Faction Solstice of the Mando'ade | The Enclave & Mandalorians

[The Quartermaster]

T O R
V A L U M

[] Tor Valum, The Last Mandalorian City | Kestri []​

For so long, the Mando'ade had lived in an era of fear.

There were few alive who didn't remember the genocide of Mandalore; the death and destruction that had rained down on their cultural homeworld when the Sith Empire had betrayed their people. Entire cities had been destroyed; entire clans had been butchered, defenseless. Millions had perished in the death camps and mining pits, falling under the whips of the oppressors. And the few that had survived had fled, thinking that the future of their people was bleak, if indeed there would be any future at all.

And yet, in a small secret stronghold on Roon, hope had been kindled. A small safehaven for Mandalorians had started out as that, small. And then it had grew. It was ever the shadow among larger coalitions of its people. First they fought alongside the Mandalorian Union, helping throw off the shackles of Sith control from their homeworld and reestablishing Mandalorian control. But the Mandalorian Union was weak, and their power faded until they were forced to abandon Mandalore and leave it for the birds of carrion that circled around the planet. What remnants of the Union faded, yet the Enclave remained.

Then came the Death Watch Crusaders, fierce where the Union had been meek, fiery where the Union had been mellow. They would not be weak, and they would make the galaxy fear the word Mandalorian once more, had been their decree. They fought on numerous battlefields against the Sith, and even returned to Mandalore, except to burn it instead of taking it for their own. If they would not have it, then no one had. The flame of the Crusaders burnt bright, but burnt quickly. Their spark was extinguished as ranks fell to infighting, and after months of stagnation the Crusaders dissolved, yet the Enclave remained.

Throughout this time, the Enclave had not been idle. They had enlargened their safe haven on Roon as more and more Mandalorian refugees from across the galaxy had poured in. When a mysterious world on the edge of known space had been discovered, they had first sent scouts to figure out what it was. That had been when Kestri, a lost world of rich Mandalorian heritage, had been found. The Enclave waged fierce war with an ancient, reawoken remnant of Yuuzhan Vong for control of the world, and in the ruins of the once-great city of Tor Valum, they defeated the Yuuzhan Vong once and for all and claimed Kestri as their own.

Then had come rebuilding. Tens of thousands of Mandalorians took to Tor Valum, to raise the city into a new capital of Mandalorian decadence. Slowly debris and ruin had been cleared out; old buildings that were salvageable had been rebuilt, and those that were beyond saving had been cleared for new spires and homes to rise. More and more flocked to the city, capable of holding millions, though far from that number came, for the tolls of all the wars and division had been great on the Mando'ade. Yet the Last Mandalorian City was beginning to, miraculously thrive. As the annual Solstice celebration approached, on the anniversary of the officially founding of the Enclave, it felt that at long last the hope that had been kindled all those years ago was beginning to finally pay off. Because, for the first time since the genocide, there was the laughter of children in the streets.

A new age of the Mando'ade was finally dawning.

Spoiler: Points of Interest

• The Nuna'a Memorial lies under Manda Square in the center of Tor Valum's Midtown District. This is a place where individuals or groups can find a place of solemn among the celebrations and revelry, to remember those lost in the genocide, subsequent conflicts, and previous. Later on, a ceremony will be held where candles will be lit in collective remembrance, and a select honor guard will hold a vigil throughout the night of the Solstice.

• The Ji'yr Market of the Midtown District has come alive with Mandalorians celebrating the Solstice. Colorful banners stream market stalls where individuals can purchase a variety of items, ranging from spiced meats to weapons, armor, and gear sold by smiths. Many Mandalorians can be found also partying hard in the Shukur Kyr'bes Tavern and Surbhir Tapcaf, and there the Tihaar and other liquors flow freely. Celebrate in the revelry, for the Solstice is as much a night to relish glories and triumphs as it is a solemn day of remembrance.
• OOC Note: In celebration of the Solstice, anyone who participates been given x45 Legendary Tokens to spend as they please in the Enclave Marketplace. Feel free to use this Point of Interest as a place to in-character purchase whatever you wish (i.e. purchasing a weapon on the marketplace, then in-character purchasing the same weapon in the Ji'yr Market).

• At the base of the Iyarsa Spire, the administrative center of the Enclave, official business is being held; as Mandalorians both in the Enclave and without congregate at Tor Valum in their highest densities for the celebrations, the ability to raise matters before the administration of the Enclave and vice versa has been deemed important. If you have official business with the Enclave, here is the place to do so.

Spoiler: Tag List

Mig Gred
Thonn Rokkal
Obran
Tristan Ortega
Kranak Vizsla
Siv Dragr
Tan'yill Vizsla
Reeve Bralor
Tahlah Vizsla
Kale Onara
Leea Pandac
Talohn Atar
Stardust Solus Skirae
Kaden Farr
Wen Tzu
Thom Betna
Thaine Mereel
LaoTzu
Cerar Vizsla
Kandosii Ka'rta
Jiriad Galaar
Jarva Orkaan
Jaster Awaud
Nova Dragr
Nix Avyena
Miria Tanau
Minerva Fhirdiad
Leenic Ellsil
Kes Stag
Kaz Vizsla
Tae'l Vizsla
Nita Quez
Keldab Dragr
Zaesthaoh Vizsla
Kar Bakar
Taru Cadera
Tawnita Wren
Noah Corek
Aether the Iron
Aertan J’kai
Alex Eldar
Aloy Vizsla
Brent Warnel
Bright1
Caeos Prahl
Vaux Gred
Vren Rook
Jhira Mereel
Romul Saxon

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[Vrun Ryssic]

Location: Tor Valum; Kestri.
Tags: The Quartermaster
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The Nebulon Ulysses had touched down upon Kestri, making port within the World's Capital City, Tor Valum; From there the Trandoshan would make his way towards the Iyarsa Spire with the intention of understanding more about what made The Enclave what it was, and why they had seen fit to invite other Mandalorians from off-world to their celebrations.

At the time of the invitations reception, Vrun Ryssic had been placed on Mandalore, within Keldabe. There the Trandoshan Bounty Hunter had made contact with numerous others, they whom held the monicker of Mandalorian in both heart and culture. As of this day, Vrun had not yet been accepted into the Mandalorian way of life, yet back at the Oyu'baat he had been welcomed as a guest and invited on a hunt for the Nexu by those of various clan sigil. It had given the Hunter much to consider, and he had found something of a calling, alluring the Trandoshan to their way of life, or at the very least that which he had seen of his visit to Mandalore.

