Populate The Gravesong War || Before the Storm [ ME Populate of Empty Hex ]

[Aether Verd]

BONFIRE BEFORE THE STORM
"A warrior’s fire burns brightest when stoked by kin, not conquest."​

KALEVALA

The smoke rose high before the stars, curling like ghostfire through the branches of Kalevala’s forests. It was not the smoke of war. Not today.

Where once the skies above Mandalore were blackened by ash and shrapnel, tonight they glowed with warmth. Firelight flickered against the bark of ancient trees. Laughter cracked through the still air. Songs both old and new rolled over the hills, and at the center of it all, a great blaze roared, built tall with timber and tribute, fed by the bones of the beasts whose hides lined the tents around it.

The bonfire stood as a pillar of peace: brief, burning, and brilliant.

For months, the shadow of the Gravesong War had loomed over the Mandalorian people. They had bled on Zanbar, screamed into the silence of Taris, and stood defiant on the broken grounds of Yaga Minor. They had faced the unholy. The unnatural. The undead. And they had not fallen.

Victory had not come without cost, but each battle had proven a truth that even death could not deny: Mandalore endures.

Time, however, offers no respite. It moves. Marches. Demands. And so, it was here, just days after the Mand’alor named his Warmasters in the Hall of Banners, that the next page of the saga was written. The first Verd’goten under Mand’alor the Iron.

They were not children anymore. They had hunted, survived, and stood before their people to be named as vod. The future had come screaming into the present, armor-clad and wide-eyed, with all the fire of Mandalore’s legacy burning in their hearts. In their honor, the clans gathered, not in the hallowed halls of Keldabe, but in the wilds of Kalevala, where the trees stood older than the Empire and the sky could bear witness to their celebration.

Tents dotted the outskirts of the great fire. Some bore the sigils of storied clans. Others flew the banners of Domarian families. A few more flew no banners at all, save for the mythosaur carved in leather or scorched into iron, their allegiance written in spirit alone.

The Hunt had begun at dusk. From the bellies of drop-ships and troop haulers came mighty beasts gathered from across the stars: krayt dragons from Tatooine, gundarks from the rimward jungles, and horrors born of Sith alchemy. The trees echoed with distant roars. And soon, with the cries of warriors who sought one more trial before the next war.

Around the fire, stories bloomed. Tales of the old empires and their sole rulers. Of Ra Vizsla. Of Yasha. Of the Reclaimer. Of the Iron Mand’alor who now sat upon the throne.

But no throne stood here.

Only warmth. Only kin. Only a single, fleeting night where the people of Mandalore could be more than warriors.

Before the drums of battle sounded again. Before the dead remembered them. Before the storm.

THREADS REFERENCED:
Ashes of the Undying
Echoes of the Gravesong
Silence the Song
Hall of Banners
What Are You Doing in My Swamp?​

Spoiler: Objectives

OBJECTIVE I: PROVE THE HUNTER’S RIGHT
Location: Forests of Kalevala

The Hunt has begun.

In honor of the newest sons and daughters of Mandalore, those who have just completed their Verd’goten, the forests of Kalevala now stir with something primal. Krayt dragons, gundarks, and even a Sithspawned battle hydra have been loosed into the wild. Carefully monitored by handlers to ensure no true threat to the clans, the creatures still pose a brutal challenge for any warrior bold enough to face them.

No trackers. No safety nets. No second chances.

Only the hunt. Only the skill of the vod who enter the trees with blade, blaster, or beskad in hand.

Those who triumph will not go unseen. The finest kills will be honored by the Mand’alor himself, with gifts, glory, and stories that will echo through the stars!​

PvE | Combat-focused. Expect intense creature battles, competition, teamwork, and a chance to earn recognition!

OBJECTIVE II: FEASTFIRE
Location: Bonfire Grounds, Kalevala Wilderness

Tonight, the clans do not march to war. They gather.

For the first time since the rise of the Mandalorian Empire, its people come together not in battle, but in celebration. The great bonfire burns tall, surrounded by tents bearing the banners of storied Clans, honored Domarians, and Mandalorians who now call this Empire home.

There is food. There is drink. There is the music of old tongues and the retelling of sacred tales.

This is a time to share the fire, to learn the names of your kin, and to build bonds that no war can break.

Whether you’re swapping stories with elders, raising a toast to the newly blooded, or sparring beside the flames, this is where legends breathe between battles.​

Social | Feasting, storytelling, forging connections, sparring, and laughter welcome. Come write the quiet moments that make warriors whole!

