Private Home is Where You Make It

[Siv Dragr]

R E B U I L D I N G​

KESTRI
WILDLANDS, CIN'HASTAAL MOUNTAIN RANGE

They'd been through hell, the three of them. For two of them, quite literally.

Siv had only been in the netherworld once, on an Enclave-sanctioned expedition through some sort of gate near the Scarif system. He'd only known precious little, besides that it was suspected to be some relic from an ancient civilization. Any designs the Quartermaster had in mind for the other dimension had gone out of the window when they'd left the Confederacy, and it hadn't been until Panatha that the netherworld had crossed Siv's mind once again.

Having your two comrades be pulled into it in pursuit of one of the most notorious Sith Lords in the galaxy tended to have that sort of effect.

But one way or another, they had made it out of that forsaken hellhole. Siv was grateful that physically, they were more or less unharmed. But he couldn't help but feel guilt for playing any hand in their rescue. For those he considered brothers, he had been unable to do anything to rescue them from their torment. But if anything, their trial had proved their valor and skill -- not that it needed proving -- and for a small moment in his bleak existence, Siv felt a small tug of hope. Hope for his legacy. Hope for the legacy of his Clan.

Clan Dragr had been rendered nearly extinct by the genocide of Mandalore. Siv was its last remnant, and with his death would come the final extinction of his clan. Sorrow had led him to neglect his duties as de facto Alor, but he also had felt unworthy to take upon the mantle. But if he did not, there was literally no one else who could, and Clan Dragr would end up a history's name lost to time like so many others. Siv had failed his clan on many accounts, but he would not fail it again.

"I don't think it's hard to guess why I asked you here today," Siv said to the two Mandalorians that stood before him. The three were standing on the bare, windswept mountainside somewhere in the middle of the frozen Kestrian mountains. It was a cold place; but then again, so was most real estate on Kestri. "It's. . . well, my clan has only been me since the genocide. For a while, I thought it would end with my death, but then I met you two. I couldn't think of any two more worthy to rebuild Clan Dragr."

"That is if becoming Clan brothers is what you wish as well."

Volo Dragr | Obran ​

 

[Volo Dragr]

D I S C O V E R
Siv Dragr | Obran
ENCL-21 Ra'ntisr Heavy Blaster Pistol | Hodge-Podge'gam

A right sight Volo must have been for his new-found brothers. On his hip was a heavy blaster pistol of such extreme beauty and elegance, it might have been forged from the Spirit of the Manda, but that hip holster belonged to horrendous affront to proper gam.

It was scrapped together from a mix of durasteel and duraplast plates, with some roughspun, scratchy fabric for a bodyglove and cloak. The only unifying part of the whole ensemble was the heraldry, which managed to remain individual and unique, though familiar, to most Mando'ade.

Today was the first he had seen his vode since... since that day. He brought his one and only intact limb up, rubbing where the stump joined to his cybernetic with a mournful gaze. Volo was fortunate enough to have had the more... promiscuous of those memories sealed away, thanks wholly given to Ijaat Mereel .

Still, it was hard to draw his thoughts from the tragedy, from the suffering he knew he must have endured, that he still felt- In his joints, where the cybernetics rubbed and chafed, where they pressed with every heavy step... the pained warrior stilled his slow pace through the wilderness, pausing to take in his surroundings.

He allowed that... influx of sensation, of feeling, to hit him; if only to pull his mind to the present. He shut it out quick enough, simply enjoying the beauty of being back in natural nature, where the grass was green, where birds chirped, where snakes hissed and beasts roared, where it died if it bled and plants didn't actively attempt to kill you.

The last Skaigh didn't mind the cold, welcoming it openly with a soft smile- The cold breeze brushing his face intoxicating, in comparison to the humid and hot gusts of air that were common along the Rishi Peninsula he grew up on. He stood, facing out over the cliff, listening to the words of his Vod even though he did not face them.

The question posed to him required little thought, Siv had been right in stating their purpose here was obvious. Volo answered with equal swiftness and certainty...

"Ni kar'tayl gai sa'vode" First, in Mando'a, then in Basic. "I know your names as my brothers."

​

​

​

​

​

​

 

[Obran]

Obran stood, if not realxed, then less tense than he had been in months. His time in the Nether had been illuminating, and the armor he wore fresh into the foray on Panatha stood scarred and marred more than a few times over. At a pouch on the bandoleer across his chest rested an ancient bes'bev he had escaped the Nether with, made of bone and beskar. Several other trinkets, from defeated foes and others, adorned his armor from his time in hell. He was formerly no spiritualist, but now seemed almost suspiciously so.

As Siv Dragr and Volo Dragr spoke, he nodded. The sage in him was recording details of boy, stance, voice and tone. It would make a good sag, the rebirth of their Clan. The bare beskar and voidstone armor was polished to gleam like cleaned bone, and his helmet sat beside him, menacing any who met the slotted T shaped gaze of it.

Meeting Siv's look evenly, the gravely voice responded.

"You have me, for as long as the Nether does not claim me."

 

[Siv Dragr]

R E B U I L D I N G

Tag: Volo Dragr | Obran

Emotion choked Siv's next words, which surprised him. Rarely did he feel any emotion other than anger, and even rarer did that emotion physically impede him. He paused for a moment to blink the moisture from his eyes before he hardened once more. He had no time for feelings. The future of his clan was on him; he must be the one to lead.

"Then, Volo, Obran, from this day forth you shall be known as Dragrs, considered full-blooded members of the Clan," Siv pronounced gravelly, reciting the words he remembered listening to his Alor speak before the genocide when he would watch clan proceedings from behind the armor of his parents. "The honor and legacy of this clan are yours to bear, and yours to forge."

Their brief ceremony included, Siv assumed a more relaxed air. Official ceremonies made him uncomfortable, but now he felt more at ease with his two new brothers. "I said that we wouldn't have any trial. But as full-on members of the Clan, I do need help with something. . ." he turned to face away from them, looking over the barren mountaintop. "Building a home. I've some credits saved and scraped from my hunts that I can purchase some construction droids, and maybe material. But I would hazard that between the three of us, funds would still be scarce."

He turned his head to survey the vast valley below them. "This region is rich with unexplored terrain, and lots of game besides. A clan home that doubled as a hunting lodge for other vode would bring in the credits we need to build and maintain a keep, and it would be good to have funds to access during hard times. What do you say?" He finished, turning to look at both of them. Though he was technically Alor, he viewed all three of them as being equals and having equal say when it came to matters like this. It took off some of the pressure of leading to be able to have responsibility rest on others' shoulders as well.
​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​