Shogun's Lament | Te Veman

[Vlora Eldar]

"According to legend, Mandalore the Indomitable had a vision while on the world [Shogun], which provided him with a realization of great importance to Mandalorian theology. He returned to Mandalore and told his clansmen of it. New Republic historians connected this vision with the subsequent shift in the Mandalorian religion from worshipping the Destroyer God Kad Ha'rangir, to worshipping war itself."​

​

[ THEME ]​

​

​

​

Shogun has been a pivotal planet in the history of Mandalorians.

It was here that the Indomitable had a vision that would reform Mando'ade for aeons to come. Another vision would come to the Ultimate who followed him, which led to one of the most groundbreaking shifts in culture; permitting alien species to join ancient Mandalorian society if they proved themselves worthy in war and honourable in combat.

Manda'yaim is the fire that forged our people, but Shogun was the spark that ignited the flame.

It has been lost to time.

Until now.

Te Veman, the true sons and daughters of Mandalore, have sought the world across the stars. They seek safety, fleeing from false idols to the world of glass and light where their civilization first began to rise from custom to an idea. It is here that they can hope to find a home, a place to lick old wounds and repair old weapons before raising the beskad again to do what they do best; bloodshed, their only religion. The only higher power they answer to is the call of battle, after all.

What are gowns and finery compared to that?

[member=Preliat Mantis] has grown the pack, spearheading the search for Shogun in the hopes of inspiring those to join under the banners of the true. It's unclear what will be found there -- Will it be hostiles, unwelcoming to lost Mando'ade, or will it be friends eager to join the fight for our homeworld?

Or will it simply be skeletons and empty graves of a time long past. Nobody is sure. What is sure, is that we arrive, it is a new beginning for us all.

The beginning of an empire's end, and the rise of new hope.

​

Welcome to Shogun's Lament. This is an exploratory thread meant to prepare Te Veman, a faction of Mandalorian Exiles, for an introduction to the galactic stage and will serve as a prologue both to our faction advertisement & any further threads, submissions, or roleplay to come. At the moment this thread is only open to approved Te Veman members only. If you are interested in joining Te Veman, please contact [member=Preliat Mantis], [member=Vilaz Munin], or myself ([member=Vlora Eldar]).​

​

There really are no hard limits on what will occur within the confines of this thread, though, the themes to follow are that of cultural reclamation and redemption. This is a planet that was very vital to the rise of modern Mandalorian society and Te Veman are building themselves up here, so any objectives concerning the physical construction of fortifications, exploration of the planet's ancient Mandalorian artefacts, or visitations to the sites where the Indomitable and the Ultimate once witnessed visions of greatness are absolutely welcome. But, like any thread on Chaos, you may always bring your own objective to complete with Te Veman or on Shogun as well.​

 

[Preliat Mantis]

​

​

Theme​

​

Time. It was an inescapable thing, something that all beings fell victim to. It is, all encompassing and it is all consuming. Like death. Death came for all things. Like the ever creeping shadow of the loss of life, Preliat Mantis, descended onto Shogun. Shogun. A planet, lost to time. Lost to the annals of history- but more specifically, the history of his people. The history of the Mandalorians. The landscape laid before him was nothing short of mesmerizing, endless plains of crystals and outcrops that were the work of an artist, a master stroke of color and design. There was a reason that the historians called it 'Dreamscapes'. There was a reason that he was here. The group that came, Preliat had split off from quite some time ago. He had been walking for quite a while now, the crystals beneath his mighty feet crushing.​

He walked. And he walked with purpose. He walked with hope.

Because he was being lead. He was being told. He was being guided. By ancient spirits, by demons, by angels- he had no idea truly of what was leading him. He saw himself many times, sometimes watching him, sometimes walking beside him. Shadows of days gone by. Of better times. He saw himself as a young man, a sports star in the Outer Rim, signing autographs. He saw himself facing the Dark Harvest, conquering it, side by side. Facing the Sith. Watching the Republic fall, with the Mandalorians taking on the Sith at Dromund Kaas. Fighting with the Army of Light. Preliat saw his wife. Meeting her. Falling in love. His daughter, his brother, all the things that were good, that were right and just in his life. They were shadows, memories playing out before him on the crystal-covered dreamscapes. He continued to walk, a path forming before him.

Oily shadows of the better years, faded. Consumed by the fires of hatred. Burned away, like his soul had been. What was once love, replaced by hate. What was once happiness, replaced by anger. What was once joy, anger. Hope gave way to fear. It set him down a dark path. The path he was walking on, ancient crystals, alight in the colors of fire, grew brighter as he walked. The shadows danced around him, showing him that he was on the wrong path. There came a fork in the path.

