Mandalore Remembers: Call of the Crusade | Mandalorian Clans | Crusaders | Raxis

[Nyxie]

The foxtress too had been summoned, just as with every other Mandalorian present the evening. She sat atop the main support of her pavilion, her tails cushioning her rump against the hardwood and metal. Torches, drums and chatter filled the air abound; the latter suddenly ceased. The new Mand'alor had emerged to make some great speech. Aynea had listened to this speech, entertained its inspirations, but she saw it word for word for what it was - just another rally. In the end, it was just another pointless call to war; wasted, wanton bloodshed in the name of questionable moralities and archaic traditions. A silent sigh escaped her lips ad she leaned her head back upon her clasped hands.

The only true higher power in the galaxy was Cause and Effect. Ever action had an equal and opposite reaction. Like clockwork in the quantum machine, the millions upon million seemingly insignificant daily actions of the collective whole reflected upon one-another, each working in tandem and perfect harmony to create an exact outcome. Many called this predestination. Most could not see that if one tried hard enough, one could create the very circumstances of the destination they had always thought they'd end in. The conservative actionst of the late Mand'alor, Isley Very, were what caused his fall from rule. An act of the Gods as it were, Karma had stripped him bare of the title posthaste. Only himself was to blame. This woman had seen the other side in more than one occasion. She knew the truth about their "Gods." She herself had been revered to a degree during the brief course of her retirement, and she could take in account all those in the galaxy who could equal her fiery prowess on one hand.

Yet seemingly an act of Hod Ha'ran, to which the foxtress could relate, a new Mand'alor had risen to power by the name of Ra Vizsla, and now he would turn upon the place of Aynea's new livelihood the wrath of their crusade. What irony, this fate of Cause and Effect had left her. Which was the cause of this, she could not be certain.

In these things Aynea shared the indifference and lack of concern as her Zyn brethren. They were the last to start a fight, but first to bring one to its swift end. For now, they would not answer the Call; par for the course for the Zyn'meshurok. That left Aynea to pick and choose a side without recourse. That left her with time.

The nearby torches and braziers of the camp had suddenly all turned glistening and cotton-candy chromatic, as though haunted by some mysticism. The Reaper would return.

 

[Progflaw99]

Buruk felt the energy around him, hundreds upon hundreds of his kin surrounded him here on Mandalore. The energy in the place was astonishing, he'd never seen so many Mando gathered together in one place... k'icetei. It had been months since he'd taken on the hunt which had unceremoniously cast him back into the loving arms of his brothers and sisters. Since his close brush with death... something had changed. It was if his entire world had been flipped upside down and when he'd put the pieces back together, they didn't line up like they used to. He'd done some deep thinking and self analysis after the injury and he realized something... The Resol'nare... It had lost its meaning to him, he'd treated it as a sentiment rather than a rule to live by, and that was his folly. Since then, he'd taken the Resol'nare as a way of life, re-committing himself to the Mandalorian way of life. It's part of what drove him to visit Mandalore, to answer the call.

As the Rally progressed and the announcements were made, he felt chills travel up and down his spine. This. This is what he lived for, to protect his family, his people, be they blood relatives or even members of other clans. The truth of the matter was this: They were all Mandalorian. As the crowd roared, he joined in. His voice contributing to the overwhelming cry for a crusade. He didn't yet know where he fit in all this... Unsure of which clan he would claim allegiance to. As he looked around him, he was filled with an overwhelming sense of belonging... they were all here for the same reason, and that energy gripped at him. He would heed the call, and he would do it for his family, for his people... for Mand'alor.

 

[Davon Karr]

The decision to name Isley Verd as Warmaster had seemed an odd one. When the Clans had refused to bow he had led his new “Empire”. Many who had witnessed the duel had commented on Ra’s ferocity in battle and started to muse if he would heedlessly lead them to war.

Fighting a man was understanding the man.

Naming the Warmaster was a shrewd a move as any. There was no time for infighting between the clans. Declaring on both the Republic and the Sith would see the Mandalorians outgunned at almost every turn. They needed every asset, every leader. And that was where Davon saw that he would come in. He had been fighting for a long, long time. Most of it in the brutal wars during the end of the dark times where vod paid for every metre of turf with blood. Then he had led the resistance on Agamar. Davon Karr was not used to winning against the odds, he was used to spotting those unexpected places where the odds fell in his favour.

