minerva Fhirdiad Warpriest Prime Yael Kandar
Gailen Keldau Zavar Kelborn Fenn Stag Rohrkell Vætir Feydrik Munin Kamon Hourn​

 

[Kamon Hourn]

KAMON HOURN
Shukur Kyr'bes Tavern | KESTRI
TAG: Sahan Dragr | Yuri Maji | [STILL OPEN]

THEME​

As surprising as it would be, Kamon had managed to go unnoticed amidst the crowd. Since growing into adulthood, or specifically since growing to the height he stood at now, he never found it easy to go unnoticed. His father’s minions did a damn good job of finding him repeatedly in fact. But here and now, it would seem that Kamon blended in with the rest of the patrons. It wasn’t a bad thing really, and honestly he could see why. He was far from the only tall, armored, and handsome figure in this room. He was among his people - he was among Mandalorians.

He took a moment to drink it all in. He overheard the merriment of bygone friends reunited after parting ways for... well, however long they did. He could hear the companionship and mirth in their voice, as if a new age was literally in the air of Tor Valum. He had to admit, it was electric; yet at the same time, painfully isolating to be among those who knew one another for so long. He wondered how many of them he had fought against in the past.

He wondered how many of them had friends who died because of him.

He had learned to live with the past, and more often than not, did a good job of leaving the past where it lay. But today was different, as he was both confronted with the past that had followed him for so long, and the hope that was extended to him by the comradery he was surrounded by.

It was in the midst of being lost in these thoughts that another figure, clad in a duster and sunglasses, stepped up where the old man who began this meeting stood.

"Iron doesn't form in comfort," Sahan said evenly. "It forms under heat and pressure."

"That's what this is. A forge."

"We don't need a Mand'alor to tell us who we are."

"The ancient Taung didn't have one. They existed a long, long time before Mandalore the First came along. They had warleaders when they needed them, and brothers and sisters who held the line when they didn't. No crown. No throne. Just shared purpose."

Kamon knew the name - the Taung. He knew them as the first Mandalorians, but he had to admit, he wasn’t well versed in their history and culture. When this bespectacled man touched on how they led themselves, Kamon found his attention wandering to some of the other non-humans in the cantina. He saw a pair of furry-creatures - Shistavanens by the look of them - seemingly acting very familiar with one another; one of whom was coincidentally (and inconveniently to Kamon) the bartender.

He wasn’t sure about having a drink when he walked in, yet despite the short amount of time he had been here, he found a thirst growing in intensity. He let out a quiet sigh and reached up to remove his helmet. He disengaged the seal and made a slight twist, which released the trace amounts of air remaining within the helm with a slight ‘hiss’. He pulled the helmet up and off of his head, then set it on the bar next to him; a dull ‘thud’ punctuating its landing. He craned his neck slightly over the bar; analyzing the selection of drinks for a moment. He craved a dark ale, and suspected the draught here would be worth trying - but he had no real desire to hop over the bar to pour himself a pint from the tap. There was something about the bartender that tilted a bit on the ‘crazy’ scale for Kamon, and he felt it best to avoid awakening whatever beastlike tendencies lay beneath the surface.

Maybe he was a bit prejudiced, but the thought occurred to him nonetheless.

He spotted a few bottles of whiskey within arms reach, and mentally calculated how much a double shot would be as he reached down for his credit purse. After a few moments, he slapped a generous amount of credits on the bartop, then reached over to grasp the bottle. He slid a (clean?) glass over to a spot in front of him and poured, raising the bottle slightly as it quickly filled the glass to the desired level. He then replaced the bottle to its previous perch, then picked up the glass. He raised it halfway to his lips, but then halted.

It was a custom in his clan to clink glasses with a comrade with the first sip, and while this wasn’t the first time he was faced with drinking in solitude - his mind couldn’t help but take pause about the irony of drinking alone in a room full of people. Then his thoughts turned to the people he lost along the way. Cousins, childhood friends...

