Private Preparations | Clan Saxon

[Romul Saxon]

A L O R
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CITADEL OF THE KOM'RK
VONG DEAD ZONE, KESTRI
902 ABY

The Si'kahya's knife falls to the story ground as their hand spasms with pain from the rod of their opponents staff slamming into their forearm. The two Mandalorians wear no armor, only tunics that barely even kept out the frigid morning chill of Kestri's mountains.

“Again,” Romul thunders from up high on a parapet overlooking the courtyard.

The staff-wielding Mandalorian circles their knife-wielding foe before going in to strike. But the other commando is quicker this time, dodging the blow, sliding up the length of the Mandalorian's outstretched arm, and jabbing their elbow against the commandos nose. Blood spurts.

“Again,” Romul booms once more, folding his arms over his chest. Both of the opponents breath heavily. They've been doing this for hours already, and it wasn't even time for middle-day meal. But Romum Saxon is relentless. These commandos were the future of the Mando'ade, like it or not, especially now that the Enclave was at war with the Galaxy's largest superpower.

One of the commandos falls to the ground, his tunic tore open. “Again,” he barks.


“That's enough,” a voice called out from behind him. Romul turned to see Gallius Saxon, his lieutenant and right-hand in the Kom'rk, walking out onto the parapet from the inside of the Citadel.

Romul gave him a furious look that could’ve killed a Ji’yr Rekr, but Gallius continued without paying him any heed. “You two, take yourselves to the medway. Patch yourselves up and get ready for a Level Two Kom'rk run through the VDZ with your fireteam at fourteen hundred. Dismissed.” Then he turned towards the Master of the Kom'rk. “You trying to kill them before the Jedi even have a chance?” He asked Romul with equal concern and annoyance.

Romul didn't back down. Even in his advancing age, he towered over his lieutenant in his crimson and gold armor. “They have to be the best of the best if we are to win this war,” he stated firmly, his arms still folded defiantly.

“Whet a blade too long without tempering and it’ll snap,” Gallius countered. “That's what you taught me.”

Romul exhaled long and loud through his nose, the fire in his belly fading slightly. He recognized the wisdom in Gallius’s words. His own words. Still it didn't quench the flames entirely. Nor the hidden ball of fear that fueled them. This wasn't merely a war for glory, not anymore. It was for survival, for the Enclave’s existence. And while at the beginning the brightness of victory had outshines all doubt in Romul’s mind, that old fear had crept back in. All he’d labored to rebuild stood to be lost now. The Mando’ade’s new home on Kestri. . . Romul had lost one homeworld. He didn't know if he was prepared to lose another.

Nor if he would survive it.

“The Saxon warrior is here,” Gallius mentioned, saying it as if they weren't Saxons themselves. “She'll be waiting for you.”

Romul humphed, giving one last look at the now vacant courtyard below him before turning back into the Citadel. "I'll meet with her shortly." Now wad the time to prepare, for plans to be made. For safeguards to be implemented so that Clan Saxon would weather the storm, whether it brought glorious victory or crushing defeat. His Clan would be ready. He would see to that.

Celt Saxon​

 

[Celt Saxon]

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Location: Citadel of the Kom'rk
Objective: meet Romul
Tag: Romul Saxon
Equipment: In bio

The red headed Alor'ad marvelled again at the imposing structure of the citadel. She had been here so many times and every time it's strong walls still filled her with awe and reminded her of the strength of her people. Celt had been called here from her normal duties by her Alor, Romul Saxon, a great man who had led her clan to a period of strength, he was one of the reasons her clan's name could rightfully be mentioned in the same as the great clans of antiquity.

As Celt walked through the halls in her armour, with her helmet clipped to her waist she noticed she was running a little early. She stopped by one of the training balconies where some younger vod practiced with their blasters at target drones that flew well beyond the walls of the citadel. One of the trainees she quickly recognised, spotting the brunette hair of her sister from beneath the metal of her helmet. "Your form is good Vod, you enjoying the VDZ?"

