Faction The Few, The Brave I New Mandalorians

[Jenn Kryze]

The Battle for Onderon was over. And with it, came the dawn of a new era.​

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Jenn Kryze, Alor of her House, called it the Age of Renewal. ​

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All forces currently off-world were ordered to return to Onderon and regroup within the Aliit's holdings within the highlands; with the arrival of Alliance reinforcements, the likelihood of a Neo-Crusader assault was greatly diminished, and so the proud warriors were finally able to allow themselves a measure of bittersweet respite. Weariness settled over their souls at last, and so the great warriors redirected theirs efforts towards their own, tending to the wounded and seeing to the dead. That they had endured in the face of hatred and destruction gave them little comfort; those who remained balked at the price they had paid in lives, mourning the siblings, children, parents, and lovers they had lost. ​

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Up stone steps lined by battle-weary, yet unbroken Hastati, did the procession march. Under the light of the dying sun they marched, and past the palissades encircling their village; the distant light of torches guided them towards the untouched sections of the plateau, where a great many pyres awaited them. Atop them, the bodies of the fallen were laid to rest, their arms crossed over their chests, made to hold a beskad. From one pyre to the next did the Alor walk, laying the mortuary coins over the eyelids of those whose duty had come to an end. She studied each and every visage, committed them to memory - allowed herself to mourn for them, to wonder what their story had been, before they came into her service. She had been wrong. They were so much more than her blades.​

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They were the last of the brave. ​

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The smell of incense filled the air as the Chaaj of the Aliit sang their funerary hymns, balancing their censers as they walked between the rows of pyres. From the assembled crowd, relatives stepped forth to seize a burning torch of their own, their steps carrying them before the pyres of their loved ones. Some could only gaze at those they had lost in silent contemplations. Others wept, and openly so. A few spoke to the departed, telling them all they wished they could have. All the same, their grief led to the very same outcome, thrusting their torches within the sandalwood, setting the pyres ablaze.​

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Those who had no kin to mourn them, the Alor honored by thrusting the torch within their pyres herself, with naught but the crackling of parting wood to fill the air.​

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All stepped back as the fire caught; tongues of flames curled around the bodies of the honored dead, blackening their armor, licking at their ruined bodies amidst pillars of scented smoke that carried heavenwards. They watched on in silence as the sky darkened, the pyres of their kindred bathing them in heat, and light. The last rays of the sun struck the horizon, and with it...​

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Night fell on Onderon.​

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---

With the brave loyalists sent forth to the Manda, the festivities began in earnest.​

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Though they mourned the passing of their vode, the warriors of House Kryze caroused more heartily than ever, as was their custom; casks of Kaddak mead were smashed open with axes and fists, bottles of Ukatian elderflower wine (courtesy of Corazona von Ascania , whose absence did nothing to diminish the appreciation many felt for her) extravagantly popped with blades. A great many beasts were butchered by Hastati and Mandalorians alike, liberally seasoned with spices and roasted over an open flame; some offered a part of their meal to the fire as libations to the gods, or a means to share it with the departed, convinced as they were that their souls lingered, their eyes turned towards their kin who yet lived. ​

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Tales of bloodshed and victory were shared between the warriors, lionizing the deeds of the departed in one breath and challenging one another in the next; they laughed and they wept, they brawled and they embraced, they drank and they ate. Mourning went hand in hand with the celebration of life. ​

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Failure was a word rarely uttered in a Mandalorian's vocabulary. A tactical retreat, a pyrrhic victory, perhaps. But failure wasn't a word uttered, as most Mandalorians did not survive their failures. ​

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And House Kryze yet lived. ​

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The Imperials could not break them. ​

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The Sith could not break them. ​

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The Neo-Crusaders could not break them.​

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"Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la."​

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Jenn's words were echoed by many, lifting their humble wooden cups in a toast. ​

​

| Aliit | Atin Tracinya Anna Carden Varys Amun Haliat Kryze
| Honored Guests | Herrel Eldar Minerva Fhirdiad Rayia Si Jonyna Si ​

 

[Atin Tracinya]

The fires raged all around them. Where before their endless burns were fueled by chemicals, oil, and rubble, they now burned of wood. The scents of meats filled the air. Where before they'd been the scent of burning soldiers, they now smelled of roasting meats, dripping with fat. There was great clamor. Where before they'd been the screams and cries of the dead and dying, it was now the sounds of Mandalorian celebrations, the celebration of both the living and the dead.

And for Atin, it was also the celebration of returning home. Of the end of years of servitude. To choosing to serve, instead of being bound by chains, or code. It was not the Mandalorians of his mother, his father, but Atin knew that, were they here, they'd have chosen to follow in the steps of Jenn Kryze too. The man lifted his cup alongside the alor's echoing her epithet for the dead. Not gone, merely marching far away. Marching on to the greatest of their adventures. The greatest of their Crusades.

Such was the way of Mandalore. Such was the way of all who dared to call themselves Mandalorians. For they were all immortal.

Atin knocked the cup back, downing its contents in a single gulp. The heady wine went down, sweet and smooth and its pleasant warmth filled his belly. But there was one more thing for Atin to attend to before he could truly join in the celebrations. "I'll be back," he said to Anna Carden before stepping away to find a quiet, dark place in the forest, away from those who made merry, stopping along the way to refill his cup.