One one path, the left, the fires raged. Twisting shadows, flashes of red, hateful eyes and conniving creatures lurked along the path. The path he was on. He looked to the other, at the right. It, too, was alight in fire- but not the consuming fire that he had been set on for so many years. No, this was- this was different. This was right. This was where he corrected himself. Where he aligned himself with what he knew was right, what he had been avoiding for so many years. This fire felt...warm. Not hot, but warm. The kind of warmth that one would want on a cold winters night.

There was a torch at his feet. Perhaps it had been there, waiting for him. He reached down, taking the ancient wooden object, holding it. It felt fitted for his hands, specifically. He reached down, igniting it by striking it along the ground. He turned his head. He took the path on the right, walking forward. Aligning the path, became images of his pride. [member="Vilaz Munin"]. [member="Gilamar Skirata"]. [member="Silas Mantis"]. Aditya. Valae Kitra. [member="Strider Garon"]. [member="Arla Balor"]. [member="Arrbi Betna"]. [member="Captain Larraq"]. [member="Verz Horak"]. [member="Kad Kando"]. [member="Ember Rekali"]. [member="Ayden"] Carter. [member="Kila Cadau"]. They were there. Friends, comrades he had not seen in years, some he had seen only recently. Vode. Brothers. Sisters.

They were all there.

And they were with him. He recalled the blind seers words, from so many years ago...

"Yours is a broken road. Cracked and continuing to crack with every wrong step you take. If you continue this was the road will eventually break and you will be lost. There is a chance to mend it now but you must find the proper means, some you may not realize. In the end the choice of what you will be is your own, Preliat Mantis. Will you walk the beaten path to toughen your feet or rejuvenate to walk more freely?"

​

Preliat Mantis looked own at his feet. ​

​

The path before him, the crystals, in a sea of purple, blue and other colors he could not hope to describe- had changed. Changed to the colors of fire. Hues of orange, red, and gold created a path. It was leading him somewhere, downward- he supposed, at least. Perhaps this was the end, and he was being led to the afterlife, to the Manda. But instead, Preliat Mantis- came downwards. To ancient steps. Ancient Mando'a, etched in crystal and stone, were laid out before him. He held the torch up to his eyes, to better see.

​

Preliat looked forward, seeing a great lantern, at the foot of an iron tree. He dipped his torch into it, out of curiosity. Sure enough, the area was soon lit, masterstrokes of craftsmanship long forgotten, displayed before the old Wolf himself. Etched into the walls, were tales of great deeds, valorous triumphs over evil and the defense of the Mandalorian people. Where was he? What had he found? He turned, to see if the shadows of the past remained with him, if the crystal path had retained it's orange hue. But he was alone now, alone in the strange temple from long ago. ​

​

Some of it was worn, so worn from the elements that was impossible to read many of the engravings. But Preliat was a scholarly man, a warrior with the tendency to read as often as he trained. He trained his mind, often, as hard as he did his body. It paid off in dividends in times like these. He held the torch high, lighting another lantern. A statue formed before him, behind the great tree. He approached it. ​

​

There was an inscription beneath it- ​

​

The Unyielding. ​

​

Preliat Mantis, had found a tomb of a Mandalore, lost to the annals of history. But why was he led here? Why was he experiencing these visions? Was it madness? Was it the embrace of death, coming to gently take the old man away? Or- was the planet, that so many others shared visions upon, showing Preliat something greater, with some divine purpose, some specter trying to coax him into becoming something more than an angry, broken man? ​

​

Preliat had many questions, but few answers. He began to read the inscriptions on the wall, presumably the first, due to the depiction of a child.​

​

The Unyielding- born to peasant farmers on a burned world, was adopted by the Mando'ade later in his life, as a young man. He came forth to be known for his tenacity, and his strength of body- and of character. He never once, in his life, displayed cowardice, by all accounts- both friend and foe.​

​

Preliat turned his torch, looking to the murals, etched into the crystals along the wall. There were many. He would be here for quite some time. He smiled, lightly. He had time. He had plenty of time. ​

 

[Vlora Eldar]

Shogun, Unknown Approximate Location, 'A Temple', Undetermined Time
To Build & Destroy | Interacting with [member="Vellavert Bralor"] ~ Blood Red Roses ~ "A storm is loosed upon the sea."
——————————————————————

This place felt odd.

Vlora had stood in a hundred arenas, surrounded by many souls, all shouting and screaming and some even trying to kill her. It did not feel like this. This felt like a pressure, one on the chest, heavy like stone. It was something about this grand temple courtyard that felt-- Well, it felt right. Exceptionally right. As if a hundred versions of her had stood here before, in this courtyard, that speck in time.