His father...

His eyes closed, as if in silent prayer over the souls of the departed. After a moment, he raised his glass slightly, as if to salute the memory of the men and women who were; in one way or the other, no longer a part of his life.

Then he drank.

The alcohol slinked down to the back of his throat with a familiar burn, which instinctively caused his lips to purse slightly, followed by another sigh. He closed his eyes again, and let the sounds around him... well, surround him. It was rare that he could both live in the moment, and be around people at the same time.

He might as well enjoy it.

​

 

[Tomaj Eldar]

Tomaj Eldar stood off to the side, quietly watching and listening. Occasionally the shaman would smile and speak a word of greeting or even encouragement to a brother or sister.

He was no Speaker. He never could stand the spotlight. Quiet wisdom and individual lessons were fine.

Still, as much as he missed Runi and Tytos —wherever in the Galaxy they were— he knew this people would endure. With or without the teachings of the Mandokarla. The spirit of the Manda would guide them.

He watched a man approach the bar and help himself too a bottle of ale while young Yuri Maji was preoccupied. The man made sure to pay what he thought to be appropriate. Good man. Yet Tomaj could sense something troubling the young man. He walked up to him.

The massive Leonid did not speak immediately. He merely pulled out a token of his own and laid it on the counter. "I think I shall join you. I do not wish to trouble young Maji's reunion. He was kind enough to volunteer as it was. Everywhere is short-staffed since the Uprising. It is good to see so many brothers and sisters answer."

He poured himself a drink. He rarely drank, but that did not mean he could not drink. He held his glass out to the man in toast. "To a promising future. I am Tomaj of clan Eldar."

Kamon Hourn​

 

[Brinjarr the Gorger]

Green Savage of Kestri
" Cʀᴜsʜ ᴛʜᴇ Oᴘᴘᴏsɪᴛɪᴏɴ "

The vibration of the strikes hummed through his body, each impact a reminder of the Crusher's relentless nature.

He narrowed his gaze, trying to understand the attack pattern of the beast's frenzy. As the Kintan Crusher reared back for a double-fisted overhead smash, the warrior saw his opening. Instead of retreating, he lunged forward, letting the massive forearms graze his back as he drove his own shoulder into the creature's center of mass.

The collision felt like two starships smashing into each other. Using his hybrid agility to offset his Savrip bulk, he pivoted behind the beast's sweeping reach. He dropped his beskad and sank his claws into the thick, leathery folds of the Crusher's neck. The creature thrashed, spinning in circles to dislodge him, but he held firm.

With a gutteral snarl, he locked his powerful legs around the beast's midsection and, with a violent wrench, forced the Crusher's head backward. The Kintan's low roar turned into a wet, panicked wheeze. The gladiator reached down, retrieved his blade from the sand, and with a single, clinical motion, drove the tip through the soft tissue beneath the beast's jaw.

The Crusher's body went rigid, its arms twitching in a final, frantic spasm before falling limp. He stayed atop the carcass for a moment, waiting for the life to fully drain away, before sliding off onto the red-dusted sand. The deafening roar of the crowd returned to his ears, but he gave no salute to the stands.

He simply retrieved his leather wrappings, wiped the dark, acrid blood from his beskad, and began the long walk back toward the shadows of the tunnel. To him, the beast was dead and the credits were earned; the rest was just noise.

 

[Kamon Hourn]

KAMON HOURN
Shukur Kyr'bes Tavern | KESTRI
TAG: Sahan Dragr | Yuri Maji | Tomaj Eldar

THEME​

"I think I shall join you. I do not wish to trouble young Maji's reunion. He was kind enough to volunteer as it was. Everywhere is short-staffed since the Uprising. It is good to see so many brothers and sisters answer."

