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

[Siv Kryze]

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Siv remained quiet for a moment, letting Dral-Kar'ta's words settle as his eyes followed the man's attention toward the old weapons. There was something to the thought that, despite all the advances Mandalorians had made, the act of fighting itself may not have changed all that much. Weapons became more refined, armor more advanced, but when two warriors stood against one another, the same instincts remained.

"Perhaps that's why the old weapons are still worth looking at," Siv said quietly. "They remind us that for all the things we've changed, some things probably haven't changed at all."

His gaze moved across the Hall again, lingering briefly on the relics of those who had come before.

"And perhaps that's why this place can be humbling. It's easy to look at what they left behind and wonder if we'll ever measure up. I suppose we'll never really know. They probably wondered the same thing about themselves."

Only then did Siv turn fully toward the stranger.

"Siv Kryze. Warden of Concordia."

His eyes briefly settled on the heraldry across Dral-Kar'ta's armor, studying the red Wurm and yellow sword. The sigil was familiar enough, though not from battlefields or old stories.

"Sandyr..." Siv mused. "I recognize the heraldry. I've seen some of your clan's supplies come through Concordia. A few of the shipments have crossed my desk at the Anvil."

There was a faint hint of amusement in his voice.

"Seems your clan has found a rather effective way of contributing to the Empire without needing to put a rifle in every pair of hands."

Siv glanced back toward the displays.

"Not that there's anything wrong with that. Building something that lasts is its own kind of service."

His attention returned to Dral-Kar'ta.

"So, what brought you here? The old weapons caught your attention, but I'd wager there was more to it than curiosity."

Tag: Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr + Open​

 

[Anvil]

"Anvil." Her voice was steady, and deeper than most might expect from a woman. "My name. Anvil." They were in a forge and Veyla Krinn held a hammer in her hand. It would be easy to mistake her name for some sort of esoteric command to look at or strike an anvil without purpose. There was no clan name offered unlike that of the Mandalorian woman whose acquaintance she'd just made.

House Kryze? Anvil had heard of them.

Veyla then asked what was on order, and her platinum companion gave a clip nod. "A long sword." Her blue eyes regarded the other woman for a moment to gauge her reaction. Was that out of her comfort zone? Did it seem beneath her? It was one thing to see a Forge worker in another person, but quite another to know their competency without seeing them actually at work. They said there were mind readers in the galaxy; perhaps they would know at a look, but Anvil did not. "There are many that wield lightsabers, and Mandalorians should be ready to meet them in battle." Probably didn't need to explain why she was making a long sword, but Anvil thought it might be conversational. "I have not had the pleasure." Her tone grew somber at the lack of direct combat with one of these Sith or Jedi.

Actually, a blade -- ideally short -- was the perfect thing to understand how Veyla worked in the forge. Swords could be simple or ornate in design.

Anvil heft the hammer from the loop at her side. A three-pounder could become tiresome after a number of swings, especially for those unaccustomed to it. It appeared weightless in Anvil's hand in that moment.

"Draw the metal." She stepped a bit to the side to draw out the ingot that'd been in the flame, and set it upon the anvil between them. At first, Anvil would observe Veyla's technique. If she had experience then perhaps they could strike the metal together, one after the other, in rhythm. They would get twice as much work every time they brought the metal back out of the fire.

 

[Veyla Krinn]

Veyla's eyebrows lifted slightly at the introduction before a small smile crossed her features. Given where they were, Anvil could easily have been mistaken for an instruction, but the confusion lasted only a moment. "Anvil. Good to meet you." The answer to her own question was equally welcome. A longsword was comfortably within Veyla's experience, weapons having become her preferred work despite learning much of the craft from parents who had spent considerably more time shaping armor.

The explanation behind the weapon drew a little more amusement from her. "I've had more experience with lightsabers lately than I ever expected to." Between Kallous and the saber pike slowly taking shape within her own forge, that was something of an understatement. Her attention shifted toward the heated ingot as Anvil brought it from the furnace. "But you're right. If you're going to meet one with a sword, you'd better be certain the blade can take it."

