Faction The Great Forge of Mandalore - Summer, 902 ABY [ME]

Beskar · Aug 25, 2026

THE GREAT FORGE OF MANDALORE
"Your Might is a Dragon. Feed It."

KELDABE, MANDALORE
OUTER RIM TERRITORIES

As the Mandalorian Empire continued to stretch across the stars, restoring its heart remained at the forefront of its priorities. With each victory and every conquest, Mandalore began to feel like itself once more. The scars left by Sith occupation fifty years ago had been mended, while the wounds inflicted by Jedi manipulation generations before had finally begun to heal. Now, the hour had come to restore one of the most pivotal pieces of Mandalore's soul.

The Great Forge.

For eons, the Great Forge of Mandalore had served as the engine through which generations of Mandalorians forged themselves for war. Its fires had birthed countless suits of beskar'gam, its anvils had shaped weapons carried into battle, and its halls had witnessed the forging of bonds that endured long after the fires had cooled. Destroyed a lifetime ago, the ancient forge had been painstakingly restored by the Empire, its foundations rebuilt and its machinery returned to working order. Now, the clans had gathered to witness the slumbering behemoth awaken once more.

Yet the Great Forge had never been merely a place where Mandalorians armed themselves for battle. It had always been a gathering place for the people of Mandalore, a place where history was taught, skill was tested, weapons were improved, and connections were forged between warriors who might otherwise have never crossed paths. It was as much a cornerstone of Mandalorian community as it was an engine of war.

In times past, it had not been uncommon to see flocks of Mandalorian children roaming through its halls, their curiosity carrying them from one corner of the great complex to another as they poked their heads wherever they could and watched the work of the forge with wide eyed fascination. Veterans could often be found teaching young initiates how to wield a blade, how to improve their aim, or how to carry themselves with the discipline expected of a warrior. Victors returning from recent battles would gather with tihaar in hand, trading stories and laughter while their battered beskar'gam was repaired by the artisans who had spent their lives mastering the craft.

And, of course, the Great Forge was where each Mandalorian could be paired with their own Basilisk War Droid, continuing a tradition that stretched back through the ages and connecting the warriors of the present to those who had ridden into battle long before them.

Today, that tradition began anew.

The first fires roared to life within the restored chambers, their orange glow spilling across ancient stone and newly forged metal as heat once again radiated through halls that had known only silence for far too long. The roar of the flames filled the forge alongside the rhythmic symphony of hammers striking metal, machinery grinding into motion, and voices carrying between the great chambers.

The Great Forge was alive once more.

For the first time in a lifetime, the heart of Mandalore burned again, and with it, the soul of the people was made whole once more.

THE GREAT FORGE

The furnaces roar with renewed life.

The chamber is bathed in orange light as molten beskar flows through channels carved into ancient stone. Smiths work beneath the watchful eyes of their teachers, shaping metal that will become armor, weapons, tools, and heirlooms for generations to come.

This is where Mandalorians come to learn the ancient craft of their people. Initiates can learn to work beskar beneath experienced smiths, warriors can commission new weapons or have their beskar'gam reforged, and those seeking something more personal can witness the ancient chambers where Basilisk War Droids are born.

Make your mark! Forge something worthy of Mandalore. Learn the craft, commission a weapon, improve your beskar'gam, or assist a smith. Witness the birth of a Basilisk War Droid or even discover whether one of these ancient machines will accept you as its rider.

THE WARRIOR'S FLOOR

The hammers are not the only things that ring through the Forge.

Beyond the main furnaces lies a sprawling training hall where warriors have gathered for generations to test themselves against one another. Training droids have been restored alongside racks of beskads, vibroblades, blasters, and other weapons, while the walls remain scarred by countless generations who came here to sharpen their skills.

Veterans instruct initiates. Rivals settle old arguments through sparring. Warriors experiment with unfamiliar weapons, while others seek advice from those who have spent decades mastering their craft. There is no battlefield here and no expectation that every contest must end with a victor. The Warrior's Floor exists so that Mandalorians can become better warriors together.

Test yourself! Spar with another warrior, seek instruction from a veteran, teach an initiate, experiment with a new weapon, or simply find someone willing to discover who is actually better at fighting.

HALL OF THE ANCESTORS

The Forge remembers.

Beyond the roar of the furnaces sits a quieter chamber filled with relics from Mandalore's long history. Ancient suits of beskar'gam rest beside weapons carried by forgotten warriors. Clan banners hang from the walls, some belonging to houses that still thrive today and others belonging to clans whose names have survived only within the records of the Forge.

Holorecords recount ancient battles. Carvings preserve forgotten traditions. Genealogies stretch across the walls, while artifacts recovered from the ruins of Mandalore offer fragments of stories that were nearly lost forever.

Discover what came before. Search for the history of your clan. Listen to an elder recount an ancient battle. Tell your own stories. Investigate a relic whose origins have been forgotten. Or simply wander the Hall and consider what it means to inherit a legacy that stretches back thousands of years.

FOUNDRY COMMONS

The Forge was never meant to be silent.

The chambers surrounding the great furnaces have been transformed into a sprawling communal space where Mandalorians can eat, drink, trade stories, and simply exist among their own people. Long tables fill the open halls beneath clan banners, with food and tihaar passed between warriors while smiths continue their work nearby.

Warriors arrive after training. Artisans gather when their work is finished. Veterans tell stories that become more impressive with every retelling, while children wander through the halls with more curiosity than supervision. Clan representatives meet over meals, and strangers become acquaintances simply because they happened to sit beside one another.

Spend time among the clans. Share a meal, trade stories, meet members of an unfamiliar clan, participate in an impromptu game, settle an old rivalry, make a new friend, or simply enjoy having somewhere within the Empire where Mandalorians from across the Galaxy can gather together.

BRING YOUR OWN STORY

Your Legend is being forged in fire.

