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Faction One Mandalore || Mandalorian Empire


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SUNDARI PALACE, MANDALORE
"Mandalore moves forward — with you, or without."

The throne of Sundari had been empty for too long.

Now it held Iron.

Aether sat, heavy in the chair that once bore the weight of legends. The vaulted chamber stretched before him, its every wall a testament to the legacy of Mandalore. Lining the Hall were statues carved in stone and forged in memory—each Mand’alor given their due. Not as idols. As reminders. Of who they were. Of what they built. Of how often it burned.

Across from his own likeness stood the armored sentinel of the Neo-Crusader’s Liege. Aether had insisted it remain. Not for glory. Not for grievance. But for truth. Every attempt at unification—every rise, every fall—was a brick in the foundation of what now stood. A Mandalorian Empire.

But the cost had been blood. Starvation. Silence.

The Planeshift Calamity tore open the galaxy’s veins. The hyperlanes snapped like brittle bone. Livelihoods collapsed. Worlds choked. And when the old order couldn’t hold, it scattered. The Neo-Crusaders fled to the stars, salvaging what they could. They became nomads again. His last reports marked Dxun as one of their dens, deep in the jungle, still armoring up in the name of Mandalore.

But the people left behind?

They suffered.

And when the suffering became too great, Aether came home.

He didn’t arrive with parades or fanfare. He came with food. With fuel. With beacon relays to guide the lost through broken space. Every ship, every credit, every blade his Clan could spare—he gave. And the people saw. The Clans saw. In the chaos, he led.

They didn’t vote. They rose. And they crowned him with their hope.

Now, beneath the banners of Iron and Flame, Mandalore lived again. The Empire was real. Not a dream. Not a warpath. A reality. But the work wasn’t done. There was still hunger in the outlands. Still wounds that wept beneath the armor. And still, beyond the stars, there were kin.

Distant.

But still Mandalorian.

Aether’s gaze was still as the doors were prepared to open. His generals flanked him, silent, watchful. None spoke against his decision:

He had called them home.

Not to kneel. Not to bend.

To eat.

To rest.

To remember who the hell they were.

If they came with weapons, they would find a wall. But if they came with open hands, they would find a seat at the table. This Empire had no place for old grudges. No patience for splintered vision.

Mandalore was One. And Mand'alor the Iron would see it stay that way.


 


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Feydrik arrived, perplexed by what he had heard. What he had seen, what he had come to find out.

And as he arrived, it was as he suspected.
It was as he foresaw.
The galaxy trembled at the very mention of the Crusaders. Committees were called.

Councils decreed.
Cathar burned.

The Sith fell to their blades.
Queens and Kings lie at the Crusaders feet.

The Alliance breathed a sigh of relief- more fearful of the Mandalorians, than of their Sith enemy.

Only by indifference, by stagnation, did they become undone, lose focus.

They were not defeated, they were merely pushed to the wayside for a moment....




He was a Rally Master amongst the Neocrusaders, and at that, one of the reportedly more savage, more violent- more capable ones. His reputation proceeded him. That- and his trademark laconic attitude. Which he was bringing here. He entered the hall, not to dine, not to relish in the lavish gifts that he offered. Not that Mandalore needed much yet- the Neo-Crusaders had taken from every corner in the galaxy, and built a terrifyingly effective supply and tithe system.

Mandalore bloomed under their watch, once more. As it should.

"How convenient, that you come after the wars, after the stars trembled at our name. House Verd, from the shadows." His voice was distorted only slightly behind his red and black helmet.

"How convenient that you claim your throne, when there is no one to follow you at the moment. To the stars, our people are again." He paced around the room, drawing looks, stares. His right arm was concealed under a cloak, and a kama hung around his hips. He was every bit the warrior described, every bit the savage the stories about him were.

"Tell me your plans for your so-called Empire, oh great Mandalore the Iron." A chuckle, as he took a seat at one of the many tables. His hand remained under his cloak, while his left lay across the table, crushgaunts- caked with scars and knicks from the numerous battles he had waged across the stars.

"You espouse the same weakness as others, in your speech, in your actions. House Verd did not come to the call of the Mandalore- whom you have yet to challenge. Carduul lives, and you claim the title with no battle." He leaned forward.

"House Verd and yourself were not with us when we made the galaxy tremble with just a whisper of our name. Indulge me why I should follow a man who does not fight the battles his brothers and sisters did- and actively made a choice to not fight?"

Feydrik's eyes loomed to the Generals, aides, and others in the room around this so-called Mandalore. And then, that same, evil, sinister chuckle.

"Perhaps you're more of a poet than a warrior, Verd."





 

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SUNDARI PALACE, MANDALORE
"You made the stars tremble. We made Mandalore stand."

A single brow lifted.

Mand'alor the Iron regarded the former Rally Master in silence. Then he spoke — not loud, not angry. Just truth.

“I did not come home to rule. I came because our children were starving.

His gaze didn’t waver. Didn’t flinch.

“And while the stars may have trembled at your wars, the people left behind wept. It was House Verd — and those who stood with us — who brought relief. Who placed the beacons. Who healed the broken. They did not ask for trials. They did not demand blood. They crowned me because I was there when you were not.”