Veyla stepped into position once the metal rested upon the anvil, adjusted her grip on the three-pound hammer, and began to work. She made no attempt to impress Anvil with unnecessary force or speed, instead drawing the metal through controlled blows worked progressively along its length. The familiar rhythm came easily, each strike placed to move the heated material toward the proportions they would eventually need rather than creating more work for herself later. She turned the piece as necessary and continued until the heat faded to a point where she was no longer comfortable working it.

When Veyla finally paused, her eyes lifted toward the second hammer already waiting in Anvil's hand. It wasn't difficult to guess what the other smith had in mind, and a faint grin appeared as Veyla shifted enough to give her room at the anvil. "You don't strike me as someone who intends to spend the afternoon watching." Once the metal had returned to the fire and reached temperature again, they could find their rhythm together. Veyla had come to see the Great Forge restored, but putting hammer to metal within its halls was proving a much better way to experience it.

Anvil

 

[Rynna]

Korda Veydran​

THE HALL OF ANCESTORS

Rynna looked round, eyes widening at the sight of the gold armoured man that now stood beside her. It was a sight she still wasn’t used to, she didn’t think she'd ever be used to walking among them even when she managed to get her own beskar’gam. There was something formidable about the sight of a mandalorian.

Her gaze dropped down to the medallion he asked about, her thumb running over the mythosaur skull. “It was my fathers.” She offered looking back up at him, watching with curiosity as he removed the helmet to reveal a crop of shirt brown hair resting over a weathered face that told he’d already seen a dozen campaigns, but what caught her most off guard were his crimson eyes.

She caught herself, snapping her mouth shut and returning the faint smile, taking the hand he offered and shaking it. She didn’t know the name, but then her knowledge of mandalorians of note was hardly something worth boasting about.

“Rynna” she offered before retracting her hand. “I have no clan…” she trailed off looking back down at the medallion, quiet filling the space between them as she tried to find a way to tell her story.

“I am Tarisian.” she said finally, looking back up at him. “My parents were Domarians. They were killed in the Diarchy riots.” It sounded matter of fact, maybe because she’d said it a thousand times since. It didn’t make it hurt any less.

 

[Devorah]

Wearing:
Armor (Aesthetic) - Tomahawk
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KELDABE, MANDALORE

It felt strange to be standing here...

For as long as Devorah had lived, this half of her heritage had been something never embraced. To varying degrees, her siblings had dipped their toes into the world of being Mandalorian...yet Devorah's interests had long laid in other places. The vastness of space and the melodies of the dark had ordered her steps for the most part. One could even say that wanderlust had defined her during her early adulthood, inspiring bold excursions into the unknown.

So what, then, could alter her trajectory so soundly? What could take a woman whose first and only love was the hum of hyperspace and bring her to Mandalore?

Silence.

It was during a rare visit home to the Shiraya Expanse that the sensation disturbed her. She had returned to where her family resided and found...no one. Yes, their home physically stood. Yes, the people under their care still thrived and the city that bore her chugged along as usual. But their home? Their rooms? The places where fond memories were made and lived evermore in her mind? They were devoid of her family. Her mother slumbered somewhere beyond the stars. Her father was off...somewhere within arm's reach of her godmother.

And her siblings? The majority of them were here. In one form or another, they had followed their brother to Mandalore to support his empire. At first, learning this fact caused Devorah to scoff and she almost marched right back onto her ship for another voyage. But that pang in her chest...it bid her to go elsewhere. And so, she found herself here, surrounded by the ancient history of Mandalore. Surrounded by strange men and strange women, wearing strange armor, and speaking the native language of her father.

But, for as out of place as she felt walking within the so-called Hall of Ancestors, there was one thing for certain.

It wasn't quiet anymore.

"Gods above..." Devorah muttered to herself. "...Where to start?"

Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr , Korda Veydran , Rynna , Xandross Poize , Sharloe + Open

 

[Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr]

THE GREAT FORGE OF MANDALORE
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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 gave a single firm nod in typical Mandalorian fashion.

"Yes, it is not the weapon that makes the warrior but the warrior that makes the weapon." He said in response to the Warden's comment on how little warfare has changed.

"I spent two years on the plains of Maridun fighting the Amani. They are a primitive people who fought us with crude iron spear and a smattering of blasters they obtained from smugglers. But they were determined and fought with skill and ferocity. There was this one time when my platoon was ambushed by a raiding party several thousand strong. We formed a circle and fought them off. I can tell you our blasters glowed red that day and in truth we never did drive them off. We slew every one of them but we could not make them run."

