Faction Hall of Banners || Mandalorian Empire

[Aether Verd]

MANDALMOTORS HALL, KELDABE
"We do not scatter. We gather."​

The call had gone out days prior.

Not in whispers. Not in shadow. But through the airwaves, the holotables, and the old ways—flashes of signal torches, echoes of encrypted glyphs, words etched into iron and launched across the stars. The Mand’alor summoned his War Council.

Not to Sundari. Not to the fortress-mountains. But to the heart. To Keldabe. To the Hall.

Mandalmotors Hall had stood for generations—a pillar of Mandalorian will and craft. It had hosted forges and feasts alike, but tonight, it bore something rarer than war. Direction.

Inside, there were no grand effigies of former Mand’alors like Sundari. Instead, banners. Dozens of them. Hundreds. Each representing a Clan—some ancient, some newly forged in the fire of battle. They hung from the rafters like watching eyes. Like silent witnesses.

At the far end of the Hall, beyond a long, rectangular table forged of ironwood and beskar rivets, sat the throne. And upon it: Aether Verd.

Black and crimson armor, unmarred by dust or doubt. His helm rested on the table before him, as if to remind those arriving that there would be no need for masks among kin.

The Gravesong War had begun. Taris had burned. The dead had risen and the living had answered—but chaos alone could not shape a future.

There had been meetings in the Court of Iron. Conversations behind closed doors. Diplomats, envoys, honor sworn and goals acknowledged.

But now? Now the Great Heathen Army was no longer just a wave. It needed generals. It needed more.

So the message had been clear.

To all Alors, to the Wardens of our worlds, to the warriors who have shed blood in the Empire’s name—come.

Come, and be counted. Come, and be heard.

As the heavy doors of the Hall opened to admit the first of them, Aether did not rise. Not yet. He waited. Watching. Listening to the steps on stone, the weight of beskar echoing like a heartbeat in a quiet chest.

The War Council was assembling.

And Mandalore would speak.

Spoiler: Tag

Siv Kryze , Klavatora Verd , Manti Wyrvhor , Suleiman Lok , Ze'bast Verd , @Jaikell Wyvhor, Montello Deshra , Lysara Rynn , CT-312 , Ro'talius Emanti , Aselia Verd , Incitrix , Talohn Atar , Zlova Rue , Kirae Orade , Cordelia Malkavian , "Templar" , Drego Ruus , Valah Hagen , Itzhal Volkihar , Athena Faar , Kalðr Ísbjørn , Nephthys Nardithi-Verd , Ladante Mamba , Red Mobius

 

[Jaikell Wyrvhor]

Hall of Banners

Jaikell stepped into the great hall, the sharp clang of beskar boots resonating through the vaulted chamber. His gaze swept over the countless banners hanging like watchful sentinels—each one a testament to honor earned, sacrifices made, and a legacy unbroken by time or war. Without haste, he moved to a position near the flank, standing tall with shoulders squared, every inch the warrior prepared for what was to come.


Around him, warriors from every clan settled into their places, their murmurs and shifting armor filling the space with a low hum of anticipation. Jaikell's eyes scanned the room, taking in the faces hardened by battle, the flickers of hope and tension alike.


He adjusted the grip on his blaster, feeling the familiar weight steady his thoughts. Moments like these demanded more than strength—they required patience and unwavering focus.
In this hall, amidst the echoes of centuries, Jaikell was both observer and guardian to the Mandalore—ready to act when the time came, steadfast in his resolve.

 

[Runi Kuryida]

Runi Kuryida, Speaker of the Mandokarla or more locally known as Guildmaster of the Hearthwatch of Mandalore, had finished one of her training sessions with young Mandalorians. There was no need for her to check the wooden blades she used in such sessions, but dutifully she did so anyway. The Manda imbued them with 'unnatural' endurance so even against valiant warriors and their vibro-swords, the Shaman walked away with weapons fresh enough for another bout. Some took that as an affront, but Runi expected if it meant that much to them for them to redouble their efforts in their next exchange.

It was good to see Mandalore thriving again. The Crusaders had not been wrong in their efforts, nor Aether objectively better. Nonetheless, there had been a collapse on the homefront that had been halted and reversed for their people. Runi was all too happy to lend a hand in providing stability for men and women to explore how to become stronger -- emotionally, mentally, physically, and spiritually. Only by being strong in all ways could a soul true claim to be strong. They would go on to enrich the Manda in ways that warranted their souls lingering rather than being spun back out again. The Manda itself needed guardians from otherworldly foes, after all.

As she slid the wooden swords back into their sheathes on her back, a summons chimed off to one side. Runi drifted over to the console. Hazel eyes scanned the contents. This Mand'alor was an active component in the community and sought to keep their people moving. She could appreciate that. Just as she appreciated he recognized the end to embrace all their people, regardless if they were once considered dar'manda. A time of healing for all... save for those plagued by the Gravesong War. This simple message echoed that concern.