Approaching the Iyarsa Spire, Vrun had understood that this was a place of official contact with The Enclave, yet he held no real business with their people. It was instead by intrigue that he had chosen to visit this location first, to understand this Enclave by seeing it for what it was and not by the second tongue of the civilian life that seemed to be out in full in the streets of Tor Valum.

Vrun had not yet been hatched during the fall of the United Clans of Mandalore, yet he had learned of the fate the Mandalorian people had endured back then. It was their ability to adapt and persevere, to thrive under conditions that most would have fallen to, that encouraged the Trandoshan Hunter to take an interest, and perhaps even admire their kind so much.

Vrun wished to know more, and to understand what it was that had tempted the Hunter to want to become one of them.

 

[Vren Rook]

TAG: Tawnita Wren | Siv Dragr | Open

Tor Valum.

How they had bled for this planet. How Mando'ade all over the Galaxy have bled for their heritage. And here they were. The New Mandalore. Vren's dream come true, through blood, sweat and tears.

And how better to celebrate this immense victory than having a couple drinks at the newly erected tavern? And who was he to deny a chance to grill Siv Dragr about his choice of permanent head gear?

"Oh come on! You can't even take that thing off to celebrate our fallen Mando'ade in this?" he laughed as he and Tawnita Wren walked up to the bar where his friend was sitting. "How you gonna drink past that umbrella, hm?"

Rapping his knuckles on the bar, he looked at the Mando'ade behind the bar.
"Clean tihaar - rocks, please Vod." he ordered his drink before looking over at Tee. "What you having? And yes, we have pink straws if you so wish." he asked her, an impish glint in his eyes. He knew full well how she hated "pansy straws" as she used to call them.

 

[Romul Saxon]

V I G I L

Location: Nuna'a Memorial, Tor Valum
Tag: OPEN

The small crowd that had gathered in the subterranean Nuna'a Memorial parted aside to make way for Romul Saxon. The old bear towered over nearly everyone present, his six-foot-seven frame a good deal taller than most other Mandalorians in the room. Around his ornate beskar'gam was clasped a fur cloak that furled out behind him as he strode. He did not wear his helmet, holding it in one hand with his head bare as a sign of respect to the mourners here.

At last, he'd made his way to the center of the memorial, where the massive Grulyr Cebatr tree stood. In the dim torchlight of the memorial, its white bark and red leaves stood only more in contrast to the browns and greys of the chamber. Small, grey stone pillars no larger than a beskad had been erected at the base of the tree, looking almost like gravestones. Romul managed to glance at the Mando'a inscriptions on the few closest to him; they were gravestones, he realized sadly.

The massive veteran silently took to one knee, bowing his head before the markers and the tree. The Bear of Saxon had fought in too many battles to count, the memory of them too great for him to remember every single one. But while the conflicts had faded into time, Romul remembered every single man and woman that had fallen fighting beside him. Their faces, their voices, their names. For many, he was the only one still alive to carry their memory.

At long last, he stood, bowing his head towards the tree once more before stepping aside for the next mourner to come. tAs the Mandalorians gathered remembered the dead, Romul reminded himself that they were all still among the living. The night would be long, but the dawn was coming.
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[Siv Dragr]

D R I N K

Location: Shukur Kyr'bes Tavern, Tor Valum
Tag: Vren Rook | Tawnita Wren | OPEN

The normally-crowded Shukur Kyr'bes Tavern was crowded even more so than usually. Every table, barstool, and odd piece of furniture was occupied by drunken Mandalorians, the tavern likely way over capacity. The usual droid servers had found it too difficult to muscle their way past the immovable mass of flesh and beskar'gam, so the tavern had resorted to temporarily hiring a pair of sober Ordo twins to msucle their way through the crowd with the drinks in their hands.

Though he was not singing, Siv couldn't help but bask in the celebratory atmosphere. It felt so. . . freeing after what had felt like months of tension. The mission to the Scarif hypergate. The raid against the pirates on Abrion Major. To finally get a chance at respite was something that the Mandalorian bounty hunter was not quite used to yet, even after so many years of living in the Enclave.

He'd only sat down a few seconds ago, managing to convince a group of staggering Mandalorians that a smith was selling freshly-forged beskads at the stall a block over. Inebriated as they were, they'd quickly scrambled to the door at the mention of weapons, and Siv had grabbed the small-ish table. Siv hadn't been able to catch a moment to breathe when the upbeat, cheerful tone of Vren Rook called over the crowd.

"Force of habit," Siv replied, sighing in response to Rook's jest as he took off the helmet, the whoosh of the atmo-seal depressurizing barely audible over the loud din of the crowd. Setting the beskar helmet on the table, he nodded at his friend and the woman in hand: Vren's part-time lover, part-time enemy Tawnita Wren. "Make that two," he shouted over to the bartender. A flagon of Tihaar sounded not only appropriate for the occasion, but actually enticing, something rarely said about the signature Mandalorian liquor that was commonly stated to be strong enough that it stripped paint off of starship hulls.
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[Shelved (Maex Bralor)]

By the time that Vrun Ryssic and others had arrived, Maex was already inside the tavern. The two had both travelled from Mandalore in their own ships and that was where their similarities had ended. Where the former had yet to become vod, the latter was born into it.

There were whispers of a new Mandalore for their people to flock to; what some consider a safe haven for their people to rebuild. And it made his blood boil.

One hand clenched into a tight fist as it lay on the table next to his helmet. He chugged back what remained of his glass of tiharr and then proceeded to clean each component of his blaster rifle, taking it all apart and laying out the pieces in a specific order. This tended to calm him down and keep him focused. Maex had often gone behind enemy lines and slipped in among them with ease, keeping to himself while he learned just where to strike. Today's mission was similar in that respect, although it was more personal in nature.

As long as his temper was kept in check, he should do just fine.

 

[Kale Onara]

For once Kale Onara was thoroughly enjoying himself without having to risk life, limb or eyesight as he walked down the street of the market. It was very interesting to see this revelry going so well. He and all of his fellow Mandalorians were celebrating not only still being alive but after everything that everyone has gone through, they still had their cultural identity. They were all still Mandalorians despite just about everyone else in the galaxy trying to break and annihilate them.