He told his tale from a place deep within himself. A place a fellow warrior like Siv would recognize. "They were worthy opponents." As he said that he unconsciously touched the side of his torso where underneath his armor lay a scar to remind him of the very battle he was describing. "They are citizens of Mandalore now although there are few of them left." He shook himself out of his reminiscences.

When Siv stated his name and clan and when he went on to remark about the way Dral's clan was able to contribute to Mangalore he received a wry smile. "That is a very diplomatic way to put it." He said unoffended. "Many do not put it so kindly and think themselves a hero to Mandalore by earning a thousand credits by doing the biding of some crime lord. We on the other hand fight when we must and build when we can. And in so doing we have tamed a backwards world and turned it into a productive planet." He stopped himself. He was on the verge of being prideful or worse of complaining. "Di'dunar" (forgiveness) he added sheepishly.

"Your truthful comment gave me no cause to reply so. You are correct The Six Actions of the Resol'nare provide more than one path to walk the Way. Perhaps that is what brought me here today. As a Warden yourself you must grow weary of sitting behind a desk filling out forms and paperwork… doing the tasks that must be done to keep the Empire running. Perhaps I just needed to come here and ponder what it took to enable us to stand here today. I may never receive a place in this Hall but I will dedicate my life to see that others do. I would also assume that the sword is not the only thing you have to offer Mandalore so I turn your last question around as ask you what it is that brought you here. Are you looking for the place of a forefather of yours or to help find a place of your own?"

Dral-kar'ta did not mean to be so emotive but with his latent Psychometry he always ran the risk of absorbing too much information too quickly from so many potent objects and he had to remember to keep control in front of others.

 

[Korda Veydran]

Objective: The Hall Of Ancestors

Korda noticed the way her expression changed.
It was brief.
The widening of her eyes, the way her gaze lingered upon his own before she caught herself and looked away.
He had seen that reaction before.

His crimson eyes had a tendency to invite questions, assumptions, and the occasional uncomfortable stare. Korda couldn't exactly blame anyone for it. A Mandalorian with red eyes wasn't exactly something most people expected to encounter.

A faint smile touched his face.
"Don't worry."

He tapped two fingers lightly against his chest.
"I'm not Sith."
There was a hint of amusement in his voice.
"People make that mistake sometimes."

His smile faded as Rynna continued.
Her parents.
The Diarchy riots.
Korda's expression became quieter.

"I'm sorry."
There was no grand speech attached to it. No attempt to dress her loss up in pretty words.
Just sincerity.
"I lost people close to me during the Diarchy's war too."

His gaze drifted past her.
"Yaga Minor."
The name left his lips quietly.
For a moment, his eyes seemed to lose focus.

The Hall disappeared from his attention as memories surfaced. Faces of those who had once stood beside him. Voices that should have still been there. The weight of names he carried with him every time he put on his armor.

Four tally marks rested upon his helmet.
He glanced toward it.
Then back to Rynna.

"Four of them."
His voice was quieter now.
"People I won't ever get to speak to again."
He let the silence remain for a moment before continuing.

"Loss doesn't get easier just because you've had to explain it a hundred times."
His eyes softened.
"You don't have to make it sound like it doesn't hurt."
Korda's attention returned to the medallion.

"Tarisian."
He repeated the word thoughtfully.
Then he shook his head.
"That matters less than you might think."

His hand moved toward his own armor, fingers resting against the worn beskar covering his chest.
"This?"
He gave the metal a light tap.
"Was my uncle's."

His gaze moved briefly across the armor, almost as though he were remembering the hands that had once worn it.
"I wear pieces of the people who came before me."
He looked back toward Rynna.
"That's what this is about."

Korda gestured subtly toward the Hall around them.
"Not blood."
His hand lowered.
"Not what world you were born on."

"Being Mandalorian is a culture. A way of living. A people."
There was conviction in his voice, but not superiority.
"You don't need to be born into a clan to find one."

His eyes softened.
"And you don't need to have one right now."
He paused.

"You've got time."
Korda's gaze returned to the medallion. He didn't reach for it.
Instead, he nodded toward it.
"May I?"

