Succession of Ka'ra [Mandalorians]

[Nyos Val]

The Goliath Mandalorian stepped up behind Verne when he drew his weapons on a Rally Master. A female no less. Deimos planted his foot on the tail end of the mans chopper.

He didn't say a word but towered over then redneck. He crossed his arms and waited for a retort.


[member="Verne Munin"][member="Anija Ordo"]

 

[Vilaz Munin]

"I play with more pointy things," the Rally Master responded back to his opponent. The two warriors were closing in with both their weapons drawn out. There were multiple benefits and drawback of the weapons that these two men were wielding with. Nolan's beskad was much more powerful and stronger than Vilaz's knife, and would deal much more damage. Yet, it had drawbacks to it. Because the weapon was the length of a sword or less than a sword it would require more strength to swing the weapon, had less mobility, and it would tire out the user much faster due to the strength he needed to use the weapon. The combat knife that the Redneck was using had drawbacks, such as, not dealing a lot of damage, it couldn't compete in a traditional duel with the beskad, and it could be easily overwhelmed by a powerful strike of any larger weapon. Despite these drawbacks of the weapon it does have its beneficial factors. It was much more agile and quicker than the beskad, required little strength to use properly which wouldn't tire Vilaz out quickly, and it didn't had a mass that would cause Vilaz to lose some speed with his body. Overall, if the warrior knew how to play well with Nolan than he could win the duel.

Now, Vilaz began circling around his opponent like a wolf waiting for the perfect moment to strike. His eyes from his helmet was looking and observing the man, trying to find an opening or a weak spot in Nolan. Obviously, Vilaz knew where some vital areas he could hit that would weaken the fellow vod. The knee, the elbows, the area between his neck and shoulder, and the area of his armpit. All these locations would have need no armor plates if he wanted to move around. His knees were bent and his back as well. The knife was ready. Hell, Vilaz was ready. He slowly circled Nolan and needed a way to get him off guard. If he went in the defense then he might be in trouble, for the knife couldn't defend against such weapon. Offense, perhaps, but it would be much better to be close get closer for Nolan because the knife would be deadly in close quarters while the beskad was only best for dueling.

He heard the beat in the background being produced by Mando'ade. There was a circle surrounding the four contestants and having careful eyes that were closely observing the warriors. It was becoming intense for everyone in the Great Hall, for they all couldn't anticipate the moment that would soon come to all.

He heard his older brother commenting on Nolan which put a smirk on his face. As the Rally Master was about to complete a 360 clockwise rotation he noticed a woman, that was Anija, coming to Verne to confront him and said crap to him. He didn't really mind, but when he saw Anija physically harming him then it was on. "Wrong damn move you piece of none good, traitorous, fething kark!" He would deal with the woman after he finished up his business with Nolan. After yelling at the woman that dared to confront his older brother, he did a quick feint to Nolan as he stepped with his right foot and moved his body forward, as if he was about to punch him. Whether the feint would successfully to startle Nolan or not the Mandalorian would proceed forward to Nolan.

With speed in his footsteps and in the rest of his body Vilaz swiftly swiped his knife that was in his right hand (sharp side) at Nolan's head, and after that he lowered it down at Nolan's chest level and did the exact same, but he swept it in opposite direction from using the momentum from the first attack. Simultaneously, as he swept attacked horizontally at Nolan's chest he used his left leg and kicked at Nolan's right, unarmored knee. These attacks were quick and swift, something that a beskad couldn't, or that was what Vilaz thought of.

 

[Nolan Detta]

The redneck twins just wouldn't can it. Loud mouths on em both.

Vilaz charged Nolan, swiping at his head, to which he brought his left forearm up to intercept the wrist of Vilaz. Then the redneck went for the chest to which Nolan would simply rotate his left elbow down, to throw his firearm into the in incoming attack again. The next attack cane as a leg kick to Nolan's armored right knee. He swiftly retreated the whole leg back to give him standard boxing stance, never once moving the Beskad from his shoulder.