The Shaman informed those in wait they would need to come again for her hand in a duel or in being taught lessons of the Manda. There were others that could fill in for her, of course, but some desired her personal attention. She gave as much of it as she could. Today, however, pressing matters warranted her presence.

Her helm was slung on her back over the swords as Runi strode through the doors of Mandalmotors Hall at Keldabe. The Shaman never wore her helmets unless battle with a true enemy had been joined. She accepted some Mandalorians did not agree with her, but Runi believed communion with brothers and sisters of the Manda should be face-to-face as individuals rather than anonymized warriors of Mandalore.

A cloak of feathers floated gently in the Shaman's passing as she strode down the length of the Hall. She would stop near the end of the table and nod her head before Aether's gaze as the rightful leader of their people presiding over a gathering. Runi hoped all those he sought would attend, and the future of the Empire would be established.

Aether Verd | Jaikell Wyrvhor | OPEN​

 

[Adonis Angelis IV]

Adonis Angelis IV entered beneath banners older than his name.

The scent of ironwood and oil filled his lungs: deep, grounding. His footsteps echoed through the vaulted space like drumbeats announcing a challenger, but he kept his pace measured. Every stride forward felt like another rung up a ladder built from war, exile, and blood earned in fire.

He had never been to Mandalmotors Hall. Not as a child of Vaal. Not as a Mandalorian. Not as a Knight.

But now- summoned? Counted? That was something else entirely.

His helmet was tucked beneath his arm, leaving his face bare to the light of the chamber's massive hearths. The sigil of House Angelis burned proud and defiant at the center of his chestplate, the silver crest seared into blackened beskar like a wound made holy. There were warriors here he only knew through myth and rumor, their names murmured in the same breath as victory and vengeance.

He tried not to stare too long at the banners above- each one whispered legacies in languages older than Basic. House after House. Some faded and torn. Some impossibly pristine. He wondered if one day Angelis would hang among them. Not as a memory, but as a mark. As proof.

Adonis moved toward the flank, far from the table's head, but with a view of it all. Aether Verd sat at its end like a mountain does: unmoved, ancient, watching. The others were already arriving- Jaikell, like a sword at rest but never sheathed; Runi Kuryida, the Shaman, moving like a vision from a dream, her presence impossible to ignore.

He inhaled. Exhaled.

This was no battlefield. Not yet. But the weight was the same.

Runi Kuryida Jaikell Wyrvhor Aether Verd +Open

 

[Valah Hagen]

The doors parted with a deep, ancient groan — the sound of beskar hinges moving for something meant to last.

Valah stepped into the Hall.

She wore full armor—sleek, angular, matte obsidian with accents of rust-red, bearing fresh scuffs from Eyok's rebellion. Her helmet stayed clipped to her side, a silent symbol of trust or defiance, depending on who was watching.


The air was thick. Not with smoke or blood or the scent of melted alloy, but with expectation. Weight. History.


Her eyes rose to the banners above—so many. Some faded, others still bright with the hues of fresh-painted honor. She didn't look for her clan's mark. She didn't have one. Not yet. Maybe never.

Each step she took echoed, her boots falling into the rhythmic cadence of those who came before her. Around her, some stood, watched, nodded in recognition. Some offered the slow tilt of their helms. Others simply stared.

She didn't return the looks. Not out of pride, but out of restraint. She was too aware of how fast her heart was pounding beneath the beskar.

Valah had faced death. She had bled in ambush and fire.
But this — this was different. This was where futures were forged in words rather than war. Where warriors became leaders.

She approached the long ironwood table but stopped short, standing in the respectful space just before the throne.

There he sat — Aether Verd, the Iron Mand'alor. His armor gleamed with command. His presence pulled the room around him like gravity.

His helm rested on the table before him, unguarded.

That said everything.

Valah did not speak. She simply nodded once, clenched her gauntlets behind her back, and stood at parade rest.

Waiting. Listening.
Nervous, yes. But ready.

She wasn't sure if she belonged here yet — but she'd find out soon.

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Mandalore, Outer Rim Territories

The last time Itzhal Volkihar beheld Mandalore, it had been engulfed in a sea of green light illuminated by the relentless blaze of turbolasers and the craters left behind in their wake. Rich with the history and culture of their people, the once-proud landscape had been reduced to cinders by an overwhelming force intent on erasing their existence from the pages of memory and as little more than a footnote in the annals of time.

They'd failed in the end, unable to quash what little resistance had survived the harrowing disaster. Not that their failure ever excused them. The Galactic Republic may not have succeeded in the genocide of his people, but he would not forget their intention on that day and the months that had followed. Nor their presence above the remnants of Mandalore, a hateful warden, staring down upon the ruins it had created.

In truth, even months after his awakening, Itzhal had sometimes expected to find Mandalore under occupation.

The ancient warrior's steps were quiet as he entered the hall, despite the firm weight of beskar pressing down upon his frame; heavy plates encompassed his chest, painted black in search of a justice that would never be obtained, even if something had been restored in the recovery of Mandalore, he could not consider it an equal exchange. Not when so many clans had never survived the dral'han.