His hand remained at his side, leaving the choice entirely to her.
"I'd like to see your father's medallion."
His expression softened.

"Maybe the Hall has something that can tell you more about the man who carried it."
His eyes briefly wandered toward the surrounding displays.
"And maybe that's why you're here."
Korda looked back to Rynna.

"So what brought you into the Hall?"
A slight tilt of his head.
"Looking for your father?"
A pause.

"Or trying to figure out where you fit into all of this?"
He didn't sound like he expected an answer immediately. There was no pressure behind the questions. Just the quiet patience of someone who had spent enough time being lost himself to recognize it in somebody else.

Tags: Rynna ​

 

[Siv Kryze]

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Siv listened as Dral-Kar'ta spoke, his expression remaining thoughtful as the Sandyr recounted the battle on Maridun. There was something familiar in the way he spoke of the Amani. Not admiration for the enemy, exactly, but respect for warriors who had stood their ground when running would have been easier.

"Sounds like they understood something a lot of warriors forget," Siv said. "Having better weapons doesn't make you harder to kill. Sometimes it's the one with the worse odds who has the greater reason to keep fighting."

He gave a small nod at Dral's explanation of Clan Sandyr. "Nothing to forgive. Mandalore needs warriors, but it needs people who can build something after the fighting is finished, too. A world doesn't become stronger because you leave it with another battlefield."

When Dral turned the question back toward him, Siv's gaze wandered through the Hall again. For a moment, the answer seemed less obvious than he would have liked.

"Truthfully? I'm not sure."

His eyes settled on the Kryze displays.

"I didn't come here looking for one particular ancestor. I'm trying to figure out what direction Clan Kryze should take now that I'm the one responsible for it. That's probably harder than finding an old name on a wall."

A quiet pause followed.

"There is a lot behind the Kryze name. Some of it is worth preserving exactly as it was. Some of it... maybe it was never meant to stay the same forever."

Siv looked toward the older relics again.

"I've spent enough time dealing with Concordia, trade, borders, and the Empire to know that keeping things running is important. But sometimes you get so caught up in maintaining everything that you forget to ask where you're actually taking it."

His attention returned to Dral.

"Maybe that's why I'm here. Not to find a place in this Hall, at least not yet. Just to understand what kind of legacy I'm supposed to leave behind."

A faint smile crossed his face.

"Seems we're both here for much the same reason, then. You want to make sure others have a place here someday."

Siv gave another small nod toward the exhibits.

"I'm trying to figure out what Clan Kryze should leave behind when our turn comes.

Tag: Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr + Open​

 

[Sylor]

Mia Monroe Vaux Gred
​

Artorious glanced down the small range, at a group of foundlings. Mia was nearby instructing others, he offered what assistance he could. Truthfully, this was out of his element, but he did his best. He wasn't a teacher, speaker, but merely a soldier. He could just instruct them on what he knew, what he was trained as, and what worked for him.

"Plant your feet. Keep the rifle tight against your shoulder and look down the sights, don't fight the weapon." He stopped beside one of the shooters, tapping the side of their rifle with two armored fingers. "Pick your target, breathe, and squeeze the trigger, do not pull it"

Shots rang out, some hit the target, others were off by a bit. And from afar, he could hear her words, and he couldn't help but show the smallest of smirks, beneath his helmet. She was tough, she had to be.

“The next person I see with locked knees is going down. Again!”

To be honest, she kinda frightened him in a sense.

"These words need to be repeated in your mind over and over again. Repetition, over and over. It will feel pointless until the day that it isn't, and you will understand why this is being done. The day it saves your life you will understand."

Artorious looked to the Mandalorian beside him, giving him instructions to continue for a moment without him. He moved across the range, to where Mia and another whom he didn't know.

"Warmaster, it's good to see you." Sylor spoke in a respectful tone, and looked to Vaux. "Good day, Sylor is my name. Are you well?"

 

[Mia Monroe]

Tags: Vaux Gred Sylor | OPEN

Mia paused in the middle of the line as Vaux piped up, earning a smile as the stick moved towards the back of another's knees, he must have felt it coming because he adjusted his stance before it connected.