"Bralor," The hybrid seemed to bark out, though any hostility was not intended; it came with the territory of being terribly unfamiliar with Basic and it's dialects, "Mantis has left on his own. Unpack, yes?" A snow-white finger crooked towards the various crates their vessels were still dispensing into the dusted plaza. It almost looked like snow, but it wasn't. It wasn't cold, here. It was actually a little humid, which was why Vlora had opted for sleeveless attire, "I will help." She insisted quietly, not waiting for the fellow hybrid's reply to her near-command before marching off to the boxes steadily being piled.

Some contained building supplies, support structures, things they could graft to the existing structures around them to make them more habitable. Others were things she preferred better, explosives, in the event things needed a little reshaping.

All in all, it was going to be a good day. Yellow eyes turned to the large gem structures rising past the walls of this canyon-nestled temple, indicative of the rest of Shogun's landscape.

Pretty.

 

[Vellavert Bralor]

A lost home for those without.​

Vellavert Bralor​

Location: Shogun, Grand Temple Courtyard​

-- Unloading Cargo --​

Interacting with: Blatant Femdom - [member="Vlora Eldar"]

---

---

---

​

---

​

Dust. It was all dust.
-The crystalline world was ashen with it, blanketed with it. Like a dream nestled in the very heart of the soul of their people. Ashen. Burned away by thousands of years of flame each enveloping the last in a perpetual dance, a ritual, the ballet of a phoenix. Just as he had become. Once young and full of hope, searching for his destiny. Now he was alone, afraid and abandoned. Everything that once gave him joy turned to the sands of time and slipped past his fingers like the hourglass of mortality. Through them, he had died, not the physical death freeing one from the cruel sentence of their existence, not the key - the lock. The kind of death that leaves one without the will to breathe or drink, without the will to lift so much as a finger, with only aspirations of himself fading from the prison of his life. This world was not meant for prisoners. This world was not meant for stagnancy. This world was the womb of change and she bore a treasure of rebirth, she was a fire that burned away everything and left only the naked truth surrounded by the ashes of cognizance. Thousands before him had found their way upon this world, even if they had not realized it each and every one of them was here because of the spawn of this world millennia before any of them. So too had he.

Vellavert walked down ancient carved stone steps each in themselves bearing untold chronicles of passed greatness as he disembarked from his ship - the Me'Suum'Ika. He hoped deeply that one day their own stories would join them, and perhaps thousands of years after he had, like everything else here, turned to dust their story might burn like a wildfire in the hearts of their people, their people. They were here, of course, to lay down the first stone of what would be their liberation. The flames of the Phoenix would burn the veil of darkness. Each footstep felt like a wave, each one washing over him, cleansing him of sin. One after the other. Vellavert lay his fingers upon the decorated stone banister which as equally elegant as everything the ancient masons put to form, they trailed along it in swirling patterns leaving trails in the dust weaving into and out of each other, each passing inch further coating the tips of his fingers a pale gray.

He did not like to speak, not anymore, not after everything, even if he was good at it. Even if it was one of the few things he was truly a master of, but now, at this moment, in this hour of rebirth he could not contain his overjoyed tongue. To be reborn is such an amazing thing, and needed to shout his victory from the hilltops, or in this case, gawk in awe alongside the woman he found himself near.

"It's strange. I feel... Different I feel as if I was always meant to be here. The dust and the ashes and not that of death and apathy, not those of forgotten lives vanished into our souls but... Alive. It all feels alive as if I was here a thousand-thousand years ago, I can almost hear them, see their shadows dancing on the walls. All of them, those who came before, those who will come after. The bustling courtyard, families, children, lovers, brothers... Sisters... I feel them all here. I feel them all here as if I was never meant to leave, as if... As if I was always here.."

He could barely contain himself, perhaps the planet had truly inspired this epiphany upon him, or perhaps it was simply the shock of seeing that which he had always dreamed of, which they had always dreamed of, not that it was they. He had to live for them both, win glory for them both. She deserved that much, and some, some small part of him prayed that now, perhaps through his eyes, she could see the beating heart of their people splayed out before him.

Vlora's words finally clicked inside of Vellavert, but he said nothing more as he heeded her admittedly wise advice and turned to unload their cargo.
She had saved him at that moment, though she might not have known it, Vellavert almost lost himself to the tide, waded into the vast ocean of memory and swam into it, never to allow himself to return.
She had pulled him from the welcoming abyss of his own imagining.

So instead he turned and jogged back up the stone staircase, his eyes averting the miasma of allure about it all, his hands affixing a crate, his spine sprung to action and instead-instead he simply moved and followed her, where ever she had so deemed to actually put the unloaded cargo.