He leaned forward, ever so slightly. The weight of the throne behind him.

“You were invited here for one reason: to come home. Not to kneel. Not to rule. But to return.”

A pause. A flicker of something sharp behind his eyes.

“The Empire is now. You’re welcome to live in it.”

But they would not stand in its way.


 


The Speaker of the Mandokarla slowly moved through the great hall in her fur and leather armor, her helm held in the crook of her right arm. Unlike some Clans, Runi believed a Mandalorian should see the face of their brothers and sisters when not in battle. There was a purpose to be anonymous in battle. To being unreadable by your foes. It ran counter to developing deeper relationships with vod. A strength was the purpose of their tireless training and honing of their craft.

That the door opened to admit another did not drew Runi's hazel eyes from contemplating before the suit of armor on display. The Mandokarla's briirud had several pieces for much the same reason -- remembrance. Knowing where they came from was equally as important as where they were, or where they were headed. All too easy to forget your identity without a history to frame it.

Once Feydrik's voice boldly sounded from within his helmet, however, the Shaman turned her head to regard the newcomer and hear his words. If their gaze met, she would hold it as long as he wished. This place was open to all Mandalorian; Feydrik was free to say what he will -- provided he was prepared should he cross any line. Runi was far from a pacifist; if a challenge was issued then it was only proper it be met. This was an opportunity for both to grow and to learn.

For what Aether said in response to the accusations, Runi supported. The people had always been her concern. Not the crusades. Not the desire to make their mark as a people. If they chose to do these things -- if they believed they would strengthen them mentally, physically, or spiritually -- then it was their right; but so often were those left behind, far from battle, left to fend for themselves. Not always. But then that was the Mandokarla's duty to ensure it never happened. That there had been an opportunity to serve those in need had been all Runi had needed to gather a number to support Aether's efforts.

It remain to be seen if the professed motivation would satisfy Feydrik.



 


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Feydrik sat for a while, then laughed.

"The Empire you present is weak and faulted. You forsake our ways, you've forsaken Mand'alor's call. Why should I follow you? Why should anyone follow House Verd- a clan of traitors, Jetii and Dar'Jetii? And yourself- a wielder of our enemy's tool?"

He glanced around the room.

"A gathering of those who did not fight, claiming honor, duty. Some Empire." Another chuckle.

"You have no claim to the throne, to the title. House Verd and yourself did not answer the call. I ask again- why should I follow you? Or anyone here? Presently, I see no reason. I see no worthy leadership. I see no great change. I see the same weakness that the Crusaders snuffed out when we bathed the stars in blood and made the galaxy tremble."

And he turned to look at the woman who was looking at him. A shaman, a relic. And he looked at her- but moreso, through her. Beyond her. As if she was just a painting, or something like a small animal in the distance. The same way that Feydrik looked at the colors on a painting.

"And none that could hold a candle to even the lowest Crusader."

 

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SUNDARI PALACE, MANDALORE
"You don’t get to speak for Mandalore when you ran from her cries."

Aether shook his head.

When the suffering of Mandalore is spoken, you have no words. You didn’t come. You didn’t help. You left.

His gaze leveled like a blade.

“My predecessor stopped being Sole Ruler the moment he chose Dxun over the starving. The Clans saw it. The people saw it. And they crowned me.

His hand raised — finger aimed dead at the former Rally Master.

“Speak again, and this gathering ends early.”


 


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Was he here to make a scene?

Not this time. Others may deign to. He would merely watch.

There was a call. It echoed with the same naivety he once longed to uphold. That despite their differences, Mandalorians could stand together. That the Galaxy would forever be against them, and they would stand strong. Even as the stars tore themselves apart to rend their ideal, there would always be an after. Carduul Akahl, Mand’alor the Anointed by the Renewed Crusade, could always take comfort in that. He could never fail to marvel at the resilience of his culture. Nor would he wish to pass up the opportunity to see more of it.

And so he had deigned to attend. If only to see for himself and gauge the climate.

A new figure, a new faction. It was a tale as old as time. He would withhold judgement, for circumstance demanded action, and their people had tied intrinsically to titles when it was deeds that garnered all. He had organized what remained as best he could. There would always be those who fell through the cracks. He was one of them. His own title, claimed in blood, yet nonetheless hastily prescribed without traditional combat. A council, as distasteful as it was. The man behind the armor had wished there was another way, but War demanded change. It was the purpose of the Neo-Crusaders to spur that sacred thing, change. The tenet of Kad Ha'rangir himself.

“These hallowed grounds will not be stained with blood. Not today.”

Words left to echo into with deep reverberations of metal. Taps of his gleaming poleaxe, ever-present through every tribulation, was left against the floor as steps had stride forwards. He had heard the exchanges between one of the most zealous Rally Masters he had pride to call brother, and the up-and-coming individual with a claim to the mantle. It was not as if there were multiple fractured souls with such claims. With a small delegation clad in the traditional uniformed armor, he had returned again to those hallowed halls. Iconography emblazoned across the beskar mask shaped in the image of the one who started it all—the cycle of life and death stamped upon his features.

Carduul was many things. Scholar. Warrior. Ruler. But above all, he was Mandalorian.