“My methods may seem hard, Vaux, but they are effective and I’ve not broken a recruit yet.” She told her as she made her way along the line once more, this time in front of them, checking their grip. “We stand in an ever changing galaxy where our enemy could wear one face today and another tomorrow. There is no time for a soft touch, not when our survival counts on every blade, every gun,” her gaze shifted back to her “every wing. War is our way of life, and they must be ready for it.”

There were other reasons behind her harshness, how they reacted and how they handled the pressure she applied here would determine which branch of the Heathen Army she would dispatch them to for formal training.

“Good!” she said reaching the end “Take a break.” Some relaxed more than others, moving away to find a wall or bench to rest against, others were keener, eager to keep practising and did so, while Mia watched them from the corner of her eye as Sylor approached.

“Sylor,” she greeted with an incline of her head. “This Vaux of clan Gred, sister to their Alor.” she gave a nod towards the recruits he had moved away from. “How are we looking?”

 

[Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr]

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

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It was time now for Dral-Kar'ta to ponder the displays in silence as SIV searched his own memories and pondered upon how those memories brought him here today.

"The name Kryze has much to live up to. I suppose it can be difficult to make your way in a clan with such a storied history. How to make a mark on a wall with so many. All I can say is that we have pledged to follow The Way. No one has said that way is clear and easy to follow and when traveling down a road there is nothing, we can do about the tracks behind us."

Clan Kryze was one of the most eminent clans that Mandalore had produced, perhaps the preeminent one. An advantage of belonging to a smaller clan was that one's future was more predictable. At a young age Dral-Kar'ta had been groomed to someday become the clan's Alor, there was no doubt about what was expected of him. There was a burden to that but it was a predictable burden and it was all he knew. With a clan such as that of Kryze there would be many variables and much uncertainty.

Then the burdens of administration were spoken of. That was something he was more familiar with.

"There is a simplicity when one looks at a man over a blade. What must be done is clear ensure that it is the blood of your foe that spills on the ground and not yours. It is less clear when you are dealing with an ally over a data pad. The choice that seems clear may not actually be so. I too find myself behind a desk with a data pad more than I find myself out in the field with a beskad. The way is not always clear but you do your best to take one step forward then look ahead and adjust you aim if you need to. Then you take another step and another after that and you keep at it until you have no strength left. Then you take one more and that my friend, is your journey. A clear mind and adherence to the Six Actions, the ancient Cannons of Honor…" He looked down to the symbol of Clan Kryez. "… and if I am any judge of character, the Supercommando Codex and your steps will find the way."

Siv looked back at Dral-Kar'ta and Dral did the same to him.

"I believe you are correct; we were both drawn here by the same thread. I think you and I want the same thing for our people and recognize what needs to be done to achieve it."

There was something about this verd. He was sure he had never sensed a memory from this man before but something was familiar nonetheless. He had let his thoughts slip and cast them out to a man he had just met and like an echo much of the same came back to him. This was unusual for him. Perhaps they could assist each other in achieving their goals.

"I think we will be seeing more of each other and I hope we do as our chosen paths seem to be headed in the same direction. You seem to understand that this present resurgent Mandalore can be, and needs to be, made into something more than just another calm interlude for our creed that is eventually torn apart from within like it has been many times before. We deserve more than to be scattered enclaves strewn about the galaxy. We deserve a home for ourselves that will endure as long as beskar. I would willingly toil and fight beside you on the way to fulfilling that goal. Perhaps we can make Concordia and Maridun an example for all Mandalorians."

 

[Tessa Monroe]

Adelle Bastiel | Jonah | OPEN​

Tessa glanced up briefly, flashing her friend a smile before her focus returned to the work at hand, lifting the blade up for inspection before quenching it in the barrel of water beside her, steam washing over her as she did.

“Oh, I’m full of surprises.” She answered finally with a sly grin, wiping a hand on her overalls gaze flicking to the satchel on Adelle’s shoulder. “I’m not a goran not in the traditional sense. My father taught me a thing or two and others I’ve picked up along the way, but it’s been a while and beskar is not forgiving of people who don’t take the craft seriously.”

She was learning the hard way that denying her heritage and who she was for so long had its consequences, and she had yet to find her roots back to Eshan. That was another journey entirely that she wasn’t ready for.

Removing the blade from the barrel she set it aside, moving to lean against the workbench beside Adelle. “You looking to learn?” she said, nodding to the satchel.