Now Nolan was on the offensive. With his forearm connected with Vilaz's wrist, he rotated his shoulder down and around, opening his hand to latch onto the forearm of his opponent with the crushgaunts he wore. He would then pull out on Vilaz's arm, exposing the center of his mass, adding to the fact that his leg was now within Nolan's guard, Nolan would place his right foot around and behind the left leg of Vilaz. Now, hoping he was successful so far, Nolan's Beskad would then leave his shoulder and the hilt of the blade would be coming for the face of his opponent. If all points succeeded, Nolan would lean in on the strike, attempting to take his opponent off his feet and onto his back.

[member="Vilaz Munin"]

 

[Ginnie Dib]

[member="Anija Ordo"]'s hand on Ginnie's shoulder made the girl realize how yet again she yelled to high heavens. "I'm not sorry. I'm not gonna apologize for saying those things."

Then Anija was off, and the fighting had begun. As tiny as she was, the twelve year old girl followed loosely behind Anija so as to not get lost in the crowd. Besides, things would be safer by her big sister, right?

Oh, then the Redneck happened. Ginnie puffed up and let the display in side her buy'ce show her a panning 360 view of the area and she was content to let her sister handle it - until the karking idjit insulted her sister and her dad. [member="Verne Munin"]'s hand went to his shotgun and Ginnie went to her ammo belt, veered over to the shotgun and swung her lightsaber down on the weapon hard. Unless Verne could move at supernatural speeds, the likelihood of the gun barrel being slagged in half was large, and the petite child pointed the lightsaber's beam at Verne's body, getting between Anija and the redneck Mando.

"You show my sister respect, or I'll chop more'n your gun to pieces you . . . you. . . you unwashed miscreant!" Ginnie's voice was a childish squeak of anger and clenched teeth. "Don't you dare talk about my Daddy as if you know him! As if you were there when he got possessed!"

 

[Garith Organa]

Then something happened. Something that drew the attention of the living holocron of his memory. That drew Garith’s attention away from the crowning of a new Mand’alore. Even over the roar of the crowd he could hear his cousin [member="Ginnie Ordo"] and the exchange of words she was having with [member="Verne Munin"]. He did not have to look directly to sense the danger directed at his younger cousin.

Not only was words heated Garith’s family was threatened. Not to mention in Garith’s mind Ginnie was still a child. In his mind children contained a level of innocence. They were the future of the Mando’ade and must be protected. To have a child so brazenly threatened in the presence of something so sacred as finding a new Mand’alore was, well it shocked Garith.

Ginnie’s spirit, yes refreshing she would so willingly defend her vode. She clearly was coming to becoming a fine warrior. There was a portion of Garith to just let Ginnie handle this. However Garith felt some conflict within himself. He was some what divided on what to do. Let Ginnie take the moment to stand for her family or to step in now and not let the man anywhere near Ginnie.

Walking over Garith squeezed past a couple of people standing next to [member="Anija Ordo"] and Ginnie. When he moved past Anija, he nodded to her. Hopefully she could handle Ginnie and Garith stepped in-between Ginnie and Verne. After stepping in front Garith momentarily looked back and gave his little cousin a smile. He being one of the few who was not wearing armor today. He was proud of her. Despite what the odds may have been in front of her she took a stand for family. Just like he was doing now.

Garith looked back at the red neck Mandalorian. “If you have anything more to say, say it to me and not my cousin. If you have anymore weapons to pull out and threaten someone with you can threaten me. If you like we can just skip the talk and fight. Either way you can direct your attention to me”, normally Garith tried to end conflict but did not see a way to end that here. There just comes a time where you just have to take a stand and protect your vod.

 

[Evi Sohl]

There was a touch of violence in the air and it did her heart good to see it. Violence without purpose was a waste of energy...but the skilled violence on display by those contesting for the title of Mand'alor was a graphic display that it was difficult to keep her crimson gaze away from. She'd arrived late, with Cade in tow, to witness the important proceedings. He was solemn and wide eyed, watching intently from the perch he'd found off to the side, high up enough to be able to see the fighters. Fingers smoothed out the fitted shirt and denim pants she wore, with no weapons in sight.