His gaze had levied upon the new individual, Aether Verd Aether Verd . A simple statement, gaze tilting to nod over to Feydrik Munin Feydrik Munin , just as they had turned to leave. The mask swivelled to return to rest upon the Verd of the hour. “There will always be those to fight for our people. There will be days where war will rage anew. Where the enemies upon our doorstep will inevitably knock, and call us to arms. Where Kad Ha'rangir will demand of us to stand proud against the forces who tear us asunder. Today will not be one such day.” For now. Tithe did not seem to be enough to sustain in his pilgrimage, it seemed. Republic credits and industry to siphon what was rightfully theirs.

Steps pace. Tap, tap, tap. Arms splayed wide, one hand to his chest.

“I am here to show I yet live for the Mandalorian people. I would see it nurtured, as deserved. The Crusade will remain. This budding Empire is to be seen to remain. Nonetheless,

Mandalore.
Will.
Remain.

And so the Manda shall determine what this day brings, to bring her wayward children to see one another in full.”

Aether Verd Aether Verd , Feydrik Munin Feydrik Munin , Runi Kuryida Runi Kuryida

 
F i e l d - M a r s h a l

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Cassus fett the most wanted man in the galaxy after the Mandalorian Wars. :  r/Mandalorian
The Mandalorian people have historically been divided among various factions within the galaxy, including the Death Hand, the Neo-Crusaders, the New Mandalorians, and now this so-called Mandalorian Empire. The heritage of those assembled here was not evident in the Field Marshal's eyes.

While they were warriors who adhered to the Resol'nare, their purpose was not to confront the Galactic Alliance in combat or to assault the Royal Naboo Republic. Their decision to remain behind may have been prudent in retrospect, as those who appear cowardly can often rise to power amidst the chaos of war.

Now they claimed dominion over the entire Mandalore Sector, and proclaim themselves Mand'alor the Iron. A fitting name but it would be tested in the war of words between Feydrik Munin Feydrik Munin and Aether Verd Aether Verd , and the careful watch of the Shaman Runi Kuryida Runi Kuryida .

"Rally Master Munin is not entirely wrong in his assessment of the situation surrounding this empire...of yours." Vreegan said with some agreement watching Feydrik Munin Feydrik Munin depart, although he would not have explained it in that particular tone or with such hostility. Their purpose was not to incite conflict, but rather to observe and understand whether the man was more fragile than steadfast.

"Nor are you wrong, Verd in your defense of your principles. I do not deny your right to the Mand'alor title for the Clans behind your movement have deemed you best to lead them per our customs and traditions. Just as we had in appointing Carduul Akahl Carduul Akahl to the same throne when the Crusaders held dominion over the Mandalore Sector." He continued for just a brief moment with a rather mute expression towards Aether Verd Aether Verd .

The words of Mand'alor the Anointed Carduul Akahl Carduul Akahl spoke true, though that would not be enough to drag this meeting to a logical conclusion.

"Wise consul Lord Akahl. Though I wish to know how this Empire will handle the Great Enemy, the Scourge of our People. Carnifex still lives in the galaxy..rotten and encrusted with power behind the Blackwall of the Sith Empire. You have proclaimed that all past grudges are to be set aside, but how can they when the core reason for our cultural disunity still lives." He offered a final word.


 




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TAG: Feydrik Munin Feydrik Munin Runi Kuryida Runi Kuryida Aether Verd Aether Verd Carduul Akahl Carduul Akahl


Aselia stepped forward at last.

She moved with purpose—not theatrical, not aggressive, but resolute. Her black and crimson armor caught the light of the hall's high braziers, the red cape at her shoulder trailing like a wound that had long since scarred over. Her helmet remained at her side. She wanted them to see her face wanted no one in the chamber to mistake the weight of her words.

Her voice rang clear not loud, but final.

"You mistake mercy for weakness, and absence for guilt."

She spoke to Feydrik as he walked away.

"You speak of trembling stars, of fire, of conquest. But when Mandalore screamed, when our cities collapsed and our children starved, your war banners were nowhere to be seen. You vanished into the void chasing glory. We stayed."

Her eyes shifted first to the delegates, then to Carduul, then to Vreegan.

"We stayed and buried the dead. We cleared the ruins. We rationed food when there wasn't enough. And when the domes cracked and the last of the domed cities failed, it was not Crusaders or warlords who answered it was those you now call weak."

She took a step forward, expression unchanged, but voice edged like beskar.

"This Empire wasn't declared. It was built. Brick by brick, until the people no longer whispered of death but of hope. And Aether Verd did not seize the throne. He did not come with fleets. He came with supplies. With relays. With aid."

Then, to Carduul Akahl.

"You, Mand'alor the Anointed, earned your place in blood and fire. I won't speak against that. You led when leadership was void. You held the line. I respect that. We respect that."

Her eyes flicked to his gleaming poleaxe recognition in the gesture, not challenge.

"You were forged in war, and your people followed you through it. But war is not our only forge. Sometimes it is starvation. Collapse. The long silence between battles where leadership truly shows its face."

Her voice softened, but did not waver.

"Aether gave Mandalore something most Mand'alors never have: a future. Not just for warriors, but for children. For the broken. For the lost."