Beneath the dark of night, under the canopy of leaves, it was almost pitch black. The light as his back barely illuminated the ground in front of him as he dug a small hole with his hands. Only a few inches deep, but sufficient. Atin removed the chain of beskar from around his wrist placed it in the hole, covering it with dirt once more, and stood. His parents had never gotten the funeral they'd deserved, never received the funerary rites all Mandalorians deserved, nor the coins placed upon their eyes before being sent on the last great march. They'd been stripped of their armor, their weapons, left to be buried by the sands of Tatooine.

"We're home..." Was all Atin could utter as he stared at that dirt patch in the ground. The last reminder of a life long ago. He poured a little wine on the spot, and drank the rest himself. "Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la."

 

[Rayia Si]

Location: Onderon
Objective: Pick up the pieces
Jenn Kryze Jonyna Si Varys Amun @Others

---

The foul taste hadn’t left Rayia’s mouth in the wake of the Queen’s death. Rather than diminishing, it only intensified as the news acted as a catalyst. A catalyst for the maelstrom of emotions swirling about in the wake of callous words tossed about and her painful confession to Domina. A part of her could help but regress to thinking of those phantoms of her past. ‘So much for my efforts. Perhaps I really was in the way,’ Rayia thought to herself.

Still bloodied, Rayia stood besides her mother, Jonyna Si , with her golden eyes fixated on the bodies of the fallen as the procession passed. Her cloak was still torn where the beskar javelin had sliced through it. The remnant’s ragged edge outlining the trembling, reddish line fading across her back. With the threat diminished after the Neo-Crusaders left Onderon’s surface, the storm within Rayia’s veins had settled as the beast within settled back to an ill-tempered slumber. With it, so too were its aspects reversed. Where once metallic, bony plates and fur covered remained pink, glistening skin.

In fact, a slight tremble was the only indication that Rayia still stood over that unstable tightrope of control. That and the fact that she hadn’t yet allowed anyone to tend to her wounds or even touch her. Instead, with arms kept tight to her sides, she clutched the bracer that she had borrowed and watched. She had a promise to keep.

If this was back home, the Felacatian in question would join the Eternal Vigil. Their body would be preserved in stone and placed as a sentry to the tribe’s most important site: Illuna’s Tomb. Unfamiliar with Mandalorian burial rites, Rayia tried to keep her interruption as minimal as she could. ‘Best to keep my promise quickly lest I doom this stranger,’ Rayia reminded herself.

As the procession brought the body of the fallen soldier past her, she would reach out and place the bracer over the arm it would normally rest upon. She would have liked to talk to the soldier some more. Reassure them that she had kept her promise. But it was not the place or time.

Later perhaps, she would ask. But, for now, she clung to Jonyna’s side like a shadow as the survivors of the Battle of Onderon made merry and praised lives well lived.

 

[Jonyna Si]

TAG: Jenn Kryze Rayia Si

Funerals were almost a foreign concept to the Cathar. She had lost so many during the Rebellion, she had become numb to the concept of death. To celebrate the life lived, it was never a luxury she had been afforded. All she could do was hold Rayia Si close and let her lover speak her peace.

These weren't her people, but she did have the luxury of learning their names. She had made a point to before the battle with the sith. She would learn all their names. Every one of this House. If she was to one day marry Jenn, she would have to, for her own sake. To a Cathar, family meant more than simply blood. Once upon a time, your home, your tree, your blood, your kin, it was whittled down to so few, learning everyone's names and lives was a necessity. A matter of survival. The Cathar of the homeworld survived not through grit or determination, but through community. Fought hardship through trust in one another. What had been squabbling tribes became unbreakable bonds.

She would learn all their names. She would learn all their lives. And while she couldn't ever be Mandalorian, she would one day be a part of their family.

 

[Anna Carden]

The Crusaders pulled their forces back, but it didn't feel like a victory. She felt like she failed Onderon, after swearing to protect its people, including the late Queen. And yet, so many more were lost; their fellow brother and sisters, dedicating their lives to follow the path shunned by those who called themselves true Mandalorians.

As the solemn hymn echoed through her head, the only thing reflected on Anna's black irises was the orange flaming ember, lighting up so brightly. It reminded her that perhaps one of those fallen might be herself one day. But today was not that day, and after the sorrow came the celebration; to remember death was to honor the living among themselves.

"Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la."

Anna wasn't one to usually drink, but today was an exception. Surrounded by Allit, honored guests, and even the Jetii who fought together with them side-by-side to protect the throne, she took a sip just for the occasion.

"I'll be back,"

The Raven just nodded as Atin Tracinya walked away, probably to wrap up things privately. He's a man of few words, and she's not the type to pry about stuff, so instead she'd look around to find other familiar faces, before inching closer and greeting Minerva Fhirdiad , raising a cup. "Thanks for the assist today, I wouldn't make it without you and the Talons."

She didn't know whether Minerva lost any men to the battle today, and frankly, Anna didn't have the heart to ask. Taking a deep inhale, she looked around before muttering. "I don't know if things we did ever made any difference or not."

