Private Returning Home

[Manti Wyrvhor]

Location: Hoth, Ceyan Range
​

It was time. Manti sat in silence, staring down at the beaded necklace of black pearls she held between her fingers. It was a gift, from her predecessor and on each bead was the name of their children; dozens. The Alor'ad of Clan Wyrvhor adopted all the foundlings of the clan and was directly responsible for their safety and development. While much of the clan did the hands on work it was the Alor'ad who directed them, cultivating the next generation Mandalorians was a task for more than one person.

As Manti stared at her own name emblazoned on a black pearl she would take a deep shaky breath. It was time. She sat in a mostly empty shuttle, only a handful of her most trusted commandos sitting across from her. In a second shuttle tailing this one are Manti's children, adopted all. She had really only been their 'parent' for a few years now but the weight of their future weighed heavily on her shoulders. Perhaps that is why she invited Aether Verd to attend the ritual, though she had framed it as a promising hunting expedition. There was a particularly large Wampa within the Ceyan Range and Manti did intend to take its head, but it was a distraction to the real event. First the foundlings must be sent on their way.

It was time, for the youth to become adults. For foundlings to graduate from apprentice to vod in the style of Clan Wyrvhor.

The shuttles had been dropped off by a Direwolf which waited in stealth behind one of Hoth's three moons. It was important they did this here. The foundlings would be bound by oath to depart into the wilderness of Hoth and to not return to the campsite until they had the head of a Wampa. It is by ice and blood that Clan Wyrvhor was tempered, to do it elsewhere would be blasphemy. Yet Hoth was far from Mandalorian Space and the Direwolf had been necessary to sneak past Sith outposts. There was too much danger for Manti to be comfortable with this, but to back down would be a sign of weakness in her clan she would never outlive. She had, at the very least, a known Wampa cave marked for the Foundlings to go to nearby. This hunt would not be like her own where her group spent weeks finding their prey.

​

The shuttle's hissed open as the ramp lowered, Manti being the first of her troupe to step foot on Clan Wyrvhor's ancestral homeworld. Snow, as far as the eye could see. Manti's hand would clutch the pearl necklace like a rosary as she scanned the horizon: empty. Good. With a simple hand gesture the other commandos would begin unloading the shuttle. Camp supplies would begin to be assembled into tents, heaters, and other needed tools of survival on the planet. Manti would not worry about the camp, she had a specific duty. Twelve satchels came with her as she walked towards the other shuttle landing nearby. The snow buffeted loudly against her armor as the shuttle lands, and she would stand silently as the door would open and ramp would begin to lower.

As each foundling, equipped in their own beskar'gam, would walk down the ramp she would hand each a satchel. In it was a day's rations and a few necessary tools for them to create shelter, heat, and food. They would be expected to pool their resources and skills together to survive, no one survived this ice ball alone. As the cadre of foundlings would each receive their satchel they'd form a crescent in front of her, chattering excitedly at what was to come. It had been different when Manti came, it was solumn. They knew some of them would die back then. But these younglings were set up for success, Manti was not as brutal as her father.

"All of you-" Manti would begin, her voice loud to quickly quiet the chattering before falling to her usual temperment as the foundlings would fall silent "Are the future of Clan Wyrvhor. Today is your day. Your day to take the future by the horns and claim it for yourself. It won't be easy." She'd let silence reign for a few seconds to punctuate that fact.

"In each of your satchels is a map of the region as well as a mark for where your quarry is nesting-" the younglings would begin excitedly digging through their satchels "It is up to you to best decide how to kill the Wampa. Make your own weapons, traps, anything that can give you an edge. Do not think you can take it with brute force alone. None of you will have blasters. Fighting smart is always better than just fighting hard."

They'd quiet at that. They had already known but to hear it said aloud intimidated them.

"Each of you has a communicator linked to me. I will not offer advice, I will not humor you, but I will come to your rescue if you need it. But should I need to do that, should you fail, you will not get this chance again. Your Beskar'gam will be surrendered to the clan and we will work to find you a life on Mandalore. Be Careful." It was the brutal truth. Clan Wyrvhor could not entertain cowards or weaklings, more than a couple foundlings had been left on Mandalore after failing their test. Some had found their way into other more forgiving clans, some had never forgiven Manti's successor, but Clan Wyrvhor was stronger for it.

"Begin."​

Manti would watch as the troupe would begin trudging off into the snow. She would continue watching them as they'd slowly turn into specks on the horizon. Her vigil only interrupted eventually as one of her subordinates would interrupt her.

"Alor'ad, your prey awaits." the commando would say, offering to her a small tracking device on which's screen was a small beeping dot in the distance.

"Thank you." she'd respond, quietly. Today was to be a busy day.

Darth Strosius

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

HOTH

The cold cut deep, sinking beneath the beskar as if to test the will of those who dared set foot on this world. Snow stretched endless in all directions, the wind carrying with it the whispers of generations long gone. This was no ordinary gathering. It was a crucible, forged in the old ways, and Aether Verd honored that truth in full.

He had come at Manti’s request. Clan Wyrvhor was not his own, but their ways were familiar to him, and Manti was a warrior he trusted without hesitation. When she spoke of the verd’goten and extended the invitation for him to witness the next generation step forward, he accepted without delay. Seeing to the future of their people was the charge of every Mandalorian, but for the Sole Ruler, it was a sacred duty.

The journey through Sith Space had required more than stealth. The Blackwall’s interference was no small thing, and lesser warriors might have turned back. But a few carefully placed communications, a reminder to certain Sith of past arrangements, and the Mandalorians had passed. Whether it was his favor with the Empress or his own weight as Mand’alor, Aether did not say aloud. It was enough that they arrived.

The shuttle's descent was quiet. Aether sat opposite Manti, his armor catching the low light of the hold, a crimson thread woven through the dull gray of Hoth’s orbit. He did not speak, did not ask questions. This was her day, her clan’s rite. His place was to observe unless called upon and to act only when needed.

The ritual unfolded with gravity, its pace unhurried and deliberate. The foundlings stood before their Alor’ad like warriors in waiting, not yet forged but burning with the promise of it. Aether watched as each received their satchel, the significance of the moment not lost on him. When they were dismissed, he remained where he was, standing just behind her shoulder until the last speck of youth vanished into the white.

Then, he stepped forward. His stride brought him to Manti’s side, the snow crunching beneath heavy boots. The chill nipped at his joints, bitter and sharp, so unlike the warmth of Sundari’s sands or the scorched air of the Expanse. But this was the forge of Clan Wyrvhor, and it demanded endurance, not comfort.

He glanced to her without ceremony and gave a solemn nod.

“Tell me where you need me,” he said, his voice steady in the wind. “My blade is yours today.”​

Manti Wyrvhor + Darth Strosius