The Great Forge is vast, and its restored halls offer countless opportunities beyond the locations listed above. Explore forgotten chambers. Seek out a particular smith. Bring your family to see the Forge for the first time. Investigate something uncovered during the restoration. Meet members of another clan. Follow a rumor. Find an old friend. Create a new tradition.

If it makes sense for your character to pursue it within the Great Forge, it belongs here. This is Mandalore's restored heart, and there is plenty of room for the stories of its people to grow alongside it!

Xandross Poize

Sharloe

Morkan Shuva

Gavin Vel
Daniel Tobian

Maia
@Vojövif Fett

Sylor

Kivah

Sev Notimo

Kyran Thaln
@Coranth Renth

Cabur

Fiore

Kyramud Kass Holliday
@Ekka Batari

Colton Renth
@Prisoner #36929

Mao

Alden Akaran
@Kael Varr

Hrist

Niijima Izumi

Vael Saren

Elian Abrantes

Serrik Skirata
@Astella Verd

Quinn Varanin

Ivalyn Yvarro

Rowyna Galeway

Xerxes Verd
@Tessa Thayne

Mia Monroe

Azen Kast

Cyran Vaas

Cabur Nau'ur
@Kotak Vikar'Ranov

Avast Verd

Pal Veda
@Dral Kar'taal

Zurak Bruul
@Ajalurk-Chaidth Kryze
@Arden Priest

Inez

Sidonia

Maur

Ferris Skirata

Veyla Krinn

Renn Vizsla

Perseus

Hubert Starhopper
E erida Lok

Acier Moonbound
@Colden Renth
@Domina Prime

Elira Verd
@Viera

Nando
@Tin
@Serra Toss

Palladium
@Songsteel

Kassandra Beskar'ad

Liorra

Conrad

Reshim

Red Mobius

Suleiman Lok
@Kyrida Verd

Jiriad Galaar

Kandosii Ka'rta
@Manti Wyrvhor

Mia Monroe

Ladante Mamba
R raef Malstadt

CT-312

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

Liorra · Aug 25, 2026

Tags: Open

Liorra probably should not be here.

She knew that. She was also here anyway, standing in the middle of a forge, foundry, workshop, whatever the correct word was, in Keldabe, which she had not exactly been frequenting lately. But the deed had happened, and the rooftop had happened, and apparently what her brain had decided to do with all of that emotional weight was bring her somewhere she could stand next to molten metal and call it processing.

She was aware of how that sounded.

For all the self-awareness, though, she genuinely thought this might be useful. She had something to make, had been turning the idea over for a while now, and she had something to practice. The heating-things-up ability. Thermokinesis, if she was using the right word, which she wasn't entirely sure about. It had been emerging on its own terms for months now, showing up uninvited in moments she'd rather it didn't, and she figured a forge was maybe the one place in the galaxy where uncontrolled heat was at least contextually appropriate.

She looked around, got her bearings, and decided this was a perfectly reasonable decision.

Veyla Krinn · Aug 25, 2026

THE GREAT FORGE

Veyla Krinn had known the sound of a forge for nearly as long as she could remember. There had been mornings on Concordia when she awakened to the distant ring of hammers before she ever heard another voice, and evenings when the glow of furnaces remained visible long after the streets outside had grown quiet. Her parents had introduced her to the craft when she was young, first by allowing an overly curious daughter to watch from somewhere safely out of the way, and later by placing tools into her hands and expecting her to learn how to use them properly. Even now, her own forge remained one of the few places where Veyla could lose hours without realizing they had passed, surrounded by familiar tools and the comforting rhythm of work she understood.

None of that quite prepared her for the Great Forge of Mandalore.

She slowed shortly after entering the restored chamber, helmet held beneath one arm as the first waves of heat rolled over her. Fiery light reflected across the crimson accents of her dark beskar'gam and caught within the braid of red hair falling behind her shoulder while Veyla simply took everything in. Hammers struck anvils in overlapping rhythms, machinery rumbled beneath the roar of enormous furnaces, and voices carried between stations whenever the noise permitted conversation. Molten beskar flowed through channels cut into ancient stone while smiths moved through the restored chambers with purpose, some working alone and others gathered around projects requiring several pairs of hands. Individually, nearly every sound and sight was familiar to her, but together they possessed a scale her forge on Concordia could never have approached.

A slow smile spread across her face as she continued farther into the chamber. "Now that's a forge." There was quiet admiration in the words rather than comparison, because Veyla had no intention of pretending her own workshop belonged in the same category. Her forge was hers, built around the work she preferred and the habits she had developed over years behind an anvil. This place belonged to Mandalore itself, and standing within it carried a weight that had nothing to do with the sheer size of the furnaces surrounding her.

Like most Mandalorian smiths, Veyla had grown up knowing what the Great Forge represented without ever expecting to see its fires burn herself. Stories could preserve a great deal, but they couldn't reproduce the heat against her face or the sound of beskar being worked only a short distance away. They couldn't capture the sight of experienced smiths sharing their stations with those still learning, nor the small gatherings that formed wherever someone was doing something interesting enough to attract an audience. The Great Forge had ceased to be merely a piece of Mandalorian history. It was being used again, and that mattered far more to Veyla than seeing it perfectly restored and left untouched as some monument to what their people had once possessed.

She wandered without any particular destination, although years of experience inevitably drew her attention toward the work being done around her. Occasionally she slowed to watch a technique she recognized, while other stations earned longer looks when the equipment or method was unfamiliar. There were questions she wanted to ask and tools she wouldn't have minded examining more closely, but she kept her hands to herself. Being a smith did not grant her permission to walk into another's workspace and start handling their equipment, and the significance of the Great Forge made her more conscious of that courtesy rather than less.