Kale was growing bored wandering the market so he ducked into a place called Shukur Kyr'bes Tavern. Kale saw the place was packed and briefly wondered if he should find a place that wasn't packed like a small tin of Krill but those thoughts were banished when he spotted not only Siv Dragr but Vren Rook also at the bar with an unknown woman next to Vren.

It took a couple of minutes for Kale to muscle his way up to the bar and he heard Vren and Siv ordering clean Tihaar. Kale chuckled, "CLEAN Tiharr Vren? You might as well be drinking Alderaanian sweet water. If you mix it with a few drops of hyperdrive engine coolant and then you have a real Mandalorian's drink." After that bit of bluster Kale ordered a flagon of CLEAN Tiharr as well before turning and nodding to Siv, "*Su cuy'gar ner burc'ya." When the drinks arrived, Kale took a sip and then looked to the unknown woman, raising his flagon to her, "Greetings vod. Kale Onara at your service."

Translation = Hello my friend

TAG: Tawnita Wren , Siv Dragr , Vren Rook

 

[Jhira Mereel]

POLITICAL REGION: CIS SPACE, The Enclave
LOCATION: Nuna'a Memorial, Tor Valum, Kestri
TAGS: [ OPEN ] [ Romul Saxon ]

Icy wind blew down off of the great mountain towering so far above her, unfurling flags and snapping at the many banners celebrating more than a decade of safety and security in this ancient rift. In the distance she heard not the rhythmic call of the Dha Verda Werda but the laughter of chidlren. Before Jhira, in the center of Manda Square, three statues captured her gaze.

Jaster Mereel. An old, anguished grief shuddered through her. Pulling off her gauntlets, despite the chill in the air, she ran battled-roughened fingers over the beloved badge of Clan Mereel. She searched the armor, but found no scroll sigil; no doubt, he had had no need of it. He had created the Super Commando Codex, to guide their people to honorable strength, not dishonorable slaughter. Had hoped his fractious people would embrace that honorable covenant, and avoid the sort of slaughter her people so often provoked. The armor was so like her father’s; memories threatened the stoic reserve appropriate in public, and she had to turn to the next champion of her people.

Canderous Ordo. Who had rebuilt the Mando’ade, when all hope was lost. Who despite his vast skill as a warrior had not ruled on strength of arms alone, but through wit and honor. Far from a perfect man, the lessons of his mistakes had been taught along with those of his successes.

Mandalore the First. The Taung leader who had first found - and conquered - the planet which was named for him. Why he’d chosen to eradicate the Mythosaurs was shrouded in myth and legend, but she thought it a mark that he was wise, as well as fierce.

“Verd ori'shya beskar'gam,” were the nearly-breathless words she spoke. A warrior is more than his armor. And oh, but these three had been. Strong in ways other than the merely physical. Eternal, all three of them; the memories of the Mando’ade would call their manda, their spirit, home again and again. Yet she prayed none would be needed here, for however much she loved and respected them, their legacy would only rise up to lead if disaster once more overtook her people.

A moment longer she gazed upon this silent promise of the continuity of her people. It ought to have filled her with hope and pride. Not terror; not the bitter, unending terror of losing something you cherish. Turning sharply away before she fled to her ship and left this gloriously hurtful place, Jhira found the northern most stair which led to what had lured her to this profoundly difficult gathering.

Many others of her Vode had likewise been drawn to this chance to mourn properly. Before stepping into the quiet, solemn garden she removed her helmet, locking both it and her gloves to her belt. The sight of the Grulyr Cebatr tree stilled her motion for a few breaths. Then her gaze was drawn to the slender, Beskad-shaped memorial markers. There was no pool to float her memory-lanterns upon, nor did she yet see where to place them. Yet that tree drew her, nonetheless.

Though she did not know the tall warrior who cleared a path to the tree, she followed in the wake of his passage. She could not see past his towering frame, so perforce studied him, instead. Golden Beskar’gam, meticulously maintained, was nearly obscured by the vast fur cloak which swept behind him.

He knelt in silence, memory and grief heavy upon him.

Moving away enough to give the grieving man peace, Jhira knelt in turn, placing several medium sized, unlit paper lanterns at the foot of the great tree. Each was uniquely shaped, distinctively colored, and bore the Clan mark of those whose grief it held. Within, tokens of grief and remembrance had been tucked away. Some would be destroyed by the fire, when at last Jhira found a lake upon which to release them. Other tokens would be purified, purged of their ghosts, and retrieved from the water the next day.

She murmured the daily remembrance of the dead, “Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum,” and waited a heart-beat for a reply no one still alive would know to give.** So she whispered the first name herself: “Jarel Mereel - died when first the Netherworld touched ours, 12th of Taung’s day, 844.” Again there was no reply, though she ached for someone else to remember him. But the silence, the grief was empty of Shereshoy, for no one called out, “I remember.” There were no vode here to recite for her his greatest and worst moment; no smith had memorized his life upon her Beskar’gam. None ever would.

“I remember,” she whispered fiercely. She remembered them all. The losses that had built her life. The lessons that had saved it, time and again. Had she scribed each of her beloved dead’s lessons into her armor, not one speck of it would be left unmarred. It was so with all the Mando’ade. And so they mourned alone, even in their togetherness, for too few shared enough memories to mourn with them.

Standing at last, she collected her paper lanterns, and stepped away from the grieving tree, into the shadow of the man-mountain with the cloak. Being certain they were far enough away not to disturb the customs and griefs of other Clans, she angled her head to look up at him, asking, “Is there a lake or small body of water nearby?”

She had thought there would be fire; almost all Mandalorians loved fire. And if you mixed fire, grief and Mandalorians into an equation, best to have water within reach.