Kamon heard the voice before he saw the bearer, which alone caught him off guard. He opened his eyes and turned and was taken slightly aback at the sight before him. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t seen fur-lined sentient creatures in his travels, but he didn’t exactly expect to see them in such abundance on Kestri. But perhaps he was at fault for that. He nodded politely at the towering figure, who dwarfed Kamon by nearly a foot in height.

"To a promising future. I am Tomaj of clan Eldar."

Kamon met Tomaj’s gaze and nodded fractionally in acknowledgement just before clearing his throat. “Well met. I am Kamon Hourn. You could say I have a clan, but... well I guess it’s also fair to say it’s not really a clan anymore, all things considered.” The corner of his mouth raised slightly in a weak grin. He looked around the room, as if he noticed everyone for the first time. “And yeah, I agree. It's refreshing to see all of them. It’s been a long time since I've been among the Mando’ade. My first time here on Kestri, really. I’m... assuming you’re from around here?” It was a safe assumption considering how the Shaman introduced himself. One could say conversation was not Kamon’s strong suit, but that was the point of doing something you weren’t good at - to get better at it.

​

 

[Vara Rasha]

Location: Tor Valum
Tags: Yuri Maji | Sahan Dragr | Warpriest Prime | Vren Rook | Zavar Kelborn | Minerva Fhirdiad | Fenn Stag
​

Somewhere I Belong​

”You’ve seen better days.” He remarked as he leaned on the counter in front of her.

Vara waved off the remark. “Just a little sore is all,” An expert parry. The corners of her lips wrinkled with a smile. Something warm emerged from the Harpy’s crimson gaze as Yuri held the entirety of her attention. The glass and her bottle of tihaar sat at a gentle clunk on the counter before her. Vara reached out for them in a heartbeat as his words drew an amused huff of breath from her core.

”Well, payin’ usually gets a broad a drink. Good looks help as well.” He teased, letting her drag him over the counter for a kiss.

”Mmm-.. Creds and beauty, huh?” A murmur, as she helped herself to a drink. “Luckily, I’ve got both,” She threw the shot back. The glass sat down with a clunk. “Hmm. Can’t say the same for you though,” The broad gave him a wink. An amused chuckle rolled from her snout a breath afterwards.

His touch drew a pleased growl from the young woman. Yuri found her immediately leaning into his hand. More. Vara could never have enough. The urge to take a playful bite at his hand was barely kept in check by the fact they weren’t alone.

He was playing a dangerous game here.

”Don’t get too plastered.” He joked, retreating to clean the counter up and bring her some ice for her drink.

The Harpy scoffed. ”Shabuir,” The warmth and affection in her tone erased the weight of what was normally a fight-starting insult. ”Y’got any idea who you talkin’ to?” The Foundling shook her head. The challenge, she accepted with a giggle; what little drinking etiquette she pretended to have was quickly chucked out the window. The bottle raised to her lips, she took a big swig without hesitance.

Her point was made.

She felt her core instantly set alight as the tihaar burned down her stomach. Kestri’s bitter cold quickly became a distant memory with each swig. Her bones rattled from the hellish landscape no longer.

”Nah, I’m okay. Bacta does miracles. Where have you been?” He asked gently as he spared a glance over to Vara.

Vara set the bottle down after another sip. Her snout bowed for a small nod, glad that her man was all right. ”Took care of some biz at the Ironworks,” His golden eyes would be met with Vara’s crimson gaze. ”Sorted out the wiring,” The Foundling cut her words short as a figure unfamiliar to the broad approach for a drink.

A figure several heads shorter than the mutt, but not any less stout. The unfamiliar woman, clad in beskar’gam pattern best befitting a Nite Owl, carried herself with an unmistakable air of dignity. With a bow of the head offered in greetings to Yael Kandar . Vara let Yuri do his job, silently taking another sip as her gaze shifted to casually regard the colorful set of characters and armor in the tavern.

