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On the Trail that We Blaze (PM for invite)

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Carida​
Serpent's Tail Tavern​

At one point, Carida had been home to an Imperial academy of sorts. It had been lost to history, the exact details and what it was. But the ruins remained. Another Empire fallen. Burned by in it's own incompetence. By it's own weakness, by it's own foolishness.

Preliat felt that fire, felt that rage. He was set to put his anger to a fruitful end, finally. The tavern was empty, Preliat had paid the bartender to close up early. Their debts would be paid, and the gathered would cause no disturbance. They were civilized, sometimes. The only request that Preliat had made was a long table, with no seat larger than the other. All equals sat at the table.

He had his compatriots gathered, and a drink in hand. Tonight, they were drinking and talking, as most did before enacting some form of plan. Preliat stood at the end of the table, rising to his full and mighty height. He was wearing his Beskar'gam once more, golden and adorned with a cloak and a Wolf's fur, as fitting as it was.

Beskar'gam'Kandar. The heaviest, the most protective- the ultimate symbol of Mandalorian might and prowess.

He raised his mug first.

"To all who lost their lives in our Civil War. May they find peace in the Manda."

He looked at the Mandalorians gathered.


"And may we seek retribution upon those who have turned their backs to them and all that they died for."
 
Carida, Serpent's Tail Tavern, Undetermined Time
Ghost Girl | Interacting with [member="Preliat Mantis"] / Whomstever Arrives ~ Claim Your Weapons ~ "It's now or never."
——————————————————————

A good drink brought good tidings to any, be they man or woman.

Vlora loosely sniffed at the served alcohol before raising her mug in silent solidarity with the Wolf's toast. It was foreign vintage but sure to work like any other poison, slowing the body and mind, suffocating like a serpent. That alone would have made the hybrid Eldar push it off, yet tonight was different. Tonight Vlora had found those she'd been searching for, the others her buir had spoken of on Rattatak. There had been many stories, from others too, whispers of bloodied coronation and the hounds of Hell who circled Mandalore relentlessly.

Many, many stories.

A sour sigh left Vlora and she tipped the mug back to take a hearty swing of drink. Upon removing it from her mouth the warrior let out a surprisingly spirited, "Oya." In response to what Preliat had said.

Perhaps tonight, their spirits would dance knowing of what was brewing in this tavern beyond tomorrow's ale.
 
Surreptitious scheming striking surely.
Vellavert Bralor
Location: Cardia, Serpents Tail Tavern
-- Getting hammered --
Interacting with: The not-so-round Table



It was about time. Mandalore was a joke, the Empire a laughing stock, fools and sycophants alike pretending to be giants in their play-pen. Clan Bralor had long kept itself apart from the Empire, from that nightmare of a mess, but, perhaps now was time to change. The others were gone, off on various things too busy or too otherwise apathetic for such plots. But not Vellavert, no it may not have been his home, but it would be. Ines had always wanted to go there, to see a truly Mandalorian Mandalore. Her memory brought him here.

The titan of a warrior stood and spoke and Vellavert nodded and turned his attention to drink. It was a bar, after all, there wasn't much else to do and when someone offers you alcohol, well it beats being sober. His Beskar'Garm shined in the dim-lit room, the orange glow illuminating every scar, every crack on the suit far older than its wearer. Nostrils flared and a billow echoed out, he spoke at first and then the words carried themselves loud as the rallying cry that they were. That gorgeous seductive word washed through the hall like a tide "retribution
" it was lovely, it was intoxicating, like a drug seeping into his veins flowing with it a wave of joy and hunger in equal measure. This was a hunger like none other, this was that special kind of hunger, a Mandalorian hunger.

The Echani's eyes squinted, if for a moment as she spoke this Rattataki had heart, why not follow her example. A single black-gloved hand raised, departing his helmet from the fur and suit beneath, revealing his face and no sooner than the orange glow bounced off of his golden skin did his lips part triumphantly --


"Oya..."
 
Cardia, Serpent's Tail Tavern, Undetermined Time
With [member="Vellavert Bralor"], [member="Vlora Eldar"], [member="Preliat Mantis"], Whoever Else Shows



Silas gave a silent nod instead of any outcry. He was Mandalorian, like his brother, but Silas was not defined by conquest of world after world, he was not known for his spearheading of crusades. No, Silas was known only for killing other Mandalorians, it was what defined him, it was what he had made a name for himself doing.

Silas had stacked corpses of Mand'alor the Liberator's forces a mile high, rounded up those deemed in need of 'curing', slaughtered those who resisted and rebelled. All of it was to build the Mandalore he believed in, but it turned into nothing more than an insult to his vision, so he took to killing them too. No matter where life took him, not matter what other foes he faced, Silas would always be known as a hunter of his own kind. It was a heavy burden, one made heavier still when he'd descended into hell to bring back one who he'd stood against. Silas had waded through his victims in the nightmare realm, all of them tearing at him with the truth of what he was.