Eventually Veyla found herself near one of the great furnaces, far enough from the active stations that she wasn't intruding upon anyone's work but close enough to watch. Her helmet remained tucked beneath her arm while her free hand rested casually against her hip, emerald eyes following the movement of metal from fire to anvil and back again. There was something satisfying about seeing so many different clans represented beneath the same roof, each bringing their own experience to a craft that had survived alongside the Mandalorians themselves.

Her thoughts briefly returned to the smaller forge waiting for her on Concordia. That was the place where she knew every hammer by feel, where she could reach for a tool without looking and know exactly where it would be. It would remain her forge regardless of how impressive the chamber surrounding her might be, but Veyla didn't feel any need to compare the two. One was personal, built around a single smith and the craft her parents had passed down to her. The other had endured in Mandalorian memory long enough to belong to generations who had never even seen it.

Now Veyla was finally standing inside it, listening as the Great Forge breathed fire again, and for the moment she was perfectly content to simply be another Mandalorian beneath its roof and see where the day carried her.

@open

Korda Veydran · Aug 26, 2026

Objective: The Hall Of Ancestors

Korda had come to the Great Forge of Mandalore with considerably different plans.
The Hall of the Ancestors had not been among them.
He had wanted the main forge. He had wanted to put his armor through the hands of the Forge's smiths, see what could be improved, perhaps have Ashen Maw given some much-needed attention. There were also rumors of ancient machines and constructs within the Forge, and the possibility of standing before a Basilisk war droid and seeing whether the ancient machine would accept him was a temptation he had found difficult to ignore.

Instead, the seven-foot Mandalorian found himself standing within the quiet halls of the ancestors.
Korda stared down the length of the chamber through the narrow visor of his helmet.

"...Of course."
His voice carried softly through the hall.
The main forge could wait.

The Hall was filled with the remnants of Mandalore's past. Ancient beskar'gam stood within displays, weapons rested beside them, and clan banners hung from the walls. Some belonged to houses that still carried their names proudly. Others represented clans that had vanished so completely that their names survived only within the records preserved here.

Korda slowly walked between them.
His own armor seemed almost appropriate among the relics.

Scarred black beskar covered his massive frame, the crimson krayt skull of Clan Veydran displayed proudly upon it. Four tally marks rested upon his helmet, each representing one of the Mandalorians who had fallen beside him on Yaga Minor. The Jaig Eyes upon his armor marked another chapter of his own history.

But that was not why he had come here.
Not really.

Korda wanted to know about Clan Veydran.
Not the Veydran of its final years.
Not the weakened clan that, in Korda's eyes, had allowed itself to become soft.
He wanted to know what had existed before that.

The warriors.
The leaders.
The battles.
The traditions.

The victories.
The things that had once made the name Veydran worth carrying.
His gloved hand moved across one of the genealogical records carved into the wall.
Nothing.

He moved farther along.
Still nothing.
Another record.
His helmet tilted.

There.
A name.
Not enough.

But something.
Korda leaned closer, studying the inscription before following the lineage further through the records.
For once, there was no battlefield in front of him. No enemy to break through. No weapon to fire.
Just questions.

And Korda had never been particularly good at leaving questions unanswered.
He continued deeper into the Hall, occasionally stopping to examine a weapon or suit of armor whenever something caught his attention. Every so often, his helmet would turn toward another visitor moving through the chamber.

He did not speak to them.
Not yet.
There was no need to interrupt anyone's search.

Still, the sight of other Mandalorians wandering through the Hall did little to bother him. If anything, it reminded him that he was not the only one looking for something buried within these walls.
Eventually, Korda stopped before another section of ancient records.
He folded his arms across his chest.

"Someone here has to know."
His words were quiet, almost spoken to himself.
He had heard that elders sometimes visited the Hall. Historians. Clan members searching for their own ancestors. Warriors trying to understand where their people had come from.

Perhaps one of them knew the name Veydran.
Perhaps someone had heard a story.

Perhaps someone had seen a relic that Korda had overlooked.
He remained there, studying the records and allowing the other visitors to move freely around him.
There was no urgency.
For once, Korda was willing to listen.

And if another Mandalorian happened to approach while he searched, whether they carried their own clan's history with them or simply wondered what had captured the attention of the towering warrior in scarred black armor, Korda would not turn them away.

After all, the past belonged to all Mandalorians.
He simply intended to find his piece of it.
And perhaps, buried somewhere in this ancient hall, was the piece that would show him exactly what Clan Veydran had once been...
...and what he intended to make it again.

Tessa Monroe · Aug 26, 2026

TAGS:

Adelle Bastiel

Jonah | OPEN

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The hammer struck true, the ringing of beskar was a chorus in the depths of the great forge, a song that hadn’t been heard in this magnitude in generations, and Tessa’s heart sang in response. She wasn’t a true armoursmith by any means, she was out of practice having lost touch with her roots for so long but something about being here made her want to remember what it meant to shape beskar.

The workbench she’d claimed was already littered, datapads and holoimages, half finished ideas and prototypes that she’d been playing with in her spare time. Today she was starting simple, remembering the way beskar folded, where it gave willingly and where it broke.

Tongs set the blade back into the deep heat of the great forge and Tessa watched it burn, the super heated glow becoming almost white before she drew it out again. Everything else outside her work passed in a blur, there was only the hammer, the anvil and the fire.

Itzhal Volkihar · Aug 26, 2026

| Location | Mandalore, Outer Rim Territories
| Objective | II - The Warrior's Floor

By most accounts, a blaster required minimal expertise; the fundamental act of levelling a weapon at a target and squeezing the trigger was often regarded as sufficient skill. A deadly weapon, whether it lay in the hand of a seasoned marksman or a child barely able to clasp the grip with their small hands, and even then, the latter was not always necessary.

