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

[Whottoomuzz Chantin]

"Darthiir," he echoed, tasting the word with care. Perhaps similar to the Blighthounds he slayed alongside Itzhal Volkihar , perhaps different.
"I do not know this enemy. But I know the kind. Something vile birthed with hunger that outgrows their purpose."

The fire cracked. The gold of his armor flickered like distant pyres.

"We are alike, Maiz Tor’val. You speak of cities rebuilt. I remember palaces that have slowly decayed."

His voice did not carry bitterness, but a quiet melancholy.

"My kind believe in legacy carved in wealth. But yours—" he gave a subtle nod of respect, "—you speak of survival as something spiritual. Yours is the firmer stone."

He shifted his bulk slightly, enough to incline his head toward her seated form.

"You are bold to speak so plainly to me. But I am not offended. I am, in truth, comforted. I have had centuries to dwell on the life I was born into and the burdens I inherited. I sometimes long to be like the others here: short lived, brave, and proud."
And attractive. He had no idea why Xoff Chantin remained with him. He had once attempted to choose the female path (as any Hutt may choose freely) to better appeal to Xoff. But the Zeltron could sense his discomfort. Not at the presentation, but at the constant comparison of beauty he held within. He was happy that Jobbi Chantin had been raised with the confidence to carry herself as a woman even with her form of her birthright.

His gaze lingered on the fire too long, but his next words were for her:

"You carry your people's poise with you. That is not a gift. It is a burden well-balanced. It fits you."

He paused for a long breath, then added with the faintest undertone of humor—like stone cracking open just enough to let warmth through:

"And I do not think you would fall to me in battle, Princess. Not without marking me first."

Maiz Tor'val | @Open​

 

[Sanguina Krev]

​

Objective II

Standing before the tall young woman, Sanguina found her to be even more intriguing. She was unlike the others. The statuesque redhead had the poise of a warrior, but her eyes were far from the things of war and carnal pleasures. They were deep green pools, contemplative...knowing.

"I can see." Sanguina answered, after the woman introduced herself, offering insight to that which brought her to the firefeast, and what made her hesitant. "The spirits, you say?"

The mystic eyed up close the hints of intricate designs inked on the woman's exposed coppery skin, Mandalorian runes, etchings speaking of lineage, as if the heritage in her blood was inked upon her flesh. The light gray, curious eyes moved to Xasin's only piece of armor. The elaborate breastplate was as beautiful as it was functional, certainly. It was also cut with runes, but not Mandalorian, something older. Sanguina could not decipher them fully, only that they spoke of spirits of woods and mountains, water and earth and beasts of the fields.

Stepping forward boldly, a finger reached to trace some of those etchings, feeling the cool beskar beneath her permanently blood-stained digit. Sanguina discerned that the woman before her was a dichotomy, the runes betrayed it. Xisan was of two worlds.

"You aren't meant to fit in, Xasin. You are... special." The shaman suggested. "But that doesn't mean you don't belong. Do I look like them?" She asked, her arms spreading out, as if to invite scrutiny. "Yet I am here, and pleased to be among the vod." The woman asked with a smirk. She looped he arm around the larger, more muscular bicep of the younger mandalorian, coaxing the woman to join her.

"Come, let's get you something to drink. This is a night for tales, but I am not interested in the stories of battle. I want to hear about the girl in the breastplate who speaks with the spirits." Sanguina grinned mischeivously.

Tag: Xasin Dyst , OPEN

 

[Maiz Tor'val]

"Their purpose is only to consume and destroy," Maiz added as mild correction, but more as agreement with the mighty Hutt. The Elamshan thought nothing of whatever the Darthiir meant to accomplish in their beginnings; their conflict had drawn on too long and been too impassioned for consideration. The galaxy would rue the day they provided their ilk the means to leave Elamsha.

His thoughts on being short-lived were a bit of a surprise to Maiz, however. Her brow drew together slightly above her nose. Was he not already brave and proud? There were Elamshan, of course, that suffered set backs. Some lost everything in the war, or in making a bad investment. Some even had to toil in service of others for a time despite their station. Their pride, however, wouldn't permit them to languish; though the men did have it the hardest back home while the women held ultimate authority.