​

 

[Rynna]

HALL OF ANCESTORS

Rynna had heard the stories that came out of Yaga Minor, of the ship that shattered above the atmosphere to give cover for the mandalorian advance. She watched Korda with a quiet awe as his eyes seemed to take on a faraway look, returning to whatever demons awaited him in his memories. She swallowed her nerves, looking back down at the medallion, wondering if she would ever had the courage to fight as he did, to carry those losses with the same grace.

“I’m sorry.” she said softly, looking back up at him.Her forehead creased in concentration, trying to remember the phrase she had learned. “N- Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la.” She hoped she hadn’t butchered it, managing a small smile in return for his kind words before the conversation shifted to the medallion, to armour and to the time she had.

That hit harder than she thought it would, her gaze dropped to the medallion as she swallowed against the lump in her throat, blinking back tears. “Thank you.” she said quietly, before clearing her throat and looking back up, offering the medallion as he asked for it. Her hand lifting to wipe a couple of stray tears away.

“Trying to figure out where I fit in all of this, I guess. And understand more about your- our history. My father was a mechanic, he told me he was given the medallion as a gift when he took the Creed. I didn’t-” she paused looking around.

“I didn’t think Domarians would be recognised here.”

 

[Korda Veydran]

​

Objective: The Hall Of Ancestors

Korda watched the tears gather in her eyes.
He didn't comment on them.
Instead, he simply gave a slow nod, his expression softening as she wiped them away. He had no desire to make her feel embarrassed for showing emotion. There were some things a warrior didn't need to hide.

When she offered the medallion, Korda accepted it carefully between his fingers.
He didn't immediately turn it over or inspect it like some archaeological curiosity.
He simply looked at it.
A mythosaur skull.
Something that had belonged to her father.

Something that had survived even when he hadn't.
Korda's thumb brushed lightly across the edge of the medallion before his attention returned to Rynna.
Then he heard the words she'd spoken earlier.
A faint smile pulled at one corner of his mouth.

"That was Mando'a."
He paused.
"Just..."
His expression turned mildly amused.
"You said it like you were afraid the words might bite you."

A quiet chuckle escaped him.
"Mando'a isn't exactly a soft language."
Korda shifted the medallion carefully in his hand.
"Don't be afraid of it. Speak from your chest. Let the words carry."
He gestured lightly toward his own chest.

"It isn't just a language, either. It's part of the bond that holds our way of life together. You speak it with conviction, even if you don't know every word yet."
His smile returned.
"And don't worry about getting it perfect. You learn by speaking it."
Korda glanced down at the medallion again.
"Your father was a mechanic?"

He nodded approvingly.
"Then he had an important place among our people."
His eyes lifted toward hers.
"Everyone remembers the warriors. Fewer remember the people who keep the warriors moving."

He turned the medallion once more, studying its worn surface.
"Mechanics keep ships flying. Keep weapons working. Keep armor sealed. They make sure the machines we depend on don't die when everyone else has stopped knowing how to fix them."
He handed the medallion back with the same care he had taken it.

"That's a noble job."
A brief pause.
"And a humble one."
Korda looked at Rynna.
"You said you didn't think Domarians would be recognized here."

He shook his head.
"Why wouldn't they be?"
He looked back to her.
Then, slowly, Korda lowered himself.

The seven-foot warrior dropped to one knee until he was closer to her height, no longer forcing her to crane her neck just to speak with him. His helmet remained tucked beneath his arm, leaving nothing between them but the conversation.
"Mandalorian culture was never just one kind of person."
His voice remained calm.

"Everyone comes from somewhere."
He tapped the armor covering his chest.
"Some were born into clans."
A small gesture toward the medallion.

"Some inherit pieces of their family. Some are adopted. Some come as warriors. Some as craftsmen."
His eyes returned to Rynna.
"Some come looking for a family."
Korda paused.

"And some simply want a better life."
A faint smile crossed his face.
"We've got heathens. Lawkeepers. Mercenaries. Leaders. Families. Farmers. Smiths. Mechanics."

A tiny movement came from beneath the edge of his chest plate.
A little snout poked outward. Oro's tongue flicked through the air once. Korda glanced down.
"...And apparently, snakes."
He shook his head with quiet amusement before looking back at Rynna.
"Point is..."
His voice became gentler.