A kinslayer.

The tihar he ordered didn't push that out of his mind, and he didn't care. Perhaps being what he was made him strong, after all their people were the most ferocious warriors in the galaxy, or had been at least, and he slayed them. That should've been something to boast about, but he couldn't get past some sense of guilt. Not yet anyway.
 
There was a silence of zen coming from Vilaz. He had grown and matured into that phase of life, the phase where one had opted to be calm and quiet rather to be rowdy and uproaring. Of course, on the battlefield he was a beast and a dangerous one too. He relished in the glory of warfare, and was very radical and gruesome when it came to it. Something that gave him a reputation amongst his people. But in situations like this, sitting in a tavern, he was still and at ease. In his youth he’d probably pick up a fight and scream vigorously.

Not anymore.

He sat down in a table, surrounded by some of his clansmen, with others of different clans a few yards away from him. Unlike the rest that ordered drinks of alcohol, mostly tihaar, he went with the choice of water. Clean, distilled water. The Warlord was not in the mood of drinking liquor, especially when reminded of a Civil War he fought that was fought for nothing and the Mandalorian Empire that treated him and others unjustly with the reign of the Infernal.

He’d drink in memory and respect of those that had fallen in the Civil War (those that truly deserved it) in silence.

All those lives lost...and for what?

All for what exactly? To let a vision die and be replaced with something foul that needed to be killed away?

How far had they really fallen? Was this how things were during the time of the Clone Wars? With pacifist Mandalorians playing politician and appeasing their neighbors. Only today it was different, yet somewhat similar to an extent.

”Why did you truly summon us for, Preliat? Can’t be just to have drinks and honor our dead, and talks of retribution,” the Munin said, breaking his silence and looking at Preliat. Vilaz was straightforward and such. He hated filler, and would prefer one to get down to business right away.

[member="Silas Mantis"] [member="Vellavert Bralor"] [member="Vlora Eldar"] [member="Preliat Mantis"]
 
Talks of retribution. They had damaged the Sun Forge, but not brought it down as they hoped. Their initial response was met with little more than a whimper from the Infernal. Preliat Mantis knew that whatever Yasha had become, it was not his daughter. His daughter had died long ago. Whatever was sitting in the throne, foolishly leading their people, scampering about like a Jetii on a peace mission, rather than an iron-willed, stalwart ruler- a Sole Ruler, at that- was not his daughter. His daughter, and his wife were dead. They were dead, and they were never coming back.

And now he had to pick up the pieces.

He looked over at the Mandalorians gathered. Strong, capable warriors. Vilaz, as per his usual- broke the silence, broke through all the...filler. The unnecessary words. Preliat sat down, only now a few inches taller than most of the gathered. He wanted everyone seated at the table to see eye-to-eye, see as one.

"Brothers- sisters. We must set our people back on the path. We must steer them away from the madness that they have allowed themselves to be consumed by."

[member="Vilaz Munin"] l [member="Silas Mantis"] l [member="Vellavert Bralor"] l [member="Vlora Eldar"]
 
Carida, Serpent's Tail Tavern, Undetermined Time
Phantom Opera | Interacting with [member="Preliat Mantis"], [member="Vellavert Bralor"], [member="Silas Mantis"], [member="Vilaz Munin"] ~ Claim Your Weapons ~ "Don't surrender."
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A Munin spoke and Vlora's sharp marbled eyes turned, focusing on the one who'd chosen to cut through the noise of drink and din to steer their ship back to the shores of-- Shores of what?

War?

The gaze turned from Vilaz to Preliat, not before meandering amonst the others gathered-- The other Mantis, the Bralor --But the sole Eldar nodded her head lopsidedly in agreement with what had been decreed. No false words there. Despite all present being on a level field of speaking and engagement, it was clear most of the room deferred to seniority. And there was no doubt about what that seniority referred to, it took a wolf to lead a pack, at least to water.

"They play at Mando," Vlora said a little lazily, her accent making the words sound slightly slurred and curled, certainly exotic, "Dress in beskar'gam only to shake hands with devils, and erect thrones of lies. They enjoy the names, and enjoy pretending to honour Resol'nare--" It was at this point she paused to drink, wet her tongue before finishing her piece, "--Is almost sad to see." Basic, clearly, was not her first tongue, maybe not even her second. That did not affect the gravity of her words, her conviction, any less. She believed those words absolutely.


"What will be done, to stop this?"
 