OBJECTIVE III: WRITE YOUR LEGEND
Bring Your Own Objective

The forests of Kalevala are vast and untamed.

Maybe you seek a vision beneath the trees.
Maybe you’ve heard whispers of an ancient shrine, buried under moss and memory.
Maybe you simply need the silence, to grieve, to hope, or to speak to the ones who came before.

Wherever your path leads, it is yours.​

You bring the mission. | Mandalore brings the flame!

Spoiler: Tag

Kassandra Beskar'ad
Kad'irk'Ra
Janous Ryss
Liorra
Tyr Mereel
Conrad
Aren D'Shade
Zel Sharratt
Korra Kast
Whottoomuzz Chantin
Reshim
Red Mobius
Emilia Locke
Athena Faar
Thalira Kiing
Vulcan Krayt
Delsin Shaw
Montello Deshra
Adonis Angelis IV
Siv Kryze
Jaikell Wyrvhor
Itzhal Volkihar
@Lilara Daeva
Valah Hagen
@Khairem Tal
Vytal Noctura
Suleiman Lok
Kyrida Verd
@Sar'ila Kandosii
Jiriad Galaar
Kandosii Ka'rta
Manti Wyrvhor
Mia Monroe
Ladante Mamba
Raef Malstadt
Ciri Jade
Lunara Azure
Kirae Orade
Ro'talius Emanti
Alora Vizsla
Zhulghua
Kalðr Ísbjørn
Cordelia Malkavian
Drego Ruus
"Templar"
CT-312
Tomaj Eldar
Rhys Swynol
Lysara Rynn
Nephthys Nardithi-Verd
Hanna
Siae Andronike
Zlova Rue
Runi Kuryida
Ren Ashbridge
Aliza Vale
Thram Drokor
Sagan Verd
Ze'bast Verd
Vyse de Valorous
Varuun Rekaal
Kuben Woods
Valeria de la Vallée
Lyra Scarlet
Talohn Atar
Incitrix
Klavatora Verd
Aselia Verd

​

​

​

 

[Delsin Shaw]

Objective II: No one Drinks like Gaston Delsin
Tags: Open

Holding aloft the trimmed horn of some beast that had been felled years ago. Its age and markings of previous uses were clear. Slammed many a times from cheers, and even on one side looked like someone chewed on it? However the use it had seen, it was unique. And when drank from, left a unique flavor mixed with whatever alcohol substance had been in there. It was quite unique to be able to take part with the Mandalorians and see how they intermingled.

What perplexed me was how many still wore their armor. Yes, it was called a second skin, or Iron Skin for many of them in their native language. However, I would have thought they might have removed the armor to be better suited for... certain activities. Shrugging my shoulders I took a rather large drink from the tankard. Already having downed four earlier. That was part of my unique traits. Having so many hearts due to my Atoan heritage, My metabolism was different. Blood pumping faster than others, harder than others, and so my liver could filter out such toxins, like that of a specific drink type, out of my system.

I saw others were beginning to sway and enjoying the music of their culture. But also that I was not yet feeling this activity. My white haired head turned and surveyed the area. Trying to find anything to do. You never know, maybe a Mandalorian would like to get in with a foreigenr as some kind of Conquest these Mandalorians are known for.

 

[Ze'bast Verd]

BONFIRE BEFORE THE STORM​

OBJECTIVE II: FEASTFIRE - KALEVALA

It was a small reprieve.

A rare, precious thing.

The massive bonfire towered in the clearing like a sentinel of warmth and memory, its roaring flame painting Ze’bast’s face in hues of flickering orange and deep shadow. The crackle of burning wood echoed faintly through the forested perimeter, where distant trees swayed under the hush of a cool wind. Their silhouettes seemed to dance at the edge of the light, neither threat nor comfort. Just simply witnesses. Yet for once, the ever-watchful warrior allowed himself a breath.

A welcoming feeling enveloped him. It was alien, but not unwelcome. The concept of rest was something he had learned to live without. Wasn’t because couldn’t, but he dared not. Vigilance was more than instinct; it had become a creed unto itself. Some had accused him of paranoia over the years, but Ze’bast called it preparedness. A well-honed blade did not rust in idleness.

Still, there was something different tonight.

Even in stillness, he found himself moving. His hands did not idle long. And while his mind might’ve longed for the scent of oil and the hum of servo motors, tonight his tools were utensils, and his medium was nourishment.