 

[Vilaz Munin]

​

Never did Vilaz had the pleasure of setting foot on this sacred, yet long forgotten world of Shogun. He had heard the tales and read some history of the planet, interested and enthralled by them. According to historical texts by, written by his people of ancient times, it was where two famous Sole Ruler's received celestial visions that would influence the future of their people and culture. The Indomitable would receive one, leading to the Mandalorians worshipping war and making them the fearsome warriors of the Galaxy; a reputation put into question from these troubling, dark times. The latter, the Ultimate, would decree an order that the Mandalorians as a whole would be more diverse so long as outsiders could prove themselves they deserved to be dubbed as a Mandalorian.

Those were times much more prosperous, despite many defeats they faced in their wars and crusades. But through those defeats their will and strength hardened into something unbreakable. Something invincible.

A thought the Munin perceived after the return of Ra that would end the Liberator and usher in a new age for the Mandalorians.

He was wrong, and so were many.

Exiled and casted away, Vilaz along with his family and clan marched away from Mandalore to find a new home. A home that would serve them for the time being as they refused to acknowledge the legitimacy as the Infernal and the now government she installed that sullied his culture. It was an insult for the fallen, knowing that they would be ashamed of what they had become. Pretenders and false idol engaging in politics, seeking for alliances and pacts with others, betraying their traditions for the likes of others in order to conform with the rest of the Galaxy.

Pathetic and atrocious.

Now the Warlord and his clan joined Te Veman. A band of other Mandalorian Warriors that shared the same thoughts and opinions on the Mandalorian Empire that held Mandalore hostage. They sought for retribution and justice for Infernal's crimes which would end with a verdict of her head on a pike for all to see.

The Concordian, with his beloved wife at his side, trekked the crystalline terrain of Shogun. He beheld the scenery with awe and amazement, observing some crystals shaping into odd geometric shapes. But there was something else that garnered his attention, much more powerful than what his eyes gazed upon.

It was the energy and spirit that vibrated within him. It was nothing foreign to him, or at least he thought. Many emotions, melded, flew within him. The man felt at...peace. It was odd to feel that. At times he was at war, conflict in himself. Aggressive and harsh as always. Even on Mandalore and Concord Dawn he didn't feel such serenity that he was no experiencing on Shogun.

"You feel that, Bree," the former Akaan asked to [member="Briika Munin"], as they walked in some structure within a building that showed religious signs. Perhaps constructed during either times of the Indomitable or Ultimate, as believing and worshipping gods was a norm in those times. Religion was also something Vilaz took part in and adopted it for his clan, making it optional for his clansmen to accept it or deny it respectfully.

"I've never felt this in my life, not even on Mandalore."

[member="Vellavert Bralor"] | [member="Vlora Eldar"] | [member="Preliat Mantis"]​

 

[Briika Munin]

​

The Te Veman were gathering upon this sacred ground of their ancestors.

​

There was trepidation yet peace in Briika's heart and mind as she traversed the crystalline surface of Shogun by her husband's side wearing her silver-colored armor. The Munin's had already adopted the Mandalorian Religion into their life as well as their family and clan. In a way, coming to this place was like making the great pilgrimage to the holy land for them. It was hard to explain, but the meaning was so apparent.

[ Elek, cyar'ika. I do. It feels like we are meant to be here, hmm? ] Bree answered over their helmet comlink, then the blonde tilted her blood red T-visor towards the Concordian to gaze at him.

[ I am glad we left the ade with their ba'buir on the ship so we can enjoy this moment for us. There will be plenty of time later to let Kayra and Adenn experience it for themselves as well. Plus, who knows what is in store for the Exiles as we explore our future endeavors. ]

[member="Vellavert Bralor"] [member="Vlora Eldar"] [member="Preliat Mantis"]

 

[Vlora Eldar]

Shogun, Unknown Approximate Location, 'A Temple', Undetermined Time
Construct Additional Pylons | Interacting with [member="Vellavert Bralor"] | [member="Preliat Mantis"], [member="Vilaz Munin"], [member="Briika Munin"] ~ Blood Red Roses ~ "Whose eye is stained with tears."
——————————————————————

"You speak words."

"Words do not move crates."

That was all the reply Bralor would get to his musings on Shogun's raw religious power. Nonetheless, she silently found sympathy there, camaraderie in the feelings exchanged. Her pale white hands reached forth and she wretched one of the smaller boxes that had been left by their scouts upright after it had been toppled over under the weight of another. The shipping manifest, written plainly and bluntly in Mando'a, detailed that rations were housed within. Foodstuffs, a building block of new life. Boring as well, so the box was slid off to the side across the dusted courtyard of stone, "Bralor," Vlora mused as she reached for another box, "Clan. Where is it?"