** translation and explanation [/spoiler]
"I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal"—Daily remembrance of those passed on, followed by the names of those being remembered.
((And in Jhira’s family, by those who knew them calling out specific memories, as in “I remember when Jarel and I fought in the battle of Treshin 5. We never much got along; he was too arrogant. Yet when I was pinned by enemy fire, he used his Jet Pack as a bomb, to relieve pressure on my position. A friggin’ bomb. Oya, Jarel!”)[/spoiler]

 

[Zlova Rue]

Outfit: Variant E
Accessory: Mythosaur Skull necklace
Equipment: Two curve-hilted sabers

A celebration. A Mandalorian celebration. Apparently they'd founded their own city in the Southern Systems far from the mess on the other side of the galaxy. To think that mess had only worsened as of late. So, naturally they wanted to announce themselves. Likewise, a certain Cathar Mandalorian sought to join in the festivities; one whose ship carried with it a red Twi'lek with it. Someone that represented a party involved in one of the falls of the Mandalorian Empire.

One would think such a person would hide. Bundle themselves up in a cloak. Keep to the shadows. Avoid confrontation. Those would people that hadn't been brought up as a Sith. The Force and the Dark Side were convenient smokescreens or excuses some hid behind. Truth of the matter was the Sith believed in strength through confrontation. Some were thick-skulled or self-absorbed and believed that meant laying waste to entire planets. Others were schemers. Zlova was somewhere in the middle, she liked to think; but she still believed in growing stronger by confronting challenges, not hiding from them.

After Talohn's ship touched down, the red-skinned woman whose entire body was covered in black, Sith tattoos strode down the ramp uncloaked. In one hand she held an orange and green colored fruit. A 'mango' as the merchant had called it. Her pearly whites suck into its flesh and tore a healthy chunk of the fruit free. Her golden eyes turned aside in search of her Mandaloran escort -- the furriest Mandalorian male Zlova knew. One that may have bestowed upon her a necklace to mark her as a friend. Not that she complained; it was a skull after all. If it helped keep every Mandalorian from trying to kill her on sight because of those "unfortunate" events of the past then Zlova would endure the lost opportunities. For Talohn's sake.

"Please tell me what you have in store will require some form of ritual combat. A desperate attempt at vengeance of some such. Not that I actually had any personal involvement in the fall of Mandalore. Minor details like that don't stop people from blaming an entire culture. As a Sith, I'm well acquainted with being the scapegoat for everyone's tears." Some would find being hunted tiresome after a time. Admittedly, there were days Zlova enjoyed just laying about with Talohn and Monari... and Leea. Madlad too, but the droid didn't much care for her seeing how she was a backstabbing, ruthless monster (also known as Sith). Aside from those days, however, she rather enjoyed the attention. It should explain her rather revealing choice in clothing more often than not. How could you admire her tattoos if they were hidden?

For today's festivities given the serious nature of what was proposed, Zlova actually wore something a little more modest. A light armor that left her arms bare for range of motion and exposed the tops of her breasts for, well, attention. A shoulder and neck harness provided unnecessary armor which was more a matter of Sith fashion than any real desire for protection. The high-heel boots clacked upon the ground as the red and black woman carried herself through the city with her chin high and smile on her lips.

"Probably best if I don't attend that vigil you mentioned earlier," Zlova carried on. "Might be too awkward. Much fun as it would be for me, I'm not as heartless as they'd make me out to be." Though she was measurably heartless in certain circumstances. "I doubt you would keep me around if I was one of those Sith." Some of her brothers and sisters just couldn't figure out how to interact with other species that didn't involve dismissing them, torturing them, or killing them. It was quite sad, actually. Also not Zlova's problem. Unless such a Sith tried to do any of that to her, Talohn, Monari, or Leea, of course; then it would be her problem, and when it was her problem it was that arrogant and soon-dead Sith's problem.

"I love when we get a chance to just explore a place together. I know that sounds sappy," coming from someone that enjoyed murdering people -- almost entirely bad people -- "but a change of pace now and then is nice. What do you think?"

Tag: Talohn Atar | Leea Pandac | Open

 

[Tawnita Wren]

TAG: Vren Rook Siv Dragr Kale Onara


Tee was finding her new home would take some getting used to. It was unique in terms of comparison to any other place she had lived in before; she was struggling to to not sleep inside The Mother Abbess, so often she had slept inside the tight but comfortable compartments on the gunship-cum-freighter. She had her own living quarters-after all, she could afford to live comfortably almost anywhere, save Naboo and the other capital worlds where even her sizable credit reserves wouldn't go awfully far.

Vren Rook was...Vren was there. She and he were getting used to being around each other, the old idiosyncrasies back but with added age, maturity and experience, each having lived a full decade without the other. Were they lovers? Not strictly. She wasn't certain it was something she or he would ever want; there had been so much left behind on that dusty planet. But he was good company.

Siv, on the other hand, was in stark contrast to her friend. He was an enigma to her and she liked to crack a code.

They stood at the bar, Tee watching as Siv Dragr took off his helmet. She hadn't seen it off before. He was...handsome.

She nudged Vren, retorting to his comment about 'straws'.

"I will have whatever you are having but make it bigger and stronger...oh...and you can keep your pansy straw. He may look like it but Vren here doesn't really need one." She laughed to herself and turned from the bar, taking in the space.

She had never seen so many Mando, not since leaving her own family group to search the Galaxy for adventure. She looked over at Vren. She sure had found it.

"Tell me. Whatever happened to that Bothan? What had he done? Did you get the money?"

She was suddenly interrupted.

Another joined them, clearly knowing the boys. She scoffed at his jokes.

"Kale, many greetings to you. How is it you know these two reprobates? They are usually only known to other Nerf herders and scoundrels; which are you?"

 

[Leea Pandac]

Objective: A Crimson Dawn
Dress Code: Casual
Armament: None


When Talohn had suggested they return to one of their old battlegrounds, Leea had felt some reservation. The soldier had visited past battlefields before and was not accustomed to positive emotions or any good coming from such endeavours. Seeing the ruinous devastation of the past was not how she wanted to spend her time, yet the way the Cathar had spoken of the event... It had sounded as if the place was quite different, almost as if the battles of Tor Valum has never touched it. More importantly, however, he had spoken of a celebration and ceremony in honour of those that had fought and died here and elsewhere. That was something she understood and respected.

From the cockpit, Leea gazed at the cityscape, surprised at what she found. Seems they've been pretty busy cleaning this place up. Impressive. Last time Leea had been here, the city she had visited was little more than an urban battleground. Now her gaze found only a bustling metropolis that showed few scars of its Vong overlords only recently deposed. This was a moment the pilot had never realized she needed, to see the positive aftermath of one of her military engagements. To experience calm and peace was always desirable, as far as Leea was concerned, but this was something more. The travails of war and combat, still fresh in her memory, were almost like a phantom when compared with the rich reality of this place.

