Private The Iron's Call

[Renn Vizsla]

R O O N

Tag: Aether Verd



The Warden of Roon scrolled absently through his Datapad looking over different events that had arisen since he had left Roon to make his way to Mandalore after being summoned by the Man'dalor himself, Aether Verd . Renn's fingers danced over the Datapad, sending directions and orders to different members of his staff to resolve situations for him as he continued to be away.

The Comms flickered to life as the ship approached the homeworld of the Mandalorian's. "Mandalorian Vessel, please provide transponder codes and await for further instructions." The voice came over the comms, the planetary defense awaiting the instructions from his vessel. Renn glanced towards the cockpit as the pilot finished sending over the codes as an audible chime came, "Ah yes, you are permitted to land at the Starport and a shuttle is prepared for the Warden's arrival."

He stood up, adjusting his glasses as he moved to the cockpit of his vessel his eyes glanced down to the pilot a soft sigh escaping his lips, "Tavik, don't leave the engine running this time, unfortunately I do not think this will be a brief meeting as much as I continuously wish they all could be, I will allow you to leave the vessel unattended for some time to deal with any affairs that you may have on the homeworld. I will send you notice of my intent to return, best the ship be ready for departure before I am." His voice is calm and measured, carrying a quiet weight that demands attention even when he speaks softly. There’s a low, steady tone to it... controlled and deliberate, as if every word has already been calculated before it leaves his lips.

As the landing gear rested on the deck of the Starport, the hum of the engine that had once filled his ears turned off abruptly as it winded down. Renn made his way down the steps of the vessel as his shoes clacked against the metal floor of the flight pad as a pair of Mandalorians made their way towards him. Lawkeepers, as one of them spoke the voice deep as it slipped from his helm, "Warden, we have been ordered to escort you to the Mand'alor." Renn gave them a nod as the pair lead him towards the shuttle.

The thought that had run through his mind over and over again since the message had arrived at his office, What could the Mand'alor want an in person meeting with me?

Spoiler: Wearing

 

[Aether Verd]

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

COURT OF IRON, MANDALORE

The Mand’alor had summoned the Warden of Roon for more reasons than one, yet it was the state of the wider Galaxy that had weighed most heavily on his decision. Storms gathered beyond Mandalorian borders, and distance did little to soften their impact. On this day, Aether was armored in his charcoal beskar, a crimson cloak flowing from his shoulders, and he sat upon the throne of his forebears in patient silence.

The Court of Iron stretched long before him, its walls lined with statues of every Mand’alor that had come before, their stony visages standing eternal witness to each decision made in this chamber. A crimson carpet ran from the entrance to the base of the throne, flanked on both sides by the unwavering presence of Supercommandos. Their armor gleamed beneath the high lighting, and not a single visor shifted when the doors were drawn open.

The echo of boots striking stone announced the arrival of his guard escort and the Warden they had brought with them. Aether rose from his seat as they drew near, his stride carrying him down the steps of the dais to meet the man partway. He extended his dominant hand in greeting, his voice steady as he spoke. “Warden, I am grateful you came so quickly. The summons was sudden, but the times demand little else.”

There was no indulgence in ceremony. His words soon pressed upon the matter at hand. “Tell me, how fares House Vizsla? How does Roon stand in readiness for war? The Southern Systems are a tinderbox, one spark away from open flame, and I will not see our foothold in that region left to chance. Despite the distance, you and your people will have what support you need to hold it firm. Manpower, supplies, ships...whatever it takes.”​

Renn Vizsla

 

[Renn Vizsla]

COURT OF IRON, MANDALORE

Tag: Aether Verd



It had been many years since Renn had stood in the palace of the Mand'alor, House Vizsla having held a prominent position wether their house stood on the throne or not, many members of the house held prominent positions within the many empire's that had risen and fallen throughout the years the Mandalorians had existed.

The clacking of his shoes continued through the palace and into the chambers of Aether, the carpet doing little to dampen the sound as he made his way towards the throne. Renn let his eyes stay on the Mand'alor as Aether came off his throne and strode towards the Alor of House Vizsla, their arms met as they shook each others hands, Renn gave a firm handshake.