 

[Haliat Kryze]

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Stoic. Composed. Laconic. Reserved. Dignified. Man of few words.​

​

For most of his life now had people applied such descriptors to Haliat Kryze. There were others, to be sure, spoken from places of gratitude and derision alike. But when the question of what people actually thought of him had been settled, these matter of fact observations typically remained. Neither praise, nor condemnation, simply...Haliat. And so, the warrior had never given the matter much thought. It was simply the way it had seemed right to carry himself, when he walked away from the clan to endlessly seek out the next worthy endeavor.​

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He spoke when it was called for. After all, he still carried with him all the old stories from his childhood; however critical an eye he had turned on Mandalorian culture at large, his admiration for individual tales of skill and savvy against all odds had never eroded. And there were no stories without words. And of course, his flute was as old a companion of his as the sword he carried, a means of expression which had carried him through many lonely years when his purpose had not quite filled the void on its own. But who sought out the stories of the Mand'alor, or their songs? Often as not, their tongue was most earnestly mastered by enemies who sought the understanding that would help to better kill them.​

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Their recurring role as allies and puppets of the Sith, the galaxy remembered. What they had done to the Cathar, they remembered. It was action that the people of the stars understood, so it was action by which he could communicate. Action when necessary, words when necessary, and only once the needful had been accomplished was any mind paid to the extravagant. So should it be.​

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It had only been much more recently that Haliat Kryze was given cause to consider that perhaps there was more to it. Jenn had not passed any judgement on his choice when she sought him out on the wilds, but nor had she failed to observe how much time he spent wandering beyond this palisade, the distance he maintained from the clan...the House, whatever she preferred to call it now. After all these years moving on once he'd accomplished whatever it was he set out to do, he didn't quite know what to do with himself in a crowd. Gathered for battle was one thing, but to simply...commune? He didn't quite seem to know the path through it.​

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This was not, to be fair, entirely unexpected. This wasn't simply a community. These were the very people he had made the decision to walk away from once, or near enough. Yes, he had more in common with these warriors than with the beskaryc at large, but only to a point. Even with the alor herself, whose ideals had brought him here and kept him here, he remained wary of just how freely it was prudent to speak his mind. And yet, purpose and the People were in the same spot, and they were determined not to move. So he just had to muddle through as well he could.​

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It was easy in the beginning. His nature served him well enough as they sent the fallen on their way. To stand silent and respectful was appropriate enough. And hidden away behind his helmet, he had been free to privately consider what he should be feeling in that moment. But the celebration that followed, he found he could not quite grasp. He understood the idea of lives celebrated rather than the loss fixated upon. But the sheer, unfettered jubilation on display...what exactly they should revel in so, particularly given their failure to shield this world's monarch, was beyond him. And worse, he knew it was not always so.​

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He remembered scenes just like this. A lifetime removed, to be sure. He had been a mere adiik then, a cub among lions. But he had sat around the same fires, relished the same food, enjoyed the same stories with a joy no less fierce. He was relieved not to be the same man that boy had been on course to grow into. A life lived without compromise was worth any price. And yet, it was hard not to see now that he had indeed lost something precious along the way.​

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As usual, a clear purpose was the best thing to keep such thoughts at bay. He had sought out the company of the Beast Riders with a purpose, to learn their ways with humility. In part, of course, the idea had been to show respect and earn it in turn, but he had sought their knowledge out of genuine curiosity. The jungle village dwellers belonged here, had earned that belonging millennia past. If Haliat was to belong here as well, their wisdom was needful. And if that true sense of belonging remained still a work in progress, he had nevertheless learned much. The locals knew the beasts of Onderon. How to fight them, how to tame them, how to cook them with the proper care and spice to turn a carcass into a delicacy. And it was with a mug of ale waiting off one side that Haliat contributed this last bit of hard earned wisdom at the spit. If he somehow lacked the capacity to properly celebrate the feast, at least he could help prepare it.​

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"The arkonok awaits," he declared to those in earshot, having already drawn a knife and awarded himself the first cut so as to make that determination. At overhearing a bit of muttering, unsure if it was meant for his ears or anyone else's, he added one thing more. He did not look directly at Anna Carden as he he said it, not wishing to make her uncomfortable by singling her out too blatantly, but the overture would hopefully be clear nonetheless.​

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"If you desire a choice cut before they are all pillaged, haste will make a difference."​

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[Varys Amun]

Varys sat on the hilltop. The very highest point of the Clangrounds, on which lay a heavy flat stone, its meaning long-erased by wind and grit and time. Its surface was smooth, pockmarked. Like Varys' own skin. With her knees drawn to her chest, Varys sat and watched for a long time. The first time Varys had witnessed the funerary pyres, she had lovingly tended the flames, and worked through the night lifting bodies and performing rites. The second time the fires had been lit, Varys had not been there. She was lying in an induced coma in the infirmary, at the bottom of the slope, near the front gate, beside her mother. Tonight, she sat upon the stone, and she watched.

She did not walk amongst the gathered crowd while they reveled in honour of the Clan's fallen. In part, it was because it was hard to face her kin at the best of times, but mostly, it was because she had made a vow. She walked under the Pillar of Sacrifice now, and while Varys knew that leniency would be given to her in the hours after the battle, she could not allow herself the temptation of familial comfort, not when she was supposed to be walking alone, laying aside the name and power of her clan. No, better to maintain a measured distance, lest she falter.

It was only once the fires began to die down, and the festivities with them, that Varys finally rose, stretched her stiff legs and walked down to the pyres. Her backpack clanked on her back, filled with some scant supplies, her faithful kite, and a small collapsible shelter. She looked around for Jenn, to tell her she was leaving, but instead she found herself face-to-face with Rayia Si and Jonyna Si , two of the last people whose faces she wanted to see, especially illuminated by the burning bodies of her family.

Varys pursed her lips. She could see where she had cut the girl. She wasn't sorry, but she didn't want to antagonise the girl further in front of her mother. So at that moment, Varys was at a loss for words.