The pair of crimson orbs soon settled upon Warpriest Prime . The Harpy made no attempt to hide the amazement and wonderment in the glint of her eyes. The strange creature stood at least one head taller than the tallest man in the room. She shared this strange and lively azure between her eyes and shapely streaks, shining from what little parts of her skin, bare from her armor. A set of tentacles jutted from her back, swaying and ebbing with her tail, sporting talons as sharp as Vara’s own at the bare minimum.

What a strange… thing.

The Harpy could not recall setting her eyes upon something so unapologetically alien before. Then again, she hadn’t seen much of the galaxy outside of Mon Gazza until a few months ago.

Eventually, her gaze shifted from the alien to curiously take in the rest of the crowd, in a search of a familiar face.

Only Vren Rook stood out among the others to her.

Vara gave the old man a small wave when their eyes briefly met by chance. Her lips peeled back to offer him a heartfelt, toothy smile. The gleam in her eyes betrayed a rare respect she did not give so lightly. She knew she couldn’t’ve met a better mentor.

It wasn’t long after that the old man began an expected speech after what seemed like an exchange of words between him and another sister she was yet to meet, Minerva Fhirdiad .

"Here sits the first Foundling of this new path, one itching for that greatness - not for schisms and infighting - but for the myth that our united people would be." He drew himself to his full length, once more looking like the Karjr of old.

The Harpy’s ears perked up, her head instinctively tilted to the side when Vren went on to make mention of none other than her. The Foundling felt the collective gaze of fellow brothers and sisters upon her, as the familiar touch of her man shook her by the shoulder, his praise and reassurance unmistakable.

A warm smirk drawn from her lips, Vara raised the bottle of tihaar in a mute salute. She tipped the bottle back and took a long pull, setting it down on the counter a breath after. The focus of her eyes as sharp as ever, her mentor held her full attention as he continued.

Glancing at Vara, he flashed a toothy grin. ”First Foundling. I hope you know that’s kind of a big deal.” He patted himself on the shoulder. ”Just shows everyone how good a mentor I am.” He joked with a laugh, swinging a cloth over his shoulder.

"Sahan Dragr. Welcome. Good to put a face to the new sister." He glanced back toward Yuri. "Hey, I don't think you stayed around long enough to meet Jericho yet, did you? Technically the last foundling before the Enclave fell. He defended your Ironworks facility from a droid incursion while you were gone—earned his armor that day."

Not the one to jump at a spotlight without good reason, the woman turned back to face the counter as the old Karjr openly invited their kin to speak their mind. The woman met Yuri’s words with a smirk, after offering a curt yet acknowledging nod of her head to Sahan Dragr . “Yeah,” The Harpy tipped the bottle back once more and took another pull.

The pleasantries she would have liked to share with Dragr was cast aside in favor of a more important matter at hand.

The snap in her demeanor akin to the bone chilling winds outside.

Her hand wrapped the bottle like a vice, a sharp contrast to the cold, toothy smile etched to her face. “Gonna be a true loss for the Covenant when I rip your guts out,” The snarl was meant for her man alone. The Harpy leaned closer. The confusion in his eyes was palpable. “You thought I hadn’t seen you?” Vara nodded towards the utterly alien woman amid her pledge of allegiance to the Covenant, her eyes never once leaving Yuri's. Their teasing and borderline flirting a few moments ago was not something the mutt expected to witness.

”So what was that all about. Hmm?”

​

 

[Yael Kandar]

FROM THE ASHES

A Brave New World - Chapter 1

EQUIPMENTS: In Bio
OBJECTIVE: how can you mend a broken heart?
TAG: Gailen Keldau

LOST STARS​

KESTRI

”Well, su cuy’gar to you too, Yael.” He grumbled as he poured her drink out and set it down in front of her.

Looks like you've recovered well and have been keeping busy since the last time I saw you." A faint smirk tugged at his mouth as he gestured to his bare scalp. "Me? Last near-death experience came with much less impressive scars."