Renn listened as Aether spoke before his voice rose in response, "Su cuy'gar* Mand'alor a bore here as swiftly as space would allow, I would've arrived sooner if the stars would allow."His voice would be low and steady, like a warrior who has seen too many battles, measured, direct, and carrying the quiet authority of someone who doesn’t waste words, but ensures every one of them counts.

Listening carefully to the Mand'alor's words his arms rose to his chest, crossing in front as he listened, his mind coming with a response to Aether's inquiry about his House and how things are in the Southern Systems, one that Renn had been holding together as best as possible, even though they did not have direct connection with the main sectors held by the Empire.

His words were slow, but deliberate as he spoke, "House Vizsla holds well on Roon, many strong faces are earning their scars in battle, but there are still many that support other causes outside of the Empire. Roon continues to hold strong, much of my days have been spent reinforcing the defenses around the planet. Along with this I have done my best to spread the influence of Roon to the surrounding sectors, but Roon is too valuable of a resource to lose, the foundries alone do much of the arming of the Mandalorians that live in the south. I do think some additional resources are to be requested... but with the current state of the galaxy we should be able to manage without too much resources diverted our way. Our neighbors to the North are currently focused on recent moves by the Galactic Empire, I am more worried of those that border our home sectors. The recent moves by the Diarchy demands retaliation." As he spoke of the Diarchy his claw tightened up as he thought of those who's lives were taken, it stirred a fire deep within him, that he could only hold his best to hold back.

 

[Aether Verd]

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

COURT OF IRON, MANDALORE

Aether’s grasp met Renn’s with brief firmness, a silent acknowledgment of shared strength before he offered his greeting. The Warden’s reply came measured, his tone seasoned by years of battle, and when he remarked that he had come as swiftly as space would allow, Aether inclined his helm in a simple nod before turning to the matters that had brought them together.

The words that followed carried no surprise in their opening, for it was good to hear that House Vizsla still held Roon well in hand and that its defenses were being fortified with diligence. Yet behind the visor, Aether’s brow arched at the mention of those who lent their strength to causes beyond the Empire’s banner. He said nothing in that instant, but listened with intent as Renn continued, nodding slightly as the tale of influence, industry, and vigilance was laid before him. The fire in the Warden’s voice sharpened when the Diarchy was named, and in that moment Aether’s jaw tightened beneath the helm, his frustration concealed from the chamber’s view.

“It is because of that very adversary to the north,” he began, voice steady, “that I will see to it Roon has what it needs. The Diarchy plays its games well. One day they put Mandalorians to death and feign disavowal of so-called radicals stirring chaos. The next, Taris itself suffers revolt in its own depths. These are not the hands of an isolated foe confined to the north. Their reach stretches further than they will ever admit, and that reach will not be ignored. For that reason, Roon will be supplied beyond what you ask. Your world will not stand alone.”

Aether drew in a slow breath, exhaling a faint sigh before he pressed on. “I had thought our first adversary would be Sith ambition or Jedi intervention. Yet it is the Diarchy that has stepped into the void. They were not the enemy I anticipated, but they are the enemy that now stands before us. And like iron set to the forge, they will be hammered until they break. I have set plans in motion that will end their threat once and for all. The weapons we prepare take time to temper, yet when they are unleashed, this Diarchy will know what it means to provoke the sons and daughters of Mandalore.”​

Renn Vizsla

 

[Renn Vizsla]

COURT OF IRON, MANDALORE

Tag: Aether Verd



Renn inclined his head in a nod as he listened to the words of his Mand'alor, his right hand moving to his chin as he stroked it his mind in thought as he took in the information that Aether had to bring in terms of the Diarchy foe that the Mandalorians had been pit against.

Foes that did not deal in open battle maneuvers or conventional tactics were nothing new to the Alor of House Vizsla. He had spent his fair share of time in routing out spy networks on various capacities during his work in the Death Watch. Though he knew that a foe that was well funded and well supplied would be harder to route when they get their talons into a planet. Renn had worked hard to secure the sectors that surrounded his borders, but he knew that he could not fully prevent networks from spreading around Roon.