Walking casually through the ship, Leea collected her thoughts and reminded herself what they were here for today. She had spoken briefly with her employer about the possibility of joining the Mandalorians, they had fought side-by-side often enough and Leea felt she was drawn to the group. Whether it was because of her own searching for family, or the time-tested bonds of soldierly camaraderie, Pandac was confident that now was the time to step forward. However, the particular timing of expression of this desire was up to Talohn, he probably knew best.

At last, the Mirialan stepped out onto the loading ramp into the sunlight. The warm feeling was a pleasant change from the cold of space, a thousand distant stars just did not provide the same comfort that a single orbiting sun espoused. She kept a few step's distance between herself and the Twi'lek companion of Talohn. She was not ungrateful for the Sith's timely intervention in their last conflict, however, Leea was still uncertain about the red-skinned being. At times, the Force stormed about her like a gale, and there was that glint in her eyes, like she was almost waiting for a reason to kill something. Yet, she had control, even a degree of common sense. And every now and again, on some fateful occasion, Zlova showed some aspect of her personality that baffled Leea.

Now was one of those times. The Mirialan stopped herself from reacting, for fear of earning some of Zlova's considerable wrath or disappointing Talohn. After the initial shock, and the immediate cynical response that may have come with it, had subsided, Pandac nodded as she thought about it as well. Difficult to admit that she had shared similar thoughts a bare few minutes ago, yet Leea pushed herself to utter, "Yeah, it is nice to have a more peaceful occasion for visiting a place."

Talohn Atar Zlova Rue

 

[Vren Rook]

TAG: Siv Dragr | Kale Onara | Tawnita Wren | Open

Vren, chuckled as he clapped a friendly hand on Siv's shoulder before looking at the rest of the bar.
"I hope you're buying that flagon." he teased as he did so.

A face Vren knew all too well made his way to the group through the crowd with a quip in his direction. The smile that spread on Vren's face stretched from Cantonica to Mustafar.
"See, I'd love some engine coolant, but with the price hiked up like it is right now, that will have to wait for another day." he told Kale. "Nice to see you again, brother." he added, clapping his other friend on the back with his free hand.

Of course Tee had to give some kind of quip.

Scowling with a smirk, Vren turned to Kale.
"Kale, this Tawnita Wren. The itch in everyone's Beskar'gam." he introduced Tee. "Do check your pockets that all your credits are still there at the end of the night." he teasingly whispered loudly.

Straightening up, he turned to Tee.
"As for the Bothan....I let Gam Vos'am go. Didn't see the point in dropping him in some Pyke's lap. I actually dropped him off over on Christophsis. He's running a news station there now." he said, the smile still on his face. The Bothan had become a good friend of Vren's over the years. "Come to think of it, he'll be glad to know you're here. You should go see him some time." Gam never did stop asking about Tee. It was a strange Galaxy indeed when the bounty ended up to be friends with his hunters.

 

[Sergeant Omen]

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TAG: @ Romul Saxon , @ Jhira Mereel + Open​

The tired Clone lugged the 800-year-old all-metal urn in which the ashes of his brother were housed to the special memorial in the midtown district. It had been a long trip to the enclave but it would be worth it. His brother needed a permanent place to rest. Hauling the urn around in his ship just wasn't right. His buddy needed a final resting place and other than maybe on Chandrila where his companion originally fell, this site seemed the best place to do it.​

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Of course, the curious glances of armor-clad warriors, looking at what had got dragged out a Clone trooper costume for an event. He only ignored the looks, with one thought in his mind, putting his brother at peace. As he walked into the square, other than the random men and women in armor in remembrance, he noticed two figures, in particular, talking to each other, one he knew in the form of Jhira Mereel and one he did not in the form of the monster of a man she was talking to. He stayed in the shadows though, trying to stay at the edge of the crowd as he looked for a way in. Maybe they could talk later but for right now, he had a long-overdue mission to accomplish.​

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When he finally did get through the crowds of mourners and people trying to remember their loved ones, the clone went up to the memorial and put the heavy urn down on the ground next to the memorial's base. The Clone crotched down and took off his helmet, looking at the urn's inscription that he had laser-etched into it. "Once there were two brothers of 10 million. One was outgoing and had a personality that could outclass Yavin itself. The other was cursed with nightmares, screaming into the night with red swollen eyes like one of Sith's creations itself. And yet the first helped the second live a normal of life as possible only to be killed by the very same brother who he loved him so much. Let the armor he died in protect him in the afterlife above while his brother howls in anguish on the mortal plain below." A tear ran down the battered man's face as he read the inscription, wishing the words in the metal were false and his brother was still alive. But that wouldn't come true anytime soon, not by any way he knew anyhow...​

 

[Thonn Rokkal]

A time for celebration, a time for joy. A festival that marked a deserved reward for their perseverance, and only when he arrived and saw for himself did the full weight of this day sink in. They had gone through so much, and had lost so many to get here. He had known firsthand, and could name many of their fallen vode who paid for all this with their lives. And if they could see what Thonn saw before him, they would be proud.

He had hardly expected to see such a thing himself. Not that he had any doubt in the enclave, nor that they would rise and re-establish once more. He just wasn’t sure if he’d survive long enough to see it, given his recklessness in battle. And there had been a lot of battle.

And the market; what a sight to see. Strolling to browse the wares turned his mood from solemn to pleased in short time. He had a lot of selection before him, and so he began to browse. First, taking a general look at the assortment of weapons, armour, tech and toys before realizing he needed something. What, he didn’t know but he’d browse on until something encouraged him to shell out his credits. It was an occasion, and he deserved it. He’d earned that much.

After an hour of looking and eventual purchase, Thonn headed next to the tavern with the credits he had remaining and a new scattergun on his hip. And every now and then, the young mandalorian would glance down to look at it; it looked primitive, but man did it look mean. And if he ever heard that eerie hum of a lightsaber, at least he’d be a bit more prepared for it. Granted that Sith on the last mission had turned out to have been downright useful, but he was lucky. And he would rather rely upon gun than luck.