Her senses, however, were pulled across the chamber to the ruckus raised by Vilaz's brother. E'vi shook her head with disgust etched in her features. They had much more to concern themselves with outside of their borders, and yet, it seemed that Verne and Vilaz were content to remain focused on their vitriolic hatred. Verne more so than his brother, who had mostly reigned it in given his status as a Protector.

Should that change, however, she would more than happily fix the problem herself. She felt responsible, after all, for bringing Vilaz into the Protectors to begin with.

"Cad'ika...you stay put, am I clear?" E'vi said after a moment's pause, using a tone and a look that notoriously mischievous almost-four year old wouldn't dare argue with.

With his nod, she moved off through the crowd, vode backing away to clear a path without her needing to ask them to do so. Then again, when one's flesh rippled over the stretching and shifting of muscle and bone, and one looked less and less human with every step...most sane people got out of the way. She was careful to avoid those that didn't, even as her form expanded outward and upward. While her abilities were not as extensive as a full blooded Shi'ido's would be, she could still achieve some impressive forms.

By the time E'vi reached the ruckus, her shape had settled into the form of a Dathomiri rancor. Though by no means a full sized adult beast, she still towered over everyone with her trademark glowing crimson gaze peering hungrily down at Verne. He'd likely taste rancid, but, she mused, if she bit his head off and spit it out, it might not be quite so bad.

Ginnie's indignant words, however, reached her ears first. Her little dalyc'vod had an amazing mouth on her, and E'vi burst into laughter. A rancor laugh was a peculiar sound devoid of explanation, however, and the suddenness of her mirth forced her to lose control of her shape. The rancor soon melted away into her usual curvaceous frame, one arm wrapped around her middle, while the other reached up to clap over her mouth. She winked at Ginnie and glanced toward the others, remaining otherwise silent for the time being.

| [member="Anija Ordo"] | [member="Ginnie Ordo"] | [member="Verne Munin"] | [member="Titan"] | [member="Garith Darkhold JR"] |​

 

[Vilaz Munin]

His left hand hadn't been used, just like Nolan hadn't used his beskad until now. His attacks were blocked and his arm was being held by the crushgaunts of the opponent. A leg of Nolan then was placed behind the leg that Vilaz used to attack his knee. Nolan thought that he had him, but he was wrong. The Rally Master's right leg and his left arm were still unused and could be used for anything at the moment, and sure enough they would be used. With the left hand that had crushgaunts on, as well as hit right hand, the Redneck used his hand to grab incoming blade of the beskad that was coming towards his head. As he caught the weapon with his hand he could feel the opposing force vibrating through his arm into his body, and Nolan would also feel the opposing force coming from Vilaz. His fingers would have a tight clutch around the beskad, something that Nolan would have to fight through if he wanted his weapon truly his and not someone else grabbing it.

Not arms of the combatants were now occupied with Nolan grabbing his right arm and pulling it (while Vilaz was pulling it in), and Vilaz gripping on his sword-like weapon. His left foot would have been available but Nolan's foot was behind his. But, Vilaz did do something that would benefit him. The Redneck Warrior then placed his leg around Nolan's leg that looked that he was trying to wrap it around. After placing his leg around his the Mandalorian then gave him a Keldabe kiss with his helmet at Nolan's head and at the same time, whether the headbutt was successful or not, Vilaz leaned forward with all his weight and brought up his leg that was wrapped around his opponent's that would have both legs and feet off the ground. This would outbalance Nolan, and not just that, but he would be on the ground with Vilaz on top of him.

[member="Nolan Detta"]

 

[Nolan Detta]

The counter that Vilaz threw was a good one, he liked the touch of the Keldabe Kiss. But Nolan did what most others couldn't, he let go of the Beskad, ducked his right under the left arm of his opponent, and up and onto the nape of the neck of Vilaz. He then sank into his stance, squatting, while the redneck thrust his head forward. Using the momentum of the attack, Nolan would pull straight down and over with the momentum carrying them down. When Nolan's backside hit the ground, he would thrust his left arm over to carry Vilaz over himself.