The black woman grinned at Whottoomuzz's considerate words. "The women of Elamsha fight to the last." She certainly would make sure to mark the Hutt even if he managed to best her in battle. His self-deprecation or humility might suggest he was not the galaxy's greatest warrior, but she still could not imagine such a formidable looking creature as being weak. "Victory is never known until the end. Every action has its place. My people do not know the concepts of war as you in this galaxy do, Whottoomuzz of the Chantin Kajidic. We know only..." her blue eyes narrowed a hair and looked off to the side for a moment, "Total War." Her gaze returned to the Hutt as she recalled the phrase; and with it with a triumphant smile. Was the smile for remembering the new phrase, or pride in their embrace of unrelenting warfare?

"The Darthiir showed no mercy, nor did we in turn. Our greatest were forced to destroy our moon to end the reign of terror of their orbital weaponry," which was another term she'd only just learned. In fact, the people of Elamsha had only learned of what 'orbit' meant recently -- and that was by far not common knowledge yet. They could literally ascend to the heavens? Visually lay eyes on the Goddesses (planets)? It worried some that outsiders might set foot on a Goddess and draw her wrath.

She pointed at the Hutt before her, "You bear a burden of your own." An effort was made to turn in her seat to look at those around them. "There are many here. Not of our own. Not kin. Perhaps... allies?" Maiz looked back at Whottoomuzz. "Strange battlefields. Strange worlds. But companions can help carry even the heaviest burdens."

Whottoomuzz Chantin ​

 

[Ladante Mamba]

The last of the trays were set out and plates were being made by the dozens. Such a sight warmed Ladante's generous heart. He grabbed a mug of black ale and walked the bonfire grounds. The fire crackled with such power. It's warmth against his skin was calming. He took a good chug of his ale was followed by a heavy belch. The voice of Mandalore caught his attention. Ladante smiled warmly.

"I'd sooner let a patient die than to let you go without a plate, Brother Verd! It will be ready and waiting for you." He then turned to his clan. "One of y'all fix Mand'alor a plate." Once he confirmed someone was getting food together for Mand'alor, he looked off in the distance and could see a young girl on the ground off by herself. He went over to investigate, his healing nature beckoning him to go. He saw the bottle at her said and assumed she was a drunk at first. But, she was so young. Maybe she had more than she could handle. He would be remiss to just leave her there.

He bent down on one knee and slowly put his hand on her shoulder and shook her gently. "Hey, are you awake? You still with us?" He pressed two fingers on her neck, checking her pulse. Her heartbeat was steady and strong so he continued trying to wake her.

Aether Verd | Aren D'Shade



​

 

[Runi Kuryida]

"Haa cha!" Runi immediately took the first step in a new dance at Delsin Shaw 's desire for a faster pace. It wouldn't be slightly faster either. She'd go straight to its customary pace, which was not superhuman by any means, but it was designed to break a sweat even without the fire's company. To keep up the rhythm required a participant not to waste any movement. Some would call it grace, others dexterity. Whatever attribute one liked to apply to the situation, the martial tradition required a fluidity of its own to show the true skill of the dancer.

The Shaman wasn't about to use this as a way to embarrass Delsin, of course. If he showed signs of gradual improvement -- or sudden improvement -- she'd keep up the pace; but if he required more time to be acclimated then she'd slow it down enough for him to work toward it. Much like their training, educating someone in Mandalorian dance required practice not theory. Verbal instruction was for philosophy and science, not more instinctual activities.

 

[Kayla Ordo-Shan]

Objective II: Feastfire

Kayla sat away from the tightest ring of warriors, on a worn log half-buried in the grass and ash. In the blaze's flickering reach, she turned the battered shoulder plate strapped to her shoulder-Clan Ordo's sigil still clear beneath the scratches and sand pitted into its surface.

Her father's pauldron. The only piece she carried and it was not even hers, it was his.

She ran a thumb along the shallow dent near the crest-a place where something had struck it once, a bit before she was born. She remembered touching it as a child, perched in his lap while he spoke about something she was too young to understand.

The fire snapped-laughter rose in a circle beyond her.

The Mandalorians did not fear hard truths. They respected scars. Least that was what she was told, but, her dad was never good at stories. Yet she feared something deeper: that the name Ordo had never truly belonged on her shoulder at all.

"A child of Ordo who cannot name her line aloud…"

She heard her father's voice in her mind, but softer now. She turned about, unsure if her ancestors were playing her once more, yet, they remained silent. Unusually so.

She drew in a breath, steady and slow. Her fingers closed around the strap still bolted to the pauldron's inner edge. She imaged each of the warriors had earned their own markings on the armor; Imperial scraps, scavenged alloys, battle paint faded by alien suns. But this one piece was all she had left.