Then to Vreegan calm, but deliberate.

"I appreciate your restraint. Your caution. But you ask how we will face the Sith. How we will address Carnifex and the Scourge of our people."

Her posture straightened.

"I've seen what he left behind. But Carnifex is not what divides us. The Sith didn't scatter us we did. Every time one of us chose legacy over unity. Every time a banner became more important than a people."

She raised her voice, not with heat, but with weight.

"This Empire will face that threat, Vreegan. And others. But not as a dream. As a reality. One built by those who answered when Mandalore needed them most. That is what Mand'alor the Iron stands for."

She let that settle. Then added, quietly:

"And if unity is to mean anything, it must begin here. In this room. Among those who came not to kneel… but to stay."

Then, Aselia returned to her place beside Aether's throne not behind him, not below him.

 

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SUNDARI PALACE, MANDALORE
"There is room for many paths — but only one voice can lead Mandalore."

Aether did not rise. He allowed the words of his sibling to echo, before raising his dominant hand. The signal was clear.

Then, his eyes followed the Rally Master as he turned to leave. Not with scorn — just with clarity. As if watching a thunderstorm retreat beyond the horizon.

His gaze shifted to the one who had once worn the crown.

Carduul Akahl. Your presence is noted — and respected. You and your Crusade are welcome on Mandalore.

He let the words settle. There was no heat in his tone, no sharpness. Just truth spoken from a throne that did not waver.

“There have been rulers — many — who barred Mandalorians from their own soil for speaking out of turn. For choosing a different path. I am not that kind of Mand’alor.”

Aether’s fingers curled once along the armrest. The only motion.

“But let us be clear. The Clans chose me. The people crowned me. And while you are free to lead your Crusade as you see fit, there is only one Mandalore.”

His eyes, now fixed and resolute, did not blink.

“And I am Iron.”

He nodded as Vreegan spoke, acknowledging the measured tone with a quiet gravity.

“I appreciate your words. But let there be no confusion — my call for reconciliation is between Mandalorians. Between kin. I have ended the stain of dar'manda. I have buried the grudges that split us. That healing belongs to our people.”

Aether’s voice dipped lower now, heavier — the iron beneath the flame.

“Since the Four Hundred Year Darkness lifted, Mandalore has been raided, bled, and broken by the powers that claim to bring order to the galaxy. The Jedi vented our people into the void — men, women, children — as if the act itself were justice. For years, the Galaxy said there no such thing as a Mandalorian civilian. The Sith brought flame, scorching our home in the name of power and fear. Light and dark alike came to our doors not to reason, but to erase us.”

He leaned back, gaze sweeping across those gathered.

“The day will come when Mandalore answers for what was taken. But today — I speak only to those before me.


 






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TAG: Aether Verd Aether Verd / Aselia Verd Aselia Verd / Carduul Akahl Carduul Akahl / Feydrik Munin Feydrik Munin / Vreegan Fett Vreegan Fett + Open



Ze’bast stood beside his liege. Both hands rested on his hips as he considered the words of all of those that were present. There would be a time in which he would have acted first at words thrown in such a way to his own blood. Through the t-shape visor he monitored the situation carefully. At some point, he found that he couldn’t hold his peace much longer. Aselia spoke with words similar to what he thought. What was deep within him traveled from her lips.

“Aselia’s correct in that unity needs to be made here. Mand'alor the Iron has brought forth out of the void a new empire. One that all Mandalorian are able to get behind. Seems like a perfect time to mend bonds between our people."

He looked toward Vreegan Fett.

“I partially share your sentiment concerning Carnifex yet, strength needs to be fully realized before we decide to dig our hands in the muck of Sith darkspawn. That also requires resources and manpower.”

The words of Mand’alor the Iron reverberated with him. It was a shame that not all present saw eye to eye. Ze’bast knew a day would come like this. Expectations were still kept high that there would be a unification of those that hadn’t called Mandalore their home for a long time. He hadn’t been here in what seemed like ions.

“When our people suffer and we refuse to answer their calls, would we still call ourselves Mandalorians? Our people need to come first. Rash decisions and twisted pride have gotten us to this point in history. Way past time that we make a change to that. A change that guarantees all of us a future for our offspring that isn’t blown away when the winds change.”







 
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Runi slowly turned to face Feydrik as he stared at her, but once they faced one another fully made no further motion. It was a special talent to feel what another felt. To know a person without words or deed. The Shaman felt the man's scorn. It was not a burning rage or even the crackling of the harshest winter; it merely was. To him, she might as well be one of those statues but without the honor to occupy where she stood. But were it not for her connection to the Manda all of this would have gone unknown. It was why she taught vod to remove their helmets when surrounded by one another. How were they to ever overcome such feelings being unaware of them?

Even aware in this moment, however, Runi would not address them; her facial features were relaxed, her eyes old. They were unimportant in the face of the larger issue, and they would find the mettle of the Shaman in time. Feydrik was precariously close to challenging Aether. Some bearing the title Mand'alor would have already declared the challenge made. There were as many different kinds of Mand'alor as there were stars in the galaxy.