The council had placed their faith in Ra and so would Davon. So would every member of the Clans. The Republic was corruption personified, the Sith ruthless despots who had eradicated all life on several of the planets their influence extended across. An influence that reached their borders. His family did not scream or whoop, Davon said nothing. His were professional soldiers and mercenaries. His expression said everything in this moment.

He understood something of the nature of the man before him and would follow his mand'alor into the fire.

 

[Lina Djo]

Mia had to admire Ra's choices, her own position aside her had chosen well. Recognising Isley as Warmaster would help quell any uprising following his abdication of Mand'alor. And the remaining of the Cuir Rekr were seasoned warriors, experts in their own rights. She looked down at the axe hilt in her hand, far greater acceptance back into the fray than she could have ever imagined.

The thought of being able to bring the republic to heal, to grind the sith into dust filled her with great pleasure. She raised the axe hilt above her head and added her voice to the roar of the crowd.

 

[Rianna Organa]

Rianna stood with the other members of her clan, with Arla the Alor who for a moment looked at Rianna as if to say we had to know it would eventually come to this. Rianna had to admit that yes they had known for years they had known.

The reason she left the Republic as due to unrest, the reason Arla left the Republic was due to unrest, and Alderaan had left due to problems. She had lost count the number of times Clan Ordo had stepped over to help the Republic, how many times they had bled for them only to have them turn on them and treat them as traitors.

Then there was Roche they all grieved about Roche, not because they won for they only won the sector but at what cost. She had held out hope for a few moments but even those few moments drifted away on smoky winds.

She stepped back watching and listening, she was not one that always favored war. War meant injured and dead, it meant families losing someone, and that the hospitals would be busy again. But this was the life of a Mandalorian peace only remained for so long.

She sent off orders to MandalMedical to begin production on the battle kits, they'd need them

 

[Julius Sedaire]

There was no roar. Where others stood in various clumps and groups, a chaotic sea, those of Mereel knew the formality that would be expected of them, to a degree. Each stood in their own colors and designs of armor, not so far a throwback to their old days as to be uniformed for color and rank. Loose, there was even at this announcement a formation and discipline. But still, there was a show of support. Agree or not with the appointments that had been made, that was not his worry. His worry was to keep those of his Clan safe. And to rebuild. First would be in reputation and prominence. While they may never be so large as some, they would make their mark in other ways. As an example of another side to the many faceted jewel that was the Mandalorian people.

There was no barbaric yell. There was a rolling of beskar plating against beskar as a dozen or more super-commandos, remnants Ijaat had gathered of his blood and oath kindred, stood suddenly. Rigidly at attention, each warrior clanged weapon to breastplate in chorus and clamour. And then came the roar. Sudden, low, and slow. A deep bass rumble of suppressed fury and suppresed vengeance finally let free. Calm behind their t-visors, the warriors said very little other than the one word, an atonal mixture of various races, faces and more all shouting in unity of purpose and in unity of mind. The Sith and the Republic would burn for their sins, and Mereel would see to it they did so. But they would also show that the Mando'ade were better than the aruetii'se.

The word was singular. And it reverberated in the air like a rumble of thunder whereas others were lightning and flash.

"OYA!"

 

[Sal Katarn]

Long had those of Clan Kelborn longed for the day of open war against all who had betrayed and wronged them. Kade once thought he might put beskad away and take up plow, but he'd grown to realize that his hands had been trained to battle, not farm. The way of the warrior called to him in a way no other profession could. If he was to provide for his family, he would do it as a warrior of Clan Kelborn.

His shout rose with the rest, a fierce roar. A declaration that the Mandalorians needed none but their brothers and sisters to fight beside them.

[member="Varien Moxla"]

 

[Melina Tervho]

Mel didn't know how she ended up here but it seemed fitting in a way.