He stood by one of the makeshift outdoor kitchens. A repurposed Imperial Lambda-class shuttle now gutted and forged anew by Ge’tal Enterprises into a fully functional mobile culinary hub. Its matte panels bore marks of previous service, but the interior was pure functionality: glasteel counters, steam-heated burners, climate-controlled preservation units. They were all running on refurbished repulsorlift power nodes. An engineer's dream, if food were the product.

Ze’bast worked with precise intent, preparing dishes that balanced practicality and tradition. Grilled nuna cuts in layered Corellian spice rub. Roasted tiingilar with Gargon herbs. Even a Nikto flatbread wrap—charred just right. His hands moved expertly, the discipline of craftsmanship translating seamlessly from forge to flame.

He wasn't alone.

Ge’tal Enterprises had lent staff from their hospitality branches, chefs and culinary droids alike, their presence a quiet acknowledgment of the importance of the moment. They didn’t intrude; they assisted. Around the campfires and converted shuttles, warriors and workers from different clans shared more than just food. There were brews from various clans, rich with firefruit and fermented root; smoked meats cured in the salt traditions; and even sweetstone buns.

It was unity in its purest form. Nothing forced, not declared. Simply lived.

And that was worth fighting for.

He knew Aether would scold him if he did too much. The Mand’alor had a way of seeing past Ze’bast’s gruff exterior. But even now, Ze’bast moved with the instinct of service. Not just to the cause, but to the people who made it worth serving. Small acts such as grilling food, offering second helpings, handing a tired warrior a hot bowl all mattered. More than he liked to admit.

And for a moment… he let himself believe that peace wasn’t just a pause between battles.

It was something that could be built. Bite by bite. Flame by flame.



TAGS: Open

 

[Whottoomuzz Chantin]

"Mi boska nakata bai kajidii… nekee soong, nekee gozu."

He had not expected to be seen.

But they had made room for him nonetheless. A cleared patch near the edge of the fire-ring, where the youngest warriors gathered to hear tales and smoke rose in lazy spirals toward the forest canopy. Far enough to keep peace with tradition. Close enough to honor presence.

Whottoomuzz Chantin, once Lorda Kajidii, arrived without procession. No dancers, no throne, no guard. Only the weight of him—and the ancient heirloom, his great armor, Shyran Dol. The Chantin Kajidic glyph was worn, dirt and gristle in the grooves of the gold and Phrik from the past few weeks. The engraved plates had been dulled with soot.

He did not speak often.

When offered fire-roasted meat, he accepted it wordlessly. When offered drink, he lifted his hand only once before setting the vessel aside untouched. His gold disc eyes wandered the flames, unfocused, like one watching a dream from far beneath water.

They had come to celebrate—but he knew not their language, and had little cause to celebrate for.

No child completed their Verd’goten with his name in their mouth. No spouse waited in his tent. No kin shouted oaths in his name. The Chantin Kajidic was buried. His daughter was a Jedi. His mate imprisoned, or in hiding. And Whottoomuzz… Whottoomuzz was dead, if his deception worked. Now he was a stranger, in a dirt-caked shell bearing a forgotten crest.

He listened to the singing. The laughter. The clank of armored Mando... Mando'a? Mando'ade? He occasionally picked up individual words, but he was not gifted in the art of learning new tongues, not like Jobbi Chantin and Xoff Chantin were.

He watched the fierce joy of warriors who had earned the night. Not jealous, just... aching.

He hesitated, slowly speaking in basic as he mentally translated.

"Your fire is strong."

Quicker, under his breath, he continued in Huttese.

"Bargon chi kee… mi doth mo bauma."

The words were soft. He remained, still as stone, watching the flames crackle and cast shadows long and bright across the faces of a people still alien to him.

@Open​

 

[Liorra]

Liorra arrived at the feastfire with a single intent: to actually speak to other Mandalorians, instead of lingering in the back, tucked away in the shadows like she always did. She had wandered for so long, trying to make sense of her place in a galaxy that felt increasingly foreign to her. The only way forward, she knew, was to take the plunge—engage, connect, and show that she was more than just a foundling lost in the wilderness.

The warmth of the feastfire crackled ahead, and though the voices of her fellow vod filled the air, they were mostly strangers to her. Her stomach churned slightly as she hesitated. The armor on her shoulders felt heavier than usual, the weight of expectation pressing down on her. Her fingers drifted to the edge of her helmet, toying with the edges as she tried to make the decision. Keep it on, hide behind the anonymity, or take it off and show them who she was?