Feydrik was not swayed by Aether's words. Perhaps the man sought to be challenged; to spur Aether to engage in combat. Was it that Feydrik couldn't bring himself to make the challenge directly, or the thought that a real Mand'alor wouldn't have tolerated his outburst? He was a strong soul she would try to learn more about. Strong, fierce, but combative. It would not bring him closer to vod to be too judgmental.

Kad Ha'rangir? The voice of Carduul the Annointed had filled the hall, and with it a proclamation the Crusaders would rise when the time came. Kad Ha'rangir... it was not often Runi heard his name invoked so openly. Perhaps if she had visited the Neo-Crusder's battlefields it might have been called out? As a Shaman, however, her duty was not to Crusade except to counterbalance against the terrors of the corrupted. Regardless, it was an old, familiar name that softened the corners of her eyes.

A Field-Marshal spoke in support of Carduul and askance of what the Empire would do with enemies old, while Aselia stepped forth to support Aether and the Empire itself. It was good to see brothers and sisters so invested in their beliefs. How else could they weather the storm if they lacked passion in their own philosophies? The greatest challenge was in giving all common purpose and striking balance in crusade and bolstering their heritage.

Runi silently placed her free hand over the iron heart of her armor as Aether spoke of revoking dar'manda. How could a spiritual person not feel invigorated when a leader implemented so many reforms they had taught over the years? There were truly lost souls out there, but so many called dar'manda were merely injured, aggrevied, and yes, perhaps, criminal, but they could find their way to the Manda. There was always time to redeem yourself, in this life or the next. Only those whose soul had no path to redemption no matter how many lifetimes passed had to be exised for the Manda's own good.

Ze'bast echoed and expounded upon certain aspects Aether and Aselia spoke of; priorities of the Empire that Runi also held. The people were as important as the Crusade. Just as she had advocated for the people left behind among the Enclave in the South, so too was her concern for those on Mandalore and its surrounding worlds. She would not merely repeat what others had said, but she did enjoin it.

"A spear divided down its length is not twice as effective."


 

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C a r e e n a .F e t t
| Location | Sundari, Mandalore
Since the galactic shift, Careena had made herself scarce consolidating the crusader's resources and people while assisting to rechart routes and supply lines. However, some mildly troubling news had reached her ears and she deemed it time to return to Mandalore to see if the rumors held any merit. The sound of her boots echoed through the hallowed halls of Mandalore's capital as she announced her presence.
The Alor of Clan Fett spoke and announced her presence.
"You speak only to those that suit your wishes Verd."
How childish, she thought to herself.
"Mandalorians do not starve, a simple truth that many of you seem to have forgotten. We take what we need for ourselves, it has never been given. The Mandalorian people thrived with the bounties and riches the Crusaders brought, how strange that it suddenly finds itself in a sudden famine after only a few months." Her helmeted head cocked to the side slightly. She spoke with a steady calmness, but her words were sharp with accusation like daggers, as if to say this farce of a situation had been orchestrated by the Verd in a pitiful grasp for power.
"The only famine I see amongst our people is the one caused by greed, not for resources, but for power. Ambition is one thing, and a powerful tool amongst our people to elevate the worthy to greater heights. Greed, on the other hand, will destroy our people like it always has."
"While the Crusaders pillaged and brought wrath and ruin upon its enemies, where was Clan Verd to forge itself anew in fire and iron? A simple question that you fail to answer, again and again. How convenient to speak so highly of unity, yet not a single one amongst you has ever shown face to support our people. Where was this 'leadership' to rally our people and fight alongside them then?"
She spoke with purpose and authority. Irritation was written upon her features at the audacity of this man to make such statements, however outwardly she was unphased, her helmet's stoic features fixated on the man.
"To proclaim that the clans chose you is a lie. Clan Fett has not chosen you Verd, nor do we acknowledge you as Sole Ruler and to claim such has betrayed any loyalty to your so-called cause. All I see is a rat who chose to lie in the brush, waiting for an opportunity to scavenge power not for the people, but for himself. Only now do you show yourselves to support this jester who would become tyrant. I do not see warriors who were forged in battle and bled unto the fires of war. I see blind sheep and cowards."
"I would defy centuries of tradition than ever follow the type of leader you posture yourself to be. You are no better than Khamul Kryze and his ilk."

Aether Verd Aether Verd | Feydrik Munin Feydrik Munin | Runi Kuryida Runi Kuryida | Carduul Akahl Carduul Akahl | Vreegan Fett Vreegan Fett | Aselia Verd Aselia Verd | Ze'bast Verd Ze'bast Verd
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SUNDARI PALACE, MANDALORE
"You speak of famine with your mouth full."

“I am not here to trade insults, nor to answer to ghosts.

His voice was even, yet final. The chamber no longer echoed with the stomping of boots or the posturing of the past. It was filled with the weight of choice.

“When Mandalore bled, you chose Dxun. When the Planeshift tore apart our lives, you chose silence. While trade collapsed, supply lines vanished, and our people starved — not of spirit, but of food — you chose absence. And now you return with accusations of greed?

He looked toward her — or rather, through her.

“You speak of spoils, but bring none. You speak of tradition, yet forget your oath was not to warlords or slogans, but to Mandalore itself. And when it cried out for you, you turned your back.

Aether’s gaze swept past her, to the others.