She would find an opening by the fire, and sit, looking up to the others in the hopes she would remain unseen; though that was doubtful.

Now sat a grey eyed girl, with a lone plate of beskar on her arm, and the tension of a towing cable in her shoulders.

Maybe it would be just fine...

Tags: Open

 

[Xasin Dyst]

Feastfire

Location: Bonfire Grounds, Kalevala Wilderness​

Xasin blushed a bit as Sanguina sized her up. It was a strange thing. In her village everyone knew the person next to them, and there was no judgment or assessments necessary. One was who they were. And anyone who stayed in the village was mostly of a like mind to follow the whispers of the spirits of the forest.

Sanguina did seem to see that there would be a fight within Xasin, which brought a smirk to the tall redhead's lips. The question of the spirits widened the smirk.

"I think you have knowledge of the spirits," Xasin responded with a bit of amusement in her tone. Was Sanguina trying to pull information out of her? Surely she would not think that Xasin wouldn't recognize another receiver of the spirits.

The elder mystic looked closer at Xasin. The younger woman may have taken offense if she hadn't noted that Sanguina's focus seemed to be her tattoos and the etchings on her armor. Conflicting ideologies, tattoos of her Mandalorian heritage and etchings upon her second skin of the peaceful runes of the forest. They were a source of pride for Xasin so she did not mind the attention.

As Sanguina's hand reached up towards her, Xasin's hand started towards her side where her hammer rested. But the spirits assured her this was not a threat. As fingers stained red digits ran along the etchings, Xasin gave a slow intake of breath. The action was almost intimate. As if Sanguina could tell who Casin was by feeling her armor.

The other woman's words about belonging, but not fitting in made a lot of sense. This was the dawning of a new time among the Mandalorians. The spirits bid her to be a part of it. And that meant she couldn't just sit around and watch this gathering.

"I am eager to swap stories. Should we partake in the drinking challenge? With the aid of the spirits I know I can pass," Xasin gave Sanguina a mischievous grin. "I will wager that your stories are much more interesting than mine, but I am an open book eager to be read."

Tag: Sanguina Krev | OPEN

 

[Mig Gred]

Objective 2

Mig watched as the twins ran around, catching Souma using a quick Force tug to catch Illy off guard. In each other’s heads all the time, but could still sneak things by each other. He just smiled, shaking his head before noticing a someone sitting there, seeming to be deep in thought. Maybe even worried. They only wore a pauldrin on their shoulder. It was one of the times he wished his own Force skills were more mental than physical. Then again it meant he had to learn how to talk.

He took off his own helmet, rubbing his cybernetic eye a bit before speaking up. “Credit for your thoughts, ad (kid)?” He asked, not trying to patronize her by using “ad.” Simply keep things easy at the event. He then sighed. “Can tell something’s eating you.”

Kayla Ordo-Shan

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Objective II: Feastfire
Tagging: Ladante Mamba

The noise of revelry started trickling into her senses, and then she could tell there was a figure next to her. A man was trying to wake her up. Opening her eyes slowly, one of her hands moved to her forehead and rubbed at it slightly. Letting out a groan, she nodded and almost whimpered.

"What happened? I took a drink, and you're the next thing I see. Thank you."

Speaking barely above a whisper because it hurt to move, Aren lay on the ground and just breathed. She ran a mental diagnosis over her body and discovered it was fine. Just her head hurt. Like she's had several too many drinks and not enough food or water.

Both were probably accurate, but she wasn't thinking of either one.

"My head feels like it's been stepped on a bantha."

 

[Ze'bast Verd]

BONFIRE BEFORE THE STORM​

OBJECTIVE II: FEASTFIRE - KALEVALA

Ze’bast would occasionally look up from the grill to see the many that were gathered. It was the most positive excitement he had seen in some time. Many still wore their helms like himself while others truly could see the joy on their faces. It was enough to remind him of what they fought for, and the effort that was put behind their struggle. Fighting for Mandalore for him was worth the risks. Many Mandalorians made sure they could have times like these. New blood coming in was always a time to celebrate.

As he flipped a filet, he lifted his head to see a familiar warrior. One that had found themselves within the same conflicts. A warrior and artist similar to himself that prided on their work with weaponry. He provided a single head nod.

“Much obliged. Getting away from the taste of rations is a service I don’t get to provide often. I have a Nuna cut right here with your name, Forgemaster.”