The words escaped from Renn's mouth, an even pace, but every word layered with thought, "It came as a surprise to me as well that we were not first pushed by the Sith or Jedi, I even suspected one of the Imperial factions to attempt to push against us first. I find it odd that the Diarchy decided to make a move so bold, especially with the signing of the Echoy'la Accords. The loss of children is always a tragedy, but to push the issue this far is... odd. I have taken a look at the most recent Holo-maps, and could not find any meaningful reason for the Diarchy to make such a move. Why would a faction provoke us for no reason? I am still blind on their underlying reasoning for making a fool of themselves in such a way." Renn's fingers continued to stroke his chin as he thought, his eyes becoming almost cloudy as his thoughts took him elsewhere, his mind imagining the Holo-maps he had spent hours studying.

As his eyes finally regained focus, his attention brought back to the Mand'alor, "I apologize for the tangent, to get back on track, the best use of our resources would be to shore the defenses on Roon, whilst placing extra protection on the planets that hold the North side of our Sphere in the Abrion Sector, specifically Scarif and Niamos. With this in mind a reserve force should be held on Manda in the eventuality of an attack on the sector, having the ability to reinforce the planets from the center of the sector would be beneficial, and its position as the center of the cloud aiding in its protection from an assault." the Mandalorian's mind went where it knew best, tactics, his mind having planned for most eventualities in his side of the Empire, he had known that one day he would have to ask for the aid of the Mand'alor, unfortunately for him that day had come much sooner then he had wished.

 

[Aether Verd]

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

COURT OF IRON, MANDALORE

Aether listened as the Warden’s voice carried through the chamber, his helm inclined ever so slightly in acknowledgment of the thoughts being shared. The Mand’alor did not interrupt, nor did he pace, but stood with arms folded as the man of Roon traced lines of strategy across the stars. When at last Renn’s words tapered, Aether’s response came measured, deliberate, his tone equal parts reflection and resolve.

“You are not alone in your questioning,” he said, the vocoder roughening each syllable into something closer to stone than breath. “I have come to expect deceit and shadow games from the Diarchy. It is their nature, proven on Taris when they slithered from the Gravesong’s wake to twist it into a knife aimed at Mandalore. But to escalate so openly, so boldly? That, too, baffles me. It is not the act of a cautious foe, nor one with any sense of restraint.”

The Mand’alor’s visor dipped for a fraction, the faintest gesture of thought. “Unless…” His words lingered for a moment, sharpened by suspicion. “Unless this is not their doing alone. Unless their purpose is not to strike us directly, but to bind us. To keep our hands busy here, so that our eyes are drawn from something greater. Someone else may be tugging their strings.”

Aether drew in a slow breath, shoulders rising beneath the crimson cloak. “I have tasked the Nite Owls with chasing down the threads of that suspicion. Until their hunt bears fruit, we must treat the Diarchy’s treachery for what it is: an act of war that demands answer.” His helm tilted faintly toward the Warden, light catching the steel of his visor. “You need not apologize for your tangent. Your thoughts mirror my own more closely than you know.”

He stepped closer, the crimson carpet shifting beneath armored boots as his words took on renewed weight. “Roon and the Abrion Sector will not stand alone. Their defenses will be reinforced. A reserve force is already being assembled, and once it arrives, it will be placed under your command. You are my eyes and ears in the South. You know its pulse, its borders, its fragility. You will decide how best to wield them.”

Aether’s tone hardened as he concluded, his voice carrying the certainty of iron set to purpose. “Hold Roon. Hold the South. Whatever hand moves the Diarchy, we will uncover it. And when we do, they will learn that Mandalore does not suffer puppeteers.”​

Renn Vizsla

 

[Renn Vizsla]

COURT OF IRON, MANDALORE

Tag: Aether Verd



Renn listened to the words of his Mand'alor his hand still resting against his chin, his fingers moving slightly as he thought, Aether's words making him ponder more about the actions the Diarchy had taken in recent times, and whether there was a bigger threat yet on the horizon that only wished to pin the hands of Mandalore. His thoughts were interrupted as the Mand'alor words began to trail off, his attention brought back to the moment.