“I did not call you home to kneel. I called you home to rest. To rebuild. To be seen. Even now, despite every insult thrown at me, at my Clan, at my rule — my cause has not changed.

He leaned slightly forward.

“You want to know what separates us? You would cast out those the Manda has blessed with the Force. I welcome them. You would judge bloodlines. I accept all. You held your identity in fire and fury. I hold mine in the people who remained. The ones who stayed. The ones who built.”

Then, one final note — not of anger, but of clarity:

Mandalore is no longer listening to the Crusade. If you will not walk with us, walk away. I will speak only to the one who led you to abandon your kin.”

And with that, his gaze returned to the former Mand'alor and he said no more.


 

Verd. Verd. Verd. Verd. Verd. After awhile, the word lost all meaning and the more it was said, the more it was nothing. From the hall sounded lumbering foot steps. A physique far more alien than others and covered in battle scorned beskar plating from previous and most recent battles before the shifting of celestial masses inflicted its chaos apon the galaxy. The Gen'dai wanted nothing more to arrive on Mandalore and rally with his vode. The politics were for the likes of politicians and more diplomacy types and yet when Saverok heard the news of a so called shift in power?

Who?!

Verd.

Karking Verds.


Be under the former polarizing figure or Isley Verd, Darth Metus Darth Metus or whoever this newest addition of the overly numerous clan of womp rats, this Aether Verd Aether Verd ? Either way Saverok had a direct knowledge and experience with this clan and he would speak his mind. So when Saverok approached it was in the same manner as he always approached any situation. Aggressively.


“You want to know what separates us? You would cast out those the Manda has blessed with the Force. I welcome them. You would judge bloodlines. I accept all. You held your identity in fire and fury. I hold mine in the people who remained. The ones who stayed. The ones who built.”

Then, one final note — not of anger, but of clarity:

Mandalore is no longer listening to the Crusade. If you will not walk with us, walk away. I will speak only to the one who led you to abandon your kin.”

And with that, his gaze returned to the former Mand'alor and he said no more.
" WRONG! Hahahah! If the Crusade rejected those "blessed with the force" then why am I here? There are those of us who have the Force. We just dont use it. We dont rely on it as you may. Heheheh."

" A celestial event shakes the foundations of the galaxy and here you are claiming abandonment and famine? Are our people so co-dependent that they must wait for the Crusade for help? Project your insecurities elsewhere! HAH! Your demeanor is that of a pouty child, Verd! GET OVER YOURSELF! So eager to prove your worth, quick to words and slower to actions. You squabble just like your ancestor, Isley. Or should I use his Darth title?"
Saverok grinned wide as he began remembering the past. Oh the glory days.

"Either way, Karking worm of a man he was. Weak. To afraid to do what needed to be done, too used to licking the boots of those that barked louder than him. I should know, Heh heh. I was there. I served under him. I defied him. Laughed in his face. He was too set on maintaining what was his. How the feth are you any different with your grand acceptance act?" Saverok brooded forward in large strides till he towered over the boy and looked down at him. The Mandalore-that-could. " Your view of our people is all I need to judge how you will rule Mandalore." He said lower and in a snarl of disgust and humor.

The unproven.


" The only separation between you Verds and the Crusade is your ambition and approach. Spew your bantha poodoo narratives to the unseasoned warriors and masses outside. They may believe it. But in here?! I see two Mand'alors. An Anointed and a would-be Reclaimer. Least Carduul Akahl Carduul Akahl vouches for you or is bested in combat...Then you and your clan is food for worms!" He nashed his teeth and furrowed his alien brow hard into a squint. " So hurry up and put your money where your mouth is."

The Gen'dai suddenly spit. A wad of saliva in front of this man called Iron.

 
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Sari had not sought these people out, she had sought Mandalore out and only when her liberated Imperial vessel had entered their space and been challenged by local security had she revealed the existence of her newly formed clan and been directed to this meeting on Mandalore with all due haste. She say watching the different members of her apparent culture argue over command structure and over accolades from wars that she was not party too, although she had ensured to do a little light reading on Mandalorian history on the way from the Csilla system.

It was a mess, she understood that Mandalorians never did well under self governance, perhaps a return to Empire might not be a bad move. She looked around and wondered if she should speak, her armour clearly sported the wheel of the Empire but she also war symbols marking her as mandalorian, as did her two clanmates that stood by. "Clan Kandosii has never set foot on this world and I am honored to be allowed to do so. I am Commander Alor Sari'la and I wish to present myself to the Mand'alor. Only, I am not convinced there is a quorum in this room who that is. Might there be a challenge?" seeing her programmed culture in motion, now that would be something.

Aether Verd Aether Verd Careena Fett Careena Fett Vreegan Fett Vreegan Fett Feydrik Munin Feydrik Munin Runi Kuryida Runi Kuryida Aselia Verd Aselia Verd Ze'bast Verd Ze'bast Verd Saverok Saverok
 


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Mandalore had been rumored to be left to starve, in his absence—a punishment, perhaps, for him being too slow in returning to known space. How that occurred so quickly, however, was a mystery. What weak wills had squandered the industry left in their wake? Where had the forges gone, the burgeoning agricultural planets claimed nearby? Supply lines that snaked through now-fractured hyperlanes, somehow to vanish? Had the stars truly seen fit to wreak so much havoc, to undo such work in such a short time..? Or was something else to blame? It had left a lengthened pause as Carduul was left to ponder a flurry of possibilities, until it was all, for the moment, discarded to address a statement directly. So many words had flown, heated exchanges and claims and rejections. He was to bring it all to a single point.