With sightseeing and bargaining out of the way, there was but one destination left to visit. A bar; any bar, for he could not call it a true celebration without a drink. As he entered, he’d see those he recognized – Siv and Kale, his brave allies in the former battle, and able to share in his celebration.

“Vode!” He heartily greeted the two as he made his way over. Two more sat with them; one seemed to be in high spirits at least. It took another moment to order a flagon of Tihaar – not his usual choice, but there was no better drink for the occasion. Once it arrived he took a sip and set it down the table, giving it a moment before he’d take another. Man, that was strong stuff.

Kale Onara Vren Rook Siv Dragr Tawnita Wren

 

[The Quartermaster]

T H E
Q U A R T E R M A S T E R

Objective: Guide
Tag: Vrun Ryssic | OPEN

Crimson banners emblazoned with the white skull of the Mythosaur fluttered in the breeze, the light wind blowing through the Ravine barely enough to move the heavy cloth. If their data was correct, Kestri was in the waning summer days of its annual planetary axial tilt. In the northern hemisphere, that meant fair skies and light snowfalls. But that also meant that soon would come heavy, driving snows and storms that would shake the young, rebuilt city.

The Quartermaster, a woman who had weathered too many storms in her lifespan, prayed that she would be able to weather yet another.

So many years ago on this day, she had officially founded the Enclave. Then as now, she had not taken the traditional title of Mand'alor, as customary bestowed on Mandalorian leaders. She was no warrior, she knew, know figurehead to rally to in battle or to lead great charging armies. More importantly, she did not seek to rule over her people. To rebuild, yes. To guide with wisdom and experience. But not to rule. Yet leader she had become regardless, her authority coming from earned respect, not power or threats. Some called her by her self-given title of Quartermaster, others a more endearing honorific of Buir; Mother, in Mando'a.

Leader of the Enclave she may be, but she did not presume to extend that authority to those who did not wish to be under it. All Mandalorians were free to come and leave the Enclave as they pleased -- there were exceptions, of course, such as for the Si'kahya, sworn to defend the Enclave with their life -- but for most, the Enclave was a safe harbor there to nurse them back to strength, fill their stomachs, and be there for when they had nowhere else to go. The only thing was, these days most Mandalorians quite literally had no where else to go. Banners of the Sons of Mandalore, Mandalorian Union, Death Watch Crusade, had all risen and fallen. Mandalore had been retaken and lost, rebuilt and scourged. Thousands had died in futile crusades, like waves breaking endlessly on solid rock.

Her heart was not glad for it. For every war-weary Mandalorian that made the journey to Kestri, ten had been lost. But it was better that there was one that survived at all, she thought. For at least that would mean the survival of their people. Of her people.

And indeed the Enclave had swollen to greater numbers than she had ever dreamed of in the past year, and at the rate they were growing quickly even Tor Valum would not be enough to house them all. Rumors spoke of a dawn finally for the Mando'ade, after so many years of darkness. Though the words sang a sweet tale, the Quartermaster could not bring herself to hope for so much. There was still so much that stood to be lost, and even an inch of complacency, in her experience, meant that it would.

In the large, paved pavilion in front of the Iyarsa Spire, which served the Enclave's Administrative Complex, large anwings had been erected to host throngs of Mandalorians vying for a chance to speak to their venerated leader. No voice went unheard among the Enclave, but with so many and so much to do, the Quartermaster had been forced more and more to delegate the task of listening to those who fought alongside them to assistants. But it was important that the people of the Enclave saw her, and could speak to her, and it was just as important that she be able to see and speak to them. A leader that was not among their people as one of them was no leader, all wise Mandalorian elders agreed.

And so it was, that on the celebrations of the Solstice of the Mando'ade, the Quartermaster found herself in a simple carved seat of Grulyr Cebatr wood, so simple that when she sat on it she was in fact lower than those who stood before her. Individuals would come at one a time, or groups in petition, all with various requests. Some asked for gifts, for compensation for the service they had provided the Enclave. Others asked for honors, duties, to be considered to join the elite ranks of the Si'kahya, to be granted leave to make a homestead here or there on Kestri, to establish their business in this market or this stall. . . the lists grew tedious. For some matters, she pointed them to the direction of Mandalorians better suited to address their needs; for others, she simply promised that she would consider what they had said, and a MND-series droid frame would log the request for later. But few she honored with her own judgement, or words of praised, when well deserved.

Hours and hours it went, and it seemed that the crowd of those wishing to speak to her only grew as the time passed by. Though she grew wearily, she responded with no less vigor to the thousandth petitioner as she had the first. The sun had descended from its midday zenith, and rays of orange and pink beamed through the pavilion square, yet the Quartermaster continued. Though her body may grow weary, her mind did not grow tired from merely serving her people.
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[Talohn Atar]

Talohn soon exited after Leea and Zlova did, his pace not far behind them, eyes scanning the sky of Tor Valum. He was glad all the hard work he had went through to take this place led to something meaningful. Not just another husk on a battlefield meant to fade away. After taking in the cold planet's air, he hurries up his pace to catch up with Zlova and Leea. The cathar himself would likely be dressed differently today compared to his mandalorian friends. Unlike many of them, he was not a full time mandalorian. While mandalorian armor affords his preferred amount of protection, he doesn;t like to wear it everywhere. No amount of comfort can prevent the armor for eventually chafing his fur, and the amount of cleaning from shedding fur that he would have to do if he wore it constantly would be unbearable. He'd have to have a trash can dedicated to just lint rollers. Overall, it was better for him to wear the armor only when going to combat engagements. Instead, the cathar was dressed in a simple white shirt with a dark blue leather coat, light brown trousers, and black leather boots. Around his waist is a belt which has a holster attached that wraps around the thigh area. In that holster is his trusty HP-001, a currently in a 14mm pistol configuration. It never hurt to be prepared. The lightsaber he got all that time ago off of a dead silver jedi was in his coat. He had a bag slung over his shoulder which contained...something. He had chosen to keep it a surprise.