"I, um." said Varys. "Excuse me, Jetii." She awkwardly averted her eyes and stepped around the pair of them, her discomfort, her disgust, apparent despite her stammered politeness.

Finally, she spotted Jenn, striding over to her knowing that the pair of Jedi would likely soon follow her, along with the other kin who Varys didn't want to talk to, who had failed to protect the Palace, the Queen, alongside her.

Varys stared at the ground.

"I'm sorry I can't stay longer." she said quietly, unable to look Jenn in the eye.

"I'll visit soon, but right now it's better I don't linger, Buir."

​

Jenn Kryze | Jonyna Si | Rayia Si | Atin Tracinya | Anna Carden | Haliat Kryze​

 

[Jenn Kryze]

Beskar'gam
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| Location | Onderon Highlands - Kryze Clangrounds
| Objective | Observe the revelry

The Duchess watched in contented silence as her people fell into the comfortable rhythm of the festivities, her hidden gaze yet keen; keeping a finger on the pulse of the House was just as vital as leading it into combat, after all. Sitting atop a modest chair hewn from the trees of the Oderonian jungles, the mighty Alor took note of how Atin Tracinya excused himself from the company of Anna Carden , or how uneasy Haliat Kryze remained with the prospect of socialising, former exile that he was. All expected things, in truth, for she was as observant as their aliik. What finally drew the Mandalorian from her observation, however, was the arrival of none other than her treasured child. It was a good thing she wore a helmet. Varys Amun often made her cool, calculating exterior crumble, her heart roused at the sight of her, and equally aggrieved when she found her dear daughter faced with hardship.​

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By the standards of their people, some thought that Jenn's judgement became muddled when it came to her child, her overtly protective demeanor robbing the young warrior of a chance to spread her wings and come into her own. Few dared to voice such thoughts, however, for the wrath of The Redeemer was a terrifying sight to behold indeed, rare as it might be! Even a warrior rapidly ascending into legend with each and every deed was not without faults, and Jenn's patience was not without its limits. Varys would always be her little baby bird, a child cherished as dearly as she would her own flesh and blood.​

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Hers was a warm and tender love, though it sometimes blinded her. Perhaps she failed to notice the way her proud daughter acted around the Cathar; perhaps she simply did not want to. Though her deeds were worthy of legend, The Redeemer remained fallible. Exhausted from the battle, and with too little energy to spare for what would surely be a head ​

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"I... understand, Varys", came the Ersansyr's answer at last, although she longed to utter just the opposite. To beg her daughter to stay, if only just for the night, so that she sleep in her own bed, and have her supplies refilled by the House's craftsmen and hunters alike come morning. The Pillar of Sacrifice could only be walked by those with the determination to sacrifice their comfort, and so she kept herself from putting forth the offer, all too aware of how unjust it would be, for her child to be tempted off the path by her own mother. ​

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All the same, she stood from her chair, striding on over to the anxious teenager to take her into a firm embrace. Beskar against beskar, and a mother's tenderness besides. ​

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"Remember my teachings, verd'ika. Drink often, eat in meals, avoid snacking. Each sleep cycle is two hours minimum. Don't talk back unless you're ready for a fight, and remember that your mother loves you."​

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| Aliit | Atin Tracinya Anna Carden Haliat Kryze Varys Amun
| Honored Guests| Herrel Eldar Jonyna Si Minerva Fhirdiad Rayia Si ​

 

[Rayia Si]

Location: Onderon
Objective: Pick up the pieces
Jonyna Si Jenn Kryze Varys Amun @Others

---

It had taken Rayia a while to get used to being touched when Jonyna had first taken her under her wing. In Felacatian society, and more so in the Feral Queen’s tribe on Weik, intimate contact was uncommon heralding back to their more primal feline instincts.

Over time however, Rayia’s two halves had learned to associate a sense of calm and safety with her adoptive mother. So, as Rayia sensed Jonyna’s arm moving to loop about her shoulders, she found she had already started to still. The sensation of walking the keen edge of a tightrope dissipated much as the brief tensing of her shoulders at the contact loosened. One ear twitched softly.

Blinking slowly, Rayia turned those glinting, golden eyes up towards Jonyna. “Didn’t you say you had someone here to introduce to me?” Rayia asked. It was why the pair had found themselves here. At least… before trouble had come calling.

Imagine the surprise in finding out trouble was rather persistent. Face to face with the young mandolorian woman who had cut her across the back, Jonyna would feel Rayia’s hackles rise. Her ears shot to full attention. It was hard to miss the sheer disgust and discomfort when Rayia could feel it reverberating through every fiber of Varys Amun ‘s being. Every vibration of motion peeled away any disguise her sweetened manner might have offered.

There were a number of things Rayia wanted to say. None appropriate. But truth be told, Rayia was tired. She had just fought Neo-Crusaders. She had just fought ghosts of the past. And she had just fought herself too. Her bestial half had surged with the stress of battle, threatening to overtake her. So instead, she simply offered that same sallow smile as before and stepped aside.

“Pardon me, of course.”

 

[Jonyna Si]

TAG: Rayia Si Jenn Kryze Varys Amun

Jonyna focused first on her daughter. She could feel the felacatian's every emotion run through her fur. From tense, to calm, to immensely uncomfortable. She hadn't had the chance to really understand what her daughter had gone through during the battle on Onderon, other than she had fought Dima, and survived. She thought back to Ko Vuto 's first encounter with the monster, and thanked her lucky stars that her daughter had been sparred from the same fate this time.