"The Diarchy will learn what it means to snub the name of Mandalore. Whether they are just brash or moving with an ulterior motive, we will trample their offense with the bottom of our heels, our people have survived generations of transgressions, against near eradication at the hands of those who fear us. Whether our feet stand on the soil of our home, or foreign worlds, we will teach this galaxy once more what it means to try and push down the Mandalorian people." Renn's words flowed as easy as a forest stream, the emotion behind his words apparent as was his belief in his people.

"The Abrion Sector, and our surrounding influence will not falter from the transgressions of any that oppose us. I will shore the defenses of the sector and make it a stronghold that even the great Tarre would not be able to penetrate. As long as there is life in my body, breath in my lungs, and blood in my veins, not one world shall fall to those who would make us out to be weak. We have brought our culture to these lands, and I aim to bring it to millions more—" Each sentence that escaped from the Vizsla's mouth seemed to spur him on more, the dedication to his people, and to Mandalore ever clear by his words.

A gentle sigh escaped from the young Mandalorian's lips, "I will do all of what is asked of me, I thank you for the honor that you give to me by trusting one such as I with such a great honor. As the old saying goes, 'Haatyc or'arue jate'shya ori'sol aru'ike nuhaatyc', something I never thought to be more true then in moments like this."

His mind was brought to the man that had taught him that saying, seemed to be almost eons ago, but the words still rang in his ears, the young Vizsla shifting the subject of conversation for a moment, whilst his mind still thought of one of his old mentors "What of Kad Skirata's passing, I know that there now sits no Warmaster over the Death Watch. It will be hard to replace the old veteran, he had lead the Death Watch honorably for longer then I can remember, it will be hard to fill the shoes of someone so knowledgeable and one who is held in such high regard as he was."

Spoiler: Translation

Haatyc or'arue jate'shya ori'sol aru'ike nuhaatyc - Better one big enemy that you can see than many small ones that you can't.

 

[Aether Verd]

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

COURT OF IRON, MANDALORE

Aether listened without interruption, helm inclined toward the Warden as the man spoke with a conviction that could have been carved from stone. The words carried not only strategy but fire, a devotion that reached beyond mere duty. It was the kind of resolve their ancestors had lived and died by, and behind the helm, the Mand’alor found himself smiling faintly at the sound of it. When Renn pledged the South’s defenses with such certainty, Aether stepped forward, extending his gauntleted hand to rest firmly upon the Vizsla’s shoulder.

“You honor your bloodline, Warden,” he said, his voice steady through the vocoder, carrying both weight and gratitude. “Your commitment to Roon and the South does credit to House Vizsla. The Empire is fortunate to have one such as you holding that line.” His hand gave a firm squeeze before releasing, a gesture both personal and symbolic, before he allowed the moment to settle.

At the mention of Kad Skirata, Aether’s helm dipped in solemn acknowledgment. The memory of the Gogi was heavy, a warrior who had borne the burden of leadership for longer than most could endure. “I know,” Aether said quietly, his tone grave. “The passing of Kad Skirata is a wound that will not mend quickly. He led the Death Watch with honor, and no warrior alive could ever truly fill the space he leaves behind. To even attempt it would diminish the truth of who he was.”

The Mand’alor’s voice hardened slightly as he continued. “For now, Zayid sees to the Death Watch’s charge. He will keep their strength focused until such time as another proves worthy to inherit the mantle Kad carried. That day will come, and when it does, the Death Watch will rise to meet it.”

His helm turned slightly, the crimson cloak shifting with the movement. “I can only hope it comes soon. Hostilities with the Diarchy grow closer with each passing day, and when they break, the Death Watch will be needed. They are often the tip of Mandalore’s spear, and their readiness is our readiness. We will need them whole if we are to drive that spear cleanly through our enemy.”