Part of her wanted to hide, to retreat back into the safety of her armor, where no one could truly see her—just another face in the crowd. But if she did that, she thought, she'd never move forward. She wouldn't make any real connections. And so, after a long moment of internal deliberation, she made her decision.

She reached up, unlatched the helmet, and pulled it off. The cool air met her face, her hair falling messily over her shoulders. Her gaze lingered on the faces of those gathered around the feastfire, the flickering light casting soft shadows over their expressions. They were all so familiar, and yet so strange. Liorra hadn't felt this way in years, like an outsider in her own culture.

But if she wanted to make good on the situation, if she wanted to find her place, this was the only way. She had to be seen. She had to show them that she wasn't just a wanderer; she was one of them. Her face, unmasked and raw, reflected all the uncertainty, the longing for belonging that had haunted her since the moment she lost her family. No clan, no kin, nothing to ground her in a world that had long since turned its back on her.

As she approached the feastfire, her feet steady on the ground, Liorra let her gaze drift upward. The stars were bright tonight, twinkling like distant promises in the cold sky. For a brief moment, she thought of turning back, of leaving all of this behind and going home, to the place she remembered, or maybe to a place that didn't exist anymore.

The thought was fleeting, gone almost as soon as it came. Home was a word that didn't belong to her anymore. And so, with a quiet breath, she let the feeling slip away, pushing herself onward. There was no turning back now. This was her chance, her moment. And she would take it.

[Open to Interaction]​

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Objective II: Feastfire
Tags: Open

To say Aren was out of her element was an enormous understatement. She was a city girl born and bred. Here she was sitting in nature, around a huge campfire, and surrounded by strangers. The slicer knew only Jonah, his role, and position within the Mandalorian Empire. Usually, she would be comfortably relaxing on Denon, but she had been called, and when that happened, she answered. It could be worse, and there could be a battle going on. Thanking the gods of the droids that that wasn't the case, she sat with these people and wondered what she was doing here.

Her brown eyes glanced around, looking for a friendly face. Not seeing any, she drank what was in her glass and stared into the fire.

 

[The Haran’gir Assembly]

OBJECTIVE I: PROVE THE HUNTER’S RIGHT

Spoiler: Theme

“Blessed be the wilds of Mandalore, for Manda provides through hunt and blood.”
- Mand’alor the Watcher​

The skies would finally darken upon the Mandalorians. The feastfires crackled low, their light dimming into long, amber tongues of flame that licked upward toward the stars. The air thickened with the scent of roasting meat, sweetened bread, and drifting spice. Beneath it all, the unmistakable tang of ash and smoke hung heavy. Like incense on a battlefield altar, it rose skyward as an offering to Manda. The warriors called it a celebration.

But the forest saw it differently.

Far beyond the perimeter of their laughter and song, the ancient Kalevala woods stirred.

Foreign life had begun to seep into its roots. Alien creatures, brought forth by the beast tamers, had begun to claim territory in the old forest. Some came on wings, others with claws or tendrils. These interlopers sought refuge or domination, carving niches into an ecosystem not meant for them. The clash of nature and intrusion was inevitable. Some species adapted quickly, weaving themselves into the cycle of life. Others fared poorly, vanishing like smoke on the breeze, leaving only broken nests and half-eaten corpses of local fauna.

Yet amid this chaotic reshuffling of nature's law... something of dark side powers stirred.

Far within the deep woods, a scream tore through the silence. It was not the cry of a beast, nor the howl of pain. It was a proclamation. A savage, soul-shredding blare that echoed between the trees and sent the flying beast’s scattering from the canopy.

A new queen had declared her rule.

Sithspawn.

The word carried weight. It was a blasphemy to nature and the Force alike. Alchemized through twisted rituals and sorcery, it was no mere predator. This was desecration given flesh.

It emerged like a living storm. A serpentine body coiled in shadow and malice, its scales etched with broken runes that pulsed with baleful light. Multiple heads writhed, each a separate mind, fanged and hungry, arguing in rasps and growls with one another as they vied for the first taste of prey. The ground trembled with each thunderous step of its clawed limbs. Talons curved and retracted rhythmically — an eerie, almost ceremonial rhythm, as though it knew it would not be challenged.

A miasma of red mist and sickly purple haze followed it, bleeding from its form like poisoned steam. The forest around it blackened — leaves shriveled, bark cracked, insects fled.

It did not hunt.

It claimed.

Every movement between the trees was more than instinct, it was entitlement. Dominion. This was no wild beast. This was the child of a Sith’s will. One designed to unmake harmony, to rot what thrived.