He would carefully place the meat on a plate before sprinkling a bit more seasoning on top. Ze’bast would pass Red the plate with utensils on the side. The man would grab the bottle to make sure it didn’t grow legs. He would place it in a drop pouch for later.

“A trade then. We can’t let good alcohol go to waste. Don’t think it’ll make it much longer. I’ve been known to hold my alcohol like a baby bantha holds milk. Thanks, Lady Red. Enjoy!” he stated as he attempted to shoo her away.

The next comment from Aether caused him to almost fling a nuna cut off the grill. A sigh permeated through his rebreather. Mand’alor knew him too well. That was going to be next on the docket list. He would leave that for someone else. Ze’bast had made enough that there was plenty to go around. All he needed to do was turn the flame down to keep it warm. Everything else could be left to the droids.

Taking Mand’alor’s advice was sufficient enough for him. No complaining would come from him. The steaks were cooked and he didn’t have anything else that needed to be done with them. He would step away.


“Mand’alor, you’re being too generous. My steaks don’t hold a candle to Clan Mamba’s cooking. Generations of honing can’t be by replication. Something about a selection of food, served together, has brought the finest of outcomes.”

Ze’bast always meant what he said. His words weren’t ever a thing that he took for granted. The only gripe he had was to figure out what to do. One’s definition of rest was objective.


TAGS: Aether Verd / Ladante Mamba / Red Mobius

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

OBJECTIVE II - FEASTFIRE

The bottle arrived with a soft whir of droid wings, settled in his hand with the weight of promise. Aether turned it gently, inspecting the label with the practiced curiosity of a man who had seen too many wars and not enough celebrations. The color shimmered like molten crystal in the firelight.

“Well now,” he muttered with a grin, raising the bottle toward Red across the fire. “Mobius Tihaar. Bold enough to burn a hole through durasteel and sweet enough to make you thank it after.”

He uncorked the bottle and brought it to his lips, sampling the potent blend. The taste struck first with fire, then with something smoother beneath...a memory of orchard bloom, chased by vengeance. He exhaled sharply, eyes wide with exaggerated reverence.

“By the gods… If I drank more of this, the stars might blink out from respect alone. I’d join the contest, but when I win, we’ll all be cursed with my ego until the next century!” He let the joke hang in the warm air, laughter rising nearby as though in response.

Just then, a plate arrived in the capable hands of one of Ladante’s clanmates. Aether accepted it gratefully, nodding his thanks in the direction of the man himself.

“Oh feth yes.” he said, eyes gleaming.

He tucked into the food with the same respect he gave to battle. His fork raised like a weapon, appetite sharpened by fire and fellowship. The first bite coaxed a low groan of satisfaction from his throat. Whatever seasoning Ze’bast had used, it danced across his tongue like a trained fighter. He shoveled in another mouthful, but the sound of concern tugged him out of his reverie.

Across the fire, Aren lay crumpled in the grass, her drink abandoned beside her. Aether quickly swallowed and wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his glove.

“Haran,” he murmured, then called across the way. “Good looking out Ladante, thank you."

Turning toward Ze’bast, he held out the Tihaar bottle with a crooked smile.

“You've got to try this.” he offered. “But sip slow, brother. It'll knock you on your ass fast enough to make the ground feel personal.”

He gave a nod of camaraderie, then caught the approach of another figure: Xasin, tall and etched with runes, her presence unmistakable. Sanguina was already engaging her, and he wouldn’t intrude on the gravity of their exchange. Still, his voice lifted just enough to reach her over the firelight.

“Xasin. Your presence strengthens the flame. If either of you find yourselves wanting company beyond spirits and smoke, my fire is open.”

He returned to his seat, one hand wrapped around the plate, the other lifting the bottle again...but this time only to rest it beside him. His gaze swept the clearing.

Delsin and Runi had found rhythm, their movements deliberate, steeped in ritual and grace. He watched them spin, a warrior’s tale told not through words, but through footfalls and firelight.

Nearby, Whottoomuzz and Maiz exchanged stories rich with legacy and sorrow, survivors speaking across the gulf of worlds. Aether respected that exchange. Not all diplomacy was done with titles and treaties. Some of it was found in the space between bites, in the telling of pain.

He lifted his eyes across the ring. Siv was watching, as he always did, always calculating. Mig was present too, helm off, eyes on a younger soul.

And then Aether saw her.