“It would seem your words may convey truth.” Came the sobering statement in turn to Aselia Verd Aselia Verd , in simple admittance. “I had thought the lines of supply were sufficient amidst the war effort. I had hoped the industry would remain long after my passing. I was not prepared for the stars to come apart, nor who remained to squander so terribly what we had started in mere months. That Arasuum would sink His influence so greedily without my presence, and see fit to bring my kin low merely for a lapse. T’would seem I should have been. If Mandalore had suffered, t’was because the galaxy saw fit to cast us adrift once more, and I did not prepare enough to mitigate such calamity. It will do so again eternally. Another lesson to learn, and the price to weigh heavily.”

His voice had softened, a soothing tone befitting that of a parent. Even in one rumored to be so full of wrath. “Take heart; if it starved, I know others flourished. Seeds were sown in lands untarnished and cultures brought to be enlightened. New homes carved in blood for our people. You act as if I would allow my kin to starve willingly, that the forest has rotted when you see the tree at its core—but that is untrue. The Mando'ade will always survive, no matter the adversity, the banner, nor the land.” Words spoken with a measured ease, unashamed of apparent failings and achievements, both. Each a lesson to learn from, that he strove to improve upon with each waking moment.

Steps had trailed on in idle pace across the room. The poleaxe left to hold proudly at his side with a thoughtful hum to reverberate. “My brothers and sisters in arms have been among the abyssal stars for far too long, sifting through this wretched shifting of planes. I, cast to the void to claw my way back—almost to be dragged to the path of the Rulers before me. To walk forgotten worlds and reclaim lost kin anew. As your ruler said; I was invited to return. Not to kneel, nor to rule.” A thump of his gauntlet to crash against his chestplate, where his heart laid beneath plating. “My pilgrimage is complete.”

Helm had snapped to snap betwixt heated exchanges; the venerable Alor Careena Fett Careena Fett to stand unashamed, as ever, met with the words given to the Rally Master. “I did not run as a hut’uun. A calm intonation, voice carrying with it certainty. “I was prevented from intervention. I am grateful utter ruin was staunched, but to decry the folly of the stars as abandonment is untrue. We would never leave the Mando’ade to starve willingly, when we had burned worlds to secure them the farms and land they needed. Worlds I sought to nurture implicitly for this purpose. Nor have I casted out those with the Force as The Undying did, those given one of the few wretched weapons to properly combat our foe.”

Carduul was not subject to be caught into petty squabbles, prone to fly into a rage against such proclamations made by the newest claimant to Sole Ruler upon the throne. If whatever Clans that remained on Mandalore had rallied and claimed him Mandalore, so be it. He only saw Verd, here, just as he hadn’t seen any during the Crusade. The Clans who followed his own Anointment did so for a reason. The words of the Fett matriarch left to briefly flicker in his mind. His duty was beyond that of a title. To teach their history, and ensure it persisted. It was the duty every Mandalorian should hold. To uplift their people, devoid of outside influences. Forevermore. To abandon that without protest, would be to abandon them. To fight, would be to pointlessly harm his own over pride, with a name wreathed in shadow yet to come to their own. It was the inevitable plight of their people, to ceaselessly war amidst themselves even in the name of unity. He had saw little reason to point out flaws or argue semantics—others would see what they needed to, and choose accordingly. Saverok Saverok , the reckless berserker of an age far greater than himself, spoke the same wonder—were the people of Mandalore truly so bereft, that they required constant oversight? He asserted he must acknowledge or fight him. Today would be a day for neither. A hand raised for silence, his gaze remained a stoic visage upon the man across, left staring in thought before words had replied.

“Be called what you will, Aether Verd. Your efforts are nonetheless worthy of respect. Rule who follow you with even hand.” Was his matter-of-fact statement in turn, tone remaining even. “I will be clear in reply: I’ve no need for childish rivalries over titles stripped of grace. I return not to pointlessly contest your right to sit upon that seat, but to witness what my brief absence has gestated. To remind all who would call themselves Mand’alor that it is not the throne that makes the ruler. It is the fire in his veins, the people’s faith in his arm, the temperance of the mind to see a future others cannot—qualities I hope to witness myself. I will not endanger our people further with such conflict this day, for the Clans who follow me do so to fight for their people all the same. Time will tell if something remains, or if the title is left to fall to obscurity. I wish you luck in your endeavors, should they be pure.”

The poleaxe raised and slammed into the ground with a sharp song of beskar against metal.

“The Crusade will stay the righteous sword of the Mandalorian people, to sow anew in lands unclaimed.
I must yet remain its brave souls’ Anointed.
Chosen to carry their burdens, their hopes, their rage,
for they have placed their faith unto me.”