Surreptitious scheming striking surely.
Vellavert Bralor
Location: Cardia, Serpents Tail Tavern
-- Getting hammered --
Interacting with: The not-so-round Table - [member="Vlora Eldar"] [member="Preliat Mantis"]



So they spoke, and so they spoke. The arrangement fair and calm, a drink or two sat at a table of equals, a show of faith on part of the host. Now it was his turn to return that show of faith, words were a shame. That is what the False Empire did, they spoke, they talked at tables and signed deals. They made arrangements and drew on maps, kneeling to the Sith, or the Order, or whichever master of the week they found comfort in the shadow of.

"Mandalorians do not stand in the shadow, we cast it." So that was that he didn't like talking, it was frivolous, opulent and nowhere near violent enough and he found it all-together too easy. Vellavert gripped at the flagon in his hands, knuckles turning white as he downed the swill in one motion. He was more Echani than Mandalorian, but a Hutt was more Mandalorian than the facade of power gripping their world, their heritage. There was only one thing to be done, he knew it, they knew it, the bugs festering in the foundations of this perfectly seedy establishment knew it.

In a single glance as fluid as the rivers of blood he hoped they would soon bring to Mandalore he turned to face each and every one at the table. His lips pursed, his eyes narrowed, his ears themselves seemed to twist in interest as his gaze finally landed on Preliat. Vellavert parted his lips and spoke, as much as the Rattataki as to the man who had summoned them "We do the only thing we know. We cast out the weak. Is that not why you summed us here, to rip out the seed of weakness souring in the heart of Mandalore?"

At least he hoped that was the case. It'd make for a good story. It would be glorious.
 
Cardia, Serpent's Tail Tavern, Undetermined Time
With [member="Vellavert Bralor"], [member="Vlora Eldar"], [member="Preliat Mantis"], [member="Vilaz Munin"] Whoever Else Shows



"The same thing we have always done." Silas answered the woman, taking another swig from his glass as the Bralor more or less said everything he might've answered with. Blood had been spilled to get them into this situation, and blood would be spilled to get them out. It always came to bloodshed, no matter the age, no matter the people, for Manda'yaim blood was the only medium which brought lasting change.

So they would spill it, in excess if need be.

Their opponents were feeble, weak, and deluded. They sought to spit on all that was Mandalorian as they made peace with old enemies and fell into the snare of cowardice. Looking around he saw faces old and new, but hungry for a chance to return Mandalore to its former glory, to what it was supposed to have become following the Civil War. He had fought for it once, and he'd fight for it again.
 
”Not Just weed out the weak,” the Warlord said to his fellow Mandalorians in response of the shared dialogue between them, and stood from his seat. ”We must eradicate the false and desist this plague Empire that we allowed to be born with that child having Mandalore under a cursed spell. Something that we have allowed with each passing day, and we are to blame.”

Not one person carried all the blame of the disgraceful current events that took place in the Mandalorian community. All were to blame, and not one person was free of this guilt. They’d be lying to themselves if that was the case. They all knew of this...disease that took Mandalore and their culture in hostage, both being abused by the second. They all knew to which they discussed about with tones of vengeance, justice, and retribution.

Almost similar to now.

While they talked of promises of slaying the irritating Infernal and returning Mandalore to its glory, they didn’t act. All words and spit, but no one moved a muscle to initiate these plans.

It disgusted Vilaz.

Which is why it stopped...tonight.

”My brothers and sisters, we all took an oath when we chose this path. I am willing to lay down my life for the survival and prosperity of our people. We are the surviving remnants that the Infernal has not yet damned with her ways. But we must act, and we must end these bickers and talks of a future when we haven’t done anything to secure a holding of it; however, that can all change tonight where we stand.”

[member="Silas Mantis"] [member="Vellavert Bralor"] [member="Vlora Eldar"] [member="Preliat Mantis"]
 
He was ready to say it aloud, no matter the pain it brought him.

"My daughter- my brother's niece. My wife- the life that I wish I could still have, is gone. They died. They died and they are never coming back." He took a swig of his drink. Once upon a time, Preliat was possessed by the demon drink. "And whatever sits on that throne, calls a council, and parades around Mandalore as the Infernal- is not my daughter. It is an apparition, a travesty, a ghost, a demon that arose from the Nether after the madness of Akala. We all have suffered because of the Infernal's madness. We all have fought, together- to put the Mandalorian people first." He looked at those seated at the table.

"We have forsaken a life of happiness with the idea that others may have one. If we are to act as one, light a fire- then we will be burned, in one way or another." He looked down at his hands, then at his brother. He wanted to say a thousand things to comfort him, but it would all be a thousand lies- they both knew that the Mantis brothers were damned from the start. It was a family curse to suffer.

"We are the truth, we all the reality. We are what they deny to be- their heritage, their people."

[member="Vilaz Munin"] l [member="Silas Mantis"] l [member="Vellavert Bralor"] l [member="Vlora Eldar"] l [member="Koda Fett"]
 

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