He could not bear to look upon the banners that lined the hall, not when he knew there would be gaps between the old clans and those that had come after his stasis.

The weight of beskar upon his shoulders felt all the heavier for his failures. He was no warden, unable to protect that which had burned so long ago. He was no Alor, for there was no leader of a clan reduced to one. Still, he held a purpose here, small as it may be compared to those who had settled a place in the Galaxy through deed and birthright.

Synthetic fibres scrunched under the tight press of his grip against the ironwood table, his thumb pondering over the thin impression of a figure with their arm raised towards the sky, whether in victory or defiance. He could not say. Mandalorians were fond of both, and despite the meticulous care and painstaking precision worn into the wood, Itzhal see an argument for either. It might have even been the intention. His people were full of contradictions.

Heroes, Villains, Protectors, Conquerors; under the glare of his blackened visor, Itzhal looked upon a hall filled with all of them and more.

Tags: Open​

 

[Athena Faar]

So great was the construction of the Hall that the earthshaking roar outside reached within as little more than an echo. The beastly cry heralded the arrival of a relatively minor warrior. She had been on Mytus, where her new mount had been blooded. She was unknown, except as the one who had not only found a Lagartoz War Dragon, but with her Korun-inherited abilities, tamed it.

Athena Faar stalked into the hall. She carried herself with a swagger, her dull black and gray armor non-descript and somewhat battered. From her back hung the orange-red pelt of a pritarr. Athena's helmet was nestled under her arm, something she was releived to see many others do. The hilt of a vibrosword rose above her right shoulder, a holstered blaster bouncing lightly against her hip.

As she walked the length of the hall, she could not escape the gravity, the presence that filled it. The structure itself felt, even smelled uniquely Mandalorian. The clan banners above her earned a brief glance. As a collection they carried meaning, but individually, she had little familiarity. Athena could call none of them hers, she was without a clan. It was a point of some shame, though buried and unspoken. Was she still seen as Aruetii in many eyes?

She drew near the table, her gaze fell to the Mandalore. Aether Verd sat on nothing less than a throne. The powerful, charismatic warrior had quickly earned the fealty of Athena, who was inspired by his ideals and convictions. She met his dark gaze and nodded respectfully.

Most of the other faces, unhelmeted ones at least, she didn't know, only knew of. Guildmasters, knights, they were spoken of around the fires and hearths of the Empire. Itzhal Volkihar caught her eye. He Athena did know, he was a Protector like she. But even he had a reputation worthy of a seat at the table. While she questioned her own qualifications to sit among them, she unashamedly met each gaze. In her deep emerald eyes was respect, but not submission.

And then there was the figure standing at the side. Valah Hagen. She was another fellow protector Athena had not met personally, but was eager to do so. Athena guessed the woman may have had the same sentiment as herself when it came to sitting at the table. Athena nodded to the blue-eyed warrior and stood near, but not by, Valah.

Tag: Aether Verd Jaikell Wyrvhor Runi Kuryida Adonis Angelis IV Valah Hagen Itzhal Volkihar

 

[Kirae Orade]

Tags: Aether Verd Jaikell Wyrvhor Runi Kuryida Adonis Angelis IV Valah Hagen Itzhal Volkihar Athena Faar


Yet another Call from Mand'alor. Yet another Answer from Kirae.

Her gaze moved across the Hall as she entered, her helm donned like usual. Others may not have worn their helmets in the Hall, but for Kirae it was a burden that she wore heavy atop her head. A small sigh escaping from her mouth as she took in those in the Hall, searching for those familiar to her. Whilst she could recall the sight of some in the Hall, she was not overtly familiar with any.

The banners aloft caught her attention as well, as she started to settle into her stance, holding her Shield like always in front of her, hands placed atop of it. She wondered if her own Clan had their banner up there. It was not something she'd know herself. With her clan gone, practically scattered amongst the Galaxy and her left as the last member, it was knowledge that was lost. Perhaps a new banner would come but for now that wasn't important to her as she turned her gaze towards the throne of the Hall

Kirae would do what she did best as she stood tall, with her head held high. She would listen to what was said. She would keep records of what was said in her mind. Memories were important. They were a weight to carry. A weight that Kirae carried often and recorded even on her shield. It was time to see what she would be recording next.​

 

[Siv Kryze]

​

MANDALMOTORS HALL, KELDABE​

Tag: Kirae Orade Athena Faar Aether Verd Jaikell Wyrvhor Runi Kuryida Adonis Angelis IV Valah Hagen Itzhal Volkihar ​

​

The heavy doors of Mandalmotors Hall groaned as another figure crossed the threshold—blue-and-silver beskar gleaming under torchlight, the owl sigil of Clan Kryze etched proudly across his pauldron. He walked with the steady stride of a man who had answered every call to arms, his helmet tucked beneath his arm, his face a mask of grim focus. Siv stood apart from the others, his back to the stone wall, one shoulder leaning against the banner of Clan Kryze. The fabric, embroidered with the sigil of a ship encircled by wings, brushed his pauldron like a half-remembered ghost.