She had spent months up in the snows hunting the Death Watch cowards who struck at families just trying to get by. In that frozen stretch of Mandalore, she mourned Taung's passing and tried to honor his memory but it never seemed to get easier. Every day the pain seemed to fade in the light of day and the charge of duty but the nights seemed to last forever. Nights where she recounted every little moment she could remember of his smile, the color of his eyes, the way he looked at her when he thought she couldn't see him. That she was standing in this encampment listening to Mand'alor at all was his doing. It had taken his death to bring her back to her people. He was supposed to be here with her; supposed to be her mate and helping her mend that tiny little cottage up in the middle of nowhere outside Rikatal.

The rhetoric of the clans when she had come home had been rather neutral, seeking not to inflame the other players on the galactic stage. She had heard rumors of some working for the Siit, some working for the Republic. Money had no allegiance even if the person getting paid did. She didn't understand how anyone could work for the Siit.

Taung's death had done much to stoke her distrust of force wielders, even if she knew that rationally not all of them were to blame for the ills of society. In her book, their petty power struggles certainly didn't do anything to help. It was always people like her who ended up paying the price. She was a nameless, faceless statistic in their calculations, just another unextraordinary life to be born and die in their quests for infamy, crushed beneath their boots as they marched on to war over something they would never truly win.

It turned her stomach, hot tears streaking down her cheeks. Taung would not want her to be bitter.

But he wasn't here to get a say about that, thanks to the Siit.

Her voice joined those around her, chanting until it failed her, the pain in her chest and throat added to the ache where her grief lived.

 

[Vilaz Munin]

His tent stood in from of the one of Ra's as well as the other Alor'e. And behind him were thousands upon thousands of tents that belonged to different clans, but were brothers and sisters despite of what clan each and every Mandalorian swore allegiance to. Anyone could differ the ones of Clan Munin just because of that hungry and vicious serpentine that was the insignia of his clan. The same followed for the other clans. He could see the dragon insignia of Draco's clan. He could see the insignia of a paw of Arrbi's clan. He could see the insignia of a ram of Isley's. He could see all of the existing clans of Mandalore. All of them came to this urgent rally in which their new Sole Ruler initiated. The Warrior's knew that whenever a Mand'alor rallied all the Mandalorians it was because a great war would be waged by these proud, cunning, and dangerous warriors that all governments would cower when they saw that T-visor shooting hell fire to the enemies of Mandalore.

The anticipation was broken when Ra began his speech. A speech that touched the soul and heart of every son and daughter of Mandalore to their very foundation. It began with acknowledging the clans of Verd and Raxis. Raxis was a clan that Vilaz and his clan had no knowledge, but the one of Verd was one they all knew. There would be no quarrel with Isley and his warriors as he acknowledged his wrongdoings and promised to redeem his past self with his actions that would happen in the near future. And those promises would be guaranteed and fulfilled as Ra named him the Warmaster of the Mandalorians.

And then it came to the Four Wolves. One by one they were named and approached the Sole Ruler of the Mandalorians. [member="Davon Karr"] was the first, and despite the weight of age upon his shoulders he was still capable and dangerous. Never doubt the strength of an old man in a game like this. [member="Draco Vereen"], a close friend of his, was the second Wolf tone named by Ra, and Vilaz was unsurprised by this decision. The Alor of Vereen was one to be reckoned with at all times and one to never lower their guard to. [member="Mia Monroe"], once a Sole Ruler of the clans was the third Wold. While she isolated herself from the Mandalorians, she came back and was baptized once again as the warrior she was: wise, strong, and fearsome. And then the fourth and final Wolf was his name. He rose up and approached Ra with no hesitation in his pacing. His face was serious and straight as the Mand'alor dubbed him the rank of the Wolf of War and was given a hollowed out Mythosaur bone axe's hilt and was dressed in red rubies from the old mines of Mandalore. He was honored to have this rank and for his clan to be the Vanguard of the Mandalorians.

He returned to his tent after he was named the Akaan of the Clans and when Ra continued his speech. The speech sparked a fire in every Mandalorian hearing their leader speak, and it spread like wildfire. They were reminded of those that they lost to and of those that left them with a knife in their back. No more would they be like they were in the past. No more. Vilaz would ready the swords and shields of his clan as they roared into the night with their brethren.

He would make sure that the One Sith and the Galactic Republic know and feel what it was to have war with the Mandalorians.

And he would do it with a vengeance.