The hunting Mandalorians would hear it soon enough.

And what had begun as a night of peace for others, of celebration and song, would shift. The hunters would be tested. Not just in strength, but in conviction.

For now, the forest held its breath. Watching.

Waiting.


TAGS: Open

 

[Adonis Angelis IV]

Objective II
Tag: Whottoomuzz Chantin + OPEN

Rest was a foreign concept to Mandalorians lately.

The idea that one could relax, physically, mentally, felt more like myth than reality. The Gravesong War had left its mark, but truth be told, the whole galaxy seemed caught in a spiral. Even this early in his life as a Mandalorian, Adonis had learned to take the quiet moments where he could. Tonight was one of those moments. A rare reprieve. And after the good news, he figured he'd ride the high while it lasted.

The night would be filled with celebration and revelry. A new generation of Mandalorians were growing up, and this would be the first time Adonis had the chance to meet many of his brothers and sisters outside the battlefield.

In his hand was a drink already half gone. His second, and he was already eyeing a third. Social settings weren't his strength. Not as a boy growing up in the marble halls of House Angelis, and not now among the war-torn warriors of Mandalore. He knew how to carry himself in a crowd- had been raised for it- but comfort was a different thing entirely.

He took another drink, then looked around.

What he saw was community. What they had all bled for.

Children ran barefoot through the dirt, wrestling, laughing, their tiny shadows leaping against the bonfire's light. The scent of roasted meat and firefruit hung thick in the air, dancing with the notes of song and cheer. For a moment, just a moment, Adonis could forget the screams, the rot, the ruin that still clawed at the edges of the galaxy. There were many who hadn't lived to see this fire. Others were still out there, fighting the darkness. Evil didn't sleep. But tonight? Mandalorians breathed.

The golden light of the Kalevalan sunset had begun to spill through the treetops, brushing the camp in soft amber. It caught on the edge of Adonis's beskar, painting the sigil on his chest in hues of molten bronze. His armor, once polished to a noble sheen, was now scuffed from battle, dented at the collar, worn at the edges- lived in. The kind of armor you don't hang up between wars.

He'd thought about joining the hunt, had even pictured where the trophies would go, but left it for the others. Truth was, he'd struggled to connect lately. Maybe tonight would change that.

He downed the last of his drink, wiped the foam from his lip with a gloved hand. His stubble was starting to grow in again, he hadn't shaved in days, and it prickled against the leather as he dragged it across his jaw. His helmet sat stowed nearby. He'd chosen to go without it tonight.

While scanning for the nearest source of alcohol, something else caught his eye.

Whottoomuzz.

The name was unfamiliar until recently. A Hutt who'd thrown his lot in with the Mandalorian Empire. Like Adonis, he was an outsider swept into the heart of war. And like Adonis, still standing.

He'd never seen a being that size before, not in person. Certainly not armored like that. The Hutt sat still as stone near the edge of the fire-ring, bathed in flickering orange like some ancient idol brought down from its shrine. The armor he wore looked like it had been pulled from the grave of a myth.

Drink refilled, Adonis started across the clearing. He passed a group of younglings sparring, their sticks cracking against one another in rhythm with the fire's roar. Mandalore's future was alive tonight, and so was the blood in Adonis's veins, warm and humming with drink.

He approached the Hutt with a half-lopsided grin, lifting his cup and gesturing toward the armored mass before him. Ale sloshed from the rim.

"Gotta say," he drawled, voice slightly too loud to be sober, "I thought my armor was heavy. You're wearing a whole starship."

 

[Runi Kuryida]

Off to one side, the Shaman bearing her cloak of many feathers stood with a wooden sword in hand. She struck various poses, and paused to describe the honorable deeds of those long past. Regaled with feats of heroism. Shocked with narrowly won victories snatched from the jaws of certain death. The tales were fierce, colorful, vivid. But they were not gruesome. Those of especially of younger years sat in watch and listened attentively to the Shaman as she re-enacted and recounted legends and myths before their very eyes.

With a humble bow, she parted with the crowd so they could mingle with others. They would never move if she stood there telling them every story she knew. It was a reward for young warriors that trained hard every day, and sought the peace and indulgence of social gathering for their effort tonight. Best delivered in small doses to hold their interest.

Runi paused at the edge of the larger crowd to regard those present. Such interesting people had come. So many with needs. It was impossible to choose, and yet she must start somewhere. One was soon taken by company of another, however, which resolved at least part of her quandary.