His clan's history weighed on him here. The Kryzes had once sat on the throne, preaching peace through strength. Then came the schisms—the Death Watch years when his ancestors had traded diplomacy for dogma, only to watch their ideals curdle into fanaticism. The Clan had nearly torn itself apart in the aftermath, until they'd found purpose again in what they'd always done best: building. Not just ships and weapons, but something more enduring—a Mandalore that could survive its own divisions.

He had come straight from Concordia's docks, where the air was thick with ozone and the constant hammering of hull plates. The Warden's life suited him—less talking, more doing. But standing here now, surrounded by the echoes of old arguments, he felt the ghosts of Kryzes past at his back. Satine's idealism. Almec's corruption. The Death Watch radicals who'd nearly burned their legacy to the ground.

The Mand'alor's gaze found him. Siv didn't offer speeches. Just a nod, and three words:

"We're already building."

Let the others debate tactics. His people were moving.

This time, they'd build something that lasted.

 

[Kalðr Ísbjørn]

---

Kalðr Ísbjørn stood by, helmet under his left arm and right fist over his ironheart in a salute to each vod that waked into the hall. He had been the one to rebuild Keldabe after it had gone so long in disrepair. The not all of the banners had been able to be restored, but he had salvaged as many as he could. Seeing the banners finally hanging once again around the hall, it felt like perhaps the dream of a united Mando'ade was not so far off after all.

The massive man looked to Aether Verd , the current claimant to the title of Mand'alor. The man's black and crimson beskar'gam was a striking counter to his own of white and ice blue. The two men were so different in so many ways. And yet, they had so much in common. As did all those who were already here and those who were arriving. They were a people torn asunder so many times, only to rise again. Their culture survived in the face of impossible odds.

They were the Mando'ade, the children of Mandalore. They were both the most exclusive and inclusive culture in existence. How many others could say they welcomed so many different races, brought together as family under one Creed, the Resol'nare?

---

TAGS: OPEN
Athena Faar Runi Kuryida Siv Kryze Kirae Orade Itzhal Volkihar Valah Hagen Adonis Angelis IV Jaikell Wyrvhor

 

[Red Mobius]

Wearing: Mobius Steel Armor

Armed with: Mobius Ban-Hammer,
Mobius Pistol, Enclave's Herald

Automated Weapon Mount: Class D Disruptor Pistol

Equipment: Ammo Belt

Tribute: Four ingots of Grade 1 Mobius Steel

Arrived in: Z-95 Aftermarket


Mandalore.


A scarred hell that was the birthright of her people. It would be a seat of power for all Mandalorians.

Despite being seemingly the only one left in her clan, Red refused to consider herself clanless. Her clan was missing. Abducted.

They had not fled into the shadows like cowards when the Enclave had collapsed. The Dha'Parjai she and her clan had been building for The Enclave was proof of that. They had gone missing. She would find them.

Red had effected her repairs on her scavenged Mobius Armor, synthesizing replacement plating aboard her empty Class Five Transport, slowly becoming little more than a mausoleum. She would need hands to work it and maintain a profit stream while she searched for her family. There was only so much she could do on her own with such a large vessel.

Ever the dutiful Mandalorian, Red had answered the call of Aether Verd to the MandalMotors Hall in Keldabe, crossing the streets in dented, scratched armor save for the somewhat shinier replacement plating on her shin and back. The symbol of her clan, a Mythosaur Skull above a Mobius Strip, was painted in red on the sides of battered helmet. The current armor she wore was in its base state. It had been meant to be modified once purchased. Certain features that had come standard on other Mandalorian Armor were missing on the base model both so that ease of mass production could be rapidly sped up and so that the purchaser could add their own modifications to it. It could be used in the field in an emergency in its base state but it had never been meant for extended field usage without significant modifications. Red was pushing her currently unmodified design to its absolute limit.

Mobius waded through the crowds on Keldabe, doing her best not to disturb anyone. Even bumping into a Mandalorian by accident could be grounds for a fight if they had woken up grumpy enough. Her clan had despised the petty feuds some Mandalorians would get into. They had always been the loners at the bars. The ones sitting in the back. They didn't sing of their victories. Didn't beat their chests. They had not acquired their nickname of Te Shev'la Verda from the other clans for nothing.

When they went to war, they were notorious for being quick and dirty about it. It said a lot that their children were taught to wield Class D Disruptors way, way before they were taught to use actual regular blasters. Their fascination with sonic weapons had been relatively recent. Before that, you wouldn't catch any of them walking around without at least one Mandalorian Disintegrator. Their standard rifle had (especially during the Gulag Plague) been nothing less than a T-7 Ion Disruptor or at the very least a DXR-6. The switch to other (in their eyes, lesser) weapons had been as much to do with saving on ammo and maintenance costs as it was to put other clans at slightly more ease when dealing or negotiating with them. The switch had occurred about seventy years prior. Way before she had been adopted.

She had still been schooled on how to use the weapons mentioned above, and to feel nothing at the employment of them.