One could certainly argue the principle extended to many forms of weaponry; a vibroblade, for example, could inflict grievous harm in the hands of an expert swordsman, but at the same time, when held by an unwitting novice—someone who had yet to grasp the importance of safety and control. Not that one should assume that made the weapon lacking in skill; rather, as one started to learn, they were forced to handle so many concepts and techniques that balancing their lessons against the deadliness of the blade often left their form predictable and, by extension, exploitable. Strikingly, in contrast, the very nature of a blaster allowed one to very quickly pick up its frame and turn a recklessly wielded tool into an instrument of death.

And yet, despite all statements to the contrary, a blaster was not a weapon lacking in skill; it was simply quick to learn and took significantly longer to master. Itzhal was not a man who could tolerate mere minimal expertise.

All of which was a rather long-winded explanation for why the Morellian found himself sprawled across the unforgiving ground, staring out through the gap in the wall, where enormous metal shutters retracted into dark stone and reinforced struts that formed the outline of what one might have generously called a floor-to-ceiling window. In the distance, dust fluttered with the muffled cry of the wind, the faintest of distortions visible through the near-transparent ray shield that kept the radiation out, even as it allowed cracking red and yellow blaster bolts to fly through, shattering over the dunes and metal markers scorched black beneath the sun.

One arm was tightly wrapped around the sleek frame of a blaster rifle, nearly as lengthy as his own tall, lean figure. With his other hand, he unfolded the bipod legs, extending one after another with a subtle click that settled moments later with a muffled thump against the cold metal floor. Above his head, industrial lamps cast the metal barrel in a harsh white light that outlined the faint marks of wear and tear, minor scrapes that had tarnished the paint and yet failed to damage the frame itself or the more fragile components within.

Behind him, steel rang against steel. A sharp crack, followed by another, before they were swallowed by more immediate sounds. The angry rev of a vibroblade meeting its counterpart and the unmistakable bark of a blaster discharged only a few stalls down, the result of their shot displayed more in the curse that followed than in the plume of dust that emerged in the distance. Somewhere nearby, a voice offered encouragement, even as Itzhal couldn't help but settle his gaze on the distant silhouette, distinctly lacking in scorch marks; he was kind enough, then, to choose a different target.

Further down the field, a figure outlined in a vivid blue streaked across the repurposed ruins, then exploded into a dazzling display of disintegrating pixels.

Tags: OPEN

Rynna · Aug 26, 2026

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TAGS: OPEN

HALL OF THE ANCESTORS

Within the Hall of Ancestors the ringing of hammers and shouts of mandalorians of all ages was muted the moment you stepped over the threshold. It was like stepping into a bubble of serenity. Conversations here were quiet, as if people speaking too loud would disturb the ancestors represented within

Amidst the banners of clans she couldn’t remember the names of and relics older than any family generation she could recall, Rynna wandered. She felt small and insignificant amidst the history laid before her, but she wanted to learn and understand more about the people who had taken her in…about her people.

There were others here too, clad in armour lost in their own searches, she didn’t want to disturb any of them. In her hand she held a medallion emblazoned with a mythosaur skull, the leather cord it was attached to was wrapped several times around her hand. It had been her fathers. He had not been a mandalorian, but a domarian and fiercely proud too.

The thought saddened her, her gaze dropping to the floor a moment as her feet continued their slow gentle steps. Taking a breath she buried it down, her attention caught by a plaque listing the Manda’lors of old, with Mand’alor the Iron freshly carved upon it.

She tilted her head, wondering what it must be like to be in such a position.

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Mia Monroe · Aug 26, 2026

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Tags:

Vaux Gred | OPEN

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“Again.”

Mia’s voice rang out across the hall she the group she was instructing reset with a reluctant groan, beneath her helmet Mia smiled walking between the lines of sparring pairs, foundlings mostly, though some with more experience had come to aid, offering partners to those who didn’t have one, of who needed a more personal touch.

Her dark visor moved, assessing all of them as her instructions barked.

“Three, four, five. Mind your core, keep your knees bent.” she corrected a foundlings stance as she passed them. “The next person I see with locked knees is going down. Again!”

Her left arm was missing from the elbow down, courtesy of a recent fight and for the moment, no cybernetic replaced it. Not because Mia didn’t want one, just that she wanted it to be worthwhile, for her getting used to the sensation and movement of a temporary one only to have to start again with another was a waste of time.

Besides, she was managing just fine without it.

The rest of her injuries were still healing, deep tissue damage required multiple sessions in the bacta tank and the Warmaster still had an Army to run in between. The cane in her hand snapped out as she made another pass, sweeping across the back of a trainee's knees and dumping them on their backside.

She paused to look down at him, wounded pride shifted his face into anger and Mia’ tapp-ed the top of his head with the same cane. “Knees. Bent.” she repeated.

“Again!”

One of them swore, and the Warmaster chuckled.

“These movements will serve as the base for you to build a foundation upon, they need to become muscle memory and muscle memory is built by repetition. The better your muscle memory, the quicker your reactions and the more likely you are to survive a fight against a real blade, or a lightsaber. So…”

She stopped as she reached the end, turning again to face them.

“Again.”

Xandross Poize · Aug 26, 2026

Hall Of Ancestors
Tag: Open

Xandross entered the Hall of Ancestors alone. The Myrmidons had wanted to provide an escort. Xandross felt not only was that unnecessary, but sent the wrong message. Showing up with an escort signalled that he felt unsafe, insecure that he was trying to demonstrate power. Today was not about power. It was about respect. Respect for a warrior tradition substantially different from his own it was true, and yet a warrior tradition nonetheless. Xandross had always respected the Mandalorians he had fought, even admired them. It took significant ability to cultivate the reputation of a culture capable of directly taking on powerful force users such as Sith and Jedi.

Primarily though Xandross felt that perusing the sacred displays of the Hall of Ancestors sent the message that he, the commander of the Myrmidons was willing to honour the traditions of his employers without adhering to them.