"Ritual combat? Sorry, I don't think it's that kinda party. We can head to Dothomir later if you're looking for that sorta scene." He states to the sith teasingly. "People won't be attacking you where we're going. Not unless they want the quartermaster slamming them into the floor. Not to mention me." Was Talohn the deadliest mando around? Likely not, but he was still a hard opponent to deal with in his own right. His shots are well placed, and he sports exotic catharese warrior training, allowing him to use a style that not many know of. "I'm avoiding the vigil as well, we have other things to do." He points at the Iyarsa spire, towering high. "You two, and I, will be meeting the quartermaster up there. We can hit the bar later if either of you want though. But we need to talk to the quartermaster." With that, he takes the lead, observing the city scene all the while. To think not long ago, he was here as a besieger. Now...he was a citizen.

As they wander through the crowded markets, the cathar speaks up to Leea. "Today's the day. Are you ready?" He knew Zlova was ready, that woman was ready for anything, but Leea needed more support. She was young, and had a lot to learn. He would do all he can to support the mirialan. They soon arrive at the pavilion. He offers Zlova his arm to take. Not because he thought she would be afraid, but people knowing she was with him, a slightly notorious mandalorian in his own right, would lessen chances of hostility. Not that he thought Zlova couldn't defend herself, but he would rather it not come to that. Whether she takes it or not, he'll lead Leea and Zlova to the Quatermaster sitting in her chair, and give a slight bow of his head. "Long time no see. Uh....I'm Talohn if you remember me." The only catharese mandalorian barely holding an insane droid on a lead was hard to forget. "This lady here is Zlova Rue." He gestures to the twi'lek. "And this is Leea Pandec." He reaches out to playfully ruffle the mirialan's hair. "I can bring Monari if you want to meet her, I'm just not sure if kids are allowed here." He shrugs. "Well..." he gestures for Leea and Zlova to speak to The Qaurtermaster. They had the blessing of being in house Verd, Talohn had the authority within his house to adopt new members, but they themselves had to speak to the quartermaster of being amongst the enclave. He would not speak on their behalf. This was their life, their decision, therefore they must speak it.

Zlova Rue Leea Pandac The Quartermaster

 

[Shelved (Maex Bralor)]

Maex finished his drink, setting the glass onto the tabletop upside down, signalling that he didn't want any more. He had observed what he needed to at the moment, and the pull to head back to Mandalore was strong. Fortunately Maex wasn't a social butterfly, so there wasn't going to be any regrets over leaving the party, so to speak.

He placed his helmet over his head and locked it into place, activating the HUD display. With his weapon fully reassembled, he clipped it to his belt and left the tavern. His curiosity was satisfied. And surprisingly, he didn't get into a brawl. Maybe that was a part of midlife. Or maybe his priorities were elsewhere. Maex sought to believe it was the latter.

Mandalore was calling and he needed to go home.

 

[Mia Mereel]

POLITICAL REGION: CIS SPACE, The Enclave
LOCATION: Nuna'a Memorial, Tor Valum, Kestri
TAGS: [ OPEN ]

Mia wandered through the chill, frozen market place, staring. Not so much at the shops … though they did draw her eye. Not even the Shukur Kyr'bes Tavern, with its raucous crowd. No, it was the people. All of the people in, as her Aunt Jhira Mereel put it, ‘real armor.’ Walking, strolling, shopping, talking. It was like re-built Keldabe, though … it also was not. There were very few outsiders, for this location had been zealously guarded as a secret for a very long time.

Despite her Clan Fett earrings, Iron Heart and the Mythosaur skull on her pauldron, Mia might easily be mistaken for an Aruetti. Because, while she was in armor, it did not look like their armor. Her people’s armor.

Mandalorian armor.

Helmet to toes, most of what she saw everywhere she looked were battered warriors. Countless Clans, some existing solely through one or two survivors, milled about. Would they adopt? Would they grow and thrive again? Coalesce into Clans with many surnames, as in Clan Awaud? It was so odd, this place. Mystical, magical … Mia could not find it in her to be sad, or morose, despite how her free-flowing hair and unguarded face stood out. Joy danced in every glance, warm welcome in each smile. Any whose visor appeared to meet her gaze won a bright wave, and anyone at all who chose to linger and chat would be met with a cheerful delight.

[ Pieter Hejaran ] And after a few minutes, the ritual she’d come to think of as the exchange would take place. “Hey, I have a friend who is Clan White wolf; you hear of any White Wolf Clan about? No? What about Bralor? Ah, well. How about Rau? Used to be lots of Clan Rau. I know; fighty chaps - they stand out in a crowd. I’m looking for news of a Kal or Kad Rau; older fellow, 60s or 70s, now. Loved music; collected recipes. Ran with a Mon Cala for a bit … wore this sigil on his pauldron…” She didn‘t name it; not unless they did. Because you just could’t be too careful, in this kind of quest.

And then it was their turn, asking about missing friends and loved ones. Whoever they wished to find, Mia would note in an encrypted database, and then arrange a dead drop for news. She never revealed a hiding place without permission.

Never.

And then it was off to the next stall, the next Mando.

Until she froze in place, her head thrown back, and marveled at the glory before her. Oh, sure; the actual ship wasn’t here. But the blue print was as clear to her trained gaze as any hologram, and a thousand times more useful. Gloved fingers traced power arrays, firing controls and thrusters. How beautifully they’d been engineered! She’d had to have one, since the moment she’d seen one in her scanners. Shamelessly, she’d traded, coaxed and bartered with the Enclave, until at last she had enough of their own currency to acquire this brilliance for her very own.

The KSTR-31 Beringr Class Interceptor!

[ Siv Dragr ] [ Kale Onara ] [ Thonn Rokkal ] Mia gave a little Squee of delight (one they might recognize, from COMM chatter) and clapped her hands just once, before digging through her pockets for all of the promises, permissions, IOUs and tokens she’d acquired. Waiting for the vendor to run each down to assure she wasn’t some misfit (which she was) child (which she was NOT, anymore!) was tedious. As she stamped her feet against a cold those in ‘real’ armor could ignore, the tavern doors swung wide, and were held there by a gust of wind.

[ Vren Rook ] [ @Twanita Wren ] Through the portal, she waved vigorously at the gathered Karjr within the Shukur Kyr'bes Tavern, despite being aware that the only one likely to know her by sight, rather than voice, was the pretty Cathar. They spoke with two others not yet in her data base, though she zoomed close with her cyber-magnification to see a surprisingly charismatic man with a lovely woman. She took a few vids, and just in case her aunt had never stopped to look beneath the armor, got a few happy, cheerful poses of the lot of them. They’d make a nice present, some day.