Eldar was gone. If any vode were left, chances were they were folded into the Empire. Vlora's buir had been the one to break free, and had saved her in turn. This lone Bralor, what did he have? Anything? Anyone?

Kindred spirits often did not enjoy another's company. That was why her voice came out a little hotly, intermingling oddly with the curious nature of the question.

 

[Preliat Mantis]

​

Theme​

​

​

What drove a man like the Unyielding? What existed in his mind that drove him to not only face hordes of enemies, from within- and from outside? What drove him to fight, alone? What willpower? What motivation? Was it love of another? Love of home? Or was it none of these things? ​

​

Preliat turned his head elsewhere, shining the torch once more onto a different part. His eyes were transfixed, on such splendor, such great beauty- that he had difficulty comprehending the craftmanship alone. Between two statues of wolves, great, proud beasts- sat a tree. Crystal structure, formed the base. And the branches, and the trunk- intertwined with plates of Beskar. He placed his hand on it, lightly touching the metal with his free hand. It was warm to the touch. He pushed the torch upwards, examining it.​

​

The Iron Tree. ​

​

The inscription at the base told him all he needed to know. It looked, and felt older- older than anything else in the room. It occurred to him that the temple had been built around it, honoring it by keeping it here- and adding to it. He held the torch up. He recognized the script on some of the branches- small inscriptions, one worded. He read the first.​

​

Ordo.​

​

Fett. ​

​

Viszla. ​

​

Varad.​

​

Skirata. ​

​

Awaud.​

​

The Iron Tree was strengthened by the clans. ​

​

It's as if, fate itself heard his speech to the Grandmaster herself. The tree of Mandalorians was a thing he had seen in his dreams, passively as a metaphor- but now, to see it in the flesh, to see it put before his eyes- he was in utter disbelief. He turned and lit the bowl at either side of the tree. He saw the scope of the tree, rising several feet more than what he saw. And- slots. His immense height allowed him a better look- each branch was fitted on, slid into place, locking with a simple twisting motion, if he had to guess. And there were notches fit into the tree- many more.​

​

He knew they would grow. They knew that there would be more. ​

​

The wisdom of the past brought forth, once more. He only counted a handful, if the Veman were to have a task, were to have a symbol beyond the Wolves- this was it. Wolves, in themselves, hunted in packs. But they had no roots. They were nomadic. They were strong together, in packs. It suited the Veman for the moment. Wolves hunting together. But the tree, the great Beskar tree- was a symbol of unity, of oneness. Something the Mando'ade had been chasing, had been searching for so long. Once the fires were lit, and Preliat stood alone in the temple, he understood.​

​

He understood what the Mandalorians needed. They needed unity. They did not need a crusade. They did not need another war. They needed unity, they needed strength together, as one. A branch on itself, even a thousand branches, would die without the trunk to support them. He dropped the torch, letting the light flood the room. It was all encompassing, the mosaics, the statues- the writings. It all was...so peaceful. So tranquil. Something he hadn't felt in a long time.​

​

The Wolf, had peace.​

​

​

​

​

 

[Vilaz Munin]

”You can say that, yeah,” Vilaz replied back to his wife as the couple continued to walk to...wherever their feet took them. He continued to ravish in this odd feelings that surrounded him and his spouse. Upon arrival he felt it and immediately tried to resist it as he thought it was a trick, but that was needless as the rest of his comrades accepted this energy in them. Could it be that these supernatural workings were projected from realm of the Manda? Or the gods of old?

”Yes, one day our children will live this for themselves. By then they’ll be twice the Mandalorians we are,” the Warlord said to his wife, continuing the dialogue they shared. Their children that they shared together were still relatively young. His daughter, Kayra, was eight while his son, Adenn, was five. But by those ages Vilaz and Bree were now disciplining their young ones. They couldn’t afford to spoil them unlike “normal” parents did in the outside of the Galaxy. Oh, no a Mandalorians training started fairly young, so that they could one day complete their initiative and be recognized as Mandalorians of their clan.

And the Concordian expected his children be better warriors than he was.

”I do hope the next endeavor is liberating Mandalore and ridding of that...fiend,” the warrior said in an upset, angry tone of voice but then was soothes by his surroundings. Bree would know that his tone of voice wasn’t directed at her, but rather the current predicament that their culture was facing. The blonde medic knew of his aggressive behavior, but never did he direct it at his family or clan.