With Nolan pulling down on the neck of his opponent, tucking into the roll and thrusting his arm above the attack, Nolan would come out on top (literally).

[member="Vilaz Munin"]

 

[Lina Djo]

She could hear the fight from within the walls of the Great Hall as she approached. Heckles and cries of encouragement rang out from the crowds as she ascended the steps, the fires flickered as she passed them as she drew on the force for energy, called upon the manda for strength of will and reached out to old spirits for their blessings. This was not an ordinary day, this was not just a fight among brothers. This was a fight for leadership.

Leadership that she had once had.

Mia Monroe, Mand'alor the Liberator, was not about to let her brothers squabble over a title without her input. She'd vowed to stay in the shadows, to remain unknown and she would do exactly that. They didn't know this face, this voice, save a handful of them, and she would be relying on the protectors to keep their silence on the matter. She crossed the threshold of the hall. Boot steps were silent against the noise of the crowd as she puched through them, passing between the two fights without so much as a cursory glance.

No armor, no weapon, nothing marked her as a mandalorian, save the way she carried herself, as she ascended the steps towards the throne and Gilamar's armour. A gesture lifted the neatly stacked pile and set it beside the the throne while the helmet came to her hands. Without missing a beat, Mia sat upon the throne, and settle the helmet on her lap.

Her expression dared someone to challenge her audacity.

[member="Nolan Detta"] [member="Vilaz Munin"] [member="Azrael"] [member="Atin Kandossii"]

 

[Kal Kandossii]

[member="Marrik Aloxum"]

Kal looked to the man who had placed his hand upon his wrist and then h edge of the vibrosword at his waist. Cold eyes empty of warmth looked into Marrik's face. "You don't know me, and neither I you. So I won't hold a grudge if you release me now." A humorless grin spread on his face. "My brother is fighting, vod, and instinct placed my hand on my grip, not to act now, but in frustration at a blood brother who places himself in harm's way. If he falls in death, if, I will have satisfaction from the on who slays him. Mand'alor or not."

Eyes flicked down to the hand resting lightly on his wrist. "You are not privy to my thoughts. So I will share this once, and it's not from distress. I won't kill Azrael but I will have recompense, if ... if, Atin fails and falls in death. Your threat doesn't stay my hand, rather that brother of mine's wishes would. He wouldn't want me to act rashly, afterall he is the thinker. There is no danger here, not now, and not from me. That is, if you release me now."

 

[Azrael]

If ever anyone questioned the need for Mand'alor, ample examples were cropping up all around them. It seemed not only would the vode rally when the voice of their ruler struck out with authority, but they themselves were in dissaray, and needed someone to marshal their attention spans. Going after each other's throats, and acting like egotistical children. The Mandalorians were a proud independent culture, where every warrior tested themselves in countless situations of strife, and combat. They were hot-natured and easily riled, throwing themselves into bar brawls when a good and honest fight couldn't be found. Their squabbling ways though were somewhat of a nuisance to Azrael while he contended in the center of the Mando'ade circle. Several times during the only beginning contest of strength and will, he had wanted to stop, and put an end to the attitudes and actions of his brothers and sisters who couldn't take five minutes to engage their minds rather than their mouths. Ori'buyce, kih'kovid; the lot of them. Distractions were a part of the fight, and he couldn't afford to be dealing with the exterior when the at hand conflict had so much on the line.