Xandross stopped at a display of the Mandalorian Civil War. It said something that this hall honoured both Death Watch and Supercommando Codex. No doubt it was an attempt to unify two juxtaposed creeds that had historically required enmity to the point of civil war.

Xandross had seen money such displays among cultures with a similarly fractured history. What was interesting was that Xandross could see remnants of both cultures in the modern day. The Mandalorian Empire prided itself on being honourable mercenaries yet were not afraid to show strength via conquest.

The former highlighted why Xandross had felt it would be fitting for Xandross to contract with them as a mercenary himself. The latter demonstrated a strength of will to enforce their strength.

It may not have been his empire, but it was an empire. Though truthfully Xandross's reasoning for commandeering the Iliad and splitting from the endless tirade of one failed imperial empire after the next was that he had come to an important realisation. The Myrmidons were his home, not the empire.

As such he had decided they would fight for themselves. Fight for each other first and foremost. The client was what was most suitable for respecting their independent culture of their own. The Mandalorian Empire would seem to be able to respect that more than the other factions available for the hiring of a single star destroyer.

Xandross turned to the one attached mercenary he had elected to bring with him.

Sharloe was an interesting case a former rebel fighting alongside former Imperials. Not quite a myrmidon but then she provided a valuable service. In order to survive in their new role The Myrmidons would have to adapt from Imperial tactics. Sharloe provided a contrasted perspective towards that adaptability.

"What are your impressions?" Xandross asked making it clear it wasn't a request.

Sharloe · Aug 26, 2026

Hall of Ancestors
Tag: Open

Sharloe looked over the display with a degree of resistance. It reminded her too much of Neo-Crusader fanaticism. These were the inheritors of the same root culture. The ones who had killed her father and burnt down her home. She wondered what that past version would have thought of her, perusing a museum of the very people she had hated. Hated enough to reject the man she loved.

Now here she was disillusioned with causes, fighting for herself.

Despite her resistance she could not help but notice the recurring themes, the similarities with the ways of the Wookiee's. The emphasis on familial bonds, the value in keeping your word, the requirement to fight for your people.

Sharloe could not help but think that a Mandalorian who came to Kashyyk for something other than war would be quite welcome.

Sharloe examined her feelings on the confliction within her for a moment. Before shutting it down with the cold hard thought that it didn't matter. Nothing mattered except the next job, the next contract.

She had turned from someone who fought for causes to someone who fought for coin. It was simpler that way. No one trying to make her feel obligated beyond what the contract required of her.

Commander Xandross asked her a question.

Sharloe shrugged non committedly.

Xandross waited for an answer.

Sharloe grimaced slightly.

"They value clan and community highly." Sharloe commented tersely, hoping that would be enough to remove herself from the conversation.

Sharloe stepped back from the display and bumped into someone.

"My fault" Sharloe said to the Mandalorian

Adelle Bastiel · Aug 26, 2026

Tags:

Tessa Monroe

The hall rang with the sound of a hundred hammers and the roar of the fires from the Great Forge. In spite of still being relatively new to the culture, Adelle knew that the restoration of the Great Forge was monumental. The sound brought to mind another hall of forges where beskar smiths had gathered. But Warpriest Prime wasn’t here to answer her questions. Adelle adjusted the strap on her shoulder, the pouch of smithing tools shifting on her back, as she walked past smiths working together or alone.

Asking for help shouldn’t have been as daunting a task as it was. She’d only been learning and practicing smithing for a short while, and then only when she could fit it in between her other duties and training. But her reluctance—she wasn’t afraid, she told herself—came from the specific nature of her problem. Prime had taught her how to put her soul into what she forged, and craft something she could feel when she fought. Her first beskad had broken in the public Verd’goten. Her second during training at home. Her third, the same. Alor Ca’tra had watched her forge the last two, had corrected her mistakes, and approved of the beskads after their quenching. Coming here to learn from others had been her instruction.

Adelle paused for a moment, watching experienced smiths ply their craft with deft hands, fearless of the fires. Flames still made her pause.

Across the way, she caught sight of a familiar blonde. Seeing Tess here, wielding a hammer as comfortably as she flew, was unexpected. Adelle grinned and walked over to the work station Tess had very clearly claimed as her own.

“Fancy meeting you here,” she said. Adelle leaned against the workbench, careful not to disturb its occupants. “I didn’t know you smithed.”

Korda Veydran · Aug 27, 2026

Objective: The Hall Of Ancestors

Korda's search through the Hall had taken him past countless relics, banners, and fragments of histories that stretched further back than any living Mandalorian could remember.
His attention had eventually settled on a young woman standing nearby.
There was something about the way she held the medallion that caught his attention.
Not curiosity.

Not reverence.
Something heavier.
Korda watched her for a moment from across the chamber, his helmet angled slightly as he studied the distant look in her eyes.
He knew that look. Too well. He had seen it in others before, and if he were being honest with himself, he had seen it staring back at him from his own reflection.

Rather than calling out to her from across the room, Korda approached.
His heavy footsteps were deliberate, but not hurried. When he reached her, he stopped a comfortable distance away.
His gaze dropped toward the medallion.

"That yours?"
His voice was deep, but unexpectedly gentle.
He studied her expression for another moment.

"You look a little lost."
A pause.
"I know that look."
There was no judgment behind the words.

Korda slowly reached up and unclasped his helmet.
The scarred beskar came away with a quiet hiss, and he tucked it beneath his arm.
It was a small gesture, but a deliberate one.
Without the helmet, there was no imposing visor staring down at her. No faceless warrior standing before her.

Just a tired man. A Mandalorian.
Someone who had been lost before, too.

"I figured I'd come over instead of letting you stand here alone with it."
He gave a faint, almost reassuring smile.

"I don't think I've seen you at the gatherings before."
Korda extended his free hand.
"Korda Veydran."

A brief pause.
"Acting leader of Clan Veydran."
Then, almost as an afterthought:
"Korda the Unyielding."