But when the younger mandalorian girl approached her, she paused as the girl spoke briefly, only to cause Rayia to go into a quiet show of pure disgust.

Something had happened.

Then Rayia asked her a question.

"Oh, yeah, um..." Jonyna paused, looking to Jenn Kryze through the crowd, and seeing her look back to the girl who had just passed them in that awkward encounter.

Jenn had told Jonyna she had a daughter of her own.

And apparently, their two daughters had now met with the worse circumstances.

Great.

That was a bridge she'd cross later. For now, introductions.

"Follow me, Rayia. Let me introduce you to my new mate, okay?" Jonyna asked, rubbing Rayia's back to try and calm her, as they pushed their way to Jenn.

"Hey babe. I wanna introduce you to my daughter Rayia...."

 

[Minerva Fhirdiad]

The Crusaders pulled their forces back, but it didn't feel like a victory. She felt like she failed Onderon, after swearing to protect its people, including the late Queen. And yet, so many more were lost; their fellow brother and sisters, dedicating their lives to follow the path shunned by those who called themselves true Mandalorians.

As the solemn hymn echoed through her head, the only thing reflected on Anna's black irises was the orange flaming ember, lighting up so brightly. It reminded her that perhaps one of those fallen might be herself one day. But today was not that day, and after the sorrow came the celebration; to remember death was to honor the living among themselves.

"Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la."

Anna wasn't one to usually drink, but today was an exception. Surrounded by Allit, honored guests, and even the Jetii who fought together with them side-by-side to protect the throne, she took a sip just for the occasion.

"I'll be back,"

The Raven just nodded as Atin Tracinya walked away, probably to wrap up things privately. He's a man of few words, and she's not the type to pry about stuff, so instead she'd look around to find other familiar faces, before inching closer and greeting Minerva Fhirdiad , raising a cup. "Thanks for the assist today, I wouldn't make it without you and the Talons."

She didn't know whether Minerva lost any men to the battle today, and frankly, Anna didn't have the heart to ask. Taking a deep inhale, she looked around before muttering. "I don't know if things we did ever made any difference or not."

Minerva stood unhelmeted with it being latched to the utility belt. It had been too long since she had celebrated like this. Looking out to the warriors of House Kyrze gathered, the self-exile sighed before letting herself smile. Raising her cup in the right hand filled with black ale, Minerva silently toasted to those present and those who gave their lives in the battle.

It wasn't lost on her that she had been comrades before with Kryze when they were all with the fallen Enclave. Before things changed. Then they had been enemies before they followed their clan leader on a new path together. One she had to walk alone as a Mandalorian for so long.

Seeing them all here makes me realize that I'm not really alone.

At Anna's approach the veteran gave a grateful smile and bowed her head respectfully.

"It was an honor to fight beside you vod. I would do it again in a heartbeat."

She meant it. At her fellow Mandalorian whispering her doubts, Minerva looked back at her in a calm manner. She didn't think less of Anna for those words because those were words one does ask following combat if they survive it where others hadn't. Especially those held dear.

"Remember Anna if you can't find a way, make a way. That is what my late father Jorel of Clan Merrik told me when I was younger. Fighting alongside all of you gave me hope. A reminder that I’m not only the Mandalorian opposing the crusaders’ madness. That does make a difference, trust me."

To Haliat she chuckled and drew her own knife. “I agree. Let’s go dig in.”

 

[Herrel Eldar]

| Location | By the fire
| Tags | Haliat Kryze Minerva Fhirdiad Anna Carden

Harold stood amongst yet apart from the gathering. He had fought by them, but he did not share their cause. He mourned their dead, but did not know them. He sat by their cooking fires, but did not eat. He was bound by Creed. He was a priest of a dispersed people. Sitting amongst one of The Enclave's successors, he was surprised at the bitterness he felt. These were his people, Mandalorian still. But they were not what he had grown up in, been raised by, been a part of. He resented both them and the Crusaders for it. That wound had not healed as much as he had thought.

It was thanks to the work of the New Mandalorians' doctors that he stood at all. His wounds had been… substantial. But he had earned them in defense of the Alor's daughter, so he had received more than adequate care in return. He was still limping and would soon have to return to their care. But for tonight the doctors had allowed him to attend the memorial ceremony, and the subsequent feast. After all, he had been invited.

The memorial had ended. It was not necessary for him to perform any rites. The New Mandalorians had their own priests. The feast had now begun, but he could not eat with them, as he could not remove his helmet. So he stood by a fire, watching the flames dance. As he did he overheard a conversation amongst the New Mandalorians.

She didn't know whether Minerva lost any men to the battle today, and frankly, Anna didn't have the heart to ask. Taking a deep inhale, she looked around before muttering. "I don't know if things we did ever made any difference or not."

He did not know the speaker nor any of the others, but he nonetheless felt compelled to speak up. " Mhi Mando," he said. " Mhi vorer haat aruetti chaab. Oyacyir akaanir. Parjai ra rohak, ogir kote ibac." Another spoke as well.

"Remember Anna if you can't find a way, make a way. That is what my late father Jorel of Clan Merrik told me when I was younger. Fighting alongside all of you gave me hope. A reminder that I’m not only the Mandalorian opposing the crusaders’ madness. That does make a difference, trust me."

He echoed her statement with a single nod and said, "Kaysh staabi. Echoylir kyrayc. Nu haaranovor teh aaray val dar. Jair gar or'trikar te kara. Nu echoylir munit. Val gaanader narser bal r'akaani par bic kyr. Mando'ad vercopaanir kih majyce."