Brazen movements followed suit, interesting Azrael that Atin didn't pause in his movements - and kept coming despite the circumstances. He'd have to use this to his distinct advantage, but for the time being, contending with the movements was where his focus was at. The pole-arm of his glaive swept behind his neck, trading to the bionic hand in a smooth and practiced motion. The weight of the material extending his reach two-fold before Chloe's husband drew in and spun to present his backside. A sound tactic to dissuade the use of a longer object. Stay within proximity of safety, away from the lengthy reach of the glaive. The Mandalorian native had several inches on Azrael, causing the Field Marshal to draw back his right leg for a more firm purchase, and balance as the thud from the armor crashing plates bore weight down on his limbs. The impact forcing Azrael's back to bend and arch for a moment. As seemingly custom from Atin's first thrust of attack, it was not singular. This was a multi-faceted attempt to disarm and dominate the competition - keeping Azrael on the constant defensive.

Fortune however came his way while the man's back was turned, as beskar steel met the crushgaunt of his right hand, claiming the blade in it's powerful grip. He wasn't foolish enough however to think he'd mangle the metal that was so resilient - even with such impressive added strength. What it would do however was offer him leverage to shift the joint of his shoulder into a downwards arc, in a forward wrenching motion. Most would immediately drop the weapon to save their arm, but it wasn't something that would be easily done once the electric tendrils of the shock-glove weapon coursed it's lightning like pulse through the blade and directly into the armored form before him. In the same instant, Azrael lifted his knee with force to slam into Atin's lower back and turn his heel with a downward stomp to impact the back of his right knee. With the shift of his spine and twist of his torso, Atin's buy'ce would only clip the side of his helmet and parry off before Azrael felt something impede his health. A blade found purchase in the slight convex gap of armor plating his hip, and the twin-lining of his body glove shear to scrape against his flesh and slice across his left hip.

With the jolt of pain; his bionic arm, currently bearing the weight of the staff, swung around to forcefully bash against his opponent's unprotected shoulder. While Atin's arm was down attempting to dig that knife blade further in, he was taking advantage enough to forcefully throw the man away from his form and pivot to the side. The glaive swung around and would transfer to his right, keeping it pinned between his forearm and his waist. It wasn't a injury that would slow him down much, but the idea of first blood drawn went certainly to the man. Defense was not a game he enjoyed playing however, and a quick neck crack on both sides flipped that proverbial switch. Bionic digits gripped the southern end of the staff as Azrael slid the blade into a different formation. The sycthe lock was achieved with a distinct click and the Field Marshal's form changed. His right palm bore on the safe edge of the blade, while the grip on the end shifted into a more assassin like poise. Fulcrum and lever, the blade began to move at the behest of it's master, and the shined surface danced as he swiped back and forth, drawing short and long arcs of the curved blade back and forth. He'd not let Atin into such a blatantly close quarter brawl so easily. Neck. Right shoulder. Left hip. Neck. His blade sang in the dance, attempting with each swipe to cleave in that direction. It'd only take one to succeed.


[member="Vilaz Munin"] | [member="Nolan Detta"] | [member="Atin Kandossii"] | [member="Devorah Khaladan"]

 

[Nyos Val]

[member="Kal Kandossii"]

The only thing staying my hand now is the courtesy I'm giving in warning you of your actions. As you said, you don't know me. As far as you know, I'm just going to kill you anyways. The next move you make better be one of removing your hand from your weapon vod.

Marrik released his grip on the man's wrist, but kept the point of his sword at his back. If he tried anything less then what was asked, Marrik would incapacitate Kad with a severing of his spinal column.

 

[Muad Dib]

The voices and movements on the periphery could very well distract a man. But as mando'ad they were trained to ignore outside stimuli, or to absorb everything. In this place Atin knew it was just Azrael and himself, so he could afford to block out the spectators who were growing louder with arguments, cheering, and the steady upbeat tempo of stamping boots and armored fist against beskar'gam. He could not afford distraction, not here and not now. Neither could his opponent.

His beskad was caught in the iron grip of a crushgauntlet stopping it's motion. With an impressive feat of strength Azrael forced the beskad down as a current of electricity coursed into Atin's right arm. The muscles and tendons reacted, tensing and contracting making releasing the hilt nigh impossible. Then the blow to his back tensed the muscles even with the protective plating covering the kidneys. Next he felt his right knee give under his opponent's striking foot. With the blow from the staff connecting Atin dropped to his right while kicking off with his left leg into a roll that would carry hiim away from Azrael. The wrenching in his right shoulder as he was unable to release his beskad foretold the ominous pop as his shoulder slid from socket.