Through the dancing flames, framed by shadow and smoke, sat a girl. Alone, armor sparse, eyes heavy. He did not know her name, but he knew the weight she carried. It was etched into the slope of her shoulders, wrapped in silence like a second skin.

Rising from his seat, Aether stepped around the fire and toward her.

He didn’t come with pomp or presence. Just the quiet certainty of a leader who knew the importance of a single ember in a cold night.

He stopped just short of her seat and asked gently, “You eaten yet?” His voice was kind, steady. “Plenty still hot, and none of it worth missing.”

His words weren’t a command. Just a hand held out in spirit.

The fire cracked behind him. The music carried on. And Mandalore waited for an answer.​

Siv Kryze , Aren D'Shade , Red Mobius , Ladante Mamba , Sanguina Krev , Xasin Dyst , Maiz Tor'val , Whottoomuzz Chantin , Runi Kuryida , Delsin Shaw , Kayla Ordo-Shan , Mig Gred + Open

 

[Liorra]

Liorra wasn't sure who had just spoken to her like they were long-lost friends, but she arched a brow and quickly decided to tiptoe in the opposite direction. Considering they were deep in conversation with a... Hutt? Yeah, that was enough of a sign for her to make her exit.

She let the conversation fade behind her as she took a few steps away, her boots silent on the ground as she moved through the crowd. Maybe it had been a bad idea to show up here in the first place. She didn't recognize a single face, and the unfamiliarity gnawed at her in a way she hadn't expected. She thought she wanted to be around other Mandalorians, to feel a sense of belonging, but all she felt was more lost than ever. It was as if she was in a room full of people who spoke her language, wore the same armor, and followed the same creed, but none of them knew her. None of them understood the weight of the years spent wandering, searching for something that felt like home.

Liorra paused for a moment, her hand brushing the side of her beskad's hilt, and stared at the gathering around her. Maybe it was just easier to keep moving, keep running. But that wasn't the answer, was it? She'd already learned that lesson the hard way. So why had she come here, if not to find something more?

As the murmurs of the crowd surrounded her, Liorra's mind wandered back to Romi, the one person who had always been there when things were rough. A thread of hope pulled at her. She was close enough to Galactic Alliance space now; surely, someone might know where Romi Jade had gotten off to. Her fingers tightened on the beskad, the familiar weight reminding her of the promises she'd made to herself.

There were too many things left unsaid. Too many answers she still needed. Maybe finding Romi was the next step, maybe that was what would give her the clarity she needed.

Liorra glanced over her shoulder, only to see the Hutt and the over-friendly stranger still engrossed in their conversation. With a final sigh, she straightened her posture and turned away, heading toward the exit of the gathering, the soft hum of voices fading behind her. She wasn't sure what she was looking for, but she knew this wasn't it. Not yet.

[Thread Exit]​

 

[Ladante Mamba]

Once she started coming to, Ladante put on a warm smile. "Here, drink this." He reached for a flask of water attached to his belt and gave it to the girl. "Easy now. Think you had a bit too much of the sauce now." Her small frame couldn't have helped with holding the alcohol either. He beckoned one of his clanmates over and to bring a plate of food.

"What's your name, sister?" he asked, wanting to make sure she remembered. His clanmate walked up holding a plate of cornbread. "This should help you get your strength back." he said as he held the plate in front of her.

Aren D'Shade
​

 

[Kayla Ordo-Shan]

The man sat beside her, and set to asking questions. To which, Kayla just wanted to curl up into a ball and hide away.

Maybe if she hadn't quit training, she could have....

"I'm not even sure where to start..."

Kayla lifted her gaze when his shadow fell across the flicker of her solitude. For a moment, she didn't speak; maybe it was just a passer by. Then the shadow lingered.

She shifted, resting her forearms loosely across her knees. The battered Clan Ordo pauldron at her shoulder caught the firelight-she pondered if some old feud was to be taken out on her now.

You eaten yet?

The question settled deeper than she expected. Partly because she had not expected that.

A dry, breath-soft laugh escaped her; the closest thing to warmth she'd let slip since arriving on world.
"Not yet," she admitted, voice rough around the edges from too many silent nights and too few kind words. She tapped two fingers lightly against the old metal plate on her shoulder, a gesture rooted from her habits, and attempt to ground herself. The other padawans never took to her either, growing up. Grey eyes really weren't everyone's type.

Her eyes flicked to the flames, then back to him- weary, but warming.
"I didn't want to take more than I'd earned. Which...is...nothing from what I understand."