There was no boast in it. If she'd heard the name before, she would know it. If she hadn't, it hardly mattered to him.
His hand remained extended for a moment before his eyes returned to the medallion.
"I came looking for pieces of my own clan's history."
He glanced toward the surrounding relics.

"Thought this was as good a place as any to start."
Korda looked back to her.
His expression softened again.
"So..."

He nodded gently toward the medallion.
"What's the story behind yours?"
He didn't press her.
Didn't demand an explanation.

He simply waited.
The Hall continued around them, other Mandalorians moving between ancient displays and records. Anyone nearby was free to continue their own search, or perhaps even wander into the conversation.

Korda's attention remained on the young woman in front of him.
Whatever had brought her here, she didn't look like someone who needed another warrior telling her what to do.

She looked like someone who might simply need another person to remind her that she didn't have to figure everything out alone.

Tags:

Rynna

Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr · Aug 27, 2026

THE GREAT FORGE OF MANDALORE

Objective III, The Hall of Ancestors

Ship: The Bes'hurok (Iron Rock) Armed Adviso

Armor: Protector-type Beskar'gam

Primary Weapon: A-180 Modular Blaster

Secondary Weapons: Briletto PPK, Stun Baton,

Blade: Tal'Alor Beskad
Sidekick: Ta-2P0 (Tappo)

Tags: Open

There were a great many people attending the celebration and a great many things to do and see. Watching craftsmen mold the grey metal that had brought such riches and tragedy to Mandalore into future heirlooms was fascinating and watching the exhibition of combat skill was both entertaining and enlightening. Dral-Kar'ta found himself in the Hall of Ancestors.

His own clan, Clan Sandyr was an old one with claims stretching back to the beginning days of the Mandalorian people but it never was a particularly large or influential one. Every couple of generations a member would make a name for himself and rise to some sort of prominence but the Clans legacy was more of stalwart and consistent service than political power and influence. The Night of a Thousand Tears had almost wiped out the clan with most of its warriors turned to ash along with the cities and fields of Mandalore. The various calamities over the years had kept the clan small and scattered but like Mandalore and the Mandalorian people themselves they had weathered the purges and plagues and slowly grew in numbers until it was finally time to return to Mandalore. Their ancestorial lands on Mandalore itself were long gone and strip mined for the beskar that lay underneath so they had claimed the claimed the planet of Maridun which they were laboring to develop for the good of the restored Mandalorian Empire.

All this went through Dral-kar'ta's mind. His family and his clan's history as well as the history of the other Mandalorian clans both large and small and those who had not weathered the winds of space that had scattered his people across the galaxy. He shook his head. Of all their foes, the Empire, the Sith, the Republic, the Yuuzhan Vong their greatest enemy was themselves. Time and time again when their strength grew it was internal strife that weakened them allowing others to take what they had built. In the wake of the Great Planet Shift, Mand'alor the Iron had brought the various clans together to reconstitute the Mandalorian state and he hoped with the power of the stars that the great shift of the planets was a harbinger for the Mandalorian people to forgo they old rivalries and politics and work for the betterment of all Mandalorians.

There were a few other walking around, like him they were contemplative

Vaux Gred · Aug 27, 2026

Objective II
Tags:

Mia Monroe , open

Vaux walked up, seeing the foundlings and Mia. She smirked a bit under her helmet, taking a look as she stepped up. A custom trayc’kal on her hip, plus a pair of seemingly empty hilts on her opposite side. She walked up, seeing what the foundlings were doing, speaking up.

“She might be tough, but she ain’t wrong. Even if you don’t see it now, or want to be in the cockpit with pilots like me.” She said, looking at Mia before speaking up again, though this time quieting a little so only the warmaster could hear.

“Don’t go too hard on them. We all start somewhere.” She said, then looked back at everyone there. Hopefully the combat lessons would set it. Keep them safe in the future. At the same time, she wasn’t exactly traditional by any means, but she did think any self respecting Mandalorian should be able to defend themselves at least.

Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata · Aug 27, 2026

Tags: @open
OBJECTIVE: 1

Kael lit the forge after thoroughly cleaning the entire workspace. He had categorized all the tools and oiled and cleaned them as well. This was space set aside for Clan Skirata, and as such, he respected this space as much as he respected his clan. He, however, wished to make something new, a new weapon using the skills and the learning he had acquired on his Journey. Bars of Beskar, marked with the seal of the Mandalorian Empire, proudly displaying their heritage, sat on the anvil. Waiting until the fire reached its blue-white working temperature, Keal grabbed tongs and set the three bars, dark-colored high-carbon bars of Beskar and a single lighter-colored, low-carbon bar into the flames. Focusing his mind into the moving meditation and drawing the Force into the space, he pulled the first bar out of the fire and started the forge chant he had learned.

Tracyn cuyir hettir sruce'ne o'r nau'ur kad
Tracyn cuyir hettir
Bejioa gar irud o'r jarsagr be tracinya
Lo nau'ur kad

Kar'ta sarad, pel subr
Briirud be am
Te'r nanr cuyir jigr tracyn cuyir hettir
Kar'ta sarad, pel subr
Briirud be am
Nau'ur kad mhi meye

Muad Dib · Aug 29, 2026

Objective: IV

The rolling spread was lined with tables and booths along the walls. Mandalorians shouted, toasted, jeered, and gave one another Keldabe kisses with buy'ce on or off. Armor beskar'gam filled the room in a rainbow of colors. Outsiders merely saw colors. Mandalorians saw meanings. Aruetiise looked at the decorations etched, painted, or hammered into armor. Mando'ade saw clan sigils representing aliit. The gathering on Mandalore could be considered a festival. But to them, this event on Manda'yaim was about tradition, remembrance, and the future.