As the pain and numbness hit his hand spasmed releasing the hilt as he rolled and spun on a foot and knee. Looking at Azrael pop his neck Atin took the brief opportunity to brace his arm on the ground, palm first, while locking his elbow on the inside of his thigh and shoved down. Sweet relief and agonizing pain struck as the arm popped back in place. Rising He switched his stance leading with his uninjured left side that he still held the kal in. Then Azrael went on the offensive.

Side step, back pedal, bringing up the kal in the reverse grip to block a blow that vibrated his entire arm, Atin danced lithely as if his life depended on it. And it did. The other mando was showing his skill at combat as Atin searched for a repetition in the strikes, a weakness he could use to his advantage, a shift in weight foretelling an incoming blow. But Azrael was like a well oiled machine. But even machines fall into a pattern, once he could use f he could just find it.

Then he saw what wasn't exactly a tell but a shadow of intent. As Azrael struck higher his body weight shifted, the weight changed on the balls of his feet when he struck high. Watching for it again he saw it a mere moment before and reacted. Ducking his head he dove/rolled forward avoiding the strike to his neck. But his shoulder slowed him just enough for him to take a blunt force blow to his bad shoulder as he rolled forward, altering his planned fall. Aiming to strike at Azrael's legs to grip and lift his opponent up he instead rolled into his legs with the momentum of the dve and the forceful blow on his shoulder.

Stars danced in his eyes as his right reched for the hilt of his beskad laying abandoned on the ground, legs trying to scissor his opponents legs to bring him down while his left tried to curve around to strike at the back of Azrael's right knee to slice the tendons behind it. As Atin hit the ground however his right arm spasmed from the shock of the collision on the ground, the beskad skittering a few feet away.

[member="Azrael"] [member="Mia Monroe"] [member="Nolan Detta"] [member="Vilaz Munin"] [member="Evi Sohl"] [member="Garith Darkhold JR"] [member="Ginnie Ordo"] [member="Titan"] [member="Anija Ordo"] [member="Arrbi Betna"]

 

[Arrbi Betna]

[member="Verne Munin"] [member="Anija Ordo"] @Everyone else (phone posting so its hard to tag)

Betna watched Anija move and watched her confront the loud and obnoxious Mando who was dumb enough to show disrespect in such a setting. Heckling was a thing, but not here. Not with the present circumstances. Seeing his wife, his riduur, give the man a nice, clean headbutt to the face made him grin openly and widely. That was his Anija alright. Straight to the point, as always.

Then the man had mouthed off and mouthed off a little too much. He went for a weapon and Betna reacted with training and instincts borne of a decade of war and combat on dozens of worlds.

The .44 revolver he carried left the holster in a blur of reaction. The worn grip of the pistol felt less like he held a weapon and more like an extension of his own limb. The weight flowed easily as his arm leveled the sights at Verne's face, bloodied and snarling as the cretin spoke. He saw his two sister-in-laws confront the man, but Betna knew, to his mind, that would only provoke the man. He didn't doubt that the women could hold their own, they were Mandalorians after all and Ordos to boot, but that particular example of retroactive birth control had dared insult his wife. Had dared try and raise a weapon against her.

He waited until he had a clear shot, it only took a moment or two, and lined up the sights as he had done countless times. The shabuir's face sat in Betna's view down the simple pistol sights and the bark of the .44 could clearly be heard as it shattered the air around them all as an Ori'shuk bullet flew from the muzzle.

No one threatened his family.

 

[Anastasia Rade]

"Anything worth having is worth fighting for but I imagine what you fought for is much different." Anastasia had fought for her freedom and the oppressive rule of the Sith. She still fought against the Sith today along side those whom she considered family.