A moment later, her feet carried her slowly around toward a man that stood apart.

"The heat is hotter nearer the flames," the Shaman intoned as she drew near Delsin Shaw . "As is the company. In being closer to one another, we drop our guard and simply exist -- not as individuals, but as a people." Runi regarded him with her hazel eyes, curious what his reaction would be.

 

[Maiz Tor'val]

Certain of these Mandalorians had spoken of a gathering this evening. They were celebrating. Victories. Life. Maiz had heard of it even on her homeworld. They rarely held one for similar purpose any longer; more recent generations knew more of festivals than they did remembrance and war bonds. The benefits of the great barrier that kept their ancient adversary at bay, and ended the long war. These heavenly warriors, however, knew only war. They seemed to celebrate it in its own right. It was reminiscent of stories of older generations, of which hers was near its end. It was fascinating to see it so vibrant and held with such purpose in a people; almost as if she were living the history of her homeworld.

Unlike those clad in thick steel, however, Maiz strode onto the scene wearing mere fabric that hugged her body; an outfit accustomed to comfort and aesthetics rather than battle. With a waft of jasmine about her person. Not that she expected there to be battle joined at a celebration -- and her foes would not find her such easy prey even if it did. Her white hair spilled about her dark features, while her bright blue eyes sparkled with the dancing embers that lifted into the sky.

"Strange outfits. Strange creatures." Maiz lifted a horn filled with some form of brew. "Strange drink." Her words rolled together, accented by her native tongue as she became accustomed to 'Basic.' Her eyes turned to a woman that drew near the gathering. The rings of her eyes scanned the length of the woman that was five inches taller than herself. Someone that seemed to take some kind of comfort in the stars. "Strange, new worlds," she added with the drawl of reluctance.

"I am Maiz," the dark woman proclaimed proudly as she held the drink aloft between them. "These are strange times. New faces. New choices. Do you agree?" She had no idea who Liorra was or which clan she hailed from. They should all be grateful she had learned their language! It would take more time before she learned all their clans and their symbols. Great goddesses there were more of them among the stars than existed back home. But the goddesses had brought them to this galaxy for a purpose, so their priestesses would learn of it.

OPEN​

 

[Xasin Dyst]

Feastfire

Location: Bonfire Grounds, Kalevala Wilderness​

For most of her life Xisan spent her time hunting, training and communing with nature in the forests that surround the village that she had grown up in. Her mother taught her to fight. The rest she mostly taught herself. Then the spirits started to talk to her. Her father's kin guided her to interpret the whispers of the spirits.

Xasin had never wanted to be a "normal" Mandalorian. She cherished the whispers. She marveled in her connection to the life around her that made her different. Stories of Mandalorian grandeur came to Xasin in many forms over the years. Some from "home" and some from far away. They were never enough for her to leave the only community that she had ever known, but as of recently the whispers had urged her to leave her simple life. That she was needed elsewhere. So off she went to witness the new empire.

Timid was not a word used to describe Xasin. The fact that news of the Feastfire soured her to quicker action was not from a desire to hold to the forests and familiar strength of setting. The spirits whispered this was the place and time. And Xasin listened.

Though the trees and silent wildlife of the forests were comforting and familiar, that feeling ended quickly as Xasin approached the event. Trees gave their lives for fire, animals for food. It was the way of life, even in her small village in the Concordian forest, but this was on a scale that Xasin had not experienced.

This fire roared with an intensity that told of its purpose, not for most, but for Xasin. For the others this was a gathering of rest. A respite from war. For Xasin this was a new beginning, an introduction to the galaxy beyond her simple life to this point. She took in her surroundings with a keen eye, tasting the offered refreshments and watching her fellow Children of Mandalore.

Xasin was not the only one that was experiencing something new. The whispers pointed out the many that had gathered at the feastfire who were coming for the same reasons she felt. Some like the Hitt were obvious, others not so much. But for every stranger there were many revealers who knew just what the moment was for.

Xasin knew not who she was supposed to commune with. There were others like her here she knew. Those that also heard whispers of the spirits. But she wasn't positive that was the reason she was called here. She found a spot in the middle of things and listened, watched and waited. It was a familiar routine that she knew was coming to an end. So just one more night she would let the galaxy come to her. Tomorrow it was a new life.

Open to interaction

 

[Red Mobius]

Arrived in: Lambda Shuttle

Wearing: Personal Mobius Armor


Brought shipments of: Kebiin Gal, Mobius Tihaar, Mandalorian Pemmican


Red didn't have a fancy catering service. What she did have was lots of alcohol and rations

And that's precisely what she brought to the bonfire party.