Keep in mind, Clan Mobius had normally operated as mechanics, smiths, and merchants when not at full scale war. Most of them didn't even consider Bounty Hunting. They were just naturally prepared to annihilate whatever challenged them.

As she tried to reach the Hall in the distance where everyone was headed, she was stopped by a group of three Mandalorians, each wearing green armor.

"That symbol..." he said to her in a growl. "That's not some kind of joke, is it? You're Clan Mobius?"

"Who wants to know?" Red asked quietly.

"A true Mandalorian." the other sneered. "Answer me."

"I'm Ge'tal, of Clan Mobius..." Red answered. "Is there a problem?"

Red was trying to be reasonable. She wasn't here to get in petty squabbles with the ignorant.

"A problem? Oh, what problem could a true Mandalorian have with a clan that dispersed like cowards slinking back into the shadows when the Enclave collapsed?"

"My Clan didn't disperse. They were abducted." Red replied tersely. "I'm searching for them."

"A likely story..." The Mandalorian sneered at her, setting her teeth on edge under her helmet. "A whole clan of merchants and opportunists. You were barely Mandalorian even at your peak. And after your dispersal, less than Aruetii...what makes you think you're even worthy to loiter in one of our marketplaces?"

"If you got a problem with us making money off our products, it sounds like a skill issue." Red replied scathingly. "I'm as much Mandalorian as anyone here."

"Not without a Clan you aren't." the other growled.

"I have a Clan. I will find them..." Red trailed, unhooking her hammer from the sling sling clasp on her back.

"I'm going to the Hall. If you're gonna try and stop me, try it. But then my Hammer does the talking at that point. And it is of even fewer words than I am."

The Mandalorian scoffed at this. But the deadly stillness Red exhibited and the watchful eyes of Mandalorian Law Enforcement in the distance made him think twice.

"Best watch your back in Keldabe..." he threatened subtly before he and his groupies walked off.

Red said nothing at this, reattaching her hammer to her sling clasp and heading into the hall.

Red felt small compared to the vast array of banners from more recognized or larger clans. But she vowed that they would all know her Clan's name once more. Her Clan would shine like the stars above Mandalore's sky.

And the Cult of The Brain Demon would pay for whatever it was they had done to her family.

Red walked through the hall, drawing the occasional surprised stare from others who saw the clan symbol on the side of her helmet. Red tried to ignore the stares as she headed to where Aether Verd was, pausing nervously as she spotted a very familiar face from the days of the Enclave, Runi Kuryida .

So, The Mandokarla persists she thought to herself.

Runi had always frightened her. Red generally tried to stay away from the Force Users among the clans, the ones using witch magic. She feared they might sense her capacity for visions of the future.

Red herself feared she was a Force User, albeit unconsciously. She stayed away from the gnawing fear that her visions were just from an uncaring and manipulative God rather than from the Oversoul by working in the old days.

If nothing else, as she waited for Mandalore The Iron to speak, she was looking forward to resuming her workaholic tendencies to suppress that fear...

Valah Hagen

Siv Kryze

Kirae Orade

Adonis Angelis IV

Itzhal Volkihar

Athena Faar

Kalðr Ísbjørn

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

HALL OF BANNERS, MANDALORE

Aether Verd did not rise at the first clang of the doors. Nor the second. He waited. Until silence had swallowed the Hall whole.

Then he stood.

The light from the high hearth caught the crimson of his armor, casting long shadows across the ironwood table and the faces gathered around it. He let the moment hang, long enough for every gaze to settle, long enough for silence to become attention.

Then, and only then, did Mandalore speak.

"You answered the call. For that, you have my thanks. This is no ordinary war council. This is the first step toward something greater."

He reached forward, placing a gauntlet upon the table. Fingers curled once, like a fist pressed to earth.

"This is vision."

His gaze swept the banners. Clan after clan. Story after story. Behind him, there were no statues. Only the living. Only the future.

"For too long, we have been an accessory. A sword others draw when it suits them. Our warriors have bled for Sith emperors and Jedi masters. For republics. For tyrants. For peace talks and civil wars that were never ours to begin with."

He paused. Voice steady. Not shouting. No need.

"And what did we earn for our loyalty? For our skill? For our legacy?"

His hand rose now, open, fingers splayed.

"We were used. Then cast out. Then burned. First by the Republic. Then by the Sith. Each promising alliance. Each leaving our bones in space. Each leaving Manda'yaim broken."

A breath. Heavy. Controlled.

"But that is not the Way any longer. Not under me."

He circled the head of the table, slow, deliberate, eyes meeting those of the warriors present.

"The Great Heathen Army is not just a name. It is our line in the stone. We will no longer answer calls as servants. We will no longer fight wars that offer us nothing but scars. If the galaxy wishes our blades, they will not hire a hound. They will contract a nation."

He came to a stop behind his helm, resting once more at the head of the table.

"As individuals, you are free to take contracts as you always have. That freedom does not change. But the Resol’nare demands more than battle. It demands we provide for our Clans. That is the heart of this vision.