The unfamiliar woman, clad in beskar’gam pattern best befitting a Nite Owl, carried herself with an unmistakable air of dignity. With a bow of the head offered in greetings to Yael Kandar .

It all happened to quickly. She was just about to answer Yuri’s quip, when she heard it.

"Sorry, but I can't stay."

To his chagrin, though, his voice was louder than it should have been.

Followed by silence that said a thousand words.

The thud of Gailen's glass was still echoing in her ears when the tavern door hissed shut, sealing the warmth inside and leaving Yael in a sudden, suffocating silence.

"You gonna talk to him?" Sahan added, lowering his voice slightly. "Not my business, but he'll probably run if you don't. Might still." He shrugged.

From the corner of her visor, she caught Yuri and Sahan exchanging that look; the one that said they'd put the pieces together. She want to slap the hell out of the two men, but she got no time. Instead, she offered a dismissive flick of her wrist; a "not now" that carried enough venom to keep even the most curious Mandalorian at bay.

The tihaar sat on the bar, forgotten. She didn't belong in that warmth. She belong to another.

Yael cleared the tavern doors seconds after Gailen, the Kestri wind instantly biting into the seals of her armor. The transition from the humid heat of the hearth to the sub-zero night was a shock, but it was the sight of Gailen's retreating back that truly chilled her. He was moving fast, his boots crunching through the fresh powder as if he could outpace the very air she breathed.

<Gailen! Stop!>

Her voice was raw, the vocoder struggling to catch the desperate edge in her tone. She didn't wait for him to slow down; she pushed her stride, her new dark blue Beskar’gam shimmering like a ghost in the moonlight. It brings rushes of memories from eons ago. Him, her, moonlights, promises made. Promises broken.

She closed the gap until she was only a few meters behind him, the freezing wind whipping her cloak around her legs.

<I know,> she said, her voice dropping, though it still carried in the thin, still air. <I know it's usually me. I'm the one who leaves. I'm the one who takes off in the middle of the night because I'm too much of a coward to face my feelings. I'm the one who didn't keep my promises.>

She stepped forward, her boots sinking into the snow.

<I spent years running from this exact moment, Gailen. From the look on your face and the alarms in my comms.>

Yael reached up, her fingers fumbling with the manual release of her helmet. With a sharp hiss of equalizing pressure, she pulled the bucket off, letting the Kestri frost hit her bare skin. Her hair, pale blonde instead of fiery red, was already starting to whip in the wind, and her eyes were bright with a deep, old guilt, tears threatening to break in any second.

"Look at me, Gailen. Even if it's just to tell me you hate me. Even if it's just to tell me to get back on my ship and never come back. Just don't let the last thing between us be another back turned in the snow. I've had enough of that story to last me a lifetime."​

 

[Kjartan Hammer-Hand]

KJARTAN HAMMER-HAND
PLACE | PLANET
TAG: Yuri Maji | [OPEN]

THEME​

“DRINK YOUR FILL AD'IKA! It’s not every day we find ourselves at home-port. Ale, women, men if that’s yer fancy; LET’S MAKE TONIGHT COUNT - and drink enough to forget whatever we are about to do!” A booming voice heralded the arrival of a cohort of armored figures who just now entered the tavern, uproariously laughing one and all. They were led by a mountain of a man, adorned in a silver-hued, heavy set of runic beskar complete with a helmet bearing dual horns from some exotic predator. A pair of hammers hung on either of his massive thighs, and a single pistol was holstered behind his back; which was hidden by a heavy fur cloak. The other figures accompanying him hollered and laughed as only warriors who returned from deployment could - relishing the opportunity to satiate their thirst with ale, and longing with good company and song.

Their leader removed his helm and glanced around, a revelrous smirk plastered upon his face as his gaze met a few within the crowd. Without further delay, he led the way to the bar and hammered upon it, letting out a lusty bellow: “ALE FOR MY CREW - THE LOT O’ THEM!”