She realized how lucky she to be taken under Azrael's wing and shown something more than just the pain and hatred she felt. This, all of it, was what kept the young woman from spiraling out of control into depression or worse.

Had she been more stable she would have totally been up there fighting herself but as it was she had a tough enough time taking care of herself and Ghost. Anastasia wasn't ready for a leadership role well not one like this. One day she would be.

"You'll have to tell me all about your gangster days one of these days. I'll buy the booze," she grinned before turning back to the fight. The young warrior was trying to incise him to do so as he seemed to be reluctant to speak of his past. It couldn't be worse than her's.

[member="Sarkin Vance"]

 

[Kal Kandossii]

[member="Marrik Aloxum"]

Releasing the grip of his pistol he turned seeing the sword's point aimed now at his navel. He hooked his thumbs into his gun belt above the grps of his pistols. "Mark my face in memory, as I have marked yours. For next time we meet there will be blood between us. Now get out of my face. I have a fight to watch."

He turned his back and watched the fight escalate.

 

[Kad Tor]

Kad had continued to watch what was going on as more of the Mando'ade started fighting amongst each other. There were those who watched, and those who fought, and those who were actually challenging for the position of Manda'lor. Familiar armor came to view as [member="Briika Detta"] stepped to his side. They were both there to see who came out as the next leader for their people. Some of the verde who had stepped forward likely should not have done so. It wasn't that they could not be capable of it, but simply that shouldn't. While the resoln'are was something that bound the people to their leader, Kad knew all to well that it took more than a creed to keep loyalty and trust. Just because someone had the position, and even if the people rallied to the cause, it did not automatically make them a leader.

In Kad's mind there was one who stood out as a clear leader. He had led the way in getting the surviving Mando'ade out of Teta, and he was leading this succession. By right the title should be earned through battle, but Kad knew of those who had stepped in, one was clearly the strongest leader.

"Nolan has gone in fists first as usual, and some others have as well. Azrael put his own voice forward first, but seemingly reluctantly. Still others are fighting amongst each other since there is lack of a clear leader. History is going to be made today vod'ika, but it is not going to be pretty. Just as it should be."

 

[Riggs]

Marev watched the vode battling for the title. To the side he stood his attention torn between the four battling in the open area and all the commotion from the other mando'ade fighting. He shook his head with weary disdain. This was supposed to be a sacred event in their culture steeped in tradition going back thousands of years.

But this was a mockery and disrespectful as the vode fought among themselves. His expression revealed his disgust.

 

[Siobhan Kerrigan]

[member="Anija Ordo"], [member="Mia Monroe"]


So it appeared Siobhan was with the Mandalorians again. She had perhaps chosen a good time to come over since she could bear witness to what some might call a historic moment: Transition of leadership, Mandalorian style. A contest for the title of Mandalore that apparently needed to be resolved by duels. She strongly questioned the efficacy of that particular method of choosing a leader, but it was not her place to judge. In a number of ways she would probably always be a stranger to their traditions. Still, there was enough of a bond to merit her appearance and so she stood there, tall and proud, though at the edge of the proceedings.


Of course, the contest would not be complete without the most photogenic Mand'alor ever, Mia Monroe, the Liberator, making an appearance. Siobhan happened to be one of the very few who knew she was alive and had seen her new face. Suffice to say Mia could count on her battle sister keeping her silence on this matter and likewise Siobhan suppressed a smirk when the Liberator suddenly sat upon the throne of the Mand'alor, daring anyone to challenge her.


Siobhan found herself wondering whether she should do that the Protectorate had a leadership transition. This would surely be fun to watch! She fished a packet out of a pocket of her leather duster and took out a cigarette, lighting it before she took a good drag.

 

[Nyos Val]

[member="Kal Kandossii"]

Marrik's hand tightened around the handle of his blade when Kad turned. His comment held no threat to Marrik, it was that of an angry child threatening to run away when it didn't get it's way.

Once Kad turned, Marrik sheathed his sword and stepped back into the crowd to watch in silence, never loosing sight of his target.