”Is that an...altar, cyar’ika” the Concordian asked calmly to his wife as he increased the pace of his steps to inspect what was ahead of them. He and [member="Briika Munin"] knew about the religion they followed, yet knew little about it. Not many documents or writings were left that educated Mandalorians whatever creeds revolved around Mandalorian religion. Only information they knew was the main three gods, and that to worship Kad Ha’rangir was to worship war itself; however, it was their duty to expand their religion as much as they could if possible. Warriors they were, yet they educated themselves as much as they could about their culture.

”Think they made some sacrifices to the gods? Maybe offer some nice aruetiise to Kad Ha’rangir?”

He snickered to himself after imagining that in his mind.

[member="Preliat Mantis"] | [member="Vlora Eldar"] | [member="Vellavert Bralor"]​

 

[Silas Mantis]

Shogun, The Temple, Time Irrelevant
Interacting With: [member="Vilaz Munin"], [member="Preliat Mantis"], [member="Vlora Eldar"], [member="Vellavert Bralor"], [member="Briika Munin"]

---

Silas had been thinking a lot as of late, searching himself for his own identity. And it felt as if he'd finally found it. Silas was a warrior, not some boy from Ordo out of his depth, not a mercenary living in his brother's shadow, he was a Mandalorian. A true Mandalorian. So was his brother, yes, but they were not the same. Each had and would continue to carve out their own legacy in the galaxy.

He hoped both would speak to how they restored their people to glory, righted their past wrongs, and made Mandalore all she was meant to be. But first they had to make this place a suitable home. Silas hefted a crate over his shoulder, the beskar prosthetic steadying the container as he walked down the ramp of a ship. He was silent as he usually was, but he gave the Bralor and the Eldar both nods of acknowledgement. He didn't know either of them, he'd never fought beside them like he had the others, all he knew was that the woman spoke in broken basic. That was unique at least.

The towering soldier of Mandalore set the crate down near a collection of others and turned to go and retrieve more. Then the woman's question caught his attention. Almost all of them hailed from clans that could barely be called that. He knew nothing of any Bralor's, outside of a few mentions, he was sure their presence was small, and Eldar's had either folded into the Empire or died. Munin's were exiled, the Fett's were...complicated, and he and Preliat's? It was even more so. He often questioned if the thing claiming to be Yasha and the dozens she'd bestowed the name upon counted, or were he and his brother the only true children of the wolf? He leaned towards the latter, but it nagged at him.

His gaze settled on the Bralor, waiting to here his answer to Vlora.

 

[Vellavert Bralor]

A lost home for those without.​

Vellavert Bralor​

Location: Shogun, Grand Temple Courtyard​

-- Unloading Cargo --​

Interacting with: Blatant Femdom - [member="Vlora Eldar"] || Evesdropper - [member="Silas Mantis"]

---

---

​

---

​

-He carried himself up and down the steps, sawing his way into the ancient stone with each crate. It was comforting in a way, a contrast to the words the woman spoke, now burning into his ears "Clan. Where is it?" The stones were worn down, a sign of age and reverence in equal measure bearing proudly their burdens, the tell-tale signs of a million-million steps. Of countless stories many of which are now undoubtedly carved into the masonry, the marble of dubious obviously imported origin and the far more dominant crystal lattices covering the place with a dream-like twisting aurora of entrancement.

Where is it? Where is it? Where is it? Where is it? Where is it?

Those words rang through him like a bell. The kind that would have resounded in the ancient Norg Bral, now within him, how fitting. His name meant fortress, but he was as vulnerable now as he ever was, as he always was. He was not alone to be sure - but in every conceivable way, he was less of himself now. He had that for respite and judging by everything he had seen of her, by her vitriol and venom both flowing together in a river of enigma, she did not.

Several minutes had passed, it would have been rude not to answer eventually, unsure even himself the man spoke softly in a kind and respectful return, a fitting foil for her own speech: "A flame in a flood. We survive surrounded and scattered. They- He will come if none others. Legacies have been built by less."

Even then that answer felt unsatisfactory as if he had somehow cheated her for asking in the first place nobody willing to so freely do what they are here to do deserved such dishonesty, such suffocating blatant misdirection. The truth was he did not know, and he did. Ines was gone, so many had been but she was the only loss that mattered to him, the only time he had ever felt anything. Kilum was out there somewhere and he was a man of a special kind. He would join them soon, blood in the water always attracts sharks.

"In truth, it is only the two of us who remain. Others, I do not know."
...
"Te Veman unites us. We may not be a clan, but we are something else. Maybe someday that will offer solace."