 

[Varys Amun]

Varys was grateful that Jenn had not asked her to stay. Her journey under the Pillar so far had been fraught and demoralizing, and the darkness dragged up by the defense of Onderon, so soon after Echnos, it drained her further. If her mother had asked her to stay longer, Varys knew she would have, and she might have found herself unable to leave. The safety of the Clangrounds, the presence of her family, normally these were great comforts, but to Varys, who had been ordained to walk alone, it was a threat.

"Remember my teachings, verd'ika. Drink often, eat in meals, avoid snacking. Each sleep cycle is two hours minimum. Don't talk back unless you're ready for a fight, and remember that your mother loves you."

"You know me, Buir, I am always ready for a fight."

She nodded gratefully, reminded of the same advice Jenn had given her when she had first departed. How long ago that seemed already. Even though little time had passed, Varys felt like she had walked to the Netherworld and back.

That, Varys supposed, was the point.

Leaning forward, she embraced her mother, not trusting herself to speak again lest her voice crack pitifully. She had to remain stoic, for both of their sake. Jenn was usually a rock, but around Varys she had a tendency to lower her guard. Varys could not handle that right now. She released Jenn and stepped back, almost bumping into Jonyna Si and Rayia Si . Varys blanched; her open-mouthed expression thankfully hidden by her helmet. Hurriedly, she stepped aside.

"Hey babe. I wanna introduce you to my daughter Rayia...."

Varys didn't say anything. She just stood there, stunned. She was pretty sure she'd had a nightmare exactly like this. She turned her head to look at Jenn, and then at Jonyna, though her eyes smoothly glided over Rayia, unable to look the girl in the face. Varys' cheeks burned, and she felt something she had rarely experienced since escaping Dantooine: Shame.

She realised she hadn't said or done anything to acknowledge the pair. She was just standing there. But it felt too late, too uncomfortable. She considered walking away, but that wouldn't be acceptable, so instead she stood, quietly panicking, while Jenn's lover introduced the child who Varys had cut in battle, who she had then cussed out.

Stars, what she would give to be anywhere else.

Rayia Si | Jonyna Si | Jenn Kryze ​

 

[Anna Carden]

Minerva reminded her that even standing up against the Crusaders indeed made a difference. The limping, big Mandalorian joined in, reiterating that their Mando values are what truly matter. Perhaps they once shared her feelings of not belonging or being lost in the vast tapestry of the galaxy, being way more experienced than her. But Anna felt a sense of connection with the two, even through these small conversations.

"You're right."

It doesn't really matter whether she felt like she didn't make any impact in the galaxy. Her purpose is to fight for something, something she believes in—in her own, unique way.

A way that hopefully one day she'll be able to pave on her own.

"Vor'e,"

She turned to both Minerva Fhirdiad , and Herrel Eldar , who didn't remove his helmet, perhaps as to uphold the traditional Creed, and then the Raven nodded to them as a sign of affirmation. Those two are not of House Kryze, nor did they tread the same path as hers, yet here they stood, celebrating this moment with her. Mando was always a united, yet divisive culture, and at this moment, it's a blessing.

As Haliat Kryze announced (perhaps to alleviate her muttered worry), she chuckled, shrugging playfully while brandishing her own knife to join in the feast, following suit to grab a piece of arkonok with a slight smile. "I'll be having the tender cut, then." After all, it was time for a celebration.

They would eat heartily, live courageously, and fight valiantly for another day.[/box]

 

[Jenn Kryze]

Beskar'gam
​

| Location | Onderon Highlands - Kryze Clangrounds
| Objective | Confront
| Focus | Jonyna Si Rayia Si Varys Amun

In this moment, the woman who stood before Varys was not the Duchess of House Kryze, whose figure cast a long shadow. Naught but her mother, whose love for her child trumped all else. Come wind or storm, the warmth of hearth and home remained, offering a light to guide the firebird home, always. For what was the weight of honor, when put before the trials and joys of motherhood? A bonfire, yes, but one dwarfed by the stars themselves.​

​

Jenn longed for nothing more than to keep her daughter in her arms. To let the moment drag on and on and express her maternal love, if wordlessly. Alas, theirs would be a short reprieve, for trouble soon followed...​

​

The arrival of the two Cathar was, at first, met with an unseen smile from beneath her Y visor. Although the celebration of life went on around them, a distraction from the bitter circumstances behind it all was all too easily welcomed. Standing tall once more, the Alor kept a hand on her daughter's shoulder, bringing the other to rest upon her breastplate and over her heart. ​

​

"A pleasure to meet you, Rayia. I am Jenn, and this is my daughter, Varys."​

​

A warm greeting, offered earnestly, if with a certain... melodiousness to her voice. Few recognized the siren's song at work before it was too late. As her eyes looked over the Felacatian, however, a frown pulled at her features. The young Padawan was wounded; a thought that brought some frustration to her mind. Had none of the House's combat medics seen to her? By letting her guest present herself with such a ghastly wound, Jenn failed in her obligations as-​

​

The siren's grip on her daughter's shoulder became a touch more firm, then, as she turned her helm to face her instead. A talented Forgemistress knew how to recognize the work carried out with the weapons she made. ​

​

"What is the meaning of this, Varys? Your weapon has tasted the blood of an ally; did you not find it important to mention it to me?"​

​

No anger filtered through the helmet's vo-coder, but a certain firmness stood behind her words now. The Firebird had never seen her mother quite so stern with her...​

​

| Friendly | Atin Tracinya Anna Carden Haliat Kryze Varys Amun
| Honored Guests | Herrel Eldar Jonyna Si Minerva Fhirdiad Rayia Si ​

 

[Haliat Kryze]

The smile which accompanied his nod as Anna moved in to secure her share of the feast was subdued, as was most often Haliat’s way, and obscured further by the shadows which the fire dispelled but inconsistently. Nevertheless, it was there, for if the sniper was finally of a mind to celebrate in some fashion, so it should be. He thought too of offering some further words of encouragement, for it seemed to him that the answer to Anna’s doubt was rather evident in all that lay around them.