The chamber fell into silence once more, but in that silence lingered both respect for the fallen and the quiet certainty of what would be demanded of the living.​

Renn Vizsla

 

[Renn Vizsla]

COURT OF IRON, MANDALORE

Tag: Aether Verd



Renn's hand went to rest on Aether's against his shoulder, nodding his head as the Mand'alor commended him, the look of surprise catching him for only a split moment before regaining his composure. His hand fell back to his side as Aether let go, he could notice the subtle changes in the Mand'alor's demeanor as he brought up Kad Skirata, a pain he knew that him and Aether shared, whether it be for much different reasons.

"Your words honor me and mine Mand'alor, my house has served at the will of our people since its creation, whether from the helm, or supporting the one who holds it. The commitment House Vizsla holds is unwavering no matter the assignment called upon for us to partake. The flags of the Empire and Clan Vizsla will fly high across our domains, I pray even my progeny will hold fast on these holdings." Renn's words were layered with his determination to hold what he had been commanded at all costs.

The mood in the room shifted as the discussion turned towards Kad, the tension so thick it could be carved with a butter knife, but still Renn rose his voice, "Kad Skirata is now apart of the Manda, and his will binds with all of those who have ever called themselves Mandalorian. I am sure when we next pray for guidance from our forebearers the old man will make sure our wishes are granted. His death was sudden, and unpreventable... but to honor him we must remember all he had done for Mandalore, and all of those he had taught along the way."

As the topic switched towards Kad's charge it was no surprise to Renn that Zayid had been chosen, "Zayid is a well seasoned warrior, he will make a fine leader, even if it is just for the time being." Renn could sense the shift once more in the Mand'alor as he spoke of the storm brewing with the Diarchy, "There are countless in the Empire that are more then capable of taking the mantle of Warmaster, no one will take over and replace Kad in a day, but there are more then one that I am sure could rise to be just as strong, if not stronger then he was." Renn kept an ear to the ground, and knew there was more then one that could take over for the old Warmaster, it just was a question of who.

"I can tell this meeting will be longer then just the talk of Roon, I pray we can take this meeting off of our feet in the middle of your Court and sit down for a meal, the sudden departure from Roon has left me famished." He offered up a tired smile as if on que his stomach rumbled the words of Shyriiwook, punctuating the tense tone with a moment of gentle amusement.

 

[Aether Verd]

MANDALORE
Court of Iron, Sundari

For a time, silence lingered between them, not from discomfort but from shared understanding. The absence of Kad Skirata lingered heavy in the air, a wound upon Mandalore’s spirit that no words could mend. Yet Aether knew, as did all true Mandalorians, that grief was never an end. It was a forge, and through it, they would endure as they always had.

He gave a solemn nod as the Warden spoke with such conviction that it seemed to fill the chamber itself. “Your words speak of the very strength that built this Empire.” Aether said, his tone firm but measured. “And I have no doubt that the generations to come will hold fast to what you have built. They will look to your example, Renn, and know what it means to serve Mandalore with both heart and steel.”

When Renn spoke of Kad and the Manda, Aether inclined his helm, acknowledging the truth within those words. “You are right.” he said quietly. “He has joined the Manda, and in doing so, his spirit endures with ours. His passing was sudden, and undeserved, but we will carry his will forward. That is how we honor him.”

The Mand’alor’s brow arched faintly at Renn’s remark regarding the mantle of Warmaster. “Countless souls, you say?” he mused, the edge of curiosity slipping into his tone. “Tell me then, Warden. Who among them do you envision taking the reins? I trust your instincts. You have seen the caliber of our warriors firsthand.”

Before Renn could answer, Aether’s helm shifted slightly as the Vizsla’s stomach growled in protest. The Mand’alor let out a quiet chuckle, low and warm beneath the vocoder. “Then it seems I have kept you standing too long!” he said. “My apologies, Warden. I should have led with a meal rather than a briefing.”

He turned, motioning for Renn to follow as he strode toward one of the adjoining halls. “Come. The finest lodgings have been prepared for your stay, and the cooks have outdone themselves in anticipation of your arrival.”