"Why would we recognize only one kind of person?"
He gestured toward the medallion.
"Your father took the Creed."
Then toward her.
"You're here."
His eyes settled firmly on hers.

"You're learning."
He gave a small nod.
"That's enough to start."
Korda rose slowly, returning to his full height.
"In battle, none of the rest matters."
He looked at her.

"Not your birthplace. Not your profession. Not where your blood came from."
His gaze softened.
"When the sun is high and we're standing together, we're Mandalorians."
He paused.
"That's the point of the Creed."

Korda's expression remained warm.
"You don't need to figure out where you fit all at once, Rynna."
His voice carried the quiet certainty of someone who had spent years trying to figure out where he belonged himself.
"Start with learning."
He nodded toward the medallion.

"Learn the stories. Learn the language. Learn the people."
A small smile returned.
"The rest comes with time."
He let the silence settle naturally between them.
"You've already taken the first step."

Tags: Rynna

 

[Anvil]

"And you." Anvil looked across at Veyla Krinn . Admittedly, she didn't have much of a social life. It was difficult for an Outsider to connect with others when you had no common history or culture. They didn't even share a language, but her people were quick to adapt; Anvil had learned their 'Basic' even if she wouldn't impress in Court. The Forge, however, she understood. Soon, Veyla would demonstrate she did as well. There was something in common there. Something Anvil could understand, and something the other woman understood about her.

A grunt followed Veyla's lamentation regarding lightsabers. Energy swords. Not energy-infused, or energy-bolstered, but made entirely of energy -- or plasma as it were. Dangerous weapons. The Imperium's armor was inherently and dreadfully weak against such weaponry. If they ended up in the hands of Rebels back home that sought to topple the rightful Ruler...

Anvil made certain to hold the metal still as Veyla worked and handed the rod over to the woman if she wanted to control it as she worked. Her form showed experience. The pace showed the temperament of a smith. There was no place in a Forge for showmanship. If you wanted to impress someone, you made what you intended to make without fail and minimal waste. That was Anvil's opinion.

"My home is in the Hunt, but I return to the Fire." Nothing more was said once the metal returned to the anvil between them, and the pair resumed the work. She only spoke when they waited for the metal to come back up to temperature. The Forge needed little tending, but her bright eyes studied the embers and the fire regardless to ensure their color.

"Where is it you call home, Veyla Krinn?"

 

[Veyla Krinn]

Veyla gave a thoughtful nod at Anvil's description of the Hunt and the Fire. There was something in the phrasing that suggested more than occupation, though she wasn't certain whether those words carried a particular meaning among Anvil's people or were simply the way the woman understood her place in the world. Either way, Veyla understood the sentiment well enough. She was a warrior who had spent years carrying weapons into dangerous places, but eventually she always found herself back before a furnace with a hammer in hand.

"Concordia." Veyla turned the heated metal while Anvil held it steady, working several more measured strikes along its length before surrendering it to the fire again. "That's where I live, anyway. I have my own forge there. Smaller than this by a considerable margin, but it's mine." A faint smile accompanied the qualification. There were things she loved about Concordia that had nothing to do with practicality, particularly the familiarity of a place where she knew the streets, the mines, and the sound of the forges around her. "But Mandalore is home too. I was born there. I suppose I've never thought of home as having to be only one place."

She fell quiet as they resumed their work, finding that Anvil made an easy forging partner despite how little they knew about one another. They didn't need to fill every moment with conversation. Veyla quickly learned the rhythm of the other woman's hammer, alternating her strikes with Anvil's rather than competing against them, and the steady ringing of metal against metal was conversation enough until the piece needed heat again.

Once they returned it to the furnace, Veyla rested her hammer against the edge of the anvil and glanced toward her companion. "You said your home is in the Hunt, but you return to the Fire." Her gaze briefly followed Anvil's toward the flames before returning to the white-haired woman. "I get the feeling those words mean more to you than hunting and forging." There was curiosity in the observation, but no demand that Anvil explain herself. "Where is home for you?"

Anvil

 

[Siv Kryze]

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Siv remained quiet for a moment, letting Dral-Kar'ta's words settle. His eyes moved across the relics lining the Hall before settling on the Kryze sigil.

"Maybe you're right. The road behind us is already there. There's little point trying to walk it again."