From this day forward, a portion of all earnings will return to Mandalore. Not as tribute, but as tradition. First to support your clans. Then to serve the Empire. In doing so, we honor the Creed. We honor the fallen. We honor each other.

But now, we do more.

We offer our strength as a nation.

No longer scattered swords for hire, but a people united in purpose. If other nations want Mandalorian steel on their battlefields, they will earn it. No sentiment. No empty friendship. If they want our warriors, they will compensate the Empire. And what they pay will return to our people. This is the Way. And it begins now."​

His voice lowered, but gained no less weight.

"This is how we honor the Supercommando Codex. This is how we honor the War in our veins. This is how we protect our clans. This is how we build a future."

He stepped back from the table now, shoulders squared.

"This is the Vision I propose. Not by decree. But by unity. I was chosen by you. So I will hear you. Your banners fly above this Hall. Your blood soaks its stone. Tell me:"

His gaze locked with the room.

"Will you stand by this vision? What must be added or accounted for? Speak. Not for me. For Mandalore."

And then he sat. Not as a king upon a throne. But as one among kin. Waiting. Ready to listen.​

Red Mobius , Valah Hagen , Siv Kryze , Kirae Orade , Adonis Angelis IV , Itzhal Volkihar , Athena Faar , Kalðr Ísbjørn , Runi Kuryida

 

[Ze'bast Verd]

TAG: Aether Verd / Red Mobius / Valah Hagen / Siv Kryze / Kirae Orade / Adonis Angelis IV / Itzhal Volkihar / Athena Faar / Kalðr Ísbjørn / Runi Kuryida

​

For many, this was their first time setting foot beneath its vaulted ceiling. Veterans and newcomers alike. There were clans old and newly forged that had gathered at the call of Mand’alor. The sight stirred something deep in his chest. A sense of fraternity—raw, powerful, and rare. He had never experienced anything quite like it.

He was proud of his heritage, proud to be part of something greater than himself. Moments like these reminded him why he wore the armor, why he answered the call. Still, he hoped the unity on display could hold. The hall was filled with firebrands, rivals, and warriors shaped by vastly different codes.

The room was a tapestry of clans.

Armor painted in vibrant schemes, banners displayed with reverence, weaponry slung with casual purpose. Each warrior carried their history on their shoulders. There existed stories told not in words, but in sigils and scars. Conversations buzzed across the space, a low rumble of voices layered in accents from every corner of the Empire.

Mandalorians did not gather like this without cause. The Gravesong War was still in its early stages, but it already cast a long shadow. Whatever Mand’alor the Iron intended to present today, it would shape the path ahead—for all of them.

Ze’bast remained still, a pillar amid the current.

His eyes moved from face to face, watching. Not out of paranoia, but preparation. These meetings were as much about presence as purpose. His gaze sharpened at any sudden movement, any shift in tone or body language. Order was needed today. No blood spilled in this place. No distraction from the greater mission.

Not on his watch.

Aether’s words were taken in with a sense of divine purpose. Then came a question and he would respond. He would be the first to answer.

“I’ll stand by this vision!”

​

 

[Jaikell Wyrvhor]

Jaikell, amidst the charged atmosphere of the Hall of Banners, listened intently as the Mand'alor spoke of a new vision for the Mandalorian people. His thoughts swirled with a mix of pride and determination:

Aether’s words were taken in with a sense of divine purpose. Then came a question and he would respond. He would be the first to answer.

“I’ll stand by this vision!”

Jaikell stepped forward, his voice carrying the weight of his convictions:
His first over his chest.
"Ill stand with you Mand'alor.."

 

[Adonis Angelis IV]

Hall Of Banners​

Tag: Red Mobius Valah Hagen Siv Kryze Kirae Orade Runi Kuryida Kalðr Ísbjørn Aether Verd Athena Faar Itzhal Volkihar Ze'bast Verd

Adonis remained still as others stepped forward.

The first answers came like thunderclaps- loud, unshaken, immediate. Warriors with old names and fresh purpose declared themselves for the Mand'alor without hesitation. Their voices echoed through the chamber like war drums, steady and righteous, affirming the Vision before it could even cool in the air.

Adonis didn't rush to join them. He didn't want to shout to be heard. Instead, he let the silence settle again before he moved, earned his moment in the rhythm of it all.

He stepped forward.

Not with bluster or ceremony, but with the quiet force of someone who had walked through fire and still carried the heat beneath his skin. His helmet stayed beneath his arm. His gaze was steady. The stylized crest of House Angelis shimmered on his chestplate- a golden compass star, seared into darkened beskar like a scar. A name reclaimed.

"I am Adonis Angelis the Fourth," he said, voice low but resonant, rising through the chamber like smoke. "Born on Vaal. Forged on Myrkr. Blooded on Taris."

The words weren't for recognition, they were a record. A ledger of who he'd been, and who he'd become.

"For generations, my family served the Republic. My father. His father. Their fathers before them. Bureaucrats. Bankers. Men of policy, not war. They wore smiles for their masters and bled for a flag that never bled for them."