True, they had failed to protect the queen of this world. Oaths had been fulfilled in the attempt, but it was a failure nonetheless and a weight which the whole clan would in some way inevitably carry. But Anna Carden had not been a part of that particular fight. She had been out in the city, opposing those who sought to steal Onderon entire. And, as was evidenced by their budding village which yet stood and grew, Onderon remained free. Bloodied, but free. As were they all. That, it seemed to Haliat, was a more than discernible difference.

But Anna seemed already to have rallied, Minerva and Herrel’s words striking true; any further encouragement would be but noise. So when he did speak, he kept it brief and on point. But his smile grew subtly as Anna Carden announced her intent.

“Then hunt well, vod.”

More words, however, he had for one of the honored outsiders among them. But as ever, action first. Placing his own meat aside for just a moment, and casting a quick warning glance at where Cya prowled at his feet - The Vulpex would receive her share, as she well knew. But for whom was it more critical to master patience than a predator? - he turned back to the steaming and now dwindling arkonok. Good cuts yet remained, and one of these he now liberated before placing the steaming meat on a wooden plate and extending it toward Herrel Eldar .

“Friend, I assume you maintain your gear as diligently as any of us. This is maintenance no more frivolous, especially if your wounds were as grievous as I have heard.”

It had hardly escaped Haliat’s attention, however, that he’d yet to see this man’s face. And so, even as his hand offered food, his chin gestured over toward the distant forge, now dark.

“While the Forgemistress is engaged, the forge lies empty. I know not why you chose to fight with us, but I know that Jenn did not claim station to command it. I suspect she would not, in the wake of such aid, begrudge you the choice for privacy, and I doubt you would be disturbed there.”

​

Minerva Fhirdiad
​

 

[Rayia Si]

Location: Onderon
Objective: Family Draamaa~!
Jenn Kryze Jonyna Si Varys Amun

---

Circumventing Varys as she passed, Rayia allowed Jonyna to guide her towards the motherly figure in elegant, blue armor. The Felacatian had heard the rumors of course. They had been nearly impossible to escape on Cathar. The fact that her adoptive mother had taken a Mandalorian love had made the rounds. Most accepted it gracefully, as a spark of hope and a chance of healing. A few questioned what it meant for the future. And then there were those that rejected them.

Rayia had done her best to hide the way she… gently corrected the few that dared insult her mother to Rayia’s face. She found Jonyna's choice brave and intriguing. It made her want to better understand Jenn and what she stood for. Perhaps, to even go as far as loving her as a daughter should. It was Jonyna who had showed her after all, that love could be kind instead of cruel.

Rayia's ears twitched as Jenn greeted her. There was something comforting about that melodic voice and Rayia soon found her ears drooping lightly. And yet, she could not completely relax into its lull. As those glimmering, golden eyes traced over Jenn's visor, Rayia found herself frustrated by the fact that Jenn's helm and visor obscured her features. 'I would've liked to see her face. Though, I guess asking her to remove her helm would be insulting,' Rayia thought. Ignorant as she was of broader Mandolorian culture, she could at least recognize that faux pas. And she didn't want to embarrass Jonyna by offending her love and their hostess.

But Rayia couldn't stop the slight hiss of a strangulated "wha-" leaving her throat as she felt Jenn take aw few steps away, pull a clearly uncomfortable Varys under her arm, and introduce her as her daughter. Love's bitter ironies. Rayia had found yet another sister to despise her. Rayia bit down on her lip hard enough to puncture it as she sought that fabled Jedi calm. A search that she was definitely failing by the way she flinched at the cold steel in Jenn's voice.

Rayia knew that frigid tone well. Though when she had heard it, it had an insidious, biting promise of violence. Should she intervene? Did she… really want to? Finally, Rayia forced herself to speak without choking into bitter laughter. "Do not worry yourself too much. I'll be fine in just a bit. It's nothing I haven't felt before," she said and reached over to gently pat the wrist Jenn was resting on Varys' shoulder.

 

[Jonyna Si]

TAG: Jenn Kryze Rayia Si Varys Amun

Jonyna looked confused at first. She hadn't even noticed her daughter was wounded, let alone by her Lyrana's daughter's hand. "Rayia..." She spoke softly. "Are you okay?"

That was all that mattered to her. Mistakes happen on the battlefield, as she well knew. Giran's hand, Sev's several body replacements, her scars...

She had lost plenty before she came out of the ice, and plenty since.

 

[Varys Amun]

"What is the meaning of this, Varys? Your weapon has tasted the blood of an ally; did you not find it important to mention it to me?"

"No, Buir I..."

Varys glanced at Rayia and Jonyna, and switched to her native Mando'a, unable to keep the flicker of irritation from her voice.