 

[Malcolm Dusque]

Mandalore remembered, but Malcolm didn't. Malcolm had grown up on a ship that had ostensibly owed allegiance to the Republic, and so had grown up thinking of himself as a man of the Republic.

All that changed once he had begun training with the Mandalorians. He had quickly learned that these people, these clans, were a conglomeration that were widely varied. They took to different weapons, combat styles, and methods. Some had different views on the force, some even fought minor skirmishes with each other, but they were all honorable. They all valued words given and upheld.

Malcolm had only been around for the past few years, but in that time the Republic had earned a reputation that was inherently against those that he had grown up believing. Actions taken by those wielding the banner of the Republic were reprehensible to Malcolm, and to the whole of the Mandalorian peoples. If one thing could unite the clans with one goal, it was war. If one group had earned itself a war, it was the Republic.

One of many, many thousands, Malcolm joined his voice to the vod around him. Gone was the boy who had grown up so distant, all that remained was a Mandalorian Warrior who shouted for blood to be answered by blood, and honor be brought back to the galaxy.

 

[Anija Betna]

[member="Elpsis Elaris"] [member="Funky Balor"] [member="Arrbi Betna"] [member="Skye Mertaal"] [member="Briika Tor"] [member="Siobhan Kerrigan"] [member="Alec Rekali"] [member="Draco Vereen"] [member="Ra Vizsla"] [member="Davon Karr"] [member="Mia Monroe"] [member="Ijaat Mereel"]

[media]https://youtu.be/bnc51fSo8ng[/media]​

It had been a long time sine the Mando'ade had come together in such a manner as this. In fact, Anija couldn't recall them ever having done so, even during Azrael's time as Mand'alor. It was a sight to behold. For as far as she could see, there were tents spread out across the valley. Each flying the colors of the clan or family which resided within. There were many which she recognized... but there were also a great many which she did not.

Which wasn't in and of itself a bad thing. She knew that there had always been clans which for whatever reason had chosen to fly under the radar, as it were. And there were probably several from Mandalorian Empire space. She shook her head at that, but more in incredulity than anything else. The sheer amount of people here was just staggering. She'd never really agreed with Isley's claim to the title of Mand'alor. But it seemed things had changed on that front as well.

For he was here now, or at least many of his House were. And she was certain she's spotted him at least once. There had been a time in her younger days that she had trained with him in use of the Force. It seemed like a lifetime ago now. And perhaps it had been. She knew she was a very different person than she had been then. So much had changed in the last year alone. Azrael gone... again. And in his wake, the Clans had fallen1 into disarray.

It was during this time that elements of Death Watch had taken it upon themselves to show the Clans the error of their ways. Over the space of a few months, the Clans had lost many worlds to the Advances of the Death Watch forces. The Clans had fought tooth and nail to reclaim what worlds they could. And to a degree, they had been successful. But, from what she'd heard, Isley and his Crusaders had reclaimed some as well.

And now, it seemed as if Isley and his Crusaders had returned home to Mandalore along with the rest of the vode. Whatever Ra would say today was to be heard by every vod, and every Clan. Initially, Anija had had her own misgivings about Ra. But she could say with certainty that he fought with a ferocity she'd not seen in a long time, and it was something the Mandalorians needed. It was far past time for them to roam the hyperlanes and to continue reclaiming what had been lost to them.

She'd not always been a big supporter of the various Mandalorian campaigns, but over the last year, she could feel a righteous anger rising. At the incursion by Death Watch, at the atrocities committed by Republic military officers - of who's government had sworn time and again that they were allied with the Clans - only to turn around and stab them in the back. The death of [member="Aaralyn Rekali"] had only been the final nail in that coffin as far as she was concerned.

And more recently, the death of [member="Ember Rekali"] as a result of the terrorist attack over Mandalore itself. Isley had sworn that the perpetrator was not sanctioned by his government, but Anija was still a bit wary about that whole situation. Regardless, Isley was here now, as were a great many of his Crusaders that she could see. It mattered more that they were here. To her, it mattered. Taking a deep breath, she gathered with the rest of Betna as they gravitated towards where Ra stood outside the largest tent in the valley.