His call was met with another cheer as the 5 other armored forms removed their helmets in turn and took up places at the ever-filling bartop.

​

 

[Gailen Keldau]

ACKLAY
TAVERN | KESTRI
TAG: Yael Kandar

GLASS HEART​

He fled. For the first time in his life.

He practically bolted from the tavern, the doors sliding shut behind him. The cold air hit his exposed face like ice water, though he hardly noticed. He cast one look at Mouse, who was in deep conversation with Nag, and then chose to just keep walking. His droid would find his way home when he was done.

Was he just the one to walk away?

He hardly heard the doors sliding open again, still trying to come to terms with all of it. But then...

<Gailen! Stop!>

His body jerked as if she had yanked a cable tethered to him. He kept his back on her, however, hands balling into fists at his sides to steel himself.

How could she still do that?

His breathing was shallow as she spoke again, that vocoder just as familiar as her normal voice. She wasn't saying anything that he hadn't played over and over in his own mind. But then he could feel her directly behind him, in his personal space, yet the wind still separated them.

<I spent years running from this exact moment, Gailen. From the look on your face and the alarms in my comms.>

His eyes closed at these words, as if he could ward off the pain that way. She was always good at words. Always managed to sway him - to keep his heart. He had told himself never again after that last night on that ship. That it was the last. He could only take so much - even from her.

He heard the hiss as her helmet depressurised, but he still couldn't face her - not again.

"Look at me, Gailen. Even if it's just to tell me you hate me. Even if it's just to tell me to get back on my ship and never come back. Just don't let the last thing between us be another back turned in the snow. I've had enough of that story to last me a lifetime."

She was really asking it of him. She just didn't go away.

He exhaled a breath through his nose in a sigh, no longer feeling the cold after months exposed to it every day. His eyes opened halfway as he glanced over his shoulder at her. To his disappointment, the fire was gone from her head, but she was still unmistakably the woman he had fallen in love with.

"Why do we keep doing this?"

His voice was hoarse from the forced silence, yet the wind still carried it.​

 

[Carduul Akahl]

Tags: Vren Rook | Sahan Dragr | Yuri Maji | Zavar Kelborn | Minerva Fhirdiad | Fenn Stag | Yael Kandar | Vara Rasha | Kamon Hourn | Feydrik Munin

Mandalorians survived.

It was what they did. No matter the adversity, the odds, or the annihilations they faced. He, of all people, believed in that principle. It was why he was yet alive, burdened as he was.

What was he to feel? Shame, in how his ilk again faded to obscurity, for his failure to keep the flame going? Pride, that he contributed what he could, however briefly? Since the fires dimmed, he had tended to his own, quietly, in the corners of the galaxy in whatever scant outposts and fleets remained. Regardless of how others felt towards him, he was simply doing what he thought was best for those who looked to him. However many that were left, lurking in the shadows. Never contesting or pointlessly warring over whatever rule others asserted, for he was content with making do. Never pledging himself to a cause other than that of his people, for that was the only cause he cared for. Whatever the current on-goings of the main factions and uncountable dealings were no longer his concern. Circumstances had thrust him into a greater role than he thought capable, and in a tale that oft’ bore repeating in their culture, he had accepted that for however long that lasted.

Suffice to say, Carduul was a figure that had always preferred action, and such a thing had regrettably long been absent by his own hand. Words and ideals were a valued thing, that much was true—but it was a known fact that the former was preferred. And thus, as inevitable as the cycle of life itself, there was a call that echoed across the stars yet again. Something that offered a chance, however slim or meagre, to continue his work.

The Enclave.