Ne'tra gal and Kri'gee flowed from pitchers and overflowed from individual cups as the revelry grew louder. The hardwood boards beneath their feet shuddered as boots stomped to the music. Laughter filled the space as arm wrestling nearly overturned one of the tables and a Mando'ad spilled from his seat with shared laughter. A friendly sabaac game played out next to a table where a game of chance unfolded. Knucklebones and dice played against one another to groans and cheers.

But at one of the booths, a man sat alone. A bottle of tihaar sat beside a single, skinny shot glass. He had received more than a few long glances and interrogatory scans. He didn't look like one of them. He didn't wear the beskar'gam. There was no clan sigil visible. No other mandos sat with him or talked to him. He was alone, in a booth, surrounded by mando'ade yet apart. One hand gripped the bottle and filled the shot glass. His lips moved and spoke a single word. "Betna."

The shot glass was tossed back and refilled. "Ordo." Another swig. "Kandossii." The glass followed the same route again. "Arglim." Over and over he spoke names followed by another drink. "Vereen. Mereel. Verd. Farr. Solus. Bal. Taldin. Raysh. Dib." Clan names rolled from his lips in remembrance. The bottle ran dry, and he waved at a waitress for another. As he waited, he considered the litany of names that came with each clan recital. He wasn't foolish enough to try to drink to every name etched in his mind. Drinking to the clans was bad enough.

The waitress sauntered over and exchanged the empty bottle for a fresh one filled with tihaar. His head nodded in silent thanks as she walked away, hips swaying suggestively. He didn't spare her a glance. There was no desire for another woman. He already had one. "Ori'yc." The seal on the new bottle was broken, then he filled the shot glass and downed it again. "Jag." And again. The bottle tilted to fill the glass as he leaned back into the worn cushions of the booth. Several half-armored mando'ade looked back at him again. The alcohol gave them more freedom and fewer inhibitions. Stares became emboldened.

He didn't care. They were there with their vode. He was here with his vode. Even if they only existed in memory. On one hand, he didn't blame them. Here he sat in a tan tunic, brown pants, and armored boots. His sleeves were rolled past his forearm, and the Sith runes on the left arm were clearly visible. He didn't appear to be one of them. And that suited his preferences at the moment. He just wanted to drink to his vode in silence. The shot was tossed back and refilled.

Siv Kryze · Aug 29, 2026

.

The Hall of Ancestors was quieter than the rest of the Forge. Siv found himself slowing as he passed between the displays, eyes settling on the old armor, weapons, and banners gathered from generations of Mandalorian history. So much had survived wars, occupations, and the collapse of one Mandalorian order after another. It was difficult not to wonder how many of those remembered here had once believed they were building the final version of Mandalore.

His thoughts eventually wandered back to

Jenn Kryze . Maybe she had been right about some things. Siv still couldn't agree with her choice to step away from Mandalore, but he understood the reasoning behind it more than he once did. She had watched Mandalorians call for unity while excusing the actions of those who brought suffering upon their own people. After enough of that, perhaps the word itself stopped meaning what it was supposed to.

Romul Saxon had given him another perspective on the same problem. Siv remembered their conversation on Kestri, the way Romul spoke about the Protectors, the Neo-Crusaders, and the governments that had risen and eventually disappeared. To Romul, the current Empire could simply be another turn of the wheel. Siv hadn't agreed, but he couldn't dismiss it either. There had been no hatred toward him as a fellow Mandalorian. Just caution, and a refusal to place faith in another throne simply because it called itself Mandalorian.

His gaze drifted toward one of the older Kryze pieces before moving onward.

Then there was

Veyla Krinn .

Siv couldn't help but think that she represented something different. Not a rejection of what came before, but a willingness to take it apart, understand it, and decide what was worth carrying forward. She had always seemed more interested in what could be built than in arguing over what had already been lost. Perhaps that was what Clan Kryze needed now. Not another Jenn. Not another attempt to recreate the past, but someone willing to take the old lessons and make something new from them.

The thought brought his attention back to the Empire.

It had accomplished something worth protecting. After the Calamity, Mandalore had adapted. Its worlds had been reclaimed, Mandalore itself restored, and the clans had built something far greater than scattered survivors. Siv believed in that. He had no desire to see it fall apart simply because its history was complicated.

But he couldn't ignore the other question either.

Mandalore had become the galaxy's mercenary power. Siv understood the practicality of it. Contracts meant credits, credits meant ships and supplies, and those things gave Mandalore the independence to decide its own future. There was nothing inherently wrong with a Mandalorian taking work from the galaxy. The danger was in becoming nothing more than a weapon for whoever could afford one.

Maybe that was the part worth remembering.

Jenn had walked away because she could no longer accept unity at the cost of principle. Romul had built his own path because he refused to forget what had been done to Mandalore. Veyla, perhaps, was proof that the answer didn't have to be found in either direction. There could be something beyond simply repeating the old ways or abandoning them entirely.

Siv rested his gaze on the relics one last time.

He would remain with the Empire. He would work for it, build for it, and do what he could to make it stronger. But strength alone wasn't enough. Neither was unity.

Perhaps Clan Kryze's future would be finding the balance between the two.

For now, Siv was content to let the Hall remain quiet.

There were some questions worth carrying a little longer.

Tag: Open

Anvil · Aug 29, 2026

A soft hum only made so by comparison to the heated breath of the furnace and clang of metal sprung into being off to one side.

Lightning blue eyes looked out across the Great Forge, and this Great Furnace in particular. Dark lips formed a solid line that exuded no emotion, but her eyes were sharp, focused, and set on the sight before them. Anvil had broad shoulders and noticeably define muscles of her arms as she came wearing a leather blacksmithing apron and leather pants. Her shoulder-length white hair was drawn and held back by a band to keep it out of her eyes. There was no place for combustibles or consumables near the hearth of the forge.

Her eyes fell from the sight only to turn and look across at

Veyla Krinn . A three-pound hammer in her left hammer lifted, extended in Veyla's direction. Another was stuck in a loop along Anvil's right leg.