Even now, her ship cargo was being offloaded by service droids from her smith shop in Keldabe. Business was going good. The money was rolling in. Enough that she could start producing the little things on her Class Five Protected Transport ...

Red walked about the camps set up. She was still alone. Still looking for her missing clan. And not finding them.

After Yaga Minor, Red had gotten a tad more confidence. And after dozens and dozens of Mandalorians witnessing her decimating Zombie Hordes, there was less doubt in the minds of quite a few Mandalorians about whether she deserved her armor. Red wasn't in the loop about the whole Gravesong business, though. To her, she had just been fighting an army of zombies, and that had happened at least three times prior to that point in her life.

Her blue ale and her Clan's Tihaar recipe had become infamous in Enclave space before its dissolution. She had attached a sign bearing challenge to any willing to be brave: One free Mobius Shotgun to any who could make it past a few sips of either drink without becoming falling down drunk. Otherwise, whole bottles of the stuff was free for the taking, along with small boxes of Pemmican. (Fruit and meat variants)

Mobius felt her stomach growling and wandered over the catering area set up by Ze'bast Verd .

"The Nuna cuts look wonderful, Warmaster..." Red said out loud, taking off her helmet. Red still looked quite youthful, under the helmet

"I'd like to try one, please. Oh, and I'd be honored if you accepted this small bottle of Tihaar...my clan's recipe..." she said, placing a bottle of Mobius Tihaar on the counter.

"It's quite strong though...I knew a guy who said his face went completely numb after a single sip..." she said, the little yellow bottle gleaming in the bonfire light...


Aether Verd

Whottoomuzz Chantin

Adonis Angelis IV

Maiz Tor'val

Aren D'Shade

Liorra

Runi Kuryida

Delsin Shaw

 

[Rhys Swynol]

Objective: 1 - Lets get the Hunt on!
Equipment: Armour, Blaster rifle and blaster pistols
Appearance: Armoured
Tag: Open

The pirate lord, owner of Zinder the infamous galactic dating app, and THE devilishly handsome Mandalorian for all to admire, had heard of a new Mandalorian Empire making ground. Something tingled his senses that this wasn't just the same failed attempts of the past. There were treaties being discussed and Rhys had heard that they were expanding at an incredible rate. It was impressive to see and he was not going to be too late to the party, he didn't mind being a little late. That was fashionable, that was expected so that everyone realised that the infamous Rhys Swynol was taking the Empire and it's leader seriously.

Stepping off his ship, Rhys waved his hand to dismiss his band of pirates that he led, this was a Mandalorian affair and he would respect it as such. Only he was Mandalorian out of the crew, so this hunt would be his and his alone. Of course that didn't mean he was entering the hunt without a dramatic entrance. He had discovered the perfect song that would regal the grandeur of Rhys's arrival, echoing out to the Mandalorians that their favourite Zeltron warrior was finally home!

"When you call my name, it's like a little prayer!" Rhys sang loudly as the song echoed in his helmet, his body swayed in tune with the music as he danced his way forward. "I heard you call my name, and it feels like... home!" Rhys continued as he hummed in between each of the random lines of the song that he actually knew.

Looking around, he was wondering who else would be participating in the hunt, whether they would recognise the song that he was singing. He was sure it was something that had to be popular... Unless, unless he was once again on the cutting edge of popular music. It was something that Rhys always found himself burdened with, discovering new talents or hidden gems. Perhaps one day, he would be recognised for the genius that he was. It was such a hard burden to himself a hidden genius.

"Seems I am actually early for this hunt..." Rhys stated once his song ended, there didn't seem to be anyone hanging around. Perhaps his song had motivated them into action, he did have an inspirational singing voice. "Hmmmm..." Shrugging his shoulders, Rhys pulled out his pistols and headed forward, curious to see what he would find.

 

[Whottoomuzz Chantin]

"Kee bata do killee. Mi armor na wamma kouba… na hata mi tee paknee moulee rah."

His voice rose like an engine turning over—slow, deep, ancient.

The Hutt stirred slightly, shifting the weight of his bulk with the low rasp of phrik-on-stone. He turned his head to face the man who approached, golden disc-eyes reflecting the firelight and the cup in Adonis’s hand.

Not insulted. Not amused. Just present.