The brunette continued sighting her rifle as she spoke, she was their mother's daughter and would make an accomplished sniper one day. "Absolutely, Alor'ad, if the weather was a bit brighter it might as well be a holiday." she laughed and fired, scoring another hit. "Buir says you are here for the Alor, anything important?" she asked, reloading her rifle.

"I'm guessing its something to do with the war, got to make sure the clan is prepared I guess." the two sisters exchanged a couple more pleasantries before Celt continued on her journey, she didnt wish to be early, but being late would be insulting to her Alor. She approached the designated meeting point, a room decorated with the armour of their ancestors and with a relief map of Romul's original homeworld on the wall, a fitting reminder of how hard Celt must be prepared to fight to ensure the future of Kestri and the Clan. A message was sent for Romul that she was ready to speak as requested.

 

[Romul Saxon]

A L O R​

Tag: Celt Saxon

Romul arrived minutes after his guest, the young fiery Alor’ad of Clan Saxon. He had read much of the after-action reports that had detailed her feats, and had found himself impressed by this young scion of his own clan.

The study that Romul reserved for meetings with private guests was sparsely-furnished, in typical Mandalorian fashion. Still, the Alor had chosen to display some of his treasures and keepsakes from over the years, momentos of nostalgia more than anything. One wall was decorated with an old-fashioned parchment map of Mandalore, kept safe behind a thin but nigh-impervious layer of transparent plexisteel. The document had been fashioned sometime before the Mandalorian Resource Wars, and much of the locales on the map were either gone or heavily changed by the many tragedies that had befallen the world. On the other side stood suits of armor from fallen Clan Saxon warriors, clan relics that hadn’t been worn in probably centuries.

He saw her eyes drift across the hanging map and took a moment to reflect on it as well. This young warrior had been born decades after the Sith Genocide of Mandalore. She was part of a generation that hadn’t known Mandalore as the home of the Mando’ade. And though Romul himself called Kestri his home now, that concept was still foreign to him. What importance did the old homeworld have for the rising generation? “There were a few brief years that Mandalore was beautiful,” he heard himself say, his tone gruff with. . . emotion? . . . as he spoke. “During the festival bloom, it was a sight to see, truly,” he said almost wistfully, scarcely louder than a whisper. Kestri had its beauty too, but it was a harsher, colder, more rugged beauty than the gentle hills and rolling plains of Mandalore.

The titan of Clan Saxon cleared his throat and took a seat – a small, wooden thing that barely contained his frame – and gestured for the warrior opposite him to do the same. “Su’cuy gar, Celt Saxon,” he rumbled the traditional Mandalorian greeting as soon as she’d sat. “Since our conflict with the Galactic Alliance has begun, you have accoladed yourself well on the battlefield. You have born the title of Alor’ad honorably, and have brought glory to our Clan through your deeds.”

 

[Celt Saxon]

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Location: Citadel of the Kom'rk
Objective: meet Romul
Tag: Romul Saxon
Equipment: In bio

Celt bowed her head as the Alor entered. "I have only seen pictures, the glass seas of mandalore must have provided so much for our ancestors before the fall." she sighed solemly as he continued to wax about the lost world. But there was no need dwell on the past with so much future to consider. Romul greeted the young woman formally to which she returned the gesture to her Alor. The man was huge, and part of her wondered whether the choice of small chair was deliberate, simply to enhance the effect.

Celt took her own seat and crossed one leg over the other. "Thank you my Alor, It has been beyond an honour to serve our clan and the wider Enclave. It has been an experience." the corner of her lip curled up, thinking of the fight on Ryloth against one of the Jedi warlords and his apprentice, then leading the march of the Imperials against the domes on the vacuum world of Yag'Dhul. She genuinely felt that she was an asset to the clan, and also wondered what else she could add.