Were words necessary? The woman that'd been standing there seemed to appreciate the sight. So, she must have skill or purpose being there. Anvil didn't believe in gawking or loitering at the sidelines, and she expected everyone else felt the same -- even if they didn't. So, to get started a smith needed a hammer.

Unlike many others present, however, Anvil did not have the benefit of mythology or cultural significant behind the Great Forge being made available once more. She was aware it did hold such significance to the Mandalorians -- she wasn't daft -- but she came from afar. As an outsider, her heart did not swell with pride at the sight. Simply... gratitude. It was a pleasure finding such a complex dedicate to forging weapons (and armor). Anvil could appreciate its existence and the sheer commitment such a place reflected to the craft.

With jobs being sparse for an outside like herself, the forge had been her primary means of finance since her arrival. Perhaps, some day, there would be more opportunity for battle if she could earn the attention of someone worthy. For now, she struck metal and listened to the song of the forge.

Veyla Krinn · Aug 29, 2026

Location: Great Forge

Anvil

Veyla had been watching the work long enough that she probably should have expected someone to eventually notice.

Her attention shifted from the furnace when movement entered the edge of her vision, settling upon the white-haired woman standing nearby. There was no greeting, introduction, or question about whether Veyla knew what she was doing. Instead, the woman simply extended a hammer toward her. Veyla's emerald eyes dropped to the offered tool before returning to the stranger's face, and for a moment she regarded her in thoughtful silence.

Then she smiled.

There was something about the simplicity of the gesture that appealed to her. Veyla had deliberately kept her hands to herself since entering the Great Forge. She might have been a smith in her own right, but this wasn't her forge on Concordia, where every tool had its place because she had decided where that place should be. The Great Forge had its own smiths, its own work, and its own expectations. Being Mandalorian didn't grant her permission to insert herself wherever she pleased, and she'd been content to watch until someone gave her a reason to do otherwise.

Apparently, someone just had.

Veyla secured her helmet at her side and accepted the hammer with her free hand, feeling its balance before giving the woman a small nod. "That's one way to introduce yourself." Amusement warmed the words as she looked over the three-pound hammer once more. It was heavier than what she would have chosen for delicate work, but certainly familiar enough in her hand. "Veyla Krinn, House Kryze."

She stepped closer to the active workspace but stopped short of simply taking a place at the anvil. An invitation to work was one thing. Assuming she knew what the other smith was making was quite another, and Veyla had spent enough of her life at a forge to know how irritating an extra pair of hands could become when they started moving metal without understanding what it was supposed to become.

"So, what are we making?"

Her gaze moved from the woman to the work before them, studying what she could without interfering. Whatever answer came, Veyla found herself pleased by the unexpected turn her visit had taken. She had come to see the Great Forge alive again and had expected little more than the opportunity to walk its halls, watch its smiths, and perhaps learn something she could carry back to Concordia. Actually working beneath its heat had seemed presumptuous without an invitation.

Now there was a hammer in her hand.

The thought brought another faint smile to her lips as she rolled one shoulder and adjusted her grip, already feeling some of the earlier reverence give way to something considerably more familiar. The Great Forge might have dwarfed her little workshop, and its history might have stretched farther back than anything she could truly comprehend, but fire was still fire, metal was still metal, and a hammer still demanded the same control regardless of which anvil waited beneath it.

Veyla glanced toward the white-haired smith again, waiting for direction rather than claiming it for herself.

"Point me where you need me."

Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr · Aug 29, 2026

THE GREAT FORGE OF MANDALORE

Objective III, The Hall of Ancestors

Ship: The Bes'hurok (Iron Rock) Armed Adviso

Armor: Protector-type Beskar'gam

Primary Weapon: A-180 Modular Blaster

Secondary Weapons: Briletto PPK, Stun Baton,

Blade: Tal'Alor Beskad
Sidekick: Ta-2P0 (Tappo)

Tags:

Siv Kryze , Open

Dral-kar'ta shuffled about looking at the exhibits. Some of the old weapons he found interesting as he thought about how they would have been used thousands of years ago and if single combat, hand-to-hand, had changed. Could something so primeval change? Would it matter much if two warriors locked in mortal combat were using stone knives and bearskins or blasters and plastoid? He wished he had the foresight to have asked such questions at the Academy instead of here alone.

Drifting along he found himself in the vicinity of a verd in Kryze armor and a Night Owl helmet that looked like it should be on display here in the Hall. He moved to the side of the individual and stood silent for a few moments looking at the display that had captured the stranger's interest before speaking.

"Sucuy'gar. There are many things in this Hall that speak of the exploits and sacrifices of our forefathers. It is inspiring to be reminded of the greatness that has proceeded us and perhaps it is also humbling when we wonder if we will measure up to those who have allowed us to stand here today."

It was a philosophical thing to say, which was not a typical Mandalorian sentiment to verbalize but the pride and respect of the past and those who had forged it was evident. He turned in greeting to look at the man beside him. His helmet rested in the crook of his arm as he had taken it off to view the relics with his own naked eyes. Like that of Siv, this Mandalorian's Beskar'gam was of excellent make and had flourishes of decoration but was foremost practical. A few blemishes in the beskar hinted that this armor was not just for show but had seen battle. The clan sigil was that of a red Wurm Ouroboros impaled by a yellow sword. Siv might or might not recognize the heraldry. Unfortunately, in the present day, Clan Sandyr was more renown for their popular food chain rather than their martial exploits. Which, among Mandalorians, was not ideal but it did provide them the wealth to privately develop the planet of Maridun thereby strengthening the Empire.

"I am Dral-Kar'ta of Clan Sandyr. To which scion of Clan Kryze do I have the honor of addressing?"

Faction The Great Forge of Mandalore - Summer, 902 ABY [ME]

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