He let the silence stretch for a moment, measuring the man in front of him—not with suspicion, but recognition. A fellow outsider. Someone who had chosen Mandalore, or been claimed by it.

"Your words are not wrong. This armor was not made to honor the dead, but display the decadence of the living."

One massive hand gestured across the soot-caked engraving that once shone proudly with Chantin gold. The Hutt seemed to gaze at it with disgust. Not the dirt, but the electrum and precious metals underneath. The symbols had dulled, but not entirely faded.

A pause. A low rumble that might’ve been a sigh—or a growl that lost its edge.

"But it travels still."

Then, after a beat, he inclined his great head slightly, in something between thanks and solidarity.

He did not reach for his own goblet.

Adonis Angelis IV @Open​

 

[Azurine Varek]

To Honor the Fallen

Outfit: Clothing/Armor | Glove | Right Arm | Talisman | Purple Bracelet
Weapons: Lightsaber 1 [x] | Lightsaber 2 [x] | Hook Swords

Azurine had no idea if she had any right to be here. Frankly, she wouldn't be surprised if the Mand'alor himself, or anyone for that matter, decided to run her off the world by force. Nor did she intend to stop them if that's what they decided needed to be done. But when she'd heard that the invitation to attend the Feastfire on Kalevala had made its way to the Galactic Alliance, she felt like she had to go...

Because Archibald would have wanted her to.

It had been 900 years since she'd seen Arch. He was long dead now, yet she still found herself guilty every now and then that she had been unable to fulfill the promise she made to him to help him restore his clan when the Empire finally fell. Hell, Azzie never even got to witness its fall with her own eyes. She could only hope that he had succeeded, for however long they may have continued on for. Her amethyst gaze glanced down at the pin in her hand, the gift he'd given her so long ago. Lucky it hadn't been destroyed by weathering all that time she'd been in stasis.

"Family is more than blood..." She whispered the words he'd said to her before into the wind before taking a deep breath, placing the small crest back into her belt, and walking straight into the Feast. She knew quite a bit about Mandalorian culture by now, and courage in the face of what might be adversity was something they valued right alongside honor and respect. Which is why she also brought with her a gift for the sitting Mand'alor, a small vibroknife she'd won in her fight to take back her homeworld of Iridonia.

The irony wasn't lost on her, just as it wasn't back in the rebellion. Azzie was a proud Iridonian and a training Jedi, both of which had long histories of bad blood with Mandalorians from one war or another. Maybe, hopefully, things had changed over the course of the centuries she'd lost. She had always been one to believe that change could happen, and she held onto the hope that this group was no longer the people who'd devastated Keshi and Cathar.

As she approached the man, she did no hiding of herself, her tattoos, or her scars. She stood tall (well, as tall as one could for her stature) until face-to-face with him, dipping her head in respect and holding forward the knife. It was nothing special, but given the near death she'd been through fighting for the freedom of her world, it held a different kind of significance to it.

"Ni'akiye duum... uh... to'an, ijaatal Mand'alor." Azzie hoped her stumble with the words as she tried to put the proper words together wasn't actually as horrid as it felt. She was rather rusty with her Mando'a and wasn't exactly perfectly fluent with it to begin with.

If Arch were here, he'd probably laugh at me right about now... fitting.

Aether Verd | @OPEN​

 

[Ladante Mamba]

​

Clan Mamba Campsite

The festivities were firing up and Clan Mamba was there to represent the sable snake in the best way they knew how. Ladante, alor of Clan Mamba, stepped out of his tent to see his clan preparing a proper Mamba feast. A Mamba is known as a "chef with a handgun" among clans that have tasted their food. Trays of Clan Mamba dishes were being carried over to the bonfire to be served to the other vod. Some new glimmik boomed from a radio in the Mamba encampment.

As the trays were laid out, the lids were removed to reveal the food brought by Clan Mamba. Mamba fried endoorian chicken, fresh kibla greens, steaming cornbread, and cakes and pies of different varieties. Ladante looked over the bounty brought by his people with great pride and a growing hunger. Though, he had to wait. As is Clan Mamba tradition, other clans are to be fed first.

"I present to you, brothers and sisters, the bounty of Clan Mamba!" he bellowed out. After he spoke, some kegs were rolled out and set up. Clan Mamba brought 4, 3 with black ale and 1 with a mixed fruit juice. Had to cater to all who partake in the Clan Mamba feast.

Ze'bast Verd | Liorra | Aren D'Shade | Adonis Angelis IV | Runi Kuryida | Maiz Tor'val | Xasin Dyst​