The hall opened into a grand chamber, its walls alive with soft light and banners of crimson and gold. A long rectangular table stretched the length of the room, laden with every kind of fare one could desire: spiced meats from Concordia, stews from Roon, roasted grains and fruit from Mandalore’s own fields. The scent alone was enough to stir hunger even in the stoic.

Aether moved to the table, assembling a modest plate before seating himself at its head. His gauntlet gestured to the place beside him. “Sit, brother,” he said, a rare trace of humor coloring his tone. “Let us eat. There will be time enough for war once we’ve remembered how to live.”​

Renn Vizsla​

 

[Renn Vizsla]

M A N D A L O R E

Tag: Aether Verd




Renn followed in silent step for a moment longer, the low thrum of the chamber folding behind them as they moved toward the adjoining hall. The change in lighting caught across his visor. For the first time since entering, the Warden allowed the posture of ceremony to relax, not diminished, only eased, like a warrior shifting from guard to readiness. The Mand’alor’s words still lingered in the air between them, more binding than any parchment or seal. Duty, legacy, grief, all were threads of the same weave.

“The forge does not choose what it tempers,” Renn answered at last, voice deep but composed. “We do not break because we fear loss. We break only when we forget that we were made to outlast it.” There was no flourish to the sentiment, no art, only certainty. It was not bravado. It was blood-memory.

He took in the feast set before them, a subtle nod of appreciation given. Aether had chosen not spectacle, but heritage placed on a table, the kind of gesture the old clans understood more keenly than any proclamation. Renn reached for a plate, setting it down beside the Mand’alor before answering the question that still hung expectant in the air.

“As for the Warmaster…” he said, tone thickening as he drew breath. “There are those shaped by duty, and those shaped by burden. Kad walked bearing both. Whoever succeeds him must do the same, not merely lead battles, but temper us. Zayid can hold the storm at bay while the field reveals its champion, but I would place my eye upon two others as well: Gedeon Varta, whose resolve does not bend, and Kora Kryze, if she ever steps fully from the shadow she chooses to haunt. Neither have Kad’s years, but both carry his iron.” A pause. Measured. Intentional. “It is not strength Mandalore lacks. It is timing.”

He set down his gauntlet beside his plate, helm angling toward Aether with a shift that conveyed respect without deference. “But the choice belongs to you, Mand’alor, and to the weight you deem worthy to inherit a mantle carved by loss.”

Only once the matter was spoken did he allow the faintest flicker of dry humor to return, a low exhale that passed for a laugh beneath the vocoder. “Still, I will take food before prophecy. The Manda forgives many things, but fainting beside my Mand’alor from hunger would not be one of them.”

He sat when invited, taking the seat at Aether’s right, not as a subordinate, not as an upstart claimant of influence, but exactly as what he had been named: brother by charge and by burden. His voice lowered then, not private, but grounded.

“You honor me, and my Clan, by this welcome.”
A small nod. “We remember how to live, so that we never forget what we fight to keep.”

The feast began, not as reprieve, but as a reminder: before war, there is people. And where there are people, there is Mandalore still.

In the Name of Mandalore.​

 

[Aether Verd]

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

SHIELD HALL, MANDALORE

Aether gave a quiet nod as Renn spoke, the low hum of his agreement nearly drowned by the clatter of plates and the faint hiss of poured drink. Together they filled their plates before taking their seats, the Mand’alor lowering himself into the chair at the head of the table while the Warden claimed the place beside him. It was then that Renn answered the question Aether had left hanging, his thoughts on the next Warmaster as deliberate as a blade’s edge.

Aether listened in silence, sipping once from his cup as the Warden spoke of burden and duty, of those who could bear both as Kad once had. When Renn finished, the Mand’alor set his drink down and inclined his helm. “You speak truth,” he said. “Whoever takes the mantle must not only carry it, but be shaped by it. Duty alone is not enough. They must hold loyalty to Mandalore and to me without question. The Watch enjoys a freedom few others in the Empire possess. That freedom demands trust, and the wrong successor could turn it into danger.”

He leaned back slightly, helm angled toward his companion as he continued. “Zayid holds steady for now, as you say. But Gedeon Varta…” Aether paused, his eyes narrowing in thought. “I have read the latest reports. His heart lies with his family. He wishes to uphold the Resol’nare in its truest form, to raise his sons and see them through their Verd’goten. The Watch would tear that from him. It would divide his focus, and no warrior can serve two callings without failure in one.”

He reached again for his cup, rolling the thought over in his mind before speaking on. “As for Kora Kryze, she is a stellar choice by strength alone, and her record speaks for itself. Yet her House is still in turmoil. Siv Kryze and his kin within the Empire stand firm, but the other branches of House Kryze...their loyalties are being pulled apart. Some lean toward the New Mandalorian remnant, others toward smaller, darker movements. If she is to command the Watch, she will need to step free of that chaos entirely.”

Aether exhaled through the vocoder, the sound quiet but heavy. “The choice is mine, yes, but it is no simple one. In a perfect world, I would hand the mantle to you, Renn Vizsla. I know you would wield it well. But the South needs its Warden, and even Mandalore cannot ask one man to stand in four places at once.” His helm tilted faintly, the smallest hint of humor passing through his tone. “Though I admit, I have considered trying.”

The gravity of command hung briefly between them, then faded beneath the warmth of shared presence as the Mand’alor gestured toward the spread before them. “Eat, my friend. The Watch will find its Warmaster soon enough, but for now, Mandalore remembers how to live.”

With that, the feast began in earnest, the quiet of the hall replaced by the scent of spiced meat and roasted grain filling the air as the two warriors shared the kind of meal that reminded them what they fought to preserve.​

Renn Vizsla

 

[Renn Vizsla]

T R U S T

Tag: Aether Verd




Renn ate in steady silence for a few moments more, giving the Mand’alor’s words the room they deserved. Only after swallowing did he speak again, helm turning just enough to acknowledge the weight of what had been laid before him, not merely politics, but the very spine of Mandalorian command.

“You judge rightly,” he said, voice low, carrying that tempered edge that came only from men accustomed to shouldering consequence. “The Watch is not a post one inherits. It is a crucible, and not all who stand near its flame survive unchanged.” A pause, thoughtful, not hesitant. “Varta is built of iron, but iron forged for hearth and lineage. To take the mantle from him would not elevate him; it would hollow him. And hollow men make desperate commanders.”

He set down his cup, fingers drumming lightly once against the metal before folding back into stillness.

“With Kora, the strength is unquestionable. But the House that follows her casts more than one shadow. Until those shadows are cut short, every victory she wins would still be shackled to doubt, and a Warmaster cannot give half of herself to war, and half to the ghosts of her own Clan.”

Renn leaned back faintly, the posture not one of ease, but the honesty of counsel shared unguarded.

“You are right to withhold the mantle, because haste serves ambition, not Mandalore. Better a temporary void than a hasty successor who fractures what Kad welded together.”

At the Mand’alor’s mention of him as a potential choice, Renn gave the faintest exhale, not dismissal, not pride, but the recognition of an honor few would ever speak aloud.

“If Mandalore commanded it, I would bear that title as I have borne every other, without hesitation,” he said, then paused, not out of doubt, but out of honesty. “But I will not pretend it would be a light weight. The South still leans upon its Warden, and to shoulder the Watch on top of it would stretch a man thinner than steel should ever bend.”

His hand shifted at the edge of the table, the faint flex of fingers betraying the weight of what was unspoken, not fear of failure, but fear of dividing his duty where Mandalore could afford no division.

“Yet if the day comes when you decide that I must be both, then I will carry both,” Renn said quietly. “Not because I do not feel the strain… but because Mandalore cannot wait for perfect circumstances. If the forge calls my name again, I will answer it.”

He drew a slow breath, helm angling toward Aether as if to speak not as Warden or Alor, but as brother.

“Just know that I will worry, not for myself, but for what might be left unattended while my hand is forced to two fronts. But worry does not mean refusal. It means I already measure the cost… and am willing to pay it.”

Only then did he reach again for his cup, the tension cooling into resolve rather than pride. “If Mandalore asks it of me, I will not break beneath it. I will become what the need requires.”

To Put it All on the Line.​