 

[Soloman Priest]

Shogun
Unidentified Temple

Interacting with: [member="Vellavert Bralor"] │ [member="Silas Mantis"] │ [member="Vlora Eldar"]
___________________________________________________________

In the distant whispers of the underworld, talk of Te Veman had spread, through hoarse and quiet. Much of it was ambiguous, unknown enigmatic drivel that could hardly be cut from the cloth of truth no matter how hard you avoided the moth holes that had formed in the grand story quilt; but of what Soloman Priest had heard, it was enough to at least catch his attention. It’d been some time since his arrival in Mandalorian space, let alone a planet like Shogun, which meant much to the culture he held so close. After the betrayal of his fellow Mandalorians, he hadn’t dared fall back into the empire at large; the ever present threat of conviction and death being a strong enough deterrent to stop any chance of that before it began.

Lady Luck, his personal GS-77 Gunship, arced through the sky with as much grace as it could before coming down near the temple; even finding the place a troublesome task. Near the exit, Soloman glanced to the droids, nodding to them as some unknown signal to arm the internal security; despite taking the extreme risk of coming out of hiding to meet Mandalorians once again, he couldn’t help but distrust them for the simple sake of war never changing. Mandalorians were notorious thieves afterall, and he didn’t think it was a great choice for his ship to get taken before he had a chance to destroy it himself.

Walking into the area, he noticed excessive amounts of crates, boxes and storage all being moved from their positions to their organized positions; forcing Soloman to wander around them before meeting the three forms that were speaking within, that of Silas, Vellavert, and Vlora; forcing him to rest a hand on his weapon out of instinct than bad intentions before he spoke up,

“You uh, need help?”

Smooth.

 

[Vlora Eldar]

Shogun, Unknown Approximate Location, 'A Temple', Undetermined Time
More Vespene Gas | Interacting with [member="Vellavert Bralor"], [member="Silas Mantis"], [member="Solomon"] Priest | [member="Preliat Mantis"], [member="Vilaz Munin"], [member="Briika Munin"] ~ Blood Red Roses ~ "A wretch Hell-bound and bent on blood."
——————————————————————

His short statement didn't seem to offer much solace or explanation to Vlora but she nodded sharply nonetheless.

"Veman, for now, is aliit. Until ours are saved from Infernal fire." The Echani/Rattataki agreed solemnly, before her white head of hair turned to the sound of footsteps, leading to her giving the newcomer an eyeful before he even spoke, "Yes," She spoke slow, enunciating correctly and all, "Come, vod. Cargo aboard, unload here." The others might be more cautious, but it seemed Vlora was just happy to have hands that would help as opposed to hurt.

Silence reigned the halfbreed as her work resumed, pushing a few off to the side, "Mantis still inside." She observed, marbled eyes turning towards the entrance of the temple's sanctum, where Preliat had wandered off to. His solitude was his own, she figured, "Munins gone sightseeing."

"Leaves us to build. Then they will come." 'They' certainly didn't refer to the three other Mando'ade in their pack across Shogun. No, they meant the others. The others who felt the Veman in their bones. That thought gave her the slightest smile, the hint of razor teeth.

 

[Silas Mantis]

Shogun, The Temple, Time Irrelevant
Interacting With: [member="Vlora Eldar"], [member="Vellavert Bralor"], [member="Soloman Priest"]

---

---

"I suspect my brother will be preoccupied for some time." Silas spoke up, commenting on the hybrid's observation, perhaps cluing her and the others in to just who he was. He and Preliat looked similar, but not as much as they once had, there had been times where height aside they'd been nearly indistinguishable. Hell, now they shared the same set of eyes. The explosion that had left the dark piece of shrapnel embedded in his forehead had claimed his sight, but his brother had taken one of his own eyes and bestowed it onto Silas. A gift with a value so great he could never repay it.

But that was what one did for family, Silas would have done the same in a heartbeat. In that fire, he had been changed, he'd become his true self. He was a monster, a slayer of his own kind, a harbinger of death and destruction. Directly or not, Silas had been responsible for the deaths of more Mandalorians than most since the Liberator. He was a fever meant to burn out the disease of weakness and division that riddled their people.

Silas was a demon. Mandalore's demon.

It was a heavy burden, one that came with guilt and regret, but one he knew was necessary. One that he had to bear alone. Looking to the newcomer he set his lone eye on the newcomer. "Listen to her," He said firmly, nodding to Vlora. She clearly had the right idea. "Grab some crates, unload them. When more arrive, we want to have something respectable waiting."

 

[Soloman Priest]

Shogun
Unidentified Temple

Interacting with: [member="Vellavert Bralor"] │ [member="Silas Mantis"] │ [member="Vlora Eldar"]
___________________________________________________________

Hard work.