A beat passed, quiet but not awkward; least for her. In all honestly, all she had to go off of about her family legacy was some out of context stories, and a Wookiepedia article. She was not exactly informed. She pushed up from the log in a single fluid motion, the embers catching the faint silver streaks in her eyes.


"But…I won't say no." Her mouth tugged toward a faint grin that didn't quite reach her eyes but tried. "My name is Kayla, of Clan Ordo...my father never...taught me about the culture."

Tags: Aether Verd Mig Gred

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Objective II: Feastfire
Tagging: Ladante Mamba

She accepted the water with whatever amount of grace and thanks a woman can show while lying on her back on the ground. Any dignity Aren had was a long shot, but she didn't think that mattered right now.

"I had one sip of that."

Pointing to the bottle given to her by Red Mobius , she shook her head gently.

"Never tasted anything like it and probably won't again. Te'Haar? I can take that just fine. No more tonight, though. I think I'll stick to the water. Thank you very much. Ugh."

Carefully taking one of the pieces of cornbread, her eyes rolled up in her head as she chewed on the flaky delicacy.

"This is heaven. Are you sure I didn't die? I'm Aren D'Shade. Who are you, my knight in armor?"

 

[Sanguina Krev]

​

Objective II

Sanguina grinned wryly at the tall woman's comments. "Yes, I do know a thing or two about spirits..." the shaman replied coyly. It was clear that both the young redhead and the older Spiritspeaker shared a common connection with that which was not of the material world, nor of the Force, though that energy flowed through the spirits just as it did all things. Xasin's relationship to that spirit world piqued Sanquina's curiosity. If she had only a few drops of her blood, The blood shaman could discern much about her new companion.

"Drinking challenge?" The Spirtspeaker replied with a quirked brow and a smirk. Xasin's initial hesitation was gone, replaced by a more relaxed demeanor that showed some spunk. "I like your courage, Xasin." The pair made their way towards the drinks that Red Mobius had set out, daring her vod to sample them.

"Stories, we can both share. That is the Mandalorian way, we inspire and encourage one another with them. But the things I want to know, we can discuss by the fire, after having a drink." Sanguina suggested.

She paused a short distance from the table. Taking the knife from her belt, Sanquina made a very small cut on the pad of her thumb with the razor edge. A small bead of dark blood welled up. The woman mumbled a few cryptic syllables over the wound. She looked up at Xasin with mischief in her light gray eyes. Then she lifted her hand and opened her mouth, letting the drop of blood drip onto her tongue.

"I have my way of soliciting the help of the spirits..." She quipped. "Now, lets try this Mobius drink that bites like a serpent's venom." Sanquina winked holding her thumb towards Xasin, offering the temporarily enchanted vitae. "...unless you have your own way of gaining aid to your fortitude from the spirits."

Tag: Xasin Dyst , OPEN

 

[Adonis Angelis IV]

Objective II
Tag: Ladante Mamba Aren D'Shade

On his way to the fire, Adonis caught the scent of food and turned his head just in time to spot the spread. It hit him all at once, he should probably eat something. This was a marathon, not a sprint.

He veered toward the feast, following the scent of spiced meats and fresh bread. His buzz hadn't worn off, not quite, but clarity was creeping back in around the edges. Mandalorians drank like it was a second religion, Adonis had noticed that early on.

He'd been drunk before, sure. Back on Vaal, sipping fine wines at his father's parties while old men droned about land rights and shipping tariffs. But this? This was real drunkenness. The kind that came with singing, bruises, and waking up with a plate still in your lap. And for the first time, he understood it... why they drank, why they celebrated. When the galaxy burned and war stalked your every step, you grabbed whatever joy you could find before it turned to ash.

He grabbed a plate and dug in. Whatever Clan Mamba had cooked up, it was divine. Spiced chicken, rich greens, a slice of cornbread that practically melted on his tongue. It blew MREs out of the water- and if he was honest, it beat most of what the chefs back at the estate used to plate for dinner.

His head was already clearer by the time he finished. He scanned the crowd, spotting Ladante nearby, crouched beside someone on the ground. Concern tugged at Adonis's focus. At first, he moved to thank the man for the meal, but the scene shifted his footing- he quickened his pace instead, concern overtaking courtesy.

As he got closer, he saw the young woman stirring. A familiar yellow bottle sat beside her.