She found it rather fitting that he would call a conclave of the Clans in such a place. The location was known by many to be an ancient ceremonial valley, used in eons past. And now once more it found a purpose. The orange torchlight flickered in the evening breeze and cast dancing shadows across his grizzled face as he began to speak. She'd heard whispers over the past week or so that Ra was working on restructuring the upper Hierarchy. How, she wasn't quite sure. But, it would certainly be welcome. They had far too many people in the upper ranks and more than half of those who held the rank were no longer active.

Over the years, she'd heard many a Mand'alor speak. But something was different this time. What he said resonated within her. As much as she wasn't always a vocal supporter of the Mandalorian campaigns, she remembered their aftermath all too well. Roche, Mandalore, Empress Teta. And so many others. Places where vode had all lost their lives fighting for a cause. A cause that she had also fought for. And lost friends and Clanmates. But no more. No longer would she allow her fellow vode to go into battle alone.

Squaring her shoulders, Anija listened intently as Ra continued to speak. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she heard him name [member="Isley Verd"] as Warmaster. Ember had been the last. And it was fitting then as well. But, she knew each would bring their own twist to it. She found it intriguing considering Isley had only weeks before been calling himself Mand'alor the Reclaimer. Given the circumstances, and that his Crusaders had in fact been able to reclaim much lost territory, she considered it a good choice.

As to the others that he named, his Cuir Rekr - she found the entire concept intriguing. Gone where the bloated ranks of Field Marshal. Now, there were only four, and then the Alor'e Council. Which left each clan to govern itself. This was the best way. She'd seen time and again how the previous system hadn't really worked, and instead, she'd seen people gain rank only to vanish. Perhaps this way it would bring more focus back to the Clans. Where it should be. He spoke more, and she felt the low rumble begin which quickly built into a roar. The vode approved. She approved. And for the first time in a long time, it felt.. right.

Raising her fist, she added her voice to that of others. "Tsad Droten enteyor trattok'or! Dar'jetiise enteyor trattok'or! OYA!"

 

[Darth Metus]

Warmaster.

The title...was one that Isley had never aspired to take. It was conceived to honor the best Manda'yaim had to offer; and in life, that was [member="Ember Rekali"]. He was a hero. He was an icon who gave the people of Mandalore hope. He embodied what it meant to be a faithful Mandalorian, to be a good Alor, to be a decent father. He excelled in every area that Isley had stumbled. Yet now that he had been stolen from this world...that honor was being draped around his younger sibling's neck.

A lump formed in Isley's throat.

Ember was a flawless example of what it meant to be Mandalorian...and Isley was an example of what it meant to be Human. He had made his mistakes, damn large ones – but he had redeemed himself thrice over. Pride had been an obstacle once, but his heart has always been in the right place. His goal in life was not to be worshipped, nor lauded, nor honored. Rather, his goal was to restore his broken and scattered people. For this cause did he start the Crusade – and in so did he have the blessing of the Gods.

And even now, they were with him. They saw him worthy – Mandalore saw him worthy – to stand as the new Warmaster.

Amidst the chants. Amidst the fervent cries of his people...Isley raised his fist. He wanted to lift up his voice...but damn it, he could barely keep his eyes from stinging.

Ni malyasa'yr va rala gar daab, Ember.

 

[Alkor Centaris]

When [member="Isley Verd"] called on him to be his Brother, Alkor accepted without full knowledge of what it entailed.

He stood at the furthest fringes of the tent, far from where those who were honored gathered and accepted their accolades. The scent of booze and smoke permeated the tent and wafted heavily across his senses. Many wore their helmets still, and many more had removed them for the sake of gazing on the ordainment with their own eyes. It was a matter of honor beyond his nubile understanding of their culture, but House Verd willed Alkor to attend solely for the sake of understanding. It would require time for Alkor to glean what it meant to be Mandalorian, and it would require spending long hours among their people. They spoke the language, still foreign to his ears, but the Dark Jedi listened intently. It had never been a matter of family before, nor had he been compelled to learn such skills for the sake of infiltration. For the first time in his life, Alkor had chosen for himself to join a cause, and he was sweating, bleeding, and struggling to belong.