There was no venom in his tone, just clarity. Like he was naming something that had weighed on him for years, and was finally setting it down.

"I was raised to follow that path. To smile. To bow. To serve. And I broke it. I chose the Creed. I took the armor. I cast off the title they gave me and earned the one I wear now."

His eyes lifted to the banners, then returned to the gathered faces- some turned toward him, others watching from shadow or stillness.

"And still, there are those who look at me and see a mercenary. An outcast. Aruetii."

He paused. Let the weight of that word linger in the space between them.

"But they're wrong. I'm not here to borrow legacy. I'm here to build one. I don't want to be counted just in battle, but in what comes after. In the clans I help protect. In the children who grow up with banners overhead and food on the fire. In a Mandalore that outlives every war we fight."

His gloved fist rose, slow, deliberate, and settled over his chestL right above the crest of his bloodline. A symbol reborn.

"I stand with you, Mand'alor. I stand with this Vision. Not as a weapon. Not as a ghost. But as a Mandalorian."

He held the silence a beat longer, not to claim it, but to honor it.

Then, without another word, Adonis stepped back into formation- his place not at the head, not at the fringe, but firmly among his kin.

No longer a shadow.
No longer a stranger.

Only one of them.

 

[Red Mobius]

Red listened as the esteemed and the veteran introduced themselves.

Red listened to the words of the esteemed. They all had achievements of their own, others had identities they had shed, while she was still desperately trying to cling to her own.

Red didn't know about all this talk of new futures. But Aether Verd was Mand'Alor, and that was enough for her. Besides, she owed him.

A Mandalorian must pay their debts.

Red stepped forward.

"I am Red, of Clan Mobius..." she said.

"My family served The Enclave. They have been abducted, and I search for them still. I will not rest until I find them. My history does not have the many victories of the others present. But while I still stand I represent the honor and glory of my Clan as a whole. That honor, that glory, as well as gratitude, compels me to swear loyalty to you, and support you and this empire in any way I can manage. I do not have the experience of a true veteran, but I am an engineer and smith..."

Red pulled out a parcel from her armor and untied the fabric. In the parcel lay four silvery ingots.

"I offer the use of my own self designed, Jetii'kad-resistant Mobius Steel, which this very armor you see me wearing is crafted from. I offer to make a million more of the Hammer, the Pistol, and this shotgun you see me with to serve you and to serve my people. I offer my expertise in forging Beskar, and I know the secrets of shaping Taung War Oak." she finished, laying the tribute of Mobius Steel at his table before withdrawing back into the crowd.

"Long live Mand'Alor Te Beskar..." she said solemnly.

Jaikell Wyrvhor

Adonis Angelis IV

Valah Hagen

Kirae Orade

Runi Kuryida

Ze'bast Verd

Siv Kryze

Athena Faar

Itzhal Volkihar

Kalðr Ísbjørn

Aether Verd

 

[Valah Hagen]

"Will you stand by this vision? What must be added or accounted for? Speak. Not for me. For Mandalore."

"I STAND WITH YOU MAND'ALOR. FOR UNITY, FOR CREED, FOR FAMILY." Valah would respond while clenching her fist and placing it sternly over her right side chestplate.

 

[Siv Kryze]

.​

MANDALMOTORS HALL, KELDABE​

Tag: Jaikell Wyrvhor Adonis Angelis IV Valah Hagen Kirae Orade Runi Kuryida Ze'bast Verd Athena Faar Itzhal Volkihar Kalðr Ísbjørn Aether Verd

The torchlight caught the faded blue banner above him - the silver owl of Clan Kryze watching over the gathering with outstretched wings. Siv rose, his scarred hand brushing the ancient sigil on his pauldron before resting on the worn table.

"We stand with Mand'alor," he said, his voice like steel being quenched. "Our shipyards will build this empire's backbone. Our smiths will arm its warriors." His fingers tapped the owl engraving on his vambrace. "This symbol has flown over Mandalore's greatest fleets and darkest hours. Today it pledges to your vision."

He sat, the torchlight glinting off the Kryze crest at his shoulder.

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Mandalore, Outer Rim Territories

Itzhal Volkihar stood quietly at his solemn vigil, his piercing gaze sweeping over the hall of banners as it gradually filled with the diverse tapestry of his people. Mandalorians of all types and creeds gathered, their armours gleaming and weathered alike, each piece unique with many possessing a storied history both their own and that of their forefathers, some as old as himself, while others were reforged to tell new tales, yet no less mighty for their humble renewal.

Amongst them, his eyes lingered upon a few: Atehna Faar was one he knew, her armour recognisable even if battered and worn as many Mandalorians preferred, though the ancient Mandalorian could not claim much of a battlebond. Itzhal knew some of her feats; the most noticeable of all proclaimed with the faint sound of a roar picked up by sensors in his buy'ce. In truth, he was not sure if she still claimed allegiance to the New Mandalorians or if this new calling had replaced it in her heart; whether or not a choice had been made. He would not judge, regardless, only hope that if a departure had been decided upon, then it was a pleasant one. As their gazes met, he lowered his helm with a slight nod.