"Val ru'laami lo ner kal"

She shook her head in frustration. How was it that she was being forced to explain herself in front of the outsiders? It was humilating. It was one thing to mingle with them, and make alliances, but to show such weakness in front of the jetii? It made Varys feel naked.

"Ni ru'nari dar'manda r'nakil. Meh aruetti-"

Varys was incensed. She threw her hands into the air. She had entertained Jenn's fraternising with outsiders. She was the the Alor, after all, and moreover Varys understood that strategic alliances were imperative to surviving as a Mandalorian in a post-purge Galaxy. Even when her mother had taken up with a Jetii, Varys had held her tongue. But now Varys was being hung up to dry in front of these outsiders. How could Jenn do that?

Varys cursed under her breath and clenched her fists. She knew she was making Jenn upset, but at that moment she didn't really care. The blood had rushed to her head, and she was brimming with anger. Besides, Varys would be leaving in a moment anyway. Maybe this would make it easier to stay away.

"Meh ibic ru'bana evaar'la verd, gar ven gratii kaysh. A kaysh aruetti, bid gar narir sa kaysh laandur ik'aad!"

"Do not worry yourself too much. I'll be fine in just a bit. It's nothing I haven't felt before."

Varys turned from Jenn, locking eyes with Rayia.

"I am not worried." said Varys.

"My blade has cut you, Jetii, and you live yet. This is a lucky thing." Said Varys in thickly accented Basic. She swept her arms out dramatically as she dipped into a sarcastic bow. "Let us all be glad."

Rayia Si | Jenn Kryze | Jonyna Si

 

[Jenn Kryze]

Beskar'gam
​

| Location | Onderon Highlands - Kryze Clangrounds
| Objective | Admonish a rebellious teen, address the House

Although the complicated art of parenthood eluded the Alor's understanding at times, she had ever sought to be... the kind of mother her daughter deserved. Patient, encouraging, understanding. All of them attributes Lyka Amun had evidently neglected throughout the years; a harsh truth that yet tempered the judgement of Varys' adoptive mother. Her treasured child, she knew, had been raised in a harsh environment (even by Mandalorian standards), and thus shaped by those experiences. The little bird's nature was not wicked, though the way she was nurtured... naturally led her to a harsher view of the world.​

​

But kindness and patience, though guiding principles of her approach to motherhood, were tempered with a certain measure of discipline, nonetheless. Though she hardly ever allowed her voice to rise when conversing with allies and friends, much less her own aliit, her daughter overstepped when she not only failed to shown any remorse for her actions, accident or otherwise, but insulted their guests with her words. ​

​

Jenn's hand left her daughter's shoulder, though she doubted the angry teenager would have shaken it off soon anyhow... and spoke to her as she would one of her many warriors, every syllable she uttered proving worthy of her commanding reputation.​

​

"Varys, Gev! Gar bal ni jorhaa'ir du'caryc." ​

​

Harsh words, perhaps, though well-earned. With one last admonishing look given to her child from behind her Y visor, the Duchess excused herself from these uneasy presentations with a far more modest bow than the overtly-theatrical one used by her daughter, striding past the embarrassment of such an occasion as her jetpack roared to life, drawing the gaze of others as she hovered above them all, avenging angel that she was. ​

​

"Hear me, ner'verda! For the time has come to shed light on your heroics. Only by doing so can the aoidos sing of our deeds, and I, for one, intend to hear my name echo through eternity!"​

​

Though Jenn had certainly done her best to transform her warriors into a gathering of chivalrous defenders of the weak, their roots could not be denied; before settling upon the highlands of Onderon, what she had under her command was nothing less than a veritable horde, and their receptiveness to such theatrics had given her a newfound taste for them, clashing with her past rejection of unnecessary pomp and other such grandstanding. And so it was that they cheered ferociously in the wake of such impassioned words, brandishing whatever they had on hand; swords, blasters, tankards, glasses, cuts of meat, helmets...​

​

Gracefully soaring through the air, the Duchess landed amongst her warriors - and close to the first of those she would honor on this night of mourning, festivities, and hope.​

​

"Many amongst you remember the time of our prior service to the Mandalorian Enclave. In those days, I was but a smith, blindly loyal to the cause of our people, right or wrong; convinced that a Mandalorian's loyalty should ever lie with our great family of families. We fought on the wrong side, then, and though we have shed our blood to regain our honor, let us never forget this singular truth; others came before us. Much like us, they were a tenacious few, ready to stand against their own people for the sake of honor and justice - no matter that their courage would make them outcasts! One such soul chose to answer our call for aid, no matter that we had been enemies in the past. Every last one of us should be humbled by the example set by our sister, and ever seek to match the courage of Minerva Fhirdiad!"​

​

Though some remained tight-lipped, resentful as they still were of the Galactic Alliance (a sentiment shared by their Alor, though she would never admit that much publicly), many more chose to follow the Duchess' lead as she brought her fist over to her breastplate, beating her knuckles over the beskar again and again; some used the flat of their blades, others struck the hilt of their spears into the ground. Others yet preferred a simpler form of appreciation, showing their respect with heartfelt applause. ​

​

Jenn moved to clap her hand against the soldier's shoulder, turning her helm to face her entirely. ​

​

"So long as we have a place to call home, you will always be welcome among us."​

​

| Aliit | Atin Tracinya Anna Carden Haliat Kryze Varys Amun
| Honored Guests | Herrel Eldar Jonyna Si Minerva Fhirdiad Rayia Si ​