"The future does trouble me, even with the induction of clones into the defensive levies, were are outnumbered significantly, but arent we always, I am intrested to see just how willing the Jedi are to die to enforce the will of their empire." she shrugged gently and looked to the patriarch of her clan wondering exactly what he wanted to discuss.

 

[Romul Saxon]

A L O R​

Tag: Celt Saxon

Mandalore was more than just glass before the Sith came, some part of Romul wanted to say. But he stopped himself just short of correcting the girl outright. She wasn't wrong to think that way; and after all, he couldn't blame her when that had been the Mandalore that she'd grown up with. Once more the difference between their generations struck him. The day was coming when no one would be left alive that remembered the glory of Mandalore before her fall. And even that paled in comparison to the splendor of Mandalore in legends.

But that was why they had Kestri. Kestri was everything Mandalore was and couldn't be. A new home. A fresh beginning. The glory of the Mando'ade made anew and resplendent. And Romul Saxon would do his hardest to ensure that this they didn't lose, too.

“The numbers have never favored our people, even the Mandalorian Crusaders of old,” Romul rumbled. “One Mandalorian is worth ten of a common shoulder. One Mandalorian warrior is worth a hundred.” But there was wisdom to Celt Saxon's hesitation, a wisdom maybe she didn't realize yet. “That said, your apprehension is not misguided. Much of the Enclave today is untempered, unprepared for what outright war could bring. It is why the Kom'rk is so important. Here we forge the rough raw iron into hardened beskar, strong enough to withstand even the lightsabers of a Jedi.”

He paused. Cleared his throat. “But at the same time, Clan Saxon needs a rallying figure to lead them into battle. The duties of the Kom’rk occupy my time more and more, and I am not the age that I once was. Should I fall, and the Kom’rk along with it, it would be a much dearer blow than any one of us might realize.” He set a gauntleted hand on his knee. “Still, it is Clan saxon tradition that its Alor serve until death, and it is not my time to taste of that cup. So, Celt Saxon, Alor’ad, I would make you my Rallymaster of Clan Saxon, second only to me. On the battlefield Clan Saxon would answer to you, and in my absence you would have the authority to unite and lead them. It is a heavy responsibility, and there are few I would trust with it, but you are one of them.” And the others I must keep closer by my side, was what he didn't say. Gallius came to mind. He couldn't risk losing his own right hand once more like over Rothana.

 

[Celt Saxon]

apologies for the wait

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Location: Citadel of the Kom'rk
Objective: meet Romul
Tag: Romul Saxon
Equipment: In bio

Celt listened respectfully to her Alor as he gave his thoughts, he was a wise man and he spoke the truth. "Our people are strong, but you are right, the young have not seen nearly enough fire to temper them yet. Not that I beg of war, far from it, but nothing hardens a warrior faster and we are not the same people without it." she gave a shrug that said, it is what it is. She was still young herself, but the moment she could pick up a blade she heard the calling and worked hard to ensure that she had as much experience in combat as vod many years older than her.

"Rallymaster?" for once in her life, words escaped the firey red haired woman. What a position, second only to the Alor and capable of calling on the military of her clan, the privilege, and the honor... "Its... immeasurable..." she said, answering her own train of thought. She rose to her feet before bowing deeply. "You honor my my Alor, I had hoped in my wildest dreams to one day lead our people into battle, but I had not expected such a role to be offered to me before many others had had their shot." she didn't know what else to say, she held her own skills in high regard, there was a sense of macho bravado that all mandalorians had, but this offer meant so much to her, validating what she hoped was true.

"I accept your offer with my whole heart and I shall fulfill the role with courage, honor and dignity." she had to hold herself not to beam with excitement. She could lose it later, her sister was here in the fortress so they could celebrate, but right now she had to maintain her professionalism. "Thank you, I shall not let you down." she added.

She could feel already the sense of pride of having her vod behind her as she went to battle in their name.