It was the Clan symbol of Kryze that caught his attention next, the silver owl of the Duchess's clan standing stark against a figure that he could not claim to recognise. Over a thousand years was more than enough time for one clan to separate into a dozen, as the thoughts and ideals of each group became distinct until new names and symbols were needed, preferably before they tore themselves apart. Unfortunately, it was not uncommon throughout history for clans to fight amongst themselves, though just as common battlelines were drawn in the name of civil wars as factions like wardens and crusaders argued over better paths for their people. Itzhal wondered then if this Clan Kryze claimed a link to the Duchess's own, or if they would pretend there was nothing but history between them.

The rest he could not claim to pay much attention to, armours memorised where he could, but otherwise saved for another day.

All except one. Aether Verd. Mand'alor the Iron.

With words that resonated in the respectful silence, he extended a vision to his people, the blueprint of a grand design made not of beskar and durasteel, but instead the people that would form his Empire. Just as a skilled Naur'alor prepared the forge, his words framed the casing of bonds that would form the links that held his people together, an unbreakable chain of resilience and resolve.

At least, that was the purpose.

Itzhal could not deny it was a pretty vision—all visions, however, just as Beskar required tempering if one desired more than slag.

He waited till the first reign of acceptances followed, better not to disturb the flow, as he looked around the hall and acknowledged those who had moved swiftly, either out of loyalty or belief. There was pride to be taken in such a stance, as long as it was chosen with at least the semblance of wisdom.

"Ni cuy Itzhal be allit Volkihar," proclaimed the ancient Mandalorian, his voice resonating with authority that was taken from years of service as he pivoted his buy'ce—its polished surface glinting in the light from the hearth—towards Aether Verd. The weight of his words hung in the air, a monument of his creation, a target for the words he intended to speak and those who would hear him, even as his focus settled upon he who would be king. "Know that I have sworn oaths to the New Mandalorians, though it was a promise that bound me to my duty more than any single faction or movement, it was an oath regardless. I will not dismiss that what I have previously promised just because I see merit in your vision. Nor will I swear to serve blindly; that is not my way."

He paused then, a slight tilt to his helmet the only sign of movement as words gathered upon his lips and then were dismissed just as quickly.

"You have requested we speak of what must be added or accounted for, so I will not do you the disservice of leaving cracks in this Empire to settle into the foundation," he declared, his voice booming in the silent wake of his previous words given space to breathe. "You have spoken much of acknowledging our past, both good and bad, for the sake of our future. But without the intention to look upon our faults and be better than what came before, acknowledgement is meaningless."

Carefully, he laid his hands on the table, far from his weapons and exposed to all.

"You wish for us to be more than hounds for others. It is a good start in my eyes, but I wish for even more than that. I wish to look upon my people with pride, to know that as our people spread across the stars, we bring hope and prosperity rather than terror and misery. Both Taris and the world of Ketaris look upon our people as heroes, we even now intend to speak how to deal with dishonourable curs that bring nothing more that devestation, but on other worlds we are the monsters that burn cities to the ground, dishonour the dead and leave only ruin in our wake." reaching up towards the sides of his buy'ce, Itzhal slowly disengaged the seals of his helmet, removing the protection of his armour as he placed it in front of him. "So, I ask, where will this Empire draw the line?"

Tags: Athena Faar Siv Kryze Aether Verd + Open​

 

[Runi Kuryida]

The Shaman turned her head aside to witness the mando'ade present that spoke strongly in support of Aether's vision.

It was a good vision in Runi's estimation. War was a way of their people and could bring strength, but it could also bring ruin and devastation. The Mandokarla helped many good warriors come to terms with what they had seen or done in battle. What didn't kill you did not, in fact, always make you stronger. So the thought of not lashing out at the worlds, but instead receiving compensation for services many came to expect of Mandalorians could prove invaluable to their people.

There would be less seizing of goods and materials from others, necessitating further acquisitions and expenditures to acquire more as they lacked the mines, skilled labor, and factories of their own. Fewer governments using mando'ade as fodder for wars with no benefit to their people. Meanwhile those not on the front had to conserve in order to have enough to eat, or forego certain luxuries to retain resources for the morrow. The Mandokarla was used to living on the land, but the majority had become accustomed to certain comforts and a way of life.

Itzhal Volkihar, in particular, voiced a desire for clarity among the shouts for support. "One side's hero is another's villain," Runi cautioned. Inevitably the Mandalorians would be forced to choose a side in a conflict somewhere at sometime. But, she would also add in support for Itzhal, "The Manda benefits the more people are strengthened. We would reap a multitude from uplifting the people spiritually, but also materially. A good harvest is equally as important as a rich vein of ore for the forges. Neither lasts long without the other."

Aether Verd | Ze'bast Verd | Jaikell Wyrvhor | Adonis Angelis IV | Red Mobius | Valah Hagen | Siv Kryze | Itzhal Volkihar | Kirae Orade | Athena Faar​