The vendor sighed heavily, and shook his head. “I’m sorry, miss. I’m afraid you’ll have to either prove you are of age,” and his gaze took in her not-made-of-metal-armor. “Or have an adult co-sign for you.”

Mia blinked, stunned.

“What?”

A heavy sigh came from the vendor. “This is a military grade vessel, lass.”

He called her lass - not even Verd’ika!

Slamming his folder closed, he glowered down at her. “ … I don’t care what the regulations say; I’m not giving one out to a child.”

Mia blushed, her bright eyes growing stormy. “Just because I don’t care to go about in the world with the equivilent of a main battle tank wrapped around me does NOT make me a child—”

 

[Ijaat Mereel]

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Most moved aside respectfully as he made his way to the statue of Jaster. Few recognized him, most wrapped in their own doings and grief or remembrance. He stood for a long moment in the drab olive armor with yellowed pauldrons and white detailing, blue framing the visor of his helmet. A deep crimson cloak was cast over him, hiding most of his gear and figure, excepting it being clasped with the symbol of Clan Mereel, and forged of beskar folded to thousands of layers and etched to show the skill of the maker. Visible too was a traditional beskad of Kyber Beskar, bes'manda, mythosaur bone grip, and a crystal for the pommel with Sith runes that flickered weakly, an inlay of beskar in the shape of the True Mandalorian sigil across the priceless gem wrested from the armor of Darth Carnifex during their last encounter.

Quietly, the aging smith paid his respects to his blood ancestor, and sighed, reaching out to leave an offering, as many had. Most might not place the custom, but elders might. A single kal knife and a flask of tihaar. Turning, he caught sight of Jhira Mereel and nodded, helmeted head mimicing the motion all the more surreal like due to the white jaig eyes on his helmet brow. Only a short distance back did he step as he watched others, but often he would step forward and offer condolences. In some instances, rare, he knew the one being referenced and would offer a story or memory to the bereaved. No one said anything, but it was a common thing for the Elders of a family or clan to offer such, and to those who came to Jaster's feet after his visit, he did what he could to fulfill such an emmisarial role.

This was the ember of strength that he had hoped to find when he had let Monroe's madness overthrow his mind and blind him with hatred. A lifetime ago, and amnesty was offered and accepted. But still, many would kill him before thinking much, and few would feel guilt. But he fought now to right the wrongs he had done and redeem the name of his ancestors and family, to wipe the slate clean for his clan. His own honor was secondary to those concerns, he would leave life however the Manda deemed it fit.

 

[Zlova Rue]

Zlova smiled and shifted her gaze in Leea's direction. "Don't worry, I'm sure there'll be plenty of shooting and killing soon enough." Oh, no, the Twi'lek understood perfectly what the Mirialan meant -- that it was nice having a peaceful opportunity to visit a place. Zlova's response was a deliberate misinterpretation of the manner with which Leea uttered the agreement that had Zlova ribbing the other woman.

The Cathar was so adorable when he was protective. Not to mention handsome when he wasn't trapped inside all that metal. Could use some fashion advice, but he was clean, professional, and most of all on display for all to see. Not like she was, but then few were as unconcerned with what people thought of their self as Zlova.

"Dathomir?" Zlova laughed. "I said ritual combat, Talohn, not War of Gods. Second those stuck up Witches saw me they'd started chanting their mystic nonsense and we'd tear up a country-size swath of land." What? Oh, right, the Sith were supposed to get hard-ons for that mystic nonsense. Yes, well, some did. Not Zlova. Dabble in it. Research it. But as for putting it on some kind of pedestal as being some revelatory means of acquiring power? No. It was the same energy just another means of harnessing and focusing it. Useful, certainly, but it wouldn't shake the foundations of the galaxy.

Not any more than a good Sith Alchemical mess-up would anyway.

Back to the Cathar being adorable though... Why couldn't people attack her? More to the point, why would the Quartermaster and Talohn feel like they needed to step in and 'handle it' for her? Zlova wouldn't be offended if some henchman tried to kill her; but she might get offended if someone believed she was too weak to deal with such trash.

Her golden eyes followed the feline's gesture as to their destination. Center of activity. Home to the Great and All Powerful Quartermaster. Long as they didn't expect her to kneel and pledge to do whatever they asked. Just because Zlova was a reasonable Sith didn't make her a push over. There were limits.

After a little walk, her Cathar extended an arm, which the Lethan took without hesitation. Not because she needed protection or wanted to avoid 'trouble,' of course. No, no, they were too far along now. If there was going to be a fight then it was going to be with the Quartermaster... or some patsy they selected. Whatever the case, the Twi'lek wasn't interested in any random soul deciding they were angry at a red-skinned woman in their midst.

Despite not broadcasting her former rank, there were times when Zlova felt that little pang in the back of her mind when someone didn't introduce her with it. The Sith Lord Darth Siron, Commander of the Ruby Lilum, Destroyer of Worlds just had a certain ring to it... compared to just Zlova Rue. This was one of those times. Ah, well.

Just like that, Talohn indicated the women needed to speak up for themselves. Wonderful. Nothing more annoying than some ritual demanding only a 'recognized' party was allowed to speak. Though also a bit annoying there was some sort of vetting or approval or whatever 'this' was at all. It could be entertaining though. Time would tell.

"I am Zlova Rue, Master of my Art," the Twi'lek's hands slowly spread out to either side where the sabers shot out from behind her into the awaiting fingers. The sabers twirled around her thumb before she shoved them back into the holster at her back. All without igniting the blades -- might give any bodyguards the wrong impression. You know with all the traitorous Sith assassin tropes. Well earned, mind, but most just assumed every Sith was an assassin, which was ridiculous. You didn't see the true assassins coming or going.

"I plan on standing beside Talohn Atar of House Verd regardless of anyone recognizing or approving of me. While I provide him my counsel it seems fitting I should learn the Ways of the Mandalorian. As demonstrated with my time among the Knights Obsidian, I am not above learning new philosophies. Nevertheless, I will never apologize for who I am or what I have done." No need to dance around it, right? Zlova just dropped it out there for the Quartermaster to take or leave. If being Sith was an insurmountable problem then why dally about only to end up in the same place minutes or hours later?

Tag: Talohn Atar | Leea Pandac | The Quartermaster