He had heard so many stories. From tales of glory and defiance to perseverance and comradery, it was a standout period in recent history for Mandalorians everywhere—none could deny that. Truthfully, he had always adored it in a lot of ways. He remembered studying those events from afar, in those hideaways upon Dxun. How the Quartermaster, Mand’alor in all but name, boldly sacrificed her life for her people against the Maw. How they raged against the cosmos in a beautiful spark, to defy those that sought to police them, enslave them, brutalize them. They were one of many facets, apart of the essence of Mandalorians despite all the differences: free. Though this was not them, it was still the spiritual continuation and evolution of their cause; the preservation of Mandalorian culture. He would’ve been irresponsible to ignore it. So he made the arrangements, and sped for all haste towards the planet where it held its roots. Kestri.

It was beautiful; a planet he had always meant to visit, yet never had the chance until that very moment. For in that moment, he was not ‘Mand’alor,’ ‘The Anointed,’ or any other title that others may prescribe. He was simply Carduul Akahl, a Mandalorian who was relishing in the sight of his people of all walks of life brought together once again. T’was for that reason he was running a bit late. He wanted to take pleasure in the most simple of things, unburdened by all that went on in the galaxy: to simply walk the planet of which held so much of their history. To see the tundras, the mountains and valleys, the vode that went about their days and flocked to gather to the call. Doubtlessly there were mixed looks, if any even recognized him. Whether it was scant admiration, or utter scorn, the Mandalorian would simply take this moment to take in what he could.

But eventually, he would come to the same destination all the same: to the crowded tavern where there was the bandying of greetings and raising of drinks. He had taken to quietly listening in the background, not wishing to draw too much attention to himself. At least, not until the declarations of purpose began. The one speaking was a figure he had heard much about. One he had once wished to meet, though that was something he again was denied the chance of—until now.

"But now, we are ready to forge a new path - a covenant of Mandalorian Iron."

"...One where we build this culture of unity to endure - not to bend another knee to another banner - but a greater purpose..."

"...Not through idle war campaigns and raids, but by painting the stars with the fire of our ships, securing our people's relics of old and to build the new generation in greatness and endurance, not wandering from one banner to the next..."

"...Those that stand in the way of us seeking to endure clan and culture beyond our lifetimes, we take them down."

"...So what say you? I give the floor to you now."

"...That's what this is. A forge."

"...We don't need a Mand'alor to tell us who we are..."

"...The ancient Taung didn't have one. They existed a long, long time before Mandalore the First came along. They had warleaders when they needed them, and brothers and sisters who held the line when they didn't. No crown. No throne. Just shared purpose..."

"...You bring your skill. Your scars. Your past...But understand this—once you're forged here, you don't bend for anyone else."

"...This isn't about who leads. It's about who stands."

“That is the fire that the Mandalorian people must never be in shortage of.” Was the emboldened proclamation, an armored boot taking a step forth with the rhythmic taps of a polearm against the floor. With all that was spoken of, the once-Rallymaster could not help but to speak his mind, however briefly. “And a just cause I would gladly lend myself to.”

Perhaps it was an ironic thing to state, judging by his past and history. A figurehead of war and strife, rebirth in the flames of conflict. It was true; he was a strong advocate for many things that seemed the contrary to this whole gathering. Yet, if this was the truth of the gathering, that shouldn’t matter right then. Here he sought to present no banner, nor did he seek to immediately demand some seat upon whatever Council they spoke of—all he wished was to understand. A moment of hesitation crossed Carduul at speaking further… yet the floor was open, and few had taken the opportunity to ask further. After the moment passed, he had drawn to pace further forwards. “This is a story etched in steel as old as time. I wish it to continue to be told for as long as a single Mandalorian yet lives. It is true; the Taung needed nothing other than but a shared purpose to thrive, and still they were feared warriors. Yet many forces still vie for our downfall, and prey upon disharmony within the ranks.” The vantablack Y-visor levelled at the figures standing at the center of it all, regarding with an unknowable expression. “Thus… I must ask for the sake of brevity: were this Covenant to be made, what then are the first moves you intend?”