His eyes dropped to the same kind of bottle still in his hand.

He blinked.
Then blinked again.
Am I next?

Adonis stared at it like it might lunge at him, suddenly very aware of the burn still lingering in his throat.

He looked to Ladante. "Is she alright?" he asked, motioning gently toward the girl. His tone wasn't panicked- just present. He'd meant to say thank you, to compliment the food, but now all he could do was make sure someone else wasn't about to go face-first into the dirt like he almost had.

And maybe…wait a bit before sip number two.

 

[Mig Gred]

Mig looked at the woman, noticing the Ordo paldron. He then heard Aether, giving a slight nod before thinking back on everything. Kayla Ordo. He'd known a few of her clan in his time. And her father never taught her about being a Mandalorian. That was... odd. Still, the Gred took a breath as he thought of what to say. Well other than an introduction. "Mig. Clan Gred." He then thought of something. Maybe it would help. Maybe not. He could never fully tell till he said it.

"Some would probably want to hang me for this, but in my time I've noticed that while we all have our core tenets of what makes a Mandalorian, the actual culture is as different as all the planets out there. Whether by location, house, clan, sometimes even individuals." He said, nodding towards her. He really hoped she was getting his point. "I've watched my own clan shift from farmers keeping our heads down because the Mand'alor of the time wouldn't approve of our own traditions for Force training, to a space borne clan working more closely with spacers and freed slaves within our fleet than vode (siblings, other Mandalorians in this case)." Ok maybe that'd sound like a brag, but it wasn't an easy thing by any means. But he hoped she would see what he was trying to get at though. A lot of Mandalorian culture was just too varied to really hone in on. Especially when survival became key, or his own avoidance, and sometimes active defiance of, crusades in the past. "And as far as food's concerned, you're alive and here. As much as anyone needs to earn it in my book."

Kayla Ordo-Shan Aether Verd

 

[Ladante Mamba]

Ladante laughed heartily at her question. Not too often one gets called a knight in armor. "No ma'am, just a man who cares for those in need." he responded. He looked over at the beverage she was speaking of. He inspected the bottle, recognizing it as one of the one's from the contest. It did as it was inteded to do then. He wasn't surprised she couldn't handle it. She was small and lithe, not one for drinking games of Mandalorians.

"You can call me Dante and I'm glad my clan's food can make you feel better." he said before rising to his feet, offering her a hand to her feet as well.

He turned to the approaching Mandalorian. "She's going to be just fine. Juice was just a little too strong for her."

Aren D'Shade | Adonis Angelis IV
​

 

[Xasin Dyst]

Feastfire

Location: Bonfire Grounds, Kalevala Wilderness​

Sanguina confirmed her knowledge of the spirits. It was something that was quite obvious, but having it out there meant they could share their stories on a level different from the gathered warriors and visitors. Looking at Sanguina it was obvious that she would have different stories from Xasin, but that was good for the younger Spiritspeaker. Getting into the galaxy was about learning more than her isolated village could teach.

Xasin's interest in the drinking contest seemed to amuse Sanguina. The younger woman wasn't sure if that was a good sign or bad. There were spells that could be woven that would limit the effect of alcohol on a being. Xasin considered if it would be proper to do so, or if it would be better to accept the full consequences of her decision and better fit in with the crowd.

Xasin allowed herself to be led to the offerings Red Mobius . She paused when Sanguina paused and gave a nod. "Let's enjoy the fire then," Xasin said with a smile.

To say Xasin was captivated by Sanguina's piercing herself and blessing the blood was an understatement. The mischievous look the elder Spiritspeaker gave made Xasin exhale and tilt her head waiting for what would come next. Sanguina would notice a mix of excitement and anxiety as to what would happen. Sanguina dripped the blood into her mouth and explained that was how she received the help of the spirits. It was odd to Xasin, but not entirely shocking. Blood holds properties just like the wind and the land and the living things that live on it. Blood was essential, it made sense that it would hold secrets.

The offer of Sanguina's blood was something that Xasin had to consider for a moment. Her own spell would take a moment to conjure, and the blood was right there. If the blood were tainted, Sanguina likely wouldn't do it in front of so many."My way is a little more time consuming. Let's try yours this time," Xasin said, bending down and sticking out her tongue to accept Sanguina's offer.

Once she received the offering Xasin would nod and evaluate the effects as they continued on towards the table where Red Mobius had her drinks ready for challengers.

Tag: Sanguina Krev | OPEN