On the cusp of society still, Alkor wore his loose fitting garb and looked like a scruffy spacer more than a proper warrior, but the Mandalorians purportedly took all kinds. He wouldn't be questioned unless he made some sort of foolish comment or made a scene. He knew better. Many years of subterfuge had taught him how to blend in. It was a skill he now employed for non vicious reasons.

When [member="Ra Vizsla"] named Isley Warmaster, he understood it only as a great honor. Still, it was a matter that he had not been apprised of. Isley must have been as surprised as the Dark Jedi when the announcement had been made. He did not understand the chant, but as the words were repeated, Alkor took the syllables to heart. Every word reverberated in his eardrums, and the addicting flow of emotions in the room pulsated through his perspiring form. It was like one of the shadier Twi'lek dens on Nal Hutta that he'd heard about, bodies huddled close together in a confined space. Their shared heat filled the room with the stink of excitement and the throbbing hearts of every being beat as one.

In that instant, Alkor understood something of what it meant to be Mandalorian.

In their chests played the drums of war.

"Oya," he repeated the word, still strange as it rolled from his tongue. Then, louder. "Oya!"

 

[Aedan Miles]

Aedan Miles grinned crouching at the back of the group the young Alor of Clan Akaata let the shouts continue on let them flow through him as he used them to stoke the fire in his heart turning it once more into a roaring blaze. He finally stood his helmet tucked under his left arm as he added his voice to the shouts lifting one fist into the area boldly as he watched. Finally he quieted he wanted no needed to hear the war proclamation this would dictate the events that would transpire for Clan Akaata. Depending on the target it may be a very profitable war time for them there were always convoys to raid of their enemies and they would do so with great honor and in some senses joy. Aedan knew his limitations he knew that as a warrior he was at an acceptable level of the Mandalorians but no where near those who trained for years to be unrivaled as a warrior. His training went into space and the combat that would take place there already as the enemies were announced Aedan was thinking of ships and other various necessities that would effect his choice in ships to take and forces to use. Nodding he watched and waited allowing those who were longer in the Clans and Crusades to stand before him he was best used in the background until it came to space that is where his skills were best.

 

[Babasa Ghryntel]

Four years among the Mandalorians, and Babasa felt like an offworlder looking in from outside on the contents of a Coruscanti curiosity shop.

Although she couldn't understand the tongue of the ancient Mandalorians, nor indeed some of the Basic said, she grasped the intent of the words and felt a stirring in her soul.
A cruzade againzt the Republic... a bold move for the Mandalorians- but are they not always a bold, proud people? She had been one of them long enough now to know that was an understatement. As her reptilian eyes fell on Mandalore, she felt a wave perhaps not of complete loyalty, but of respect for this gharasel, this "great warrior" who would lead them to war.
War. It had been awhile since she'd gone that path.

The feeling prompted her to glance down at the cycler rifle in her clawed hand, with its browned stock firmly planted in the dust and dry metal gleaming dully in the light. It had been awhile since she'd even fired it.
Her eyes, liquid spheres of blood-red riven by pitch-black vertical pupils, glittered menacingly as her mouth split in a devilish smile. "Long live Mandalore."

And may the Republic burn in the flame of his rise.

 

[Krayn]

It had come to this.

When the call had gone out around Mandalore of the appointment of the raids and the rise of the new Manda’lore, it had become the duty of every man and woman to be representative of their chosen Clans and march upon the greatest meeting of warriors that Mandalore had probably ever seen.
For Maanis it was even more then just representing his Clan, for this would be one of his first Manda’lore appointed ram’ikas as a fully fledged warrior of Mandalore. He had already seen to the drinking of many tankards provided to him by the fellow assignment of Clan Vizsla, just as he had also withdrew much roasted meat and other, more established food to attempt to outdo that of the other warriors.
However it was all just fun and games compared to the words that had followed.

Ra was one of them. Not just a Mandalorian but a Vizsla as well, he had united the clans were no one else could and now he was the herald of their crusade. He would usher in a new age as the Mandalorians would again conquer what was theirs by military right.
His words resonated with his own clan more then any other and as the rest cheered and shouted him on it would be the descendant thud of Clan Vizsla’s response that would echo through the camp more than any other.

For tonight was the night of Clan Vizsla, of Mandalore and of the future!