Soloman wasn’t a man unknown to the world of labor, but it’d been many years since he was put to work; heavily in part because he simply never interacted with the vast majority of people outside the realm of the underworld, let alone any rational interaction that didn’t involve hefty amounts of alcohol and the occasional credits. With a quiet, unregarded sniffled, Soloman removed the poncho he had wrapped around his shoulders and set it aside, rolling up his sleeves before moving to lift the first of the many crates ready to be unloaded.

He wasn’t as tall as Silas, but he was just as dense, and it showed as he began picking and moving with ease what most men would find far too difficult to push around. It was a minor trait, but his strength was substantial when required, and so he moved with the grace that a Mandalorian of higher degree seemed to move with; confidence in each step in all that they did. His boots clicked against the ground, but despite the offer to help he did little to speak, let alone interact any further with the other two.

In part, he simply wasn’t social. He was curious surely, thought perhaps even questions might satiate some of those burning ideas in his head, but he had heard enough to know where they were, what they were about, and it was time for him to come home. If there was something important for him to know, one of the others would tell him, ask him perhaps, and until they did he would do little to impose. Being a force introvert often did that to a man, one who spent so long alone, he wondered if he’d ever be able to fall back in like with a Ori’ramikade group, or if he’d be forever stuck without a battle brother.

It didn’t matter. If they told him to kill, then he would. At least he would have a family here, eventually.

With a small grunt, he moved to lift another box, using all the great strength he held to work like the dog he knew he was.

 

[Preliat Mantis]

The walk back to the gathering place, was quiet. Tranquil. He enjoyed the scenery, but had no guidance this time- he was on his own. But he found the way. He would always find the way, given enough time. He came through the fog, holding his helmet in his hands. He took a deep breath, the atmosphere somewhat pleasant, in a way. He first came to his brother, [member="Silas Mantis"]. The Wolf came forward, and placed his hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Brother- our purpose. Our peace. It is here. I have found it."

He looked to the other Mandalorians gathered. The Wolf smiled at them all, but kept his hand on his brother's shoulder. A show of support. Of bond.

"Silas, vode- the crates can wait- they will still be there. I must show you all something. Something great- something spectacular."

[member="Soloman Priest"] l [member="Silas Mantis"] l [member="Vlora Eldar"] l​

 

[Briika Munin]

Shogun
Exploring the temple
w/[member="Vilaz Munin"]
__________________________________

[ You know my feelings on that matter... I am with you regarding what needs to be done, ner cyare. It's the how where I still need to be convinced. ]

The Red Coronation was still a sore spot for the Munins. The confusion of the true intent that day had led to the actions and consequences that came from it. And here now, they were; Te Veman to right the wrongs and make the Mando'ade whole again. It was a grand premise. Time would only tell if it would be once again like days of old.

Azure orbs looked ahead, gazing upon a raised area with crystalline pillars lining the back of it and a high bench of some sort on the platform.

[ Vil'ika... I think you are right, an altar it could be. Ner ba'buir used to tell us ade while sitting around the fire stories of times long past where sacrifices were made as a way to please the gods and bring luck to the aliit. It could very well be of both animal and human means. He did not say though. ]

Briika missed those days. Things were so simple back then. One just knew what it meant to be a Mandalorian. She wanted that for Kayra and Adenn, and all children of the Manda.

The Baar'ur shook her helmeted head to bring herself out of those wistful thoughts and back to the present, reaching up to touch her husband's broad shoulder.

[ We should join the others, hmm, and let them know what we've found here. ]

 

[Vilaz Munin]

Finding such archeological object as this altar was...exciting for Vilaz. He didn’t express it, but that emotion rocked in him. He and his Clan were fundamentalists in their culture as they practiced Mandalorian Religion of the past, the very same religion during the times of Mand’alor the Indomitable. They did what they could to read and educate themselves on the religion, but alas there were would missing information lost in the wind. Perhaps Munin clansmen, priding themselves in the arts of archeology, could dig out more from these ancient temples from their ancestors.

The couple walked towards the altar before being at its feet. The Warlord examines the altar, noticing an ancient ceremonial knife stained with blood. The table itself was decorated in crimson, signs of some sacrifice as his wife just mentioned to him when her grandfather would tell those old tales to Briika and her siblings.

”I wonder if there is more...perhaps we can learn more about our culture from these relics,” the Concordian said to his wife, his attention now on her as she touched his shoulders. Truth be told, he didn’t want to go back. He wanted to explore a bit more, a funny thing to see from a man like Vilaz. Exploring was something one wouldn’t expect from the Munin.

But that could wait later. Other duties called that needed immediate attention.

”Alright then, cyar’ika, but I do think about coming back here. It has a weird calling,” the Mandalorian said, begore turning his back on the altar and walking back to where the others were with his wife at his side.

[member="Briika Munin"]