He paused.

"The people before me made their choices. Some are worth carrying forward, others aren't. I don't think honoring them means repeating everything they did. Kryze has survived by knowing when to stand firm and when to adapt. I intend to do the same."

His attention returned to Dral.

"I'd welcome the cooperation. Concordia shouldn't just be somewhere cargo passes through. I want it to be somewhere Mandalorians can build, trade, raise families, and actually have something worth defending."

A faint grin crossed his face.

"And Maridun can do the same in its own way. We're still warriors, but strength isn't only measured by how many rifles we can put on a battlefield. Sometimes it's what we're able to build after the fighting stops."

Siv extended his hand toward Dral.

"So I'll walk that road with you. We endure, we adapt, and we keep moving. Maybe that's how we finally build something that lasts."

He glanced back toward the relics.

"Though I could've done without the datapads."

Tag: Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr + Open​

 

[Vaux Gred]

Mia Monroe Sylor

Vaux nodded to Sylor as he came up, still taking in Mia’s words. She looked about at the foundlings, smirking a bit. “I know all too well vod. Drill a lot of pilots. Had one get the callsign ‘Blindfire’ recently. Was about ready to take a flamethrower to her myself.” Yeah that was normal. Vaux’s own callsign wasn’t some tell of how terrifying she was in the cockpit, it was that she nearly wrecked her training fighter multiple times pulling too close to other pilots. She then looked at one of the younger foundlings.

“Would be easy to show why it’s important. Any of y’all think you could take on a pilot who’s rarely planetside these days?” She looked around. Yes it was 100% bait. She was in flight armor, so it wouldn’t look that protective. She had one thing that actually looked like a weapon. And she’d not mention the fact that she was a crack shot and a decent CQC practitioner.

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Tags: Tessa Monroe

Despite what Tess said, it seemed her friend still knew what she was doing. Adelle looked at the color of the blade before she quenched it. Alor Ca’tra had been teaching her, working with her to improve her skill. She’d been a slave driver about it, really. Which, given the woman’s profession outside of leading the clan, made sense.

“You looking to learn?” she said, nodding to the satchel.

Adelle grimaced. While Alor Ca’tra had been understanding and even encouraging, going so far as to supply her with a copy of the Book of Tempering to study, Adelle wasn’t sure who else among the Mandalorians would be and who would look at her like she suddenly grew a second head. But this was Tess. And if she couldn’t be honest with Tess, there were precious few others she could be.

“Sort of,” she said. She sighed and rubbed her forehead. “More trying to troubleshoot something. You heard of Warpriest Prime ?”

 

[Anvil]

"I have heard of this place," Anvil replied with a short nod. A deep rumble within followed. "Your own forge? This is well. Size matters not. Somewhere you can always return." It could be a single furnace, single anvil workshop and it would be enough in Anvil's eyes. The Imperium required much product to be produced, and these Outsiders required so much more, but quantity would never make up for quality. It was the heart of the Maker that made something endure.

When they stuck the metal into the flames, Veyla put a question forward and Anvil turned and moved aside for a moment to retrieve two more hammers. She lay them down carefully atop the head of the anvil between them. "This one pacifies resistant ingot," Anvil declared as she heft the larger and heavier hammer. "And this," Anvil picked up the smaller and lighter hammer, "is for fine crafting. They are all part of the Forge. All tools a Maker requires to not waste time or energy. But this," she lifted the medium-sized hammer they'd been using, "is for many things. It is often in the hands of a Maker. A Favored among many. It would pain the heart to lose such a fine instrument."

There was a pause while Anvil looked across at Veyla to ensure the other woman didn't look completely lost. Anvil knew she still didn't have the best command of the language.

"I return to the Hunt. It is who I am." The medium-hammer was lifted. "But," she set it down to pick up both the heavvier and lighter hammers in either hand, "I Forge. Neither is Home." Perhaps she had spoken her thoughts poorly a moment ago. "They are a part of me, and I them. We travel the many worlds together as companions. The Hunt I have been with longest. To find and strike the enemy, and return victorious."

Anvil set the two hammers aside on a nearby table so they wouldn't be in the way of the work. "Home is... far from here, but I seek to find a place here now."

"Do you also Hunt, Veyla Krinn ?"