Visor left to rest upon the individual with the weight of burdens, to be seen if it was understood. Though he was intrinsically a being of war, his gesture was not intended to spark a fight. If they wished today to be a day of unity, he only saw pain in squandering it. But he would not kneel, as had been promised. Not today.

“Let Mandalore remember its glory.
Even if only for a day.”

Aether Verd Aether Verd , Feydrik Munin Feydrik Munin , Runi Kuryida Runi Kuryida , Aselia Verd Aselia Verd , Ze'bast Verd Ze'bast Verd , Careena Fett Careena Fett , Saverok Saverok
 
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SUNDARI PALACE, MANDALORE
"I did not call you to kneel. I called you to be seen."

Aether Verd did not so much as flinch.

The verbal venom from the Gen’dai bounced off beskar as easily as blaster bolts. There was no glance, no retort, no recognition. His words had already been spoken: he was not here to debate the Crusade. He was here for the one who led it.

And when Carduul spoke, Aether listened.

The weight of the years was not lost on him. The regret, the wisdom, the fire still simmering beneath the surface. When the poleaxe struck the ground and silence followed, Aether’s own gauntlet rose — and in a rare show of shared understanding, he returned the salute. Not as a ruler. Not as a challenge. But as one Mandalorian to another.

“I did not call you to kneel. I called you to be seen.”

His voice carried calm clarity now, stripped of rhetoric or pride.

“And I’ve seen you, Akahl. I’ve heard your words. If we are both committed to doing what is right for our people, then there will be peace.”

He remained seated upon the throne, but his voice carried — firm, measured, and clear — to every warrior, every clan, every soul still deciding what future they would claim.

“When we arrived, I was not prepared for what we found. My House expected some hardship. But what we saw was worse — destruction. Silence. The forges cold. Fields empty. Families scattered or starving.”

He shook his head.

“This is not the first time I have seen the Galaxy fracture under things it cannot explain. I remember the tales of the Confederacy brought to its knees by the Netherworld. I’ve heard whispers that Naboo was ravaged by demons not long ago. And we are all old enough to remember the name Akala. This… Planeshift… it is only the latest chapter in a long history of forces beyond reason raging against the stars. And this time, Mandalore paid the price.”

Aether’s gaze swept the room, resting not on any one person, but all of them.

“I had assumed, like you, that even the Crusade's absence, the damage would be triaged. That basic aid would be offered. That kin would help kin. Instead, I returned to ash and silence. The efforts of the Crusade laid low. The people suffering.”

His jaw tensed, but his tone did not rise.

“The Empire’s concern is Mandalore. Its safety. Its unity. Its prosperity. If the Crusade is to remain the sword, then the Empire will stand as its shield. There will be no blood spilled between us. Not here. Not again.”

He let the words settle. Then, he gave one final look to the warriors gathered, to those who had returned through fire and void alike.

“That is why I called you home. Not to surrender. But to rest. To see to your kin who remain. To tend to your holdings. Your homes. To be among your people again. Whatever strength you bring — let it be for them now.”

And then, with a voice that rang with quiet finality:

“Mandalore remembers. And so will her children.”


 
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Kalðr Ísbjørn strode, once again, through the halls of Sundari. It felt like déjà vu. Only, this was not caused by some power hungry dar'manda, it had been caused by unexplainable cosmic events. How long he had been on Tython, deep below in frozen catacombs battling undead, he could not say. It seemed like it had been years to him. And when he returned, it sort of looked like it had been years. Longer, even. Just how much havoc had the Planeshift reeked?

A massive snow bear fur cloak hid the giant's armor, yet he still trailed frost as he stepped. He pretty much had to keep his armor on while on Mandalore, or he would overheat. He much preferred the cold. Being raised on Hoth would do that.

He made his way through the doors of the massive chamber where the Iron Throne sat. The one who sat upon it was unfamiliar, but there was no way to know every vod out there amongst the stars. He did recognize Runi Kuryida Runi Kuryida and gave her a nod as he walked past. "And yet another claims the title of Mand'Alor. How many has that been in such a short amount of time? Not that time matters much when the very fabric of reality is being torn asunder."

Kalðr lowered his hood and removed his helmet, the temperature around him lowering by a couple degrees just by showing that little over his ostrine-alloyed beskar'gam. "I am sure you have given your speech. I'm sure many stand behind you and many stand against you. I care not for such politics, only for the Unity of our people. These are times like no other. The Planeshift, the Sundering Dawn. It is beyond us, as much as I wish it were not. Any squabbles we might have amongst ourselves are nothing compared to this. I have witnessed firsthand some of the horrors..." He could not even bring himself to finish his sentence. How could he describe what he had seen? All he could do was remove one of his massive crushgaunts, baring his large left hand. It was black and blue, as if some kind of frostbitten infection had set in, yet no medical scanner could pick up anything wrong with it. He replaced the gauntlet. "Now is not the time for any bad blood or infighting." He did not need to have been present to guess that it had happened. "Now is the time for unity more than ever."

He turned to the newest Mand'Alor. "I do not know your name, Brother. I am Kalðr Ísbjørn, last of my clan. I was the one who rebuilt Keldabe before the latest Neocrusaders arrived." He gave a salute, his right fist over his ironheart. "I pray you are the one to lead us to true unity. If not